
Sifting through my mother’s old photographs outside of Chicago, I stumbled across some candid snapshots from the first big trip we ever took as a family. There we were: my mother, my brother, and me, looking slightly dazed but unmistakably happy. It was a modest trio, but for us, it might as well have been a conquering party.
The trip itself—Chicago to Los Angeles—might not sound revolutionary on paper. But when you grow up in the Richard Flowers Housing Projects in Robbins, Illinois, such an endeavor is no small feat. For my mother, scraping together the funds for that vacation would have been an act of sheer determination, likely taking up a tenth of her annual income. Maybe she got a little help from my grandmother, but knowing my mom, it was probably all grit.
Looking back, that trip was far more than a fun escape or a break from the daily grind. It was a seed—one small, deliberate act that shifted the trajectory of our lives.
Sure, we hit the highlights: Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, and maybe even the ocean. But the moment I remember most vividly was visiting CBS Studios. It wasn’t glamorous; the stars of The Carol Burnett Show were long gone for summer hiatus, and the set was just a quiet shell. But for us, it was electric. We were sitting in the very seats where audiences laughed at Tim Conway and Harvey Korman’s antics. It was a brush with possibility—proof that there was a bigger world out there and that we could step into it, even if just for a moment.
That trip became a touchstone for my family. My brother came home so inspired he tried calling television stations to figure out how to get on a show (a mistake that earned him a hefty phone bill and a punishment that kept him grounded for a good while). But for both of us, it planted something more profound: the belief that life could be bigger than what we knew, that we could create goals so audacious they’d pull us toward entirely new realities.
Every family has these moments, though we often don’t recognize them for what they are. Maybe it’s the first time someone gets into college, shifting what the family believes is possible. Maybe it’s a job opportunity that alters the family’s trajectory—or even the absence of someone that allows the rest to thrive—addition by subtraction.
That Los Angeles trip wasn’t just a vacation. It was my mother deciding that our lives were worth the effort, worth stretching for something beyond the limits of what seemed possible. And when you’re a kid under five, you don’t forget a gesture like that, even if you don’t have the words for it at the time.
As we think about goal setting—especially at the start of a new year—it’s worth asking: What’s the one goal you could set that might ripple beyond just yourself? Could it nudge your family, your community, maybe even future generations toward something better?
For my family, it was a train ticket to Los Angeles and a seat in a television studio. That one decision gave us permission to dream bigger, to imagine ourselves in places we’d never thought we could be.
What’s your version of that goal? What’s the seed you could plant that might change everything?
One small decision can change your life—and if you’re lucky, it can change the lives of those around you too. So, tread carefully. And dream audaciously.
Curated Listening:
I’ve always marveled at those rare moments when 1970s or ’80s TV stars made the leap to movies—a transition far less common than it is today. Vicki Lawrence, a regular on The Carol Burnett Show, achieved just that with The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia. Listen to it HERE.
Thanks for this - an inspiring note to end the year. This is why we take, organize, and revisit photographs - they can bring us back to places we might not otherwise access - and thus push us forward.