I’ve been thinking about the “butterfly effect” recently — and not the 2004 film starring Ashton Kutcher. Next week I’ll be a guest on my first-ever podcast, and many of the questions center around how I got into the mortgage industry. How did I find my way here? We could trace it back to my husband landing his job in Connecticut and my best friend already living here, connecting me with my current employer. Or realistically, we could go back much further. Decades further.

It’s been a particularly pivotal season of change in my life, and this idea of the “butterfly effect” is hitting home even more. The notion that small actions create vastly different outcomes rings true when you pause and consider how much one individual might have impacted your life.

I’ve talked before about how chosen family played a large role in my upbringing. The other day, while reminiscing with my mom, she mentioned one small moment that changed her life, and ultimately ours. My dad brought home a friend from softball. Later, that friend introduced my mom to his wife, who became her lifelong best friend. That single introduction shaped everything. It meant I grew up surrounded by friends who felt like family. It meant a cousin not by blood but by choice who officiated my wedding. It meant cherished memories woven into my childhood.

I think about my best friend, whom I met in high school, and how if I hadn’t met her, I wouldn’t be sitting in my house in Connecticut writing this newsletter as one of the founding members of the Mortgage Women Leadership Council. If my parents hadn’t chosen to send me to a private Catholic school in Peabody, Massachusetts, and if her parents hadn’t done the same, we likely never would have met. If we hadn’t found camaraderie in art, I might have pursued a different career and never become a graphic designer.

I wonder if the term “butterfly effect” is less about the insignificance of a butterfly’s wings and more about the beauty of life’s small moments that lead to meaningful impact. It often carries a negative connotation, suggesting unintended long-term consequences from small, unassuming acts. But maybe it’s more like a “choose your own adventure” book. Small choices that redirect everything.

And maybe there’s something greater guiding those inclinations, a nudge to make that choice or to suggest that two people should meet. I may not know where my choices will lead me decades from now, but if these two defining moments of connection have taught me anything, it’s this: when you choose to bring people into your inner circle who you genuinely connect with, you’re rarely disappointed by the long-term gift of that community.