I got my first job at 14. It wasn’t impressive. It wasn’t something that would make a resume shine. But it was a start. And that was all that mattered at the time.
That first job led to another, and another, each one an odd puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit into any clear picture of success. I wasn’t following a well-lit path, I was just moving forward.
Gutting fish in Alaska. Cleaning hotel rooms. Bartending in Australia and the UK. Serving food in restaurants. Scrubbing grocery store shelves.
None of these jobs were glamorous, but each one left an imprint. None of them carried prestige, but each one showed me something most people never get to see up close—the systems running beneath the surface of our daily lives.
I’ve worked in Morocco with a small business weaving reed floor mats—natural, biodegradable, the kind people had used for centuries. I watched as plastic mats flooded the market, cheaper and more durable in the short term, but destined to clog landfills for generations. I saw sustainability and tradition lose to convenience in one swift move.
I worked in restaurants where food waste was an afterthought, not a crisis. In hotels where single-use plastics filled trash cans every morning, despite barely being touched. In bars where alcohol wasn’t just a drink—it was a responsibility, a powerful force shaping people’s nights, their choices, sometimes their lives.
And then, years later, I found myself in corporate boardrooms shaping billion-dollar strategies. I found myself on stage, sharing ideas through my keynotes that ripple across industries. And the most surprising thing? Every single experience—every “random” job, every detour—had been preparing me for these moments.
When we talk about corporate responsibility, when we debate sustainability, when we question the future of business, I don’t approach these conversations from a theoretical standpoint. I’ve lived them. I’ve seen what happens on the ground level, in the trenches, in places most decision-makers never set foot in.
I understand the challenges of change, not just in strategy meetings but in the real world. I have seen how shifts in policy or consumer trends aren’t just bullet points on a PowerPoint slide but the difference between someone keeping or losing their livelihood.
Too often, we glamorize linear success stories. The curated paths that seem to move in a straight, unbroken line toward some clear and inevitable outcome. But that’s not reality. Reality is messy. It’s unexpected. It twists, it doubles back, it leads you into places you never planned to go. And if you’re paying attention, every turn—every so-called detour—gives you something.
A new perspective. A piece of insight. A way of seeing the world that you couldn’t have gotten any other way.
So here’s to the messy paths. Here’s to the jobs that don’t sound impressive. Here’s to the experiences that don’t fit neatly into a LinkedIn bio.
Because those are the ones that shape us the most.
Those are the ones that give us something real to offer.
And, when we stop trying to edit out the unpolished parts of our stories, we realize—those are the parts that make the story worth telling.
P.S. I’d love to hear from you: What are the messy and unglamorous twists your path took?
