If I could sit across from the woman I was one year ago, I’d start with this: You’re about to change. And it won’t feel good at first.

The year ahead will demand more from you than you think you have to give. You’ll lose your father. He was larger than life—not just to you, but to so many people. His death will ripple far and wide, magnified by the sheer volume of people reflecting on his life and his legacy. And yet, as the noise swirls, you’ll quietly mourn the man he was to you and the man he wasn’t. You’ll feel grief, yes, but also confusion, anger, and strange little pangs of love that surface when you least expect them.

Thanksgiving is the great American contradiction. It's a day dedicated to gratitude, family, and food—while simultaneously testing our ability to dodge heated political debates with a mouthful of turkey. In the current political climate, the holiday has taken on new weight. How do we break bread with people who might see the world differently? How do we approach the Thanksgiving table—literally and figuratively—with grace, humor, and the kind of determination that built this country in the first place?

If you’re an entrepreneur like me, you’ve probably noticed something pretty fascinating about the space industry lately: it’s buzzing with innovation. Companies like SpaceX, Blue Origin, and Rocket Lab aren’t just tinkering with cool ideas—they’re doing the stuff we used to think only governments could pull off. Launching rockets, building reusable spacecraft, planning Mars colonies… it’s wild. And as someone who’s obsessed with both business and big ideas, it’s got me wondering: what would happen if NASA went private?

When I saw the announcement, I knew I couldn’t resist.

“We are very grateful to the thousands of Americans who have expressed interest in helping us at DOGE. We don’t need more part-time idea generators. We need super high-IQ small-government revolutionaries willing to work 80+ hours per week on unglamorous cost-cutting. If that’s you, DM this account with your CV. Elon & Vivek will review the top 1% of applicants.”

It was part job ad, part rallying cry. The Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE)—a bold new initiative to trim the fat off bloated bureaucracy—was clearly not looking for your run-of-the-mill policy wonks. They wanted disruptors. Innovators. Revolutionaries with a low tolerance for BS and an unshakable work ethic.

I'm putting out a call to authenticity because, like a full moon, this election season has caused a vibration that has forced everyone to have an opinion. And not just an opinion, but the opinion. The right one. The only one that makes sense, and somehow, if you don't agree, you're either entirely out of touch with reality or just upsettly wrong. For months, family, friends, and traditional/social media outlets have been constantly nudging me toward their seemingly conventional "logical" choices. The pull to agree can be powerful. After all, there's comfort in following the familiar and aligning with what seems popular or safe. But with the country split down the middle, depending on who you surround yourself with, the popular choice can be one of two people. With all the noise and external influences, it's easy to lose sight of one essential voice: your own.

Whenever I walk through public spaces, I realize I don’t like people. I feel distant, irritated, as if we’re operating on different wavelengths. Once in a while, I meet someone who breaks through that barrier, but it’s usually because they share the same irritation. Like the time I mentioned to a woman in line that I’m often misperceived, and she simply said, “F— them.” It was like finding a long-lost comrade, a fellow alien from my planet. It wasn’t love, exactly, but it was a deep, instant recognition: someone else who finds people just as exhausting.

You know that feeling? The one where you're sitting at your desk, staring at yet another email that could've been a voice note or a quick chat? Yeah, we've all been there. It's like being stuck in a never-ending cycle of meetings and conversations that seem to go nowhere, yet somehow always fill up your day. The days blur together, and before you know it, another week has passed, and you're left wondering, "What did I actually do?"

It’s the unsettling feeling that the stories we’ve been told—or rather, sold—are reaching a breaking point. We’re living in an era where the media, once a bastion of truth and authority, is now unraveling before our eyes. Welcome to the world of late-stage media.

I've spent my life trying to fit in. I haven't had much success being anything other than the person walking in the opposite direction of everyone else. Spending years trying to be more talkative or mysterious and quiet, changing my style and the way I walk has resulted in much of the same: me standing outside to a crowd.

For decades, I thought it was a problem with me. Maybe I missed the required class on rowing with those around you, which is unsurprising because if it was a requirement for everyone, I likely decided not to go. This resistance in me isn't something I do for attention or a desire to be a rebel (I'm a very fragile personality that wants to be loved). It just is, and resisting it is pointless. At fifty, I've given in, and the results were surprising.

I'd strangely been preparing for this moment my entire life. I'm prepared because while my father searched for adventure, I often stood at the end of a runway or someplace similar, knowing he might not return from his adventure alive.

I returned from taking my dog out from her nightly walk and found a voice message from my dad. From Dad, a phone message meant he either needed something from me or was getting ready to go on another adventure or record attempt where he thought he wouldn't return.

"Adventure is the essence of life" became his life's motto. He wanted to "pick the last plum of the tree of aviation," so he stood at death's door many times trying to prove the impossible possible. This is heroic for a self-proclaimed golden-armed fighter pilot like himself, but throughout my life, I have received many phone messages from Dad, which he thought were his last. I never believed they were.

Choosing an unconventional life can seem out of reach in a world that often prizes conformity and the much-traveled path. For me, an unconventional life seemed normal because seemingly conventional choices were the things that were out of reach. I've often felt alone being the odd one out. Yet, a growing body of research and recent societal trends suggest that stepping off the traditional track doesn't just lead to unique life experiences but can also create greater happiness, creativity, and fulfillment.

One day, while waiting to get off a plane in D.C., trying to distract my thoughts from judging what people leave behind, my brain wondered all on its own about what happened to all the trash in space. The result was many sleepless nights, a mistaken idea to rewatch the movie "Gravity," and a lot of learning about what happens to all the stuff people worldwide have been launching into space.

I learned that space debris is a lot like pollution on Earth, but it's happening in space around our planet. Imagine tons of trash and broken objects moving fast up above us in the same areas where we need those satellites to exist safely.

As the world of science celebrates the success of OSIRIS-REx and eagerly awaits the insights it brings about our cosmic past, I sit with my lukewarm coffee, reflecting on the broader implications of such endeavors. While I may never fully answer why we are all here on this spinning rock, pursuing such answers and maintaining the insatiable curiosity to define our human experience is truly something I hope is never lost when worrying about the insignificant.

The recent OceanGate tragedy has me contemplating the culture I was raised in. Being the daughter of Dick Rutan, the pioneering aviator who became the first to circumnavigate the globe in an experimental aircraft named Voyager, I've been surrounded by the spirit of innovation and risk-taking from a young age. His brother and my Uncle Burt Rutan, a groundbreaking aircraft designer, is recognized for his SpaceShipOne – the world's first privately developed vehicle capable of taking humans into suborbital space. His innovative design forms the basis of Richard Branson's Virgin Galactic SpaceShip. The atmosphere of disruption and risk-taking I grew up in framed my perspective on the critical dance between innovation and regulation.

In a fast-paced and complex world, it's easy to get caught up in the routine of accepting things as they are. As a result, we often find ourselves going through the motions without questioning the underlying reasons behind our actions, decisions, and beliefs. However, the art of questioning the 'why' can lead us to a realm of innovation, creativity, and deeper understanding. This is where first principles thinking comes into play, enabling us to challenge conventional wisdom and unlock new possibilities.

Our thoughts and beliefs have a powerful impact on our lives. They shape our worldview, influence our decisions, and determine our level of happiness and fulfillment. But what if we could change our thinking and see the world differently? What kind of impact could that have on our lives?

Space tourism is quickly becoming a reality, with private companies like SpaceX and Blue Origin offering trips to the edge of space for those who can afford it. But, beyond the thrill of weightlessness and the views of the Earth from above, space tourism has the potential to offer something even more valuable: a new perspective on life.

When we look at the world from above, whether from the International Space Station or a suborbital flight, we see the planet as a whole. We see the interconnectedness of all things, the beauty and fragility of our planet, and the potential for collaboration and cooperation across borders and cultures.

Have you ever felt stuck in a rut, unable to see beyond your current circumstances? Or maybe you've felt like you are living in a bubble, only seeing the world through your limited perspective? It's a familiar feeling, but the good news is that it doesn't have to be permanent. With some effort and intention, gaining a new perspective on life and seeing the world through a different lens is possible.

Recently, I stumbled upon an article discussing the concept of the beginner's mind in Zen Buddhism. I was fascinated by the idea that embracing a beginner's mindset could enhance our ability to learn new things and help us grow. The article explained that being a beginner enables us to learn faster and better, without the distractions of ego or the fear of failure.

Two people were standing around the buffet table at an office holiday party. One looked at the other and said, "these are the worst cheesecake bites I've ever eaten." The other replied, "I think those are mini quiches." "In that case," the original person responded, "they're delicious."

I recently found myself at a similar holiday party. Looking across the room at the buffet table, I realized I knew no one. Attempting to socialize in a room full of strangers is not a unique experience.