I used to have the best answer to “What do you do?”

I'd take a deep breath and say: "I produce some of the world's most beloved live entertainment, like Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey, Disney on Ice, Monster Jam, and even Sesame Street Live." Then came the big smiles. People would share beautiful memories of taking their kids, attending with their grandparents, or remember seeing the elephants walk through midtown Manhattan on their way to Madison Square Garden. The entertainment I helped to create was part of their most treasured moments.

Pretty cool, right?

Now that I've stepped away from being a “producer” within that world, that very same question plagues me. At first I stumbled, needing to validate what I used to do all while explaining I don't do it anymore, but am still dedicated to the growth of my company. Which led to even more questions I didn't want to answer, and that's if their attention span allowed them to stay in the conversation.

So eventually, I tried on a new response:  "I'm in a transition, exploring lots of passions, putting my talents to use, and choosing how I spend my time and who I spend it with."

This doesn't feel as showstopping. But it feels authentic. And it's incredibly relatable. My old answer was about what I produced for other people. These new answers are about who I'm becoming. There's something both terrifying and liberating about that shift.

Leaning into this truth has opened up amazing conversations with brilliant women feeling the same way. Women navigating burnout, questioning meaning, changing direction.

And something I learned along the way: I've stopped asking people "What do you do?" Instead, I ask "What brings you joy?" or "How do you spend your time?" The conversations that follow are so much more vulnerable and fascinating. People light up differently when they get to talk about what actually matters to them instead of leading with their job title.

If you're fumbling for words when people ask what you do, if your old answers don't fit anymore, when the job title no longer fits your story — I see you. I’m finding that the most interesting conversations happen when we share our uncertainties instead of performing our credentials.

I'm still figuring out what comes next, which might be the most authentic answer I've ever given.

What would happen if we all got braver about sharing where we really are?

Write back and tell me how you answer when someone asks what you do. Or better yet, tell me how you'd reframe that question entirely. What would you rather be asked instead?

From your biggest champion,
Nicole