Chapter Seven

The Courage to Become

It was a rainy afternoon in October 1998 as I hurried from one casting to the next through the streets of Milan, trying unsuccessfully to stay dry while Fashion Week unfolded around me. Umbrellas filled the sidewalks as buyers, designers, photographers, and models rushed between appointments, each moving with the familiar urgency that defined one of the busiest weeks of the year.

Fashion Week was exhilarating, but it was also exhausting.

Most mornings began before sunrise. My days were filled with castings, fittings, rehearsals, and endless waiting rooms where hundreds of hopeful models sat quietly, each hoping to hear her name called. By evening, my feet ached from walking the city's cobblestone streets, and I would return to my apartment knowing the alarm would ring before dawn and I would do it all again.

As I stepped onto the tram to head home that afternoon, my pager beeped.

It was my agent.

"Didi," she said, "can you come by the agency? Someone from L.A. Models is here scouting, and they'd like to meet you."

Until that moment, Los Angeles had existed mostly in my imagination.

I knew California through movies, television, and songs like California Dreamin'. I pictured endless sunshine, palm trees swaying above wide boulevards, and a place that seemed impossibly far from the little girl who had once stood on a curb in Beenleigh wondering what existed beyond the horizon.

More practically, I also knew it was an English-speaking market. After spending years working throughout Europe and Asia, where every country introduced another language and another culture, the thought of working somewhere I could communicate more easily was appealing.

When my agent asked whether I would consider going to Los Angeles, I didn't spend much time thinking about it.

I simply said yes.

Not because I was searching for a new life. Not because I dreamed of living in America. Certainly not because I imagined it would one day become my home.

It was simply another modeling assignment in another part of the world. By then, that was how I had learned to live.

One opportunity led to another, and each destination became another classroom. Every country introduced new people, new customs, new ways of thinking, and another chance to discover who I was becoming.

Looking back now, I realize curiosity had quietly become the compass guiding my life. It wasn't pulling me toward a destination. It was teaching me to keep saying yes to the next door that opened.

A few weeks later, I boarded a plane for Los Angeles carrying a suitcase, sixty dollars in my pocket, and a temporary work permit.

After paying for airfare and settling my expenses in Milan, very little money remained. It wasn't unusual. Most models left Europe with far less money than people imagined. Agency commissions, apartment rentals, transportation, and everyday living costs quickly consumed what we earned.

What I carried instead couldn't be measured in dollars.

I had gained experience.

Confidence.

Resilience.

I had learned how to navigate airports alone, find my way through unfamiliar cities, and build friendships with people whose languages I barely spoke. Returning to Australia would have been the sensible decision. But I wasn't ready to stop exploring. Los Angeles wasn't the end of a journey. It simply felt like the next page.

On my first day in America, I met Crista Klayman, the director of runway at L.A. Models. She watched me walk only once before smiling. "I think we're going to keep you busy."She was right.

Within days I was attending castings across Los Angeles, meeting clients and booking work. Every morning introduced another unfamiliar part of the city. Beverly Hills. Santa Monica. Hollywood. Downtown. The names I'd heard in films suddenly became places I was navigating myself.

Adjusting to America wasn't always easy.

Driving on the right-hand side of the road required far more concentration than I expected. More than once I caught myself instinctively reaching for the wrong side of the car or preparing to enter an intersection the Australian way before reminding myself where I was. Everything felt just different enough to keep me alert. But slowly, almost without noticing, unfamiliar became familiar.

The temporary work permit became another.

Then another.

Months became years.

America, which had begun as simply another modeling market, gradually became somewhere I could imagine building a life.

I hadn't planned it. In truth, very little of my life has unfolded according to a carefully designed plan. I've often looked back and laughed at how many of my greatest opportunities began with someone asking a simple question.

"Would you like to...?"

Would you like to model?

Would you like to go to Japan?

Would you like to move to Milan?

Would you like to go to Los Angeles?

Every one of those questions required only one answer.

Yes.

Each yes quietly changed the direction of my life.

The runway introduced me to remarkable people, and every new relationship seemed to open another unexpected door. One afternoon, while I wasn't working, I accepted a commission to paint a mural inside a client's home. Creativity had always been part of who I was. Long before television or design became part of my life, I loved painting. There was something peaceful about transforming a blank wall into something that made people smile each time they entered the room. As I worked, completely absorbed in the painting, I noticed the homeowner standing quietly behind me. He watched for several minutes before speaking. "Didi," he said thoughtfully, "you shouldn't be doing this inside people's homes.” I looked over my shoulder, confused. "You should be doing this on television.” I laughed.

Television? I had never imagined myself on television.

Then again… Neither had I imagined myself becoming a model.

Years earlier, someone had looked beyond a nervous teenager completing a school internship and seen something I couldn't yet see in myself. Later, Crista had believed I belonged in America before I believed it myself. Now, once again, another person was describing a future that had never crossed my mind.

I've often wondered how many lives change because one person chooses to speak aloud what they see in someone else.

Sometimes people lend us belief until we're ready to carry it ourselves. That conversation stayed with me. Not because I suddenly believed I belonged on television, but because it awakened something much deeper.

Curiosity.

Again.

If I was going to explore this possibility, I wanted to understand more than decorating beautiful spaces. I wanted to understand how they were created. I enrolled to study interior design and carpentry. To some people, those disciplines probably seemed unrelated. To me, they felt perfectly connected.

Interior design taught me how environments influence the way people feel. Carpentry taught me how those environments come to life.

I love both equally.

There was something deeply satisfying about taking raw materials and transforming them into spaces where families would celebrate birthdays, share meals, comfort one another, and create memories that would last for generations. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became. Construction wasn't simply about wood, nails, or blueprints.

It was about possibility.

It was about creating places where life happened. That growing passion eventually led me to Habitat for Humanity. Until then, I had thought building homes was primarily about construction. Habitat taught me something entirely different.

It was about people.

Working alongside families as they helped build their own homes forever changed my understanding of what a home truly represents.

A home isn't simply four walls and a roof.

It is safety.

It is dignity.

It is belonging.

It is the place where children fall asleep feeling secure and parents begin believing tomorrow might look different than yesterday.

Standing beside those families, hammer in hand, I realized we weren't simply raising walls.

We were helping build hope.

Looking back now, I can see those days on Habitat job sites were quietly preparing me for an opportunity I never could have imagined.

Not long afterward, I was invited to join the design team for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

For three seasons, I had the privilege of traveling throughout the United States, helping transform homes for families who had endured hardship. Every project was completed under extraordinary time pressure. Designers, builders, volunteers, tradespeople, and entire communities worked side by side with a single purpose, to give deserving families not only a beautiful home, but a fresh beginning.

People often ask what it was like working on television. The truth is, television was never what stayed with me.

It was the families.

I still remember watching parents walk through the front door of their new home for the very first time. I remember children running from room to room with tears of excitement streaming down their faces. I remember neighbors standing shoulder to shoulder, cheering for people they had never met only days before.

Those weren't television moments.

They were human moments.

They reminded me, once again, that when people feel seen, valued, and loved, hope has an extraordinary way of returning.

Without realizing it, another thread had been weaving its way through my life.

Whether I was designing a room, building a home, or helping tell someone's story, I found myself drawn to the same thing.

People.

Their dreams.

Their potential.

Their stories.

As television opportunities continued to grow, another unexpected door opened.

For nearly seven years, I traveled throughout the United States speaking to thousands of students, encouraging them to dream beyond the circumstances they had been born into and believe their future was never limited by where they began.

Almost every presentation began the same way. "Who wants to be famous?” Without hesitation, almost every hand in the room would shoot into the air.

The students would smile, laugh, and glance around to see who else shared the same dream.

Then I would smile back. "What if I told you that's the wrong dream?” The room would instantly grow quiet. Some students looked confused. Others looked disappointed. Then we would begin a very different conversation.

I told them that fame was never a purpose.

It was simply recognition. Recognition comes and goes.

Character remains. Influence isn't measured by how many people know your name. It's measured by how many people's lives are better because they knew yours.

I encouraged them not to chase applause, but to discover their gifts, serve others with excellence, and trust that meaningful success often arrives quietly, one opportunity at a time. Looking back now, I realize those presentations weren't only shaping the students. They were shaping me.

Every stage I stood on, every conversation I had, and every young person I met reinforced something life had been teaching me for years.

Every person has value.

Every person deserves to be seen.

Every person carries potential they may not yet recognize in themselves.

Whether I was building a home, standing in front of a classroom, or telling someone's story through a camera lens, I found myself drawn to the same thing.

People.

Their dreams.

Their struggles.

Their potential.

Stories have the remarkable ability to help people see possibilities they never imagined for themselves. That realization eventually led me to establish my own production and marketing company. For the first time, everything I loved came together. Television, design, marketing, travel, business, and creativity.

More importantly, it gave me another way to serve people by helping them tell their own stories.

One of our clients was a beautiful RV resort in California. The resort became a sponsor of one of my television programs, and over time, I developed a wonderful relationship with the team. We spent countless hours filming throughout the property, creating marketing campaigns, and capturing not only the beauty of the resort but the experiences people created there.

One afternoon, after we had finished filming, the owner asked if we could sit together for a few minutes before I left. As we talked, she looked at me thoughtfully. "Didi," she said, "I've been watching you.” You have an incredible way of connecting with people.” She paused for a moment before continuing. "What you're doing is amazing.” Then she asked a question I never saw coming. "Would you ever consider doing that here?"

I smiled politely, unsure what she meant. She smiled. "Would you come and lead the marketing for our resort?"

For a moment, I simply sat there. Not because I wasn't interested. Because once again, someone was describing a future I hadn't imagined for myself. It was a feeling I knew well.

Years earlier, a producer in Brisbane had seen a model before I did. An agent in Milan had seen America before I had. A homeowner had looked at a mural and seen television. Now a resort owner was looking at a television producer and seeing something entirely different.

Driving home that afternoon, I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation. Looking back now, I realize my life had never been a series of unrelated careers.

Every opportunity had been preparing me for the next. Each experience had added another layer to the leader I was becoming.

After speaking with my husband, we accepted the owner's invitation, believing I would simply be leading the marketing of a resort.

I had no idea I was about to step into one of the greatest leadership classrooms of my life.