What is your mission?

If you were hoping for a blog about rocket ships and intergalactic exploration, you’ve come to the wrong place—but stay with me, because my “Mission” is no less ambitious. It’s a little more down-to-earth (literally), though it does involve some serious science, heartfelt matchmaking, and a hopeful dash of mashed potatoes. Intrigued? Good. Buckle up.

Mission of Mars: A Detour to Nowhere

The idea of having a “mission” sent my brain straight to the Seattle Center, where I once made the mistake of stepping onto a ride called the Mission of Mars. I can still smell the stale popcorn and terror. The ride was this claustrophobic, dark ordeal that promised excitement but delivered sweaty palms and regret. I hated it. Why? Because it was disorienting, and I had no control. Sound familiar? Like life sometimes. But no thanks, Seattle Center. Not my kind of mission.

Mission Control: Stress and Snacks

Then my brain hopped to NASA’s Mission Control. Those crisp white shirts, all that responsibility, and the possibility of either successfully landing on the moon or crashing an entire spaceship because someone forgot to carry the one. That kind of stress would not end well for me. (I’d be the person “accidentally” eating astronaut snacks to self-soothe during a critical launch.) So no, space exploration wasn’t my vibe either.

What’s My Mission, Then?

When I finally shook off the space metaphors, I came back to what really matters—my real mission. And let me tell you, it’s messy, emotional, and doesn’t involve futuristic tech or countdowns. It’s about people. Lives. Families.

For the past 20+ years, I’ve had the honor of arranging what I like to call the most delicate blind dates in history: the matchmaking of sperm and eggs. My job involves third-party reproduction—donation, embryos, surrogacy—you name it. My mission is to help people become parents.

If you’re scratching your head right now, let me clarify: no, I’m not a medical prostitute. I’m more like a fertility Cupid with a clipboard and a knack for logistics. My work brings science, love, and hope together to create families. If that sounds wild, it’s because it is.

Picture it: two microscopic cells meet, do a little waltz under a microscope, and—if all goes well—nestle into a uterus like peas and carrots in mashed potatoes. Nine months later, a baby is born. It’s awe-inspiring, and I’ve been lucky enough to play a part in that miracle for decades. But even as fulfilling as this work is, I’ve started to wonder: is this my ultimate mission?

The Kidney Chronicles

When I ask myself what really drives me, the answer gets personal. My person—the love of my life—is in kidney failure and undergoing dialysis. If there’s one thing I want in this world, it’s to find a kidney for him. That’s my real mission.

It’s strange how life works. I spend my days helping families grow, but at night, my thoughts turn to a search for something as simple and as complicated as a kidney. Sometimes I wonder if it’s too late—for his health, for my career, for all the dreams I still want to chase in my early 60s. But then I remember: missions aren’t about guarantees. They’re about hope, about putting one foot in front of the other, even when the path ahead is unclear.

What Does It All Mean?

So here I am, juggling missions. By day, I’m creating families. By night, I’m chasing a miracle for my partner. And in the quiet moments, I’m just trying to stay healthy, stay present, and figure out what my soul was really put here to do.

If you’re looking for a tidy conclusion, I don’t have one. Missions aren’t neat. They’re messy, sprawling, and sometimes involve unexpected detours—like creepy rides at the Seattle Center or spontaneous deep dives into NASA snack protocols. But they’re also what keep us moving forward.

Whether my mission leads to a kidney, a breakthrough, or just one more miracle embryo that finds its way into a loving home, I’ll keep showing up. Because that’s what missions are about: showing up, even when you don’t have all the answers.