Mapping Out New Dreams at Twenty Five

Back in August I was too hot to trot. I had just wrapped up my health internship at Porter Novelli, my first real agency experience in public relations, and for the first time I felt like I deserved to be there. The beginning was messy. I was shy, unsure, and constantly wondering if I belonged in the room. I was frustrated that it took three weeks for the building to approve a handicap door. I was still adjusting to the truth that having a caretaker at work wasn’t a setback but simply part of my reality. Someone to help with doors, bathroom runs, and adjusting the desk just right. At first it made me feel exposed, but slowly I grew into it.

By week four the energy shifted. I started speaking up. I set up coffee chats with senior team members. I picked up speed in my media monitoring and finally learned how to integrate track changes instead of fearing them. I even got the chance to support two pieces for Essence and USA Today because I raised my hand and said I wanted in. That moment mattered.

Two weeks before the internship ended I had a gut feeling that a full-time offer probably wouldn’t come. Only one intern out of six would get the spot, and after my adjustment period I knew the odds. I still had a real conversation with my manager and walked away feeling valued even without an offer. Porter Novelli on the résumé was enough to get me into the rooms I needed. I headed back to my childhood home and restarted the job hunt.

The first two months were hot. Recruiters were responsive, interviews steady, applications constant. Then November hit, my birthday month, and everything went silent. A few roles here and there. One recruiter call where the vibe was off. No momentum. I felt the weight of it. At the same time I was living in a tiny Hilton room where my wheelchair barely fit, sharing the space with an old caretaker who was just as stressed as I was. We were cramped, irritated, and all I talked about was LinkedIn and the job market. I didn’t have financial independence yet, and my parents’ old-school tone crept back in. I kept pushing because I want to make this city thing work. New York is my favorite place in the world.

I’ve had the chance to interview in person at The Met and Carnegie Hall. These interviews are unlike any I’ve experienced in PR or healthcare communications. Face-to-face, in the halls of institutions that have stood for decades, I got to connect with people in ways you just don’t over Teams. It feels like the old days of work, where presence, energy, and personality mattered in the room. I would love to contribute, learn, and be part of something bigger. At the same time, healthcare communications is where my passion truly lies, and I know it’s where I can make the biggest impact. Exploring multiple avenues keeps me creative, persistent, and excited for the doors that are opening.

My parents haven’t always understood how I navigate the world. For years they shut things down with comments about how hard life is or how I needed to do better or how I shouldn’t smoke pot. The degree, the personality, the experience never felt like enough. But something shifted recently. While touring apartments with my mom, she actually saw the discipline in my job hunt, the network I’ve built, and the way I keep creating even when things stall. She saw me getting my life back through museums, concerts, and storytelling instead of spiraling. She realized I’m not drifting. I’m building something.

Then came Saturday night. My podcast co-host Martin surprised me with a trip to New York. He understands my story more than most because of what his family has lived through. Seeing him walk in felt like the world tapping me on the shoulder. We had three episodes sitting in the archives about the job hunt, selling chocolate at Whole Foods, and dating with a visible disability. When Porter Novelli started, the show went on pause. Life got loud for both of us. But the night he arrived was different. The next morning we set up the microphone and recorded for almost three hours. It felt like purpose again.

Afterward Martin told me something that stuck. He said my dream life sounded beautiful. Married at twenty five. Corporate healthcare role in full swing. Financially solid. Comfortable enough to not feel shame for a wake and bake when the moment calls for it. But he reminded me that life never follows the script you wrote at fifteen. Sometimes you have to rewrite the chapter instead of forcing the ending. I’m moving to the Upper East Side for a year. My brown suede notebook is out of pages. And it’s time for a new one. A new chapter. A more honest one. One that holds dreams without pretending they are rules.

I’m also celebrating the fact that I get to live this chapter at all. After we finished recording, Martin wanted to walk with me to a bookstore on Madison Avenue that’s walking distance from my grandparents’ place. They had one last copy of Scott Galloway’s new book Notes on Being a Man. Martin bought it for me on the spot. He said it’s an incredible read and Galloway reminds him of me. He finished it in nearly one sitting. Starting twenty five with a new notebook and a new Galloway book feels like a small but meaningful way to claim the year ahead.

And then there’s the quarter in my pocket. I’m walking around with it to mark a quarter of a century. Turning twenty five hits differently when you grow up with Duchenne. Ten years ago twenty five felt like a finish line. Today it feels like a starting point. Thanks to treatments and breakthroughs, twenty five now looks like mid to late sixties. It means a career. It means relationships. It means new friends I haven’t met yet. All of it is possible because these pharmaceutical innovations have kept me alive long enough to have a real adulthood. Now it’s my turn to try to thrive in the very industry that gave me the chance to dream in the first place.

If you know anyone hiring for an Assistant Account Executive role, get them on the phone with Charley. I’m ready to make an impact on a team and hit some home runs. I wanted to end with a quote from Scott Galloway’s introduction to Notes on Being a Man:

“People under the age of forty are 24 percent less wealthy. The deliberate transfer of wealth from the young to the old in the United States over the past century has led to unaffordable and indefensible costs for education and housing and skyrocketing student debt, all of which directly affect young men. It is why twenty-five-year-olds today make less than their parents and grandparents did at the same age, while carrying debt loads unimaginable to earlier generations.”

This quote hits close to home because it reminds me that the odds aren’t the same as they were for my parents or grandparents. It also reminds me that persistence, creativity, and intentional effort matter more than ever. I’m grabbing that quarter, starting this new chapter with energy, and chasing the work I’m passionate about, continuing to tap my foot until the door swings open. Healthcare communications, creative projects, learning on the fly. I’m ready for it all. I’m bringing heart, persistence, and a little bit of mischief to everything I do.

Here’s to twenty five, my new Scott Galloway book, and a chapter that’s truly mine.