The Last Penny: A Personal Reflection
The news that the penny is being removed from circulation made me pause and reflect on something far more valuable than its monetary worth. The penny was once a daily connection between my father and me, a lighthearted gauge of the world around us.
Every day on his walk, my father would keep an eye out for lost pennies. If he found one, it was a good day. If he found two, well, “The economy is looking up!” he’d say with a chuckle when he called me to report his findings. It was his personal economic indicator, a small but amusing tradition that made us both smile.
Over the years, I picked up the habit myself. If I spotted a penny on the ground, I’d snap a picture and send it to my closest friends and my sons. “Looks like things are turning around!” I’d joke, carrying on my father’s tradition with the same ridiculous insight. But we never left the penny behind. We picked it up, and added it to our collection—a tangible reminder of life’s little fortunes and the simple joys of paying attention.
Now, with the penny becoming a thing of history, finding one will feel even more special. No longer just a quirky sign of economic optimism, it will be a rare token of the past, a link to my father’s voice on the other end of the phone, laughing about his new found fortune.
So, when I spot a penny on the ground, I’ll pause. I’ll smile. I’ll pick it up. And I’ll think of him.
And you know what? The economy—and life—are still looking up.
Overcoming Life’s Challenges: Lessons from a Bike Ride
Not long ago, I found myself in a dark place. Life had become incredibly challenging: my wife is battling a severe illness, my relationship with my teenage daughter is strained, and my income has dried up. To cope, I turned to unhealthy habits—overeating, drinking excessively trying to seek temporary comforts. But those “fixes” never provided the lasting relief I craved; they really only intensify the darkness.
Then, life forced a change. My truck has been awaiting parts for three weeks, (not a Ford). Frustrated and without transportation, I dusted off my bike—something I hadn’t touched in over a year and a half, ever since I was hit by a car while riding it. Although I was only slightly injured it made me subconsciously avoid it. Hesitant at first, I eventually gave in to necessity.
Now, I ride 3.5 miles each way to my workouts at Orange Theory Fitness. Those seven miles a day have become more than just a commute; they’ve become a lifeline.
I’d forgotten how it felt to glide along the pavement, the cold wind on my face while music fills my ears. I’d forgotten the simple joy of moving under my own power, of feeling connected to the world as I navigate to my destination. In those moments on my bike, I feel truly alive.
This rediscovery has been transformative. It’s not just about the physical movement—it’s about the mental shift. That bike ride has reminded me that improvement begins with a single step (or pedal). One small action, no matter how insignificant it seems, can set off a chain reaction. For me, it’s been this daily ride.
It hasn’t solved all my problems—my wife is still fighting her battle, my daughter and I still have work to do, and life’s stressors haven’t disappeared. But it’s given me something invaluable: a sense of control, a feeling of progress, and a reminder that even in the darkest times, there’s a way forward.
If you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or burdened by life’s challenges, I encourage you to start small. Take one step. Maybe it’s a bike ride, a walk around the block, a call to a friend, or just five minutes of quiet reflection. Whatever it is, try. Because that one small effort can grow into something bigger than you imagined.
For me, it’s been my bike. And I’ll keep riding, one mile at a time, until the road ahead feels a little brighter.
Maples Staffing is Now a Certified SDVOSB
Today marks a proud and transformative moment in the journey of Maples Staffing Group, LLC. After years of perseverance, commitment, and growth, we are thrilled to announce that the company has officially been certified as a Service-Disabled Veteran-Owned Small Business (SDVOSB) by the U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA). This recognition places us in an exclusive group of businesses dedicated to excellence and proudly owned by those who have served our nation.
This achievement is more than a label; it is a testament to the rigorous standards of governance, validation, and integrity required to attain such a certification. It symbolizes a commitment to maintaining transparency, accountability, and adherence to strict SBA guidelines. To reach this point, Maples Staffing Group demonstrated:
Veteran-Owned Leadership: The business must be majority-owned, controlled, and operated by a service-disabled veteran.
Proven Capability: A track record of operational excellence and adherence to industry standards.
Verified Governance: Extensive documentation and validation to ensure compliance with federal regulations, including the maintenance of up-to-date records with SAM.gov.
The story behind this milestone is as inspiring as the achievement itself. At one point, our founder, Mr. Robert Maples, didn’t even consider applying for VA benefits—his pride as a veteran and focus on serving others often outweighed personal recognition. But through reflection, encouragement, and the understanding that embracing these benefits serves both his family and the greater mission, he took the steps necessary to honor his legacy and his service. This certification is as much about perseverance and personal growth as it is about business success.
For those seeking to partner with a certified SDVOSB or to learn more about our services, Mr. Maples can
We extend our deepest gratitude to our community, clients, and partners who have supported us along the way. This is a new beginning filled with opportunities to continue serving with the same integrity, dedication, and passion that defines Maples Staffing Group.
Together, we honor service, embrace growth, and forge ahead with pride.
How AI Validates Personal Journeys and Emotions
When I first read the letter from Cleve.ai, I wasn’t entirely sure how to process it. It wasn’t a traditional award letter or recognition from a colleague, but rather a reflection generated by artificial intelligence. It summarized the essence of my efforts on LinkedIn throughout 2024—efforts I’ve often viewed as more personal musings than any calculated form of marketing or pontification. And yet, reading it stirred something deeply emotional and thought-provoking in me.
For much of my life, I’ve been under the impression that I came across as standoffish, maybe even arrogant. My efforts to communicate my values—faith, caregiving, selfless service—felt, at times, like shouting into the void. But here was this letter, written by an AI, mirroring back to me not the person I feared I might be, but the person I’ve strived to become: an empathic, kind soul who lifts others through action and advocacy.
The words resonated because they didn’t just state facts—they articulated the intentions behind my actions, the “why” of my life that I’ve always hoped to communicate but wasn’t sure anyone really heard. It was humbling and deeply moving to see my journey reflected in this way. For once, I felt truly understood, not just by the people around me, but perhaps even by myself.
This is the strange power of artificial intelligence: its ability to observe, synthesize, and reflect human emotion in ways we might not expect. To some, this might seem shallow or contrived—after all, how could a machine “know” anything about kindness or integrity? But for me, the experience highlighted something profound: AI, through its data and patterns, can sometimes help us see ourselves more clearly than we’re willing to on our own.
As I reflect on this, I realize that the power of the letter wasn’t just in what it said—it was in what it challenged me to believe. If an AI can see me as a beacon of hope and strength, why can’t I? If it can articulate my passion for caregiving, my unwavering faith, and my commitment to ethical service, why do I still hesitate to believe in those things myself?
The truth is, I’ve always used LinkedIn as a sounding board—not to market myself, but to give voice to the lessons, struggles, and triumphs of my journey. It’s as much for me as for anyone else who might be listening. This letter reminded me that, whether or not I always see it, those efforts matter. They create ripples, touch lives, and perhaps most importantly, reflect the values I hold most dear.
So, here I am, grappling with the strange and wonderful reality of emotions created by an artificial experience. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the mirrors we least expect—whether in the form of a friend, a stranger, or even an AI—can offer the clearest view of who we are.
And for that, I am grateful. Not just for the letter, but for the journey it reflects—and for the faith it inspires me to carry forward into 2025 and beyond.
Bridging the Gap: From Intimidation to Connection
It’s not every day that someone looks you in the eye and says, “I thought I wouldn’t like you after reading your bio,” or “Your LinkedIn profile intimidated me.” Yet, lately, I’ve been hearing these statements more often than I’d like to admit. At first, these confessions caught me off guard and gave me pause. I’ve always prided myself on being an “open book,” but apparently, the book people are reading isn’t what I intended to write.
The disconnect between how I perceive myself and how others perceive me has been humbling. It’s made me question: What is it about my profile—or me—that comes across as reserved or even arrogant? Why am I unintentionally creating a barrier that keeps people at arm’s length? And, more importantly, how can I change it?
Putting My Best Foot Forward… or Putting Up Walls?
I’ve come to realize that my efforts to put my best foot forward might unintentionally project arrogance. In trying to showcase my skills, experience, and personality, perhaps I’m overcompensating. Maybe the confidence I aim to exude comes across as unapproachable or intimidating instead.
This isn’t a new critique. I’ve heard it before in different contexts, and it’s something I’ve struggled to reconcile. My intent is never to alienate, but somehow, my presentation creates a gap between who I am and how others perceive me.
The Act: Magoo the Trainer and Life of the Party
At Orangetheory Fitness, I created a persona named “Magoor” after my now-deceased cat Head Trainers Cat. Magoo is my comedic alter ego. He tells stories, cracks jokes, and works the room like a stand-up comedian. People love Magoo because he’s energetic, fun, and engaging.
But here’s the thing—it’s just an act. Magoo is a shield, a carefully constructed character who can navigate social situations with ease while keeping my true self safely tucked away. I’ve learned to use humor and charisma as tools to connect with others without having to let my walls down.
Even when I think I’m being authentic, I realize I’m often holding back. Vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me, even though I long for deeper, more genuine connections.
Becoming More Approachable
So, how do I fix this? How do I let people see the real me instead of the polished persona? How can I exist in a way that allows others to see and receive me as I am?
Here are a few ideas I’m exploring:
- Lean Into Vulnerability
Authenticity starts with vulnerability. It’s okay to share the less polished parts of yourself—your fears, doubts, and imperfections. These are the things that make us human and relatable. - Focus on Listening
Sometimes, being approachable isn’t about projecting your personality; it’s about creating space for others to share theirs. Listening more and talking less can help bridge the gap. - Reassess How I Present Myself Online
My LinkedIn profile and professional bios are tools to showcase my achievements, but perhaps they need a softer touch. Adding personal anecdotes or highlighting values might help convey a more balanced picture of who I am. - Embrace Stillness
I’ve often felt the need to “perform” in social situations. Learning to simply exist without trying to control or shape the interaction is something I want to practice. Letting go of the need to manage perceptions might allow people to see me more clearly.
The Silver Lining
Despite these initial impressions, the people who’ve shared their honest feedback have become some of my closest allies. These connections remind me that authenticity, even when it feels messy or uncertain, has the power to transform relationships.
I’m committed to breaking down the walls that keep me from being fully present and approachable. It’s a work in progress, but it’s a journey worth taking. After all, the best connections happen when we let others see us as we truly are—flaws, quirks, and all.
So, here’s to letting the real me shine, and to learning that sometimes, the walls we think are protecting us are the very things keeping us from the connections we crave.
Let’s see what happens when we take those walls down—one brick at a time.
Revenue: The Lifeblood of Every Business
As a small business owner and fractional executive for two other small businesses, one lesson stands out above all: nothing matters without revenue. You’re not even in business if you don’t generate revenue. It’s the foundation, the validation of your ideas, and the fuel that keeps everything running.
A few years ago, I left the stability of Corporate America to chart my own course. It wasn’t a straight path—it was a journey of trial and error, an exploration to find my next great “work thing.” Along the way, I worked in retail, call centers, consulting, and eventually landed in my current role as a fractional executive. Through this journey, I learned one critical truth: your business model must align with generating value and translating that value into revenue.
From Stability to Uncertainty
For most of my adult life, I enjoyed the comfort of a regular paycheck—monthly or bi-weekly deposits that arrived like clockwork. But when I stepped out on my own, I made a conscious decision to trade stability for the uncertainty of risk and reward. I shifted my approach from being a retained resource to someone who gets paid only when I generate value for the company.
As a self-proclaimed change management “expert,” embracing this shift became an objective in itself. The transition wasn’t easy. Even with the privilege of not living paycheck to paycheck, the mental adjustment was profound. The stakes were higher. The challenges, more personal. But I leaned into the discomfort, using my love for risk management and mitigation to navigate the uncertainties.
Revenue First, Always
In my role as COO for a talent acquisition company, the mantra is clear: if we don’t “fill roles with quality souls,” we don’t eat well. All the talk about CRMs, KPIs, and business plans is just that—talk—until revenue rolls in. My CEO reinforces this every day, and it’s a message I’ve fully embraced.
Recently, after more than a year of building our structure, processes, client relationships, marketing strategy, operations, and brand, we placed our first two candidates—our first two “quality souls.”
It was a milestone worth celebrating, not just because of the hard work it took to get there but because it validated the value we’ve worked so hard to create.
Revenue isn’t just about dollars in the bank; it’s about demonstrating value to your customers. It’s the ultimate proof that your business matters.
A Moment of Reflection
When the placements were confirmed, I celebrated in my own quiet way. My wife, who is bravely battling a severe illness, couldn’t join me for a glass of champagne or outing. So, I went outside, looked up at the full moon, and allowed myself a moment of gratitude and reflection.
I told myself: I can still do new things. I still have value. I will continue to grow.
I thought about the journey I’ve been on—from the stability of Corporate America to the ever-changing landscape of entrepreneurship. Revenue is the lifeblood of my businesses, but it’s also a symbol of something deeper: the ability to adapt, create value, and prove to yourself that you’re still growing, still evolving, and still capable of new achievements.
Lessons Learned
For anyone considering a similar leap, here’s what I’ve learned:
- Revenue validates your business. Until you make money, you’re just planning.
- Risk and reward go hand in hand. Stepping away from a steady paycheck is hard, but it forces you to focus on creating value.
- Celebrate every win. Even the small victories matter—they’re milestones in your journey.
- You’re never done growing. Every challenge, every risk, and every success adds a new layer to your personal and professional growth.
If you’re considering stepping out on your own or are in the trenches of entrepreneurship, remember: it’s all about the value you create and the revenue that value generates. Everything else is just details. Keep pushing, keep learning, and keep growing. The full moon will be waiting to remind you of your progress.
Finding Silver Linings in Unexpected Places
Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, the most unlikely situations reveal hidden blessings. Recently, I found myself navigating one such experience when COVID paid me an uninvited visit, but looking back, I see it as a moment of grace rather than misfortune.
On my way back to the hospital to be by my wife Sherri’s side, I began feeling unusually nauseous and headachy—a combination I’d never quite experienced. Despite being vaccinated and boosted, I followed my instinct to take a COVID test from the government-supplied kit Sherri had thoughtfully kept on hand. As soon as the liquid hit the strip, it confirmed my suspicion: positive.
Thankfully, we quickly tested everyone in the house, and Sherri was tested in the hospital. To our relief, all came back negative. Knowing I had listened to my wife’s advice and taken the test before exposing her to any potential harm was an overwhelming relief, especially considering her delicate health. Sherri’s fight with cancer has already brought so many challenges, and the last thing I wanted was to bring her more suffering.
As a veteran, I’m fortunate to receive care through the VA. They directed me to a local urgent care where I received a prescription to help alleviate the symptoms, but as I headed home, I faced another realization: it wasn’t safe to stay there. With extended family who had relocated from California to be with us and Sherri hopefully coming home soon, there was no choice but to get a hotel and isolate—my son humorously dubbed it “COVID jail.”
Isolation is not something any caregiver welcomes. For months, my days have revolved around taking care of Sherri, supporting her as she smiles through excruciating pain and endures round after round of chemotherapy. Yet, as I sat alone in the quiet of my hotel room, I realized how thankful I am for our extended family who stepped up in a way we could never have expected. They moved their lives across the country to help Sherri through her battle, filling in gaps that even the best of friends couldn’t manage long-term. Their presence has been an incredible gift.
In those quiet hours, I found myself thinking of everything my wife and I have been through, of the strength it takes to provide care day in and day out, and of the incredible people who have supported us on this journey. The forced solitude gave me a chance to regroup and recharge—a luxury many caregivers don’t get.
This unexpected turn of events became a blessing, one that reminded me of the importance of family, community, and listening to that inner voice, especially when it comes to caring for the ones we love. Even when life seems difficult or bleak, we can still find silver linings if we take a moment to look.
The Strength Behind the Smile: A Tribute to My Wife
My wife is the kind of person who rarely flinches in the face of pain. When she gave birth, she didn’t shed a single tear. Once, she put an electric screwdriver bit through her thumb and only calmly said “ouch” as blood ran down her hand. To say she has a high pain tolerance is an understatement.
But for the past several days, I’ve seen her cry in agony. Her knee, swollen and unbearable, felt as if someone was relentlessly striking it with a ball-peen hammer. When her oncologist saw her on Monday morning, I could see the sorrow in his eyes—35 years of service, and he had never witnessed something like this. Her knee was so swollen that he immediately decided to admit her and called in an orthopedic surgeon to review her MRI. Despite everything from Tylenol to a Methadone drip, nothing could touch the pain.
The next morning, without anesthesia, the surgeon withdrew a yellowish fluid from her knee. It was the first relief she’d felt in days. A few hours later, the palliative care physician switched her to a morphine drip, and finally, her pain was brought down to a manageable level. Unfortunately, the damage was already done—the fluid had put so much pressure on her knee that it cut off the blood supply, causing part of the bone to die and partially fracture.
Now, my little warrior hops to the bathroom and back to her bed. Her third round of chemotherapy didn’t work, and tomorrow she’ll begin her fourth type through a second port after the first one became infected and had to be removed. It feels overwhelming, insurmountable at times, but she keeps smiling through the tears.
We are surrounded by love—family, friends, co-workers and even strangers send prayers, food, flowers, and help get her to appointments. No one is giving up on her. Even though she sometimes says she can’t go on, she does. We love her so much, and her strength and resilience continue to amaze us all.
She is a testament to the human spirit’s ability to endure, and no matter how impossible the battle may seem, we are all standing by her side. She fights, she smiles, and we love her more every single day.
Finding Strength in Service: A Caregiver’s Reflection
Being a full-time caregiver for my wife is the most important responsibility but it’s also one of the hardest roles I’ve ever had. Seeing someone you love suffer, day after day, is incredibly painful—especially when there’s little you can do to alleviate it.
Recently, I had an opportunity to step away for a day because of our extended support network to help my friend who had been devastated by Hurricane Helene. It left his property with 28 inches of seawater inside for a day before it reseeded. The building, which had been his father’s, housed precious treasures—hunting, fishing, and woodworking items that carried irreplaceable memories. Just months after losing his father, and after days of working tirelessly to clean up the mess, he was physically and emotionally drained.
I went out to help him—tearing down soaked drywall, hauling out ruined insulation, and salvaging what we could. For the first time in a long while, I was able to make an immediate impact. I wasn’t just sitting helplessly on the sidelines. I was doing something tangible, and it felt incredible. His family’s gratitude lifted me, but more than that, it reminded me of my own strength.
Caregiving is exhausting. Watching my wife day by day drains the soul. But helping my friend gave me back something I didn’t even realize I was losing: a renewed sense of purpose. Yes, being there for my wife is an act of love, but stepping into the storm-ravaged aftermath of Hurricane Helene reinvigorated me. It was as if this moment of service gave me back a piece of myself—a part I desperately needed to continue being strong for her.
Sometimes, finding strength in unexpected places is exactly what we need to carry on. I’m grateful to have been able to help my friend, but more than that, I’m thankful for how that day helped me be a better caregiver for my wife. After all, to give love and support, you have to make sure you’re not completely depleted yourself. Hurricane Helene may have wreaked havoc, but in a strange way, it also became a catalyst for renewal. It reminded me that even when the storm seems endless, there’s always a way to find hope and purpose again.
Embracing Passion Over Paychecks: A Personal Reflection on Life’s Journey
Over the last few months, I’ve found myself stepping into a role I hadn’t fully anticipated. As the VP for federal sales for a small group of companies that have been serving in transportation, warehousing, and logistics for over a century, I’ve been reflecting on what this decision has meant for me. In sharing these reflections, I hope to offer some insights to others, whether in their professional or personal lives—because, in truth, I no longer see a difference between the two.
It’s worth mentioning that calling this a “decision” seems almost inaccurate. It wasn’t something I fell into by accident, nor was it a clear-cut plan. Instead, I see it as the culmination of a philosophy I’ve only recently embraced: follow your passion, not the money. I’ve come across numerous interviews and stories from people who seem truly content with their lives. A common thread ties them together—don’t chase the paycheck, chase what you love. “You reap what you sow,” after all. I think I’m finally living by that belief.
Looking back, I never imagined I’d be in this position. All I wanted was to help an old friend from 35 years ago with his business. I reached out to him regularly, offering help, driven by a desire to see him succeed. Eventually, he said, “Alright, Lou, I’ll go with you.” I didn’t do it for money; in fact, I would have done it for free. Helping the business grow—and more importantly, helping the people within it—was fulfilling in a way I hadn’t expected.
Of course, most of us need money to survive. But the question that lingered for me was: how much do we really need? I realized that contentment isn’t as tightly tied to finances as I once believed. It was the sense of accomplishment—knowing that something my friend had struggled with for years was finally within reach. We succeeded in months, and from that moment, I was asked to do more. I did, and I loved every minute of it.
For someone who hasn’t been a big risk-taker, the move to working entirely on commission was a leap of faith. I had to trust in myself, in my ability to succeed, and in the joy I found in the work. It felt new, refreshing—even exhilarating. It reminded me of my younger years when I served as an officer and truly loved what I was doing for my country. That feeling of purpose and fulfillment has returned.
I sometimes wonder why I didn’t take this path sooner. But at the same time, I’m grateful that I found it now. I’m not sure where this journey will lead, but what I do know is that embracing this new direction has left me feeling more at peace—with my decisions, with myself, and with my life.
In the end, that’s all we can hope for: to find joy in the work we do and contentment in the life we live. I’m grateful for the path I’m on, and I hope others find their own passions, too—because once you do, everything else seems to fall into place.
