It was six years ago, deep in the heart of the pandemic and my own mourning, that I came inside from a long, snowy walk with the dogs and found my son reading in the living room. I was in a bit of a trance, still in my bulky winter coat. I don’t even think I took my mittens off. “I have an idea for something,” I told him.
This was my beloved eldest, Roscoe, always so good to me. He listened intently as my words tumbled out, explaining my vision, and how all the pieces would work together. It was as if thirty years of disparate, chaotic experiences, all related to the vicissitudes of careers, and thousands of different learnings from scholars and sages and leaders and life had suddenly combined and combusted into…a gorgeous, harmonious melody that I wanted to sing and sing and sing.
When I was done, which took a while, Roscoe quietly said, “I think that’s a good idea, Mom. And I think you should call it, ‘Becoming You.’”
This week, we moved.
No – not me and Roscoe. He lives in Maine with his beautiful family. And I am a forever-NYC kind of girl.
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You didn’t think I did this stuff alone, did ya? Oh my God, how many ways can I say no? Becoming You Labs has grown to fifteen brilliant, beautiful people – engineers, data scientists, product designers, psychometricians, behavioral scientists, and content creators (some of whom you can see here). Until this week, we did what we do – no lie – crammed into a hallway in my house.
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I mean, it’s a wide hallway, but still.
A few weeks ago, I realized Becoming You’s growth was not slowing down, and was, in fact, accelerating. Thus, this week we packed up our stuff and made our way to a real office with enough room for us to double in size, which it looks like might happen.
On that first day, we kept looking around at our new digs and each other and saying, “Can you believe it?” We could not.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t love it. We do. I do.
Six years ago, on that snowy day, I wasn’t even sure I had an idea that would matter to anyone. But it turned out the world was changing in ways that were raising a lot of hard questions.
Questions that Becoming You was designed to help answer.
Our new home is telling me Becoming You isn’t a ‘what if’ kind of thing anymore. Can you hear my heart pounding?
We’ve moved because you knocked. Please, please come in, and stay.
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I saw this meme from humor site The Onion on the subway and laughed so loudly that people looked up. Then I immediately dropped it into our family text chain. |
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Look – I truly hate the first part of it – the economy is brutal right now, especially for Gen Z. I am relieved most of my NYU Stern students have landed jobs for after graduation, but unfortunately, that is not the national narrative.
But the second part? I cannot tell a lie. I feel seen, and vaguely ashamed of myself.
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Our new office is exactly 56 steps from the front door of a Sephora. Is this trouble or what? |
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By the way, years ago, I heard the made-up word, “Sephoria” for the feeling that surges in your chest the moment you step into the world’s most ridiculous makeup emporium.
Playing off that years later, I coined my own word, “Scarephoria,” the feeling you get when a life change – a new job, say – both beckons and terrifies you. |
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It is there at the intersection of hope and fear, and only there, that growth happens.
It turns out the move to our new office is, exactly, a moment of Scarephoria. I am down for it! Indeed, to celebrate, I think I need a new lipstick. I’ll be right back.
Until then, to beautiful new beginnings,
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What's coming?
→ May 2026 Three-Day Becoming You Intensive here
→ June 2026 One-Day Becoming You Intensive here
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Sixteen Words that Will Set You Free…To Be You (Part I)
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What if 16 words could unlock everything — who you are, why you're happy (or not), and what you should actually be doing with your life? In this episode, I'm introducing the Welch Bristol Values Inventory language (used in The Values Bridge), by doing something I've never done publicly — revealing my own values, ranked from 1 to 16. Tune in to Part I of this special three-part series.
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