Five years ago, I was sleeping in the back of a beat-up Honda Civic in the middle of a Chicago winter. Divorce had taken everything—my home, my job, my sense of direction. I was 42 and felt completely invisible. People passed by me every day, not realizing I had a college degree, a résumé full of solid experience, and a heart full of regret.
Then one morning, desperate and shivering, I walked into a diner and asked the owner, Marcy, if she needed help in the kitchen. She looked at me for a long moment, then handed me a broom.
That broom turned into a mop, and then a dish towel. I worked like I had everything to prove—because I did. Marcy gave me a second chance, no questions asked.
Today, I manage that same diner.
Every time someone struggling walks through our doors and asks for work, I see myself in them. And if they’re willing to show up and try, I’ll say what Marcy once told me:
“Let’s see what you can do.”