Women Who Inspire

When I was asked by two social media platforms who I would recognize for International Women’s Day, my first thought was to name the iconic women we often celebrate, the trailblazers who have influenced not only my life but society as a whole.

But the truth is, the women who inspire me most are much closer to home.

These are not distant figures or stories I’ve read about. They are real women I know. Women I work beside, women I love, women I have watched navigate incredible challenges this past year with a level of courage and grace that continues to inspire me.

I work in an agency that is 70% women. I’m also fortunate to have an extraordinary circle of female friends who have been my lifeline through some very painful seasons over the past few years. When I think about the women who inspire me, I think about them.

The mother who tragically lost her child and somehow finds the strength to rise each day for her family, while still showing up at work determined to contribute and carry on.

The mother confronting painful adolescent challenges with one child while still trying to be present for her other children and her career.

The woman who lost her husband of 60 years and is courageously learning how to navigate a world without him. Sixty years of shared mornings, quiet routines, inside jokes, and a life built side by side. Now she is finding her footing again, one day at a time, carrying both the weight of grief and the strength of the love they built together.

The woman who endured profound childhood trauma and transformed that pain into purpose, writing a book to guide others that went on to win awards and be recognized by esteemed panels.

The new hire, fresh out of college, who moved across the country for her first job, leaving behind everything familiar to boldly chase the life and career she has been dreaming about.

The woman diagnosed with breast cancer who looked it squarely in the eye, told it exactly where to go, and beat it.

The female leaders who work tirelessly to guide their teams, make difficult decisions, while also carrying the responsibilities and demands of life at home.

The woman who spent years battling through the courts and finally secured a divorce settlement that allows her to move forward with her life.

The daughter who lost her mother and is caring for her rapidly declining father, all while never missing a beat at work.

The woman who slays all day at work and then spends her weekends and PTO helping manage her father’s health, finances, and daily life.

The many women, young and seasoned alike, who made the courageous decision to walk away from toxic and/or unfulfilling romantic relationships.

The entrepreneur who closed a successful business because the commute was too taxing on her and her young children, and bravely started over closer to home.

The women who are quietly carrying the responsibilities of both mom and dad.

These are the warriors and queens among me that I have the privilege of witnessing every day and every week. They inspire me more than they know. They fill my cup when my reserves run low. And if I’m being honest, this past year tested those reserves deeply as my family walked through my father’s illness and eventual passing.

What I’ve learned is that the women we most need to admire are often the ones right beside us — the beautiful souls we encounter in ordinary places, navigating messy, complicated, and sometimes heartbreaking life circumstances while still showing up with strength, grace, and determination.

These women may never make headlines. But they are fierce. They are resilient. They are extraordinary. They champion me as well as challenge me.

They are my tribe.

They are the women I aspire to be.

And I hope, in some small way, I can be that kind of woman for them too.

Happy International Women’s Day to the quiet warriors, the resilient hearts, and the everyday queens who lift one another up and keep moving forward.

Where Resilience Takes Root

My backyard is my meditation sanctuary. Over the last few days, while getting my Zen on, I noticed a beautiful Impatiens plant that had pushed its way up through the concrete slab. I was struck by its boldness, its quiet defiance. As if to say, despite the hard and unyielding ground, I found a way to bloom.

These past few months have felt much like that plant’s journey, pushing through spaces not meant to nurture growth. I watched my father’s health steadily fade and made the decision to bring both him and my mom from Rhode Island to South Carolina, hoping the change might restore his strength. It was a lot to carry—logistically, emotionally, and physically—only to lose him not long after.

I’ve faced the ache of his absence, the hollow rhythm of life rearranged. I’ve learned the delicate dance of sharing my home with my mother as she grieves and searches for her footing in a world forever changed. I’ve also said goodbye to a beloved team member who moved on to a new company, and in her absence, I’ve stretched, adjusted, and felt the gentle void that comes when someone you’ve mentored and relied on steps into a new chapter.

I’ve missed my family, scattered hundreds of miles away. I’ve battled Covid, a severe kidney infection, pneumonia, bronchitus, the flu, and the kind of bone-deep sciatica pain that tests your resolve. I’ve walked beside others in their heartbreak while tending to my own. My heart has missed and ached for my son, three thousand miles away. The kind of missing that tugs at you in quiet moments, when you wish you could still hear his footsteps, share a simple meal, or curl up on the couch together to watch a movie. And I’ve turned sixty, carrying with me reflection, vulnerability, and the awareness that time moves faster than it once did.

And yet, like that Impatiens breaking through the concrete, I am reminded that beauty and strength often emerge in the least expected places. Beauty is not born only from what is soft or easy. Sometimes it is shaped in the struggle, refined in the weight of what we must carry.

Because maybe that’s the delicate miracle of resilience: that even when life feels unyielding, something within us still reaches for the light. And even when the ground beneath us feels too hard to break through, somehow, we do. We rise, not untouched, but transformed, rooted deeper, blooming still.

Two Careers, One Legacy

 

On September 9, 1991, I walked into the lobby of Accenture to begin my very first day in HR, not realizing I was about to embark on the career journey of a lifetime.

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of guiding and coaching hundreds of people as they’ve built their careers. However, none has been as meaningful or as rewarding as walking alongside my son on his journey.

At just 10 years old, he declared he wanted to pursue a career in film. I was both excited and cautious, after all, the film industry is brutal and one of the toughest to break into. But not for him. His talent, tenacity, drive, and deep passion for his craft have opened doors and created opportunities many only dream of. Along the way, he’s also faced his share of challenges: exhausting schedules, tough disappointments, and projects that, despite months of sweat and heart, never made it to the screen.

And yet, here he is. This photo captures him addressing an audience last night at the screening of one of his latest films, a moment that fills me with indescribable pride. Watching from 3,000 miles away, on the eve of my 34th anniversary in HR, I was reminded that while my career has been a gift in so many ways, my greatest and most cherished legacy has been watching him find his joy and carve his own path toward an extraordinary career.

Here’s to 34 years in a profession I love, and to the even greater joy of seeing my son thrive in his. 

Tribute to My Father

How do you say goodbye to the first man you ever loved? The one who defined what it meant to be a father. The giant of your youth. The strength behind your confidence. The steady hand that guided your family forward, anchoring us, loving our mother deeply, and loving us with all he had. He was our rock, the one who kept our world steady, even when everything else felt uncertain. He became the source of my greatest joys… and, at times, my deepest pain. Because when you love someone that deeply, they hold the power to shape you in ways no one else can.

As memories of my father continue to wash over me, I find myself reflecting on the pivotal moments, his quiet wisdom, the countless meaningful conversations, and the spoken and unspoken lessons that shaped the way I think, lead, love, and live.

My father was a man of humble means and an even humbler spirit. At any social gathering, he never sought to be the center of attention. Yet somehow, he left each room with everyone feeling as though they had been truly seen and heard. While others gravitated toward the power players or the most prominent voices, you’d often find him deep in conversation with the coat check attendant, the valet, or the wait staff. He had a rare and remarkable gift, the ability to make every single person feel like the most important one in the room.

One memory, in particular, stands out not only as a cherished moment but as a defining lesson that shaped my work ethic. I was about nine years old, and my father had decided to replace the kitchen floor with spanking hot linoleum. It was the '70s… what more can I say? Curious about the process and eager to learn, I asked if I could help. He welcomed me in without hesitation. He patiently showed me how to wedge a spade under the edge of each tile and gently tap it with a hammer. If you were lucky, the tile would come up whole. But most of the time? It came up in tiny, stubborn pieces, one after the other.

The work was slow and tedious, but I loved every minute of it. I was learning something new. I was doing something big. And most importantly, I was doing it with my dad. When we finally stepped back to look at the fully cleared floor, there was a shared pride between us. Exhausted and covered in dust, I took a well-earned bath. As I was getting ready for bed, I looked down at my hands, red, blistered, beat up. Calluses had already begun to form. The sting was setting in. I rushed to my father and held out my hands, eyes brimming with tears. “Look at my hands,” I said. “They’re ugly.”

He smiled gently, took my hands in his, and in that moment, he delivered a lesson I’ve carried with me ever since. “Sweetheart,” he said, “when I look at these hands, the last thing I see is ugly. What I see is a little girl who took on a job way bigger than she was and didn’t give up. That, kid, is work ethic. Don’t ever be afraid of hard work.” In that moment, I saw my hands—and myself—through my father’s eyes. He taught me that hard work is never something to be ashamed of. That with grit, heart, and a steady approach, you can take on something far bigger than yourself and see it through. It wasn’t just about removing old tiles. It was about showing up, staying the course, and sharing time with my father in a way that etched itself into my character. The job may have ended that day, but the lesson stayed with me: Hard work, even when it’s messy, uncomfortable, and unglamorous, is always worth it.

Another special memory was the night I won my title in the Miss Rhode Island, Miss America pageant. When the judge called my name, I stepped forward, was crowned, and began the traditional winner’s walk, smiling through the lights, the applause, and the surreal joy of the moment. Then, out of nowhere, my father, overcome with pride, pushed past security, rushed the stage, and wrapped me in the biggest, most heartfelt hug. It was completely out of character for him, a man usually respectful of rules and decorum. But in that moment, none of it mattered. His pride took over. He was just a dad, proud of his daughter for reaching such a huge achievement. It meant the world to me. That hug said everything: how proud he was, how much he loved me, and how deeply he shared in that milestone. He broke every rule of etiquette just to make sure I knew it, and I’ve never forgotten that.

In the final weeks of his life, it was impossible not to reflect on the lifetime of moments we had shared, each memory more meaningful as I began to understand that our time together was drawing to a close. My father had become quite ill, and in those tender days, the greatest gift I could offer him was comfort, security, unconditional love, and presence. For all he had given me over the years, I was more than willing to do whatever I could to make those moments count, to show him just how deeply I appreciated every time he had shown up for me.

And there were so many times. Through chicken pox and school plays, bullies and broken hearts, graduations, singing engagements, job promotions, the birth of my son, and every milestone since. But it wasn't just the high points. He stood by me in the shadows, too, during seasons when life felt impossibly heavy and the weight of the world pressed down on me. His presence was steady, and his love unwavering. Whether I was celebrating or struggling, he showed up with quiet strength, deep compassion, and the kind of unconditional support that asked for nothing in return. 

I spent the last night of his life curled up beside him, holding his hand, running my fingers gently through his soft white hair. I rested my hand over his heart, feeling the rhythm of a lifetime of love and memories still beating beneath my palm. I told him how deeply I loved him. That he had been the father I never knew I needed. I promised him I would take care of Mom. That I would keep doing things to make him proud. And then, through tears and an ache I can’t quite describe, I gave him permission to go. Not that he needed my permission, but because I needed to reconcile my heart and finally say the words I had hoped I would never have to say. 

As much as it pained me to imagine life without him, I wanted him to know it was okay to rest. His body and his spirit were ready. And in one of the most selfless acts of my life, I surrendered him and my heart to the peace he so deserved. But the truth is, I’m not sure you ever truly say goodbye to someone who shaped you so deeply. His love, his lessons, his presence, they will live on in the stories I tell, the values I carry, and the way I move through the world. He will always be a guiding whisper in my conscience.

I am better because he was mine. I will be forever grateful for the gift of calling him my dad, and I will miss him more than words can ever express. 

So while I let him go that night, I carry him with me still. And always will. 

In saying goodbye, I didn’t lose him. I found him in everything he left behind.

Love you, Dad. 

 

This is Sixty

This is sixty. Yes, sixty.

Mentally, I’m still trying to process the fact that I’ve officially entered, technically, the 7th decade of my life.

Emotionally? I’ve embraced it.

Spiritually? I am both enlightened and anchored in something greater than myself.

Physically? Let’s just say my body celebrated early with the thoughtful gifts of sciatica, hip joint drama, and lower back betrayal. Curious gifts, all of which I’d happily return.

And the laugh lines? Apparently, I’ve lived in a near-permanent state of hilarity. Honestly, if each one told a joke, I’d have a full comedy special by now.

I remember throwing a 50th birthday party for both my parents, and now, here I am. Sixty. Navigating what feels like the senior citizen starter pack, trying to balance the wisdom I’ve earned with the ibuprofen I now carry like a purse essential.

But turning 60 also comes with a well-worn path of experiences, each one shaping the very core of who I am.

They’ve come in the form of milestones and moments; some extraordinarily joyful, others painfully life-altering.

I’ve known life’s most profound beauty and a love I never imagined possible in the birth and gift of my son. I’ve also felt the deep ache of grief in losing those I’ve loved. I’ve experienced the hope and joy of marriage, and the quiet sorrow of divorce. I’ve known love that consumed me completely, and love that was never returned, leaving behind only echoes and lessons.

I’ve been wrapped in the warmth of family and friendship, and I’ve sat with the cold quiet of loneliness. I’ve battled serious illness and found the calm and clarity that come with restored health and peace of mind.

There have been moments of tremendous success and moments of difficult setbacks. Seasons when life bloomed in full color, and times when it faded to grayscale. Days when everything made sense, and others when nothing did.

Each experience, welcome or not, has been part of the journey. Each one stitched into the fabric of my life; threads of joy, sorrow, love, and loss, woven into the tapestry of who I’ve become.

In the past few years, I’ve lost friends who never got the chance to see 50. That truth is never far from my heart. I know, deeply, what a gift it is to stand here at 60. And because of that, I strive to live each day with gratitude, for the time I’ve been given, the memories I’ve made, and the sacred privilege of being alive.

As I raise my glass to the 60 years behind me and all they’ve taught me and brought me, I look ahead to the years still to come. I know there are more life moments waiting, some that will bring immense bliss, and others that may painfully grip my soul. But each one is part of the experience I’ve been granted simply by having the chance to play this beautiful, unpredictable game we call life.

Knowing that none of us gets out of it alive, I will live what remains not just with presence, but with purpose, wonder, and a heart wide enough to hold it all.

Because if I’ve learned anything in 60 years—and as a writer—it’s that the best stories are the ones still being written.

I Will NOT Quit!

Last night, I received the heartbreaking news that a mentor and giant of my youth had passed, Dr. Wendell Calder.

I first encountered Dr. Calder during my very first semester at Bible college, where he served as one of my professors. On the first day of class, he shared four simple words that would become a foundational truth in my life: “I will NOT quit.”

I wrote those words on a piece of paper and taped them above my dorm room desk. Whenever I felt overwhelmed, defeated, or on the verge of giving up, I would look up and draw strength from them. Time and time again, they were the catalyst that kept me moving forward.

I was so inspired by Dr. Calder that I dedicated the following summer to serving as a senior camp counselor at his camp, Camp Living Waters. I have always cherished the camp experience and the opportunity to work with youth—but the chance to combine that with time under Dr. Calder’s mentorship truly stirred my soul.

That summer, on the Fourth of July, I received devastating, life-altering news that shattered my world. I turned to Dr. Calder and his wonderful wife, Joan, and shared what had happened. That evening, they covered me with their love and prayers. Their compassion was a healing balm for my wounded spirit, and I have never forgotten the comfort they offered me in my darkest hour. It was not just their words, it was their presence, their love, their authenticity.

When Dr. Calder gently asked if I’d like to return home instead of finishing out my summer mission, I looked him in the eye and said, “No, sir. Because I will not quit.” He gave me that famous Calder grin. The one that said more than words ever could, and in that moment, I knew he was proud to see one of his students living out the very charge he had so passionately instilled.

I’m currently finalizing my autobiography, and one of the stories in my book centers around the events of that evening. While I regret not having the chance to share it with Dr. Calder, my heart is comforted knowing he holds a meaningful place within the pages of my story.

Over the years, Dr. Calder’s mantra—“I will not quit”—has echoed through the corridors of my life. One moment that stands out was just last year, as I prepared for my SHRM-CP exam. Weeks before the test, my father suffered three heart attacks. He was gravely ill, and my first instinct was to postpone the exam. But those four words tugged at my spirit once more. “I will not quit.” I held onto them. I sat for the exam, and I passed. The joy I felt in that moment was indescribable, and I whispered a quiet thank you to Dr. Calder for still, after 40 years, guiding me with his unwavering spirit.

Thank you, Dr. Calder, for giving me those four powerful words. Thank you for the example you set, the lives you touched, and the love you gave so freely.

Because of you, I didn’t and don't quit. And because of that, I’ve known the joy of victory through perseverance.

You were a gift. And you will never be forgotten. 💝

Women’s History Month: A Woman Who Inspires Me

I've seen many posts encouraging women to share stories about women who inspire them. While I’ve had the great fortune to work alongside, be mentored by, and admire incredible women, I want to take a different approach this time.

The woman who has most inspired me of late is my mom.

I’ll be perfectly honest, our relationship is rich yet complicated. We love deeply, but our interactions can be passionate, sometimes leading us to crossroads of angst and frustration. Yet, no matter how intense our clashes, we always find our way back—hearts weathered but bound by something deeper than words.

In late October of 2024, my 81-year-old father suffered three heart attacks in a single week. After the third, my mother received the devastating news that his condition was extremely grave. The cardiologist solemnly informed her: "Your husband is a very, very, very, very sick man and will most likely not leave the hospital."

In that moment, my mother stood at the edge of an unthinkable reality; the possibility of losing her partner of 60 years. The weight of those words, heavy with finality, threatened to shatter the world they had built together.

For ten weeks, she sat diligently by my father’s bedside, holding his hand through dark, frightening, and silent moments. She bore witness as he lay motionless on a ventilator, endured relentless poking and prodding, had tubes forced down his throat and plunged into his body, and underwent painful procedures. He was medicated to the point of hallucination, and as the weeks wore on, she watched helplessly as his body weakened.

Yet, through it all, she remained steadfast, determined to prove the doctors wrong and bring her husband home.

And home he came.

On New Year's Eve, at 10:30 p.m., chauffeured by ambulance, medics brought him through their front door. They stepped into the new year and into the next chapter of his care on their own terms.

Since then, my mother, who just turned 80, has been his unwavering caregiver, approaching the task with the precision of a five-star general on the most profound mission of her life. With relentless dedication, she monitors his vitals, prepares nourishing meals, and manages every delicate moment with grace and strength. She ensures his comfort at every turn, oversees his physical therapy with loving determination, including firmly insisting that he walk down the hall to the kitchen and back every two hours, each step a quiet act of hope and perseverance.

She has sacrificed her own freedoms, comforts, and needs to provide my father with the care he both requires and deserves. She has battled exhaustion and frustration, shed countless silent tears, and faced difficult conversations with courage, all while coming to terms with the reality of his health and the uncertain road ahead.

I wholeheartedly believe my father is alive today because of my mother’s unwavering love and devotion.

I have witnessed firsthand the deepest vows of marriage—‘for better or for worse, in sickness and in health’—come to life before my eyes. When couples eagerly recite those vows, they cannot fully grasp their depth in that moment. Only when they are thrust into hardships that feel unbearable do they truly understand their meaning. For those who honor this covenant, love becomes more than a promise; it becomes an unshakable foundation, carrying them through life’s most difficult trials

So today, I proudly nominate my mother as the woman who has most inspired me during Women’s History Month.

She is the embodiment of strength, love, and unwavering devotion. Through an extraordinary crisis, she has shown what true partnership and caregiving mean: caring for my father with dignity, grace, and resilience. Her selflessness not only sustained him in his time of need but also paved the way for more history to be written with him. She is a testament to the quiet yet profound power of women who shape the world, one act of bravery and love at a time.

Bravo, Mom! I love you. 

Life's 10,000 Mile Check-In

I recently took the plunge into the world of auto consumerism and got myself a new car. There’s something magical about that “new car smell” and the thrill of discovering all the shiny bells and whistles. As someone who stands at a proud 5’2”, I was downright giddy to find that my new ride comes with a seat that lifts me to an altitude where I can finally see over the hood—no more blind faith at stop signs!

My car salesman, Matt, part auto expert, part Jedi Master of vehicle knowledge, patiently walked me through all the high-tech features, making me feel like I was learning to pilot a spaceship. As we wrapped up, he gave me one crucial piece of advice: bring my classy new chassy back in when it hits 10,000 miles. Challenge accepted—though, at the rate I’m showing it off, that might be sooner than expected!

That got me thinking, what if we had a 10,000-mile check-up for our own lives? Just like a car needs routine maintenance to stay in peak condition, we could all use a little tuning up every now and then.

If our compassion filter was clogged, a fresh replacement would be an easy fix. Running low on integrity, optimism, discernment, courage, empathy, or trust? No problem, our life mechanic would replenish those reserves, ensuring we operate at our best. If our priorities were misaligned, a quick rotation would get us back on track, restoring balance and focus. And if negativity had built up in our system, slowing us down and making the ride bumpier than it needs to be, our life mechanic would flush out toxic thoughts and emotions, leaving only positive energy flowing through.

We’d leave the Life Station renewed and energized, our virtues topped off, our priorities finely tuned. With a full tank of clarity and confidence, we’d be ready to hit the road, full speed ahead into the next exciting stretch of our life’s journey.

I’d like to believe that we truly do have Life Stations we can pull into when we feel exhausted and depleted on our journey. These places of renewal aren’t marked by neon signs or fuel pumps, but rather by the people who care and uplift us, our partners, parents, family, friends, co-workers, churches, and, of course, therapists. Each plays a unique role, offering a different kind of restoration depending on the depth of our relationship with them.

For some, an encouraging word from a mentor or friend is like the perfect jump-start for a stalled engine. It’s that timely reminder that we’re capable of more than we think, that our journey isn’t over, and that even in the most challenging moments, there’s a spark of hope that can reignite our drive. It’s not just a pat on the back; it’s the kind of affirmation that empowers us to push forward, even when it feels like we’re running on empty.

For others, the loving embrace of a partner or loved one provides an entire emotional overhaul. It’s more than a hug; it’s the quiet comfort of knowing someone is holding space for you when you’re at your lowest.

A trusted friend might serve as a mirror, reflecting not just our strengths but also our blind spots. Their feedback can be the gentle nudge we need to adjust our course, like the kind of advice that helps us realize we’ve been too hard on ourselves or too complacent in a particular area. Sometimes, it’s these honest but kind conversations that reveal the areas where we need to improve or find balance, making it easier to refuel and reorient ourselves.

But here’s the thing: self-care is also part of the equation. Just like we wouldn't expect a car to function well without gas, oil changes, and proper upkeep, we can’t expect ourselves to operate at our best without tending to our own needs. Maybe our check-up looks like setting boundaries, getting enough rest, eating well, or making space for things that bring us joy. Maybe it’s quiet reflection, journaling, or simply allowing ourselves a break when we need one. Maintenance isn’t just about fixing what’s broken; it’s about keeping everything running smoothly in the first place.

What’s key about these Life Stations is that they aren’t one-size-fits-all. They’re the places and people we rely on to replenish our emotional, mental, and even physical reserves. Each one serves a different role, but all contribute to our holistic well-being, helping us get back in alignment, recharge, and tackle life with renewed vigor.

Whatever or whoever your Life Station may be, don’t take it for granted. Make frequent stops for maintenance—both external and internal—just as you would for any well-loved machine. Because if we neglect these vital check-ins, if we let ourselves run on empty for too long, we risk breaking down when we need to keep going the most.

So, be diligent. Take the time to refuel, recalibrate, and reconnect. Care for yourself as intentionally as you would care for anything of value. After all, the road ahead is much smoother when we make sure we’re traveling with a full tank and at our optimal best.

©2025 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved
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Leading with Compassion and Grace

Today marks another milestone in my journey as an HR Leader. Reflecting on my first day as a recruiting coordinator, at the mecca of consulting firms, Accenture, I can still remember the excitement I felt about starting a new job and ultimately, a new career path, despite having never spent a minute in recruiting. However, that career was nearly derailed just three months into my tenure.

I had been assigned my first major project, which I enthusiastically accepted with the eagerness and excitement of a monkey with a new banana. We were conducting a survey with a large, highly reputable university. This was back in the '90s, long before email was a staple of the office. We were conducting it the old-fashioned way—by mail. The task involved sending out a survey package to over 500 students, and it was my responsibility to ensure each package contained a letter, marketing collateral, the survey, and a return envelope. I also had to correctly upload and manage 500+ student names and addresses.

I took ownership of this project as if it were my only ticket to survival. I worked tirelessly to get everything in order and sent out, and when it was done, I allowed myself a moment of pride. I had successfully completed my first big professional girl project—or so I thought.

Three days later, my head of HR, Don Shaw, approached me in the hallway. “Hey, LoriAnn" he said with a look of curiosity in his eyes and cocking his head to the side. "Did you remember to include the return envelopes in the mailing?" he asked. My heart simultaneously raced and sank. My initial thought was, of course I had. Or... did I? I vaguely remembered seeing boxes of return envelopes in the storage closet at the beginning of the project, but in my rush to prove myself capable of handling this assignment, had I forgotten this crucial step?

Don waited for my response, and I immediately remembered a lesson my parents had instilled in me: always tell the truth, even when it’s difficult. As much as I wanted to confidently say, “Yes, I included the return envelopes. I mean, did you not see how I slayed this dragon of a project” I knew I needed to be honest. I told Don I wasn’t sure but that I would double-check.

Racing back to my office, my mind was spinning. The only way to know for sure was to check the supply closet. As I approached, I desperately hoped not to see boxes full of unused return envelopes. But when I opened the door, there they were, staring back at me, almost taunting me—a clear sign that I had indeed forgotten to include them.

I felt sick. I wanted to pack up my things, resign on the spot, and flee the scene. But instead, I sheepishly made my way to Don’s office, dreading the inevitable conversation. I knocked softly on his door, standing in the doorway, terrified. I confessed my mistake, telling him I had forgotten to include the return envelopes. In my embarrassment, I rambled, offering to fix the situation and even acknowledging that if this was grounds for dismissal, I would understand.

Don signaled me to come in and sit down. My heart sank further—surely, he was about to fire me and simply wanted to take the kill shot up close. As I sat in the large wingback chair, feeling quite diminished by its size and bracing for the worst, Don said, “I appreciate you telling me the truth. I already knew you forgot to include the return envelopes. We’ve received about 20 calls from students asking where they were.”

“I’m really sorry, Don,” I replied, feeling crushed.

“I know you are,” he said. “And yes, you will remedy this by sending out another mailing apologizing for the mistake and including the return envelopes this time.”

“Of course, whatever is needed, I’m happy to do,” I said, eager to fix the situation.

Then, Don surprised me. He said, “I know it would have been easier to tell me you included the return envelopes. But you didn’t. You came back and told me the truth, and for that, I learned something valuable about you: I can trust you to be honest. As for double-checking your work, well, that’s another story and something you’ll need to work on.”

To my relief, Don didn’t fire me that day. Had he done so, my career in HR might have ended before it even began. Instead, he offered me my first important lesson in compassion and grace. By extending compassion, Don gave me the space to grow. His decision to see beyond a single mistake and instead focus on my potential allowed me to find my footing and build a career that has spanned more than three decades.

When leaders act with grace, they communicate a belief in the worth and potential of their team members, which, in turn, inspires loyalty, creativity, and perseverance. By trusting me despite my misstep, Don instilled in me a deep understanding that people are not defined by their mistakes, but rather by how they learn and grow from them. This principle has informed my leadership style ever since.

So, thank you, Don, for not firing this eager but overzealous young professional during a significant misstep. Thank you for teaching me the value of leading with compassion and grace. Your grace in that pivotal moment not only spared my career but set the foundation for a path I never could have imagined. As such, I’ve had the privilege of building a career in HR that has brought immense fulfillment, allowing me to pay forward the same compassion and grace you showed me. It’s a lesson I carry with me in every decision, every mentorship, and every opportunity to guide others. Because of you, I strive to be the kind of leader who doesn’t just manage people but believes in them—and that has made all the difference.

 

Book of Encouragement

My mother recently gifted me several of her personal journals, and it feels like she handed me pieces of her very soul. Deeply woven into the tapestry of her life is a writer, a revelation that has illuminated the source of my own passion for writing. On the first page of one of her journals, in faintly read script, she simply and solely wrote, "Book of Encouragement." Upon reading this, my heart felt an overwhelming warmth. As I turned the pages, I found her steps to stay encouraged, each word resonating deeply within me like a gentle whisper of love and wisdom.

There’s something profoundly touching about reading the intimate thoughts, emotions, and daily musings of a loved one. Through her journals, I am discovering the hidden corners of her heart, the silent battles she fought, and how she truly saw the world and me. It feels like I’ve been given a precious gift, a glimpse into her past and the challenges she faced as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, employee, and member of society.

This experience is like meeting her all over again, realizing that she had the same fears, hurts, joys, and aspirations that I have. It’s a beautiful journey, unveiling the true essence of my mother and forging an even deeper connection with her. Each page I turn reveals more about the incredible woman she was and still is in my eyes.

As I read her personal manifesto for encouragement, it further heightened my admiration for her. This is what she wrote:

• Read uplifting material and avoid discouraging conversations or news.
• Associate with positive and inspiring people.
• Believe in yourself and remind yourself of how far you’ve come.
• Keep a journal of your accomplishments and read it as often as you need.
• Consider your setbacks as profitable learning experiences.
• Ask for help when you need it.

We all have mantras, quotes, scriptures, tools, bullet points, or accountability persons we use to keep ourselves encouraged and uplifted, affording us the ability to press on and seize the day. I love that these are my mother’s. She is a woman who has faced tremendous challenges, traumas, setbacks, and, at times, unfathomable pain. She is one of the strongest women I know, and I have often drawn strength and encouragement from her. Yet, if you were to meet her, you would find her to be upbeat, positive, and radiating immeasurable resilience. Her six bullet points for staying encouraged are not just words; they are a testament to her fortitude and a guide we can all follow.

Thank you, Mom, for graciously sharing the tools that helped you stay encouraged and inspired when everything felt like it was falling apart, and for providing a roadmap that I, and hopefully others, can use. Your wisdom and strength echo more profoundly and play an amplified role in guiding me through my life’s journey. I love you! 

Ageless Ambitions: Fearlessly Pursuing Knowledge

In January, I made the decision to return to school—an aspiration that has lingered for far too long in the corridors of my mind. Why the delay? One word: fear. The prospect of diving back into the demanding realm of academia at mid-life is undeniably intimidating. The sheer time commitment required for classes, coupled with the countless hours of study and research, is ample grounds for even the most driven student to succumb to bouts of anxiety and break out in hives. Then there's the nagging question of mental acuity. Will my brain's synaptic connections recall how to absorb and retain information as effortlessly as they once did in the distant days of my youth? And what if—dare I utter it—I fail?

But what if I don't fail? What if I view the collective hours invested in classes and studying as a valuable investment in myself? What if my brain's cognitive functions kick into high gear and I rediscover a passion for learning? Remarkably, that's precisely what has transpired. With each passing week, as my confidence has swelled, I've come to the realization that I CAN DO THIS!

I've often challenged others with the quote, "The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek." It was high time I heeded that very advice and charged boldly into the realm of uncertainty and challenge regardless of the age on my driver's license. Just last week, I took four tests. The subject matter is dense, and the tests themselves are unequivocally arduous. However, my scores—a resounding 100, 96, 100, and 92—served as a testament to the immense rewards that await once we muster the courage to confront our fears head-on no matter how old we are. We should never let fear, or age, hold us back from learning.

So, if you happen to come across a bleary-eyed redhead downing numerous venti espressos while muttering about HR Law to herself, extend a word of encouragement and reassure her that she's more than capable of conquering this endeavor—and remember, so are you once you take the leap to do so.

Breathe

February 4, 1998. I had been rushed to the hospital, my mind spinning at warp speed, my breathing rapid and chaotic, tears streaming down my face, and every cell in my body filled with fear and anxiety. I wanted to close my eyes and eternally surrender to the darkness that had plagued my mind.

In the ether of the turmoil, I faintly heard a voice calling out, "LoriAnn! I'm Dr. Ramos. Can you hear me? LoriAnn, can you hear me?" Slowly, I turned my head to the left, attempting to connect with the voice beckoning me. My eyes immediately met those of an attractive Latino man, dressed in a soft cashmere scarf and a dark gray sweater. It might have been the warmth exuded by his attire, coupled with the look of compassion on his face, but his mere presence brought an unexpected sense of calmness mingled with curiosity. Our eyes locked, and he gently smiled as he said, "I need you to do something."

 "Okay," I replied without hesitation, placing my immediate trust in whatever he was about to ask of me. "Breathe," he softly instructed. "Just breathe." Nodding through the tears and anxiety, and with my eyes still fixed on his, I took a deep breath in as he breathed with me. Then another breath, and another. Before long, an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility washed over me.

"I'm Dr. Ramos," he kindly introduced himself again, still wearing a gentle smile. "Hi," I responded graciously. "Rough night?" he inquired. I nodded, crying, and said, "Rough life." “Well," he said, "we’re going to work on that together and get you feeling better. Sound good?” “Yes,” I said. “That sounds great." His words, paired with his genuine empathy, offered an instant balm for my soul, forging an immediate trust and lifelong bond. 

That night marked my initial steps toward recovery from severe anxiety and depression. Dr. Ramos and I would spend the next 18 months walking through my healing and reclaiming my mental and emotional fortitude. I’ve often said that if you x-ray my heart, you’ll see a small part where Dr. Ramos’ name is etched on it.

Sitting here 26 years later, mentally and emotionally healthy, reflecting on the terrified girl lying on that hospital stretcher, wishing to close her eyes and never open them again, I am humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude. I am immensely proud of how far she has come. Since then, I've learned that no matter how dark, scary, or painful the circumstances may be, never, ever give up. Amidst the pain and darkness, there will always be sparks of light guiding you to the other side. No matter how challenging the battle, fight, and fight hard, because you are worth it.

Dr. Ramos changed my life with a single word: 'Breathe.' It was a simple yet profoundly powerful reminder of how to calm my mind and soothe my soul. Our lives begin and end with a breath. I am grateful for the billions of breaths I've taken since that harrowing day. They haven't always been easy, but they were mine to have and meant to be had.

Here's to the frightened girl who, 26 years ago, bravely affirmed she was enough and worth the fight, and who discovered the transformative power in learning how to truly breathe. Every day and every breath since has been a precious gift.

Leading Through Trust

The chilling shower sequence in the iconic American thriller, "Psycho," remains one of the most intense and unsettling scenes in the history of cinema. It left a lasting imprint on audiences, instilling a profound fear of showering and forever associating the simple act with the bone-chilling screech of violins that accompanied the scene.

What does the movie "Psycho" have to do with leaders leading through trust? Quite a bit. Let me elaborate.

Bernard Herrmann was an acclaimed composer and conductor, primarily recognized for his outstanding contributions to film composition. He is particularly celebrated for his collaboration with the director Alfred Hitchcock, most notably on the film "Psycho."

During the filming of “Psycho”, Hitchcock initially intended for the shower scene to be devoid of any music. However, Herrmann, ever the musical genius, strongly believed that the scene required music to enhance its terrorizing impact. During post-production, Hitchcock began to express concerns about the shower scene feeling incomplete and lacking a more amplified tone of terror. 

This presented Herrmann with an opportunity to provide Hitchcock with the solution to the scene's shortcomings. Herrmann approached Hitchcock and enthusiastically stated, "Well, I did compose something. Would you like to hear it?" Upon receiving Hitchcock's approval, he played that ever-so-haunting and famous barrage of screeching violins. When Hitchcock heard what Hermann had composed, he immediately changed his mind and recognized how the intensified sound of the sharply accented strings created the perfect chilling atmosphere that the scene was missing. Hitchcock was quoted as saying, "Well, absolutely, we'll use that." 

If Hitchcock had stubbornly resisted Herrmann's expertise and refused to defer to his judgment, the world would have been deprived of one of the most famous musical compositions in cinematic history. Moreover, this decision could have diluted the intensity of the iconic shower scene's impact. Fortunately, Hitchcock recognized the importance of setting aside ego and entrusted Herrmann's creative genius. This trust was indicative of a collaborative partnership between two renowned experts in their respective fields. 

Today's leaders can glean a valuable lesson from Hitchcock. In our roles as leaders, we ascend to our positions based on our expertise and our ability to offer effective solutions. It's undeniable that we've dedicated significant time and effort to earn our credentials. Nevertheless, there are moments when we find ourselves without the answers or a clear strategy to navigate a complex issue. Recognizing when to take a step back and tap into the talent and expertise within our team can often yield the desired outcome. This act requires humility.

Ironically, vulnerability is a conference room where many leaders hesitate to enter. However, it takes genuine courage to embrace vulnerability and abandon ego. By doing so, we empower others to step forward and contribute their insights and capabilities. This, in turn, leads to a more collaborative and successful approach to problem-solving. 

Recognizing the importance of stepping aside and affording an opportunity for your team to take the lead in providing solutions is a hallmark of effective leadership. Exceptional leaders understand that they aren't necessarily the best at everything. Instead, they seek out individuals who excel in various areas and aim to unite them under a common goal. For myself, I prioritize hiring people on my team who bring expertise in areas where we can offset our individual strengths and where I can grow as a leader from their knowledge and skills. This approach strengthens the team and fosters personal and professional growth for all involved, allowing us to be better together. Failure to adopt this approach just might leave you with a sense of helplessness and despair, much like Janet Leigh's fate as Marion Crane, lifeless and slumped over the bathtub, requiring you to cue the violins, fade out, and call cut!

©2023 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved
This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

Farewell My Friend

"LoriAnn, I have some very sad news to share." Deep down, you're already aware that what follows will not be easy to hear.

The news was indeed very sad. It was undeniably sorrowful. My dear friend Terri, who is also the wife of my beloved friend and former colleague, Byron, had the painful task of informing me that Byron had unexpectedly passed away. The news hit me with the force of a cruel blow, and a chilling numbness swept over my entire body. I found myself screaming in disbelief as if my denial could somehow rewrite the reality before me. Byron's passing has left me utterly devastated and heartbroken. He was only 47, departing painfully too soon and leaving an already irrefutable void. 

Byron was my former HR leader from my time at McGladrey. He was a mentor, guide, friend, and a truly exceptional human being. Working under his leadership was a privilege and so much fun. He possessed the remarkable ability to recognize talent and skills within me that I hadn't yet discovered. He boldly pushed me into the necessary scary and uncomfortable places, with the intention of shaping me into the HR and talent acquisition leader I am today. He was one of the first leaders to give me wingspan and the freedom to explore and excel, while also offering a safety net should I stumble. Through his own example, he taught me the noble act of falling on the sword for my team, and he also knew when to rein me in if I got out in front of myself. He affectionately nicknamed me "Fireball," - emblematic of my unyielding determination. Every so often I'd hear him utter, "Hold on there, Fireball. Let's take a step back and walk through this slowly." He’d then guide me with compassion and grace.

Byron's sense of fairness was unwavering, and his ethical standards set the benchmark for HR excellence. A significant portion of my leadership persona was molded under his tutelage.

What truly elevated our connection was that he and his family became a loving extension of my own. He assumed the roles of big brother and mentor to my son. Our interactions transcended the professional realm, as we shared life's experiences, fun-filled family get-togethers with abundant laughter, and ceaselessly uplifted one another. He and his family loved, I mean LOVED, my chocolate chip banana bread. And I was all too willing to bake countless batches of it for them.

In light of all this, Byron faced a myriad of struggles and inner demons, engaging in a frequent and intimate dance with them. Our conversations often delved into the battles he fought. I mention this as a testament to the intricate tapestry of human experiences and the multi-dimensional nature of him and our friendship. In a heartfelt conversation with a friend, I tearfully expressed my profound anger over how his demons ultimately prevailed, silencing him forever. This tribute serves as a voice for him, and to break the tragic silence that has befallen him and those who held him dear. 

Our last exchange occurred a few weeks prior to his passing after a call he had with my son, and his final message resonates deeply within me:

"Hey - not that you need my reassurance, but your son is amazing. You've done an incredible job, Mom. We had a meaningful talk about the writer's strike. He's an inspiration to me, and you built him from the ground up. Thank you for bringing him into our lives and sharing him with us. He is truly a gift. Love you." ♥️

My response echoed gratitude for the sentiment and concluded with "Love you. XOXO." ♥️

I've revisited the entire history of our text exchanges countless times, cycling through moments of laughter and tears. The solace lies in the fact that our last words to each other were ones of inspiration and affection, and concluded with a heart emoji. Just like so many times before, they were infused with love and the essence of a beautiful and tender friendship.

My heart is a mixture of love and heartache. The memories I've shared with Byron are treasures I will forever hold close. My thoughts are with Terri, and his children, as they grapple with the absence of their beloved father and husband.

I'm left with a profound sense of loss and devastation and completely shattered. Coming to terms with Byron's passing and the realization that our exchanges—conversations, emails, texts, and get-togethers—have reached an irrevocable conclusion is a process I will forever be navigating. I'm striving to comprehend the depths of this loss as well as extend comfort to my son.

The weight of it all is overwhelming, a poignant reminder of the imperative to be wholly present, to embrace life in its entirety, to release trivial matters, to quickly forgive, to hug longer and tighter, and to love deeply the individuals who grace our lives. It's a call to transcend our self-imposed barriers, quiet the ceaseless chatter of our minds, and relentlessly embrace the beauty of each day we are granted on this amazing journey we call life.

Here's to you, my dear friend. Thank you for the beautiful and invaluable lessons you've taught me. For the camaraderie, affection, and laughter you so generously offered. Thank you for the countless engaging, candid, and vulnerable heartfelt conversations as we sought answers to our shared burdens. You were my brother, my friend, my confidant. Your name is etched upon my heart, and you will forever occupy a special place in my life. Both Stephen and I are committed to standing by Terri and the children, supporting them as they grieve your absence and move forward in a world without you. In due course, we will share stories of our time with you, ensuring your memory lives on.

For now, my friend, the time has come for you to finally and fully embrace peace and gracefully dance among the angels.

Love and miss you!

Goal Setting at Strawberry Field

The summer following my tenth birthday, my parents granted me permission to take on a summer job, allowing me to earn some pocket money, and, in hindsight, a deep respect for day labor. I embarked on this journey by working at the mecca of produce in our tiny town of Swansea, MA – Chace Farm. I lived about half a mile from the farm and always admired the meticulous rows of plants and quaint fruit and veggie stand when we’d drive or walk by our local agricultural gem. Of all its yummy offerings, Chace Farm was known for its delicious, mouth-watering strawberries. It was not uncommon to find a pint or two of their succulent strawberries adorning the kitchens and tables of our fellow residents within our neighborhood.

On the morning of my inaugural day pursuing what I believed to be a venture into "serious money-making," I was vibrating with giddy enthusiasm. After all, I was now an up-and-coming professional woman earning my own money, and even though my journey began quite literally at dirt level, the sky was the limit. This day was also poised to mark a pivotal lesson in goal setting that would resonate throughout my lifetime.

With a fervent determination and a hearty combination of Cheerios and Tang fueling me (yes, Tang - after all, it was the 70s and if it was good enough for astronauts, it was good enough for me), I eagerly set forth to become the money-making prodigy that would undoubtedly become a source of parental pride, especially in conversations with their friends. I could envision the scenario: parents competing to outdo each other with their children's remarkable achievements. Meanwhile, my parents radiated joy as they happily shared that their daughter was occupied that day, giving an interview to Rolling Stone magazine in recognition of her achievement as the adolescent entrepreneur of the year. Brimming with the confidence of a person adamant about capitalizing on their earning potential, I hurriedly skipped to Chace Farm, each step becoming a leap towards my financial ambitions.

During my gleeful and determined sojourn to the farm, I resolved that the day's strawberry picking would yield a grand total of $100 for me. Now, in hindsight, I realize my tender age of ten shielded me from the intricate economic realities of agriculture. Nonetheless, I clung to an unwavering determination to become the epitome of financial success that summer. My soul was ablaze with aspirations, and I believed myself en route to achieving a financial status akin to Rockefeller's.

I entertained myself with fanciful thoughts of the exciting spoils my $100 would afford me. My list included: a tape recorder, a pink Huffy bike with accompanying tassels, the latest issue of Tiger Beat magazine, a new flavor of Bonnie Bell lip gloss – strawberry, of course, to punctuate the experience – and a coveted pair of Trax sneakers. All of these treasures would be procured from our town's grand emporium of retail delights, Kmart.

I excitedly arrived at the farm and reported in with the farmer. She carefully instructed me on my duties and informed me that she’d pay me 25 cents for every five-quart basket of strawberries I picked. The strawberries had to be plump, fully ripe, and free of bruising. Unfazed by her directives and blissfully unaware of the size of a five-quart basket, I readily accepted her terms with eagerness. Without hesitation, the farmer handed over several five-quart baskets, and a realization dawned upon me – this was going to be much more challenging than I had initially anticipated and perhaps an extra glass of Tang would have been a wise choice. The farmer then proceeded to inform me that the baskets also had to have a cap. Still unaffected by the task, I took the baskets and set off to a row of strawberries ready to accumulate my fortune.

After several hours hunched over strawberry plants under the scorching July sun, my Cheerios and Tang had waged an internal battle, leaving me feeling lightheaded and a bit queasy. Covered in dirt and drenched in perspiration mixed with the sticky residue of strawberry juice, I conceded to the overwhelming fatigue and sunburn that was now smarting. It was evident that it was time to present my hard-earned harvest to the farmer and claim my day's earnings.

Throughout the morning, the farmer carefully took note of how many baskets I surrendered. As I laid my final strawberry bounty before her, covered in berry-strewn clothing and hair, I stood readily awaiting my earnings. The farmer tallied a total of 17 baskets of strawberries. She then carefully placed in my weary, strawberry-stained hands a mere 4.25 cents for hours of arduous fruit-filled labor. As I stared at the paltry sum, I couldn't help but imagine myself as a modern-day Oliver Twist, standing before the stern headmaster, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and yearning, as I gathered the resolve to utter those iconic words, "Please sir, I want some more." And more was what I desired. But for the time being, a well-earned shower and a hearty lunch awaited, where Kool-Aid would play substitute to the mornings elixir of Tang.

As my berry money-making escapade came to an end that day, a vital lesson had come squarely into view: the art of crafting attainable goals. Too often we get so caught up in the excitement of the reward that we lose sight of the very road map leading us there. I was so excited about what I was going to do with the money I earned that I failed to realize how my over-zealous ambition positioned me for eventual disappointment coupled with an immense amount of sweat equity, yielding a less-than-moderate return on my investment.

We have grandiose ambitions that come with a checklist longer than the unabridged version of "War and Peace". We chase after these colossal feats with the fervor of a caffeinated squirrel, only to find ourselves as worn out as an overused typewriter ribbon. The idea is to ensure our aspirations are as achievable as they are admirable.

Whether establishing goals personally or professionally, engineer them to be measurable, achievable, and realistic. Do your research – like understanding the efforts required to fill a five-quart basket of strawberries. Be prepared for setbacks and have a contingency plan ready to address them when they arise. Most importantly, don’t get so fixated on the reward that you lose sight of the purpose of your goal. After all, shouldn’t the journey be just as delightful as a bowl of decadently delicious summer strawberries from the bygone days of Chace Farm?

©2023 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved
This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.