Every collection says something about the person who built it. Mine says I'm still figuring out exactly where I'm going — and I've made peace with that.
I've been called a little lost, professionally speaking. I don't disagree, and I don't mind it. In high school, the goal was simple: get rich, or die trying. Somewhere between then and now — between a Sotheby's floor full of game-worn jerseys and a stack of vinyl I've been building since I could afford my own records — the goal changed shape. I found peace I didn't know I was missing, and I got grateful for things that have nothing to do with money. I try to thank God for that every day.
What hasn't changed is where I look for meaning: in the art hiding inside ordinary things. There's a story in a beat-up pair of shoes. There's art in the way a song's key change lands right before the chorus, in the way a striker times a run, in the way a film borrows a color palette from a country its director has never lived in. I love storytelling wherever I find it — sports, music, film, luxury objects with fifty years of provenance behind them. That's the thread between the advertising classroom, the Sotheby's cataloging floor, and this website.
This fall, I'll join Sotheby's in Manhattan as an Associate in the Luxury department, after interning in Sports & Modern Collectibles the summer before. Beyond that, I don't have a five-year plan pinned to a corkboard, and I'm okay saying so publicly. I'm prioritizing whether I actually like walking into the room each morning over whatever the "right" next title is supposed to be. That's not aimlessness — it's a values call, and it's the one I'm most sure of.
I see myself becoming a leader — in whatever room I end up in, or in something I build myself. I want to be the person who hands other people a little wisdom and a clearer path, the way people did for me. That's the purpose underneath the vision: not just arriving somewhere impressive, but making the climb easier for whoever's coming up behind me.
Which, at New York rent, is its own accomplishment. Managing money well while I learn the luxury business from the floor up.
Climbing — maybe at Sotheby's, maybe somewhere new — into a role with more responsibility than the one I started in.
A family of my own, most likely back in Miami. Some things — like this city — you don't outgrow, you just leave and come back to.
Ask me for ten values off the top of my head and I'll give you the ones I actually try to live by, no padding:
The people who know me best tend to describe me the same few ways, and I think they're right: curious, driven, empathetic, genuine. Curious enough to find a story in almost anything. Driven enough to chase the ones worth telling. Empathetic because the people around me — family, friends, the little wins that make them proud of me — are still what gets me out of bed, more than any job title will. And genuine, because I'd rather be liked for who I actually am than for who I'm pretending to be in a given room.
"Not going into the office and absolutely hating it right when I walk in." — my actual, unglamorous definition of success.
A SWOT is only useful if it's true. Here's mine, unpolished.
Empathy is the one I'd lead with — I notice how people are doing before I notice much else. Past that: a genuine work ethic, the kind that shows up as going the extra mile regardless of the situation I'm dropped into, plus the creativity, trust, and communication I try to build everything else on.
Communication between people — there's real room to grow there, and I know it. My leadership isn't where I want it yet, and that's fine, because I know I'll get there. I can get stressed and hesitant to ask for help, sometimes needing a task repeated instead of asking the first time. I also overthink before starting something, wanting to be fully sure before I move.
Genuinely, I think they're limitless. As long as I keep believing in the work and putting in the hours, I don't see a ceiling on what I can reach — that's not bravado, it's just the honest math of staying persistent.
Mostly my own weaknesses, if I'm being straight about it — the overthinking, the hesitation to ask twice. I don't see many threats coming from outside. The risk, if there is one, is getting in my own way.
Honestly? I don't think about it much in adversarial terms. Look left, look right in any classroom or any office, and technically that's the competition — but I've never found it useful to view people that way. I'd rather see everyone as an equal, all of us reaching for our own version of the same thing. What I bring instead of a competitive edge is a genuine one: I care about the story behind the object, the person, the deal — not just the transaction. That tends to be the difference people remember.
The Collector. The Storyteller. The Believer.
The Collector, because whether it's records, sneakers, or stories, I hold onto things that mean something and take care of them. The Storyteller, because I can't look at a shoe, a song, or a soccer match without asking what it's really about. The Believer — in faith, in the people around me, and in the idea that things tend to work out for those who stay grateful and keep working.
Everything above, condensed — on camera.