Embracing Both Sides: How Life Taught Me the Value of Heart and Hustle

When I was 16, I scored a summer job working for a pediatrician, handling the front desk, collecting copays, trying to decipher the doctor's chicken scratch, and doing whatever random office tasks needed doing. I didn’t have a car yet (an orange Chevy Nova clunker was waiting for me in the near future!), so I took the bus, a solid 30-minute ride each way. But on some Fridays, my dad would pick me up, and we would run errands together. I always acted like it was no big deal, but I secretly loved it.

One Friday, it was just Dad and me. My mom was back in Montreal visiting my grandmother, who had vascular dementia, so the weekend was ours. Dad picked me up, and as we drove, he said, “We’re stopping at the bakery on the way home.” Then, casually, he handed me a $100 bill. He double parked like a true New Yorker - IYKYK, while I ran into the bakery.

Five minutes later, I came out struggling to open the car door with four huge shopping bags filled to the brim. I had bought everything - whole wheat bread, challah, challah rolls, chocolate babka, rugelach, apple turnovers. You name it, I bought it. I squeezed the bags into the backseat, and Dad just looked at me, bewildered. “Where’s the change?” he asked.

I handed him a couple of crumpled bills, feeling proud of my haul. 

“What did you buy?” he asked again, completely baffled. So, I proudly rattled off the entire list like I had just completed a mission.

His response? He shook his head, half laughing. “It’s just the two of us. How much do you think we’re going to eat? You’re just like your mom, always shopping for an army just in case someone knocks on the door needing something.”

And there it was. That sting of disappointment. I didn’t want to be like my mom. My mom, who stayed at home, keeping everything running smoothly. She wasn’t “smart” like my dad. He was the one with all the degrees, the one people turned to for advice. Dad would come home from work, diagnosing patients with these rare, complex illnesses, telling us stories over dinner like they were mysteries he had solved.

Once, a patient’s wife called him furious after he had diagnosed her husband with terminal cancer. Without missing a beat, he shot back, “Ma’am, I saved your husband’s life. Were you hoping to cash in a life insurance policy and now you can’t?” That was my dad. Blunt, no nonsense. He never sugarcoated anything.

I wanted to be like that. Logical, in control, driven, and cerebral. Not like Mom, who was emotional, always crying at the drop of a hat, whether it was tears of joy or sorrow. She would disappear before holidays, quietly helping the elderly or the sick without ever saying a word about it. She would cook or clean, whatever they needed. It was only after I pried the details out of Dad that I realized where she had been. She never made a big show of it. She just did it. She helped “the least of these,” the ones no one else had time for.

I didn’t want that life. I was determined to be the career woman. Multiple degrees, suit and heels, out there in the world making big moves. I was going to be nothing like my mom.

But, as they say, life has a way of making you eat your words.

When I decided to train as a Pilates instructor, people who knew me were a bit puzzled. Not that I was taking Pilates classes, I had been obsessed with Pilates for years, but that I would actually make it my career. And yet, here I am, teaching Pilates full time. Every day, I get to help people feel better physically, mentally, emotionally. My mom did that too, didn’t she? Comforting people, quietly helping those who needed it most, without ever asking for anything in return.

Life is funny. Sometimes I catch my reflection and realize, “I look just like her.” And you know what? For the first time, I’m okay with that. Because life isn’t about choosing between being business minded or heart driven. It’s about embracing both. Sometimes, you need to be sharp, focused, all business, like Dad. But sometimes, you need to be all heart, like Mom.

This season of my life has thrown me curveballs I never saw coming, but now, looking back, I’m grateful for every twist, every turn.

Never say never. Life’s got a way of showing you just how wrong you are.