Last week, our team gathered for what our boss calls GFF, or gluten-free Fridays. These meetings happen on Thursday afternoons and are almost never gluten-free, but this was the name she inherited so she kept it. The name has become our little joke, like teenagers who understand the meme even when the parents don’t.

On this day, we gathered to think about programs and marketing, our goals for 2026—what excites us, what will we focus on?

20 creative people sat around an extra-long conference table, attempting to distill our big plans into a few seconds. Soon, best practices emerged: can you articulate your most important goal in a single word?

From ‘focus’ to ‘heart,’ team members shared the story behind their word and how it connected to their passion project. I was one of the last people to go, and I was excited! No one had said my word yet, and it was a good one.

“Sequence!” I said, using my hands to mime fireworks.

Earlier that day I’d heard a colleague use this very word, and I had an epiphany.
“This is what’s been missing from my projects!” I said. Eighteen months after being hired I had stumbled on this missing puzzle piece, I told them, and remember how I’ve been wrestling down my job description since I arrived? Remember? Discovering my word felt like a trip to the doctor, where I learned that all my weird symptoms have both a diagnosis and a remedy.

There are run-on sentences and there are run away sentences. When I get excited about something, my sentences run ahead of me. I looked around the table and saw smiles and head nods. And then this.

“I thought you said sequins," said a friend on the web team. Others agreed.

Once you hear it, you can’t unhear it. My fun little disorder has a name: sequins. And to be honest, I don’t hate it.

*
 

You do not have to be a writer to understand that this sparkly, exciting word is far superior to its logical, ordered homophone. For a moment, I reimagined my work goals, pinning shiny sequins to print and email campaigns or next year’s President’s Report. But not every revelation requires direct application.

No, sequins wasn’t going to be my work word. But it was a dare. If a word can show up and ask you out on a date, sequins really wanted me to say yes. So I did. If you can’t be a calm and logical stream, why not be a flood of flashy, radiant bits of soft metal?

At 50, I feel free to ask such questions.

*
 

In 1992, I could not afford to buy a dress for homecoming court. My friend Rachel and I learned about a boutique where we could rent formal dresses. And we went big! I chose a floor-length, blue sequined ball gown. She picked a black velvet gown with puffy, iridescent gold sleeves.

A few days before the big event, students at South Forsyth received our ballots to vote for homecoming queen. I was in Spanish. A super nerd, I was taking Spanish 4 with just one other student. Our desks were inside of a little glassed-in booth, carved from a larger classroom. Most days we listened to language recordings or memorized Latin American geography. On this day, our regularly scheduled program was interrupted so we could vote. I looked at all of the names on the ballot. Every single girl was a friend.

Then, a knock at the door.

It was Señora Hutto, one of my favorite teachers. She’d taught me every Spanish word I knew, and encouraged my love of language. Sometimes I visited her during breaktime and told her about the new novel I was reading in Advanced English. God bless, Señora Hutto for hearing my adolescent interpretations of Conrad’s Lord Jim.

Señora Hutto took a few steps into our little fishbowl, her eyes focused on my ballot. Then, she leaned over and whispered in my ear: “Vote for yourself,” she said, then turned around and shut the door.

Years later, I have never forgotten Señora Hutto’s invitation. At the time, I had never once considered voting for myself. Was I even allowed to do that? Surely, there was some word for this. Selfish? Self-centered? Maybe. Or maybe it is something much more interesting, a kind of wisdom that would take me years to understand.

Sequins. I don’t think there is a better word for betting on yourself.