Factory.

Factory. Retail. Toy store. Data entry.

I ricocheted through jobs in my twenties like an object in zero gravity — nothing held me, nothing felt like mine. I was obedient in childhood, but adulthood required choosing, and I had no template for that.

But even in those years, I sensed something:

The Maker-Self was still alive. Quiet, but alive. Waiting, but alive.

It wasn’t until much later that I understood the pattern: I wasn’t lost — I was gathering.

Everything I do now has roots in those “lost” years.