My Dad opened my BofA savings book in 3rd grade to prove a point I wouldn't understand for twenty years. He wanted to show me that the spare change sitting in my piggy bank could be worth more than just sitting there. In full disclosure, that change usually came from my grandparents. When I asked my parents for an allowance like my schoolmates supposedly got, their policy was: "Why should we pay you to live in our house?" I digress. Going to the bank felt like entering a cath

My friend Greg once roasted me in the middle of a briefing for still using an iPhone 8. He wasn't wrong to laugh. But the joke got me thinking about a computer with 4 kilobytes of memory that once landed two men on the moon — and what "enough" actually asks of us.

I was twenty-something, fresh off my first posting in San Francisco. New career, new benefit I didn't understand yet: health insurance. One Saturday at the mall, pretzel in hand, I saw a sign at Sears Optical. Free vision test. We accept all insurance. Free glasses, on a benefit I already had. Girls like a guy in glasses. No downside, I thought. Puff of air in both eyes. The doctor said my pressure was 19. Too high for someone my age. I need you on drops, he said. Stay on top

A childhood memory of a jungle gym, a fall, and a friend who let go of my hand. Decades later, a road trip back to that schoolyard changed how I saw it — and how much of my life I'd built on guarding against a threat that was already gone.

The first thought is always the same: This sounds expensive. New ramps. New tables. New everything. To a restaurant owner, accessibility feels like a project big enough to shut down the kitchen and drain the bank account. That fear is rational. It’s also wrong. Think about how you improve a menu. You don’t rebuild the kitchen to add a dish. You test it as a special. You watch. You keep what works. Accessibility is no different. You don’t need a new floor plan. You need small,

You have a place. A restaurant that is yours. The staff knows your order. The manager knows your name. The owner — who is coordinating everything like a maestro — stops by the table because you are family. Everybody knows you like Norm from Cheers. This is not just a restaurant. It is an extension of your home. There is nothing like it. Being in the restaurant business is unforgiving. My friends and family in the business have my utmost respect. Rarely do they have time to ca

That is the sentence I keep coming back to. Not as a policy position. Not as a business pitch. As something I lived — across restaurant tables in Southern California, with one of the best friends I have ever made. His name is Neider Parra Contreras. The Ceremony A few years ago, I was working in Bogotá, Colombia, when I attended a ceremony honoring members of the Colombian National Police. That is where I first met Neider. He was young and carried himself with a quiet dignity

I was the tenth pick, every time — until my dad cut a broomstick, fashioned a hose into a batting tee, and gave me a place to practice a game no one would teach me. Years later, I got my first real at-bat. First pitch. I didn't miss.

I wasn't looking for anything when the email arrived. Greg Moomjy sent it from Delaware, where he was keynoting an opera conference on accessibility. He was in the middle of his own work, important work, and he still stopped to think about me. One forward. No explanation needed. That's the kind of people you want around you. Greg and co-founder Marianna Mott Newirth are the driving force behind Opera Praktikos, New York City's first disability-affirmative opera company where.

Every morning in New Jersey started the same way. I rolled out of bed onto the floor, army crawled to the shower, and turned the water as hot as I could stand just to loosen the muscles around my hip enough to make it to the NJ Transit train into the city. I was munching ibuprofen like Pez candies. Not occasionally. Daily. For years. I have cerebral palsy (CP). I was diagnosed around age two. CP affects the part of the brain that controls muscle movement. It is the most commo

Sixteen TBI centers. Eighteen SCI centers. Four burn centers. That's the infrastructure I now get to share with you — free, research-based resources for spinal cord injury, traumatic brain injury, and burn injury. Bookmark it. Pass it on.

The best speakers don’t just share ideas, they share their journey. Robert Lucas’s story shows how courage, service, and self-belief can turn any challenge into strength. An Adventurer and a Fighter . Before inspiring audiences worldwide, Robert was already described by the Pacifica Tribune (April 1993) as an “adventurer and a fighter.” Growing up with cerebral palsy, he learned early that physical limitations shouldn’t define a person’s potential. His philosophy remains simp