I was lucky to be born in a small country.
It didn't feel like luck at the time. But growing up somewhere small teaches you something early, before you have words for it: if you ever want to do anything at real scale, you have to look for it past your own borders. There simply isn't enough room at home.
A small country with no dominant local culture has a side effect, too. You grow up laughing at comedies filmed in a Mexican courtyard and in a New York apartment, in Spanish and in English. You listen to music out of Buenos Aires and out of Seattle and love both without thinking about it. Cultural range stops being a skill you study and becomes something closer to a first language.
Years later, working as an engineer, I watched what happened to the companies back home that refused to cross those borders. They became one of two things: an inefficient local monopoly, or a business that barely kept its owners afloat. Neither looked like success to me.
So I started exporting. I bought what my region had in abundance and could buy cheaply, did just enough to it to make it worth shipping, and sold it into international markets. Before long my small company was sending containers to China, India, Belgium, Brazil, the United States, the Netherlands, and Spain.
Then it ended. A mix of my own impatience to grow and a coup d'état that landed squarely on top of the 2008 financial crisis pushed me back into the job market. I came out with scars — and with something more useful than I understood at the time. The instinct for growing across borders, sharpened by a crisis that cost real money to learn, turned out to be exactly what other companies needed.
This time I wasn't the owner. I was the executive: designing market-entry strategy and running the commercial machine (operations, logistics, distribution, pricing, marketing) across Central America, several countries in South America, the Caribbean, the United States, Canada, parts of southern Europe, and parts of West Africa.
That growth is what brought my whole family to the United States, where I've now lived for a decade. Relocating an executive across a border and moving his entire family, paying for it, betting he will keep producing on unfamiliar ground, is not something a company does for someone who is failing.
And living here taught me something no research report had: this is not one country. The distance between someone from Alabama and someone from Boston can be wider and deeper than the distance between people living under different flags. Anyone who treats the US as a single market is leaving most of it on the table.
In a few years we went from a modest foothold in Miami to a serious competitor in 25 states, opened a second regional office in Texas, and got our products onto the shelves of the country's largest distribution chains.
A competitor noticed, and invited me over. I've spent the last six years there, producing a familiar kind of result: a company selling four times what it did six years ago, present in 42 states, with live relationships across the biggest names in building-materials distribution such as Menards, Lowe's, The Home Depot as well as all the specialized channels: ABC Supply, QXO, SRS, and the rest.
If there's a thread, it's this. My birthplace gave me the cultural sensitivity to read the differences. Engineering let me put mathematical structure under the analysis. The MBA added the business frameworks. And twenty-six years of practice with equal parts mistakes and wins is what let me test all of it against reality and finally make it mine.