Scattered, But Never Far

My children seem to be scattered across the world these days—curious, brave, and full of wonder. I keep telling them how proud I am of their adventurous spirits, and I truly am. But the truth is, I know exactly where they got those traits from.

I haven’t always been an eager traveler, but I’ve always traveled. In college, I crossed the Atlantic monthly to spend weekends with a friend who was living there then. I spent a summer studying in Japan. I traveled often as a child and young adult with my family, with friends, and later with my own children. 

I believe one of the greatest gifts we can offer our children—and ourselves—is travel. It grants us access to other ways of living, of being, of understanding the world.

When my children were young, we had a tradition of visiting local markets or grocery stores wherever we went. It was the best way to see how people truly lived. I used to find the idea of someone having help just to do their grocery shopping unnecessary, even indulgent—until one day in Argentina. We were trying to piece together a dinner and realized that to do so, we had to go to the butcher, the baker, the supermercado, and other shops for fruits and vegetables. Each had its own hours and rhythms. It was nearly impossible to navigate efficiently, and suddenly it made perfect sense why, if you could afford to, you’d hire someone to shop for you. That one small task opened a window into just how differently people live. It taught me that what I think of as easy isn’t  depending on where one lives, it taught me not to judge others because of how they live until I am able to fully understand, and still then judgment is not mine to give. 

No matter how different things appear on the surface, we always discover how deeply similar we are at our core. That night, when we sat down for dinner with my childrens’ Argentinian cousins, it became clear: the same worries and joys live in every household. The kids wanted to play; the adults wanted them to sit still. Whether you’re from Boston or Bangkok, wrangling energetic children at the dinner table is a shared universal struggle. And no matter where I go, I find myself marveling at our differences—and even more at our shared humanity.

At the end of the day, every mother, no matter where she’s from, wants the same thing: for her children to be safe, healthy, and well-fed. We wish for success, love, opportunity… but none of that matters if they’re not okay.

Just yesterday, I was in a meeting choosing color swatches for jewelry forms—the displays you see in stores—when I missed a call from my son. He’s in Argentina. My phone, buried in my purse, started blowing up with calls and texts from both my daughters—one in Germany, the other just blocks away in New York. They were all in contact with each other, and I was the only one out of reach. A few minutes later, one of my daughters got through: there had been an emergency, and our guy was hurt. Suddenly we were in full crisis mode.

My first thought was sheer panic: he’s hurt and I’m not there. Is he scared? Does he need me? I felt helpless. But then I spoke with Oliver. He was calm. Competent. At 22, he was at a clinic, heading to a hospital for an X-ray. He was speaking Spanish quietly, not wanting to reveal he was American out of concern for being price-gouged. His biggest worry? That they wouldn’t accept his insurance and he’d need to use his credit card. Meanwhile, his sisters were offering to send money if he needed it. They had rallied.

In that moment, despite the worry, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I realized that I had done it—I had raised children who could stand on their own. He knew I was with him, even if I wasn’t physically there. He knew I would hop on a plane if needed, and he knew his sisters had his back. That kind of love and security doesn’t vanish with distance.

Oliver is fine—it was a sprain. He’s already back on the slopes today, to my dismay. But something in me has shifted.

I’ve always said that I was raising my children so that one day they wouldn’t need me. And, in many ways, I think that day has come. Of course, we’ll always need each other—in ways both seen and unseen—but they can now thrive wherever they are. They have courage, grit, tenacity, and grace. And they know, without question, how deeply I love them.

It’s my hope they will always carry that love with them. It has been one of the greatest honors of my life to be their mother, their guide, and their biggest fan.

One of the greatest gifts I’ve given my children is creating this company. Through it, I’ve shown them that passion can be more than a pastime—it can become a way of living, a way of being, a livelihood. I’ve reminded them, and myself, that it’s never too late to begin, that we’re never too old to start something meaningful. I’ve shown them that purpose, passion, and place aren’t just lofty ideals—they’re attainable and worth reaching for.

I hope they’ve also seen that failure and learning go hand in hand—that one cannot exist meaningfully without the other—and that growth and success are often born from that very union. Above all, I hope I’ve shown them that wherever love and creativity are nurtured, beauty and growth will always follow.

I feel endlessly grateful to have these three extraordinary people in my life—the most meaningful creations I’ve ever been a part of. They are my greatest pride and my constant reminder that, like creativity and this company, life is meant to evolve, stretch, and bloom.

Life is flavorless without love—without connection, without the joy of sharing it with others. I feel so lucky to share mine with such remarkable people.