The Art of Showing Up

In 2022, shortly after getting married, she and her husband moved to Austin. The decision was practical. They wanted to be closer to his family and leave behind the long Midwestern winters. She discovered a city unlike any she had lived in before. "Austin felt so friendly that I almost didn't trust it," she laughs.

Coming from larger cities where people often keep to themselves, strangers smiling and chatting felt unusual. Over time, that suspicion transformed into appreciation. Austin's colorful neighborhoods, creative spirit, and slower pace gave her room to breathe. She found herself drawn to outdoor events, hiking trails, and community gatherings that encouraged people to reconnect with nature and with one another.

She especially loves what she calls Austin's "mysterious corners." Sometimes it's an unexpected mural discovered after taking a wrong turn. Sometimes it's layers of graffiti telling silent stories. Sometimes it's something as ordinary as the walls of an old bar bathroom covered with years of handwritten messages.

"I love the evidence that people were here," she says. "Cities tell stories if you're willing to look."

Long before Austin became home, Danielle had already spent more than a decade building a career in hospitality. Over twelve years, she worked nearly every position imaginable, from front-of-house and back-of-house to restaurant management. The work taught her how to read people quickly, organize chaos, and create environments where both guests and employees felt cared for.

She believes restaurants are more than businesses. They are gathering places."A meal can be someone's break from a really difficult day," she explains. "If I can help create that moment of peace, then I've done my job."

That belief was strengthened years earlier while working at Phil's Café, a neighborhood restaurant in Chicago. The café wasn't considered trendy or glamorous, but it welcomed everyone.

People experiencing homelessness came in for coffee. Individuals struggling with addiction stopped by throughout the day. Danielle never saw them as inconveniences. She saw neighbors, people in need of empathy and compassion.

Sometimes offering someone a warm cup of coffee or simply treating them with dignity became the most meaningful interaction of the day.

"I think third spaces should belong to everyone," she says. "Not just the people who make us comfortable." Her commitment to caring for others eventually expanded beyond restaurants.

Not long after moving to Austin, both of her in-laws were diagnosed with terminal illnesses. As she supported her husband, a therapist, and the oldest sibling, Danielle witnessed firsthand how overwhelming the healthcare system could become. Medical decisions, legal paperwork, advance directives, hospice care, and grief all collided at once.

She realized how little preparation most families receive for one of life's only guarantees. Instead of turning away from that reality, Danielle leaned into it.

She completed formal training as a death doula, studying everything from end-of-life medical care and legal planning to common diagnoses, medications, pediatric hospice, and supporting LGBTQ+ communities with culturally competent care. Today, she volunteers and interns several times each month in a care home while helping families navigate death with confidence and compassion.

Much of her work focuses on education. She helps families understand advance directives before a crisis occurs. She reminds people they have choices, including the right to ask questions, change providers, or decline treatments that no longer align with their loved one's wishes.

Above all, she strives to become the calmest person in the room. "When people are scared," she says, "they need someone who isn't."

That calm doesn't disappear when she returns to the restaurant. Instead, each role strengthens the other. Learning to remain grounded while supporting grieving families makes managing a busy dining room feel more intentional. The joy she experiences celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and everyday meals reminds her to continue finding beauty in ordinary moments. Together, the two careers create balance.

Danielle's understanding of care is also deeply rooted in family and culture.

Raised primarily by her mother and grandmother, Spanish filled much of her childhood home before English gradually became dominant after she started school. Though she doesn't consider herself fully fluent today, hearing Spanish still feels like returning home. Audiobooks in the language often remind her of childhood conversations around the kitchen table.

She also spent more than a decade studying French, honoring her family's French Creole heritage.

Her cultural traditions extend beyond language. Every week, Danielle tends to an ancestral altar in her home. She places flowers, lights incense, and leaves offerings of rum and cigarettes to honor generations who came before her, including ancestors whose names have been lost to history.

For Danielle, especially as a woman of color, remembering those whose stories were never fully recorded is an act of healing.

Through her Mexican stepfather and younger siblings, Día de los Muertos also became an important family tradition. She admires the way Mexican culture openly celebrates remembrance while welcoming others into community.

That sense of belonging shapes the advice she offers anyone moving to a new city. "Come correct," she says.

Rather than arriving with expectations about how a place should change, she encourages newcomers to observe first, listen carefully, and respect the communities that already exist. Authenticity, curiosity, and humility create stronger connections than trying to fit into an image.

When Danielle reflects on what makes her most proud, she doesn't point to a promotion or professional achievement. Instead, she speaks about her family.

Like many families, hers has experienced pain and unresolved trauma. What makes her proud is everyone's willingness to continue doing the work of healing together. Difficult conversations are met with accountability instead of blame. Growth is viewed as a lifelong practice rather than a destination.

She credits both her parents for shaping who she has become. Her mother taught her to speak boldly and unapologetically, never shrinking herself as a woman of color. Her father demonstrated quiet discipline, showing that consistency, curiosity, and hard work often speak louder than words.

Looking back, Danielle wishes she had discovered meditation and self-reflection much earlier in life. Learning to sit quietly with herself, she believes, made it easier to distinguish her own dreams from the expectations of others.

Today, Austin feels like the perfect place to continue that journey. She calls it home, but she also calls it whimsical.

She hopes the city's famous slogan, "Keep Austin Weird," continues to inspire people to embrace creativity, individuality, and joyful self-expression. For Danielle, cities are healthiest when people feel free to be fully themselves.

Whether she is offering someone a comforting meal, guiding a family through grief, or leaving flowers on an ancestral altar, Danielle approaches every interaction with the same quiet purpose.

Life is made meaningful not only by the extraordinary moments, but by the simple act of showing up for one another. And that, more than anything, is the work she has chosen to do.