For many years, when the calendar rolls over to July 1, my world goes still – soft quietness and slow starts. It’s a habit I’ve lived with for a long time. July comes, the air thickens, the pace of the world slows just enough to notice, and I follow suit. I get quiet. I start reflecting. I tend.

I go looking for the plants – the ones that didn’t get picked – and I bring them home with me. I’m talking the sad little rootbound plants with yellowing leaves and clearance stickers slapped on their containers like warning labels. The ones shoved in the back, under-watered and overexposed. Yes, those. I adopt them.

But here’s the thing. Most don’t make it.

I say that plainly because it’s true. A plant whisperer I am not. I water them, replant them, try to meet their general lighting needs – and still, many don’t recover. But I keep showing up for them anyway. And every once in a while, one survives me. It roots in, reaches up, and blooms like it’s been saving its brilliance for someone to notice. That moment stays with me. Not because I did anything special, but because something valuable endured. That’s resilience in plain sight. 

And it’s not just plants. My home includes beautiful furniture that other people discarded – not that they were shining at full brilliance at the time. My formal living room centerpiece? A genuine mid-century hutch, found on the side of the road. Now it’s stripped down, restored, and standing in its full glory. I didn’t assign it value. It already had value. I just recognized it.

Lately, I’ve been paying more attention to that pattern – the draw toward the things no one picked. The things that didn’t catch someone else’s eye. The things that sat waiting.

And I keep coming back to this question. Who taught me to see worth where others stop looking?

Who showed me that value isn’t earned by performance, condition, or polish – but is inherent, already there, waiting to be seen?

I don’t have an easy answer. But I know it shapes how I move through the world. And I think it’s part of how I lead.

Because this isn’t just about plants. It’s not even about furniture. It’s about attention. It’s about what we choose to notice, and what we do with what we’ve seen.

And that brings me to you – founder, builder, dreamer, nurturer of not-yet-fully-formed.

You know this story. Even if you’ve never brought home bloomed-out lilies or reclaimed something from the side of the road. You’ve probably built from things others overlooked. You’ve tended to a vision that didn’t make sense to someone else. You’ve picked up the pieces – of a past job, a failed system, a personal reinvention – and chosen to carry something meaningful forward.

And you’re doing it not because it’s guaranteed to succeed, but because you know there’s something valuable in it.

That’s not hobby work. That’s founder’s work.

It might take time. It might not go how you planned. But the way you see – the way you keep showing up and tending to what matters – that’s your edge. That’s your advantage. That’s the work no one else sees but always, always shows up in the results.

Not everything will survive. But what grows from that kind of attention? 

That’s where transformation starts.

#FlyAboveSoarBeyond