Why I keep the door open
This work started with a need I could not keep walking past.
I knew capable people who were doing the work, taking the risks, and betting everything on themselves. But they were missing opportunities because no one had explained how to read the plans, find the right partner, negotiate their scope, or have the conversation that could change their business.
I have also sat on the side of the table where participation is reviewed, businesses are considered, and waivers are discussed. I grew tired of seeing small and diverse businesses reduced to a checkbox when I knew there were people who could contribute—if they had the information, preparation, and relationships to compete.
That gap became personal.
I know what it feels like to fail. To need help and feel unheard. To have your ability questioned before anyone understands your experience. To walk into a space where your gender, your appearance, or the way you express yourself becomes a distraction from what you bring to the table.
I also know how much it matters when someone sees you, tells you the truth, and helps you find your next step.
When I founded The RARE Place in 2014, I was carrying the responsibilities of business while seeing the people behind the work struggling. Managing employees and contracts taught me that growth means very little if we stop seeing the human beings making it possible.
That is why our work has many branches.
The tree in The RARE Place’s identity reflects that vision. The branches represent people, organizations, and relationships that help the work reach further than any one person could.
I am not Superwoman. I am a woman with a vision, a heart for people, and a determination to get things done.
People have trusted that vision and brought their own expertise, resources, time, and relationships to help move it forward. I do not take that trust lightly.
Much of this work has grown through my own investment and limited resources, strengthened by sponsors, volunteers, educators, business owners, community partners, and civic leaders who choose to show up. Their contributions matter. So does preserving the culture and community that make these spaces ours.
In underinvested and historically redlined communities, too many people begin with less—and receive the information after others have already positioned themselves. We deserve the chance to prepare early, understand the requirements, and make informed decisions about the opportunities around us.
Building another table is meaningful when people can reach it, contribute to it, and turn those relationships into progress.
My commitment is to keep my foot in the door, my seat at the table, and my finger on the pulse of what is happening across Western New York—and bring useful information back to the people who need it.
Buffalo is the City of Good Neighbors. I want that promise to reach across neighborhoods, industries, and backgrounds.
I am still that little Black girl with a vision. Today, that vision has roots, branches, and people helping it grow.
