My Camino: A Path of Resilience & Rediscovery
My Camino: A Path of Resilience & Rediscovery
In the heart of Los Angeles, my story emerges—not as a straight path, but as a winding journey of resilience, discovery, and continuous transformation. This is my camino, my journey, shaped by the women who came before me and propelled forward by the daughters who will carry it into the future.
The generational thread that connects my mother's story to mine is woven with resilience. My mother, who I affectionately called "Mami," took a job not out of passion but out of necessity—I was an unexpected blessing that required her to find stable work. I would later in life also follow a similar path... however, what she couldn't have known then was how her choice would plant the seeds for my future in digital technology. Those seeds would lie dormant until that fateful day in college when a fellow student said, "Hey, I think you would really like this class... you seem to like computers and you like art... it's called digital art."
The year was 1994, and I stood at a crossroads. I was the beneficiary of being the youngest in my family, and my siblings helped convince my parents I would be safe and okay if I went away a mere two hours from our home to UC Santa Barbara, a university close enough to my hometown of Los Angeles. While there, I was always torn between my love for art, literature, and psychology. I couldn't have known that a chance conversation about bridging the nascent '90s digital computer—a Mac—and art class would alter the trajectory of my life. But I need to take you back further, to a room filled with the steady hum of machines—my Mami's workplace.
Mami worked as a data entry operator in the same hospital she started working in where I was born and where she would also lay to rest. She spent her days in a room that seemed to stretch endlessly with rows of computers. As a child visiting her office, my memories are a mix of getting ice cream treats from the vending machine and the fear of going into this big room full of machines known as "the computer". I remember declaring, "I will never work with computers."
It was in that first Photoshop class during my senior year that I discovered a new world of possibilities. We were all pioneers then—teachers and students alike—learning through trial and error in an era when digital art was in its infancy. The excitement of those early days still resonates with me: staying up all night in the computer lab, falling in love with Premiere, movie editing, and watching in wonder as the World Wide Web began to take shape through the Mosaic browser.
But life rarely follows a straight path. I lost my mother to leukemia just a year after graduating. It's an awful disease to watch your loved one go through. I had left Santa Barbara and returned to LA to spend time with her, not knowing our time would be so short. After her passing, I couldn't bear to stay in LA—too many memories, too much pain.
So I found myself in San Francisco, trying to find my way, taking additional art classes, and exploring this new digital frontier. Then life surprised me again; I learned I was pregnant with my first child. Some might have seen this as an obstacle, but I saw it differently. To me, it felt like a gift from Mami, who had passed away just as I was discovering my path in digital art. This challenge became something beautiful—an opportunity to create a new kind of life.
The early days were a delicate balance of web design work with a baby on my lap, creating online magazines in San Francisco, and learning to compress audio files for websites through FTP. These technical challenges were matched only by the personal ones: navigating motherhood, building a career in a rapidly evolving industry, and carrying the weight of my mother's absence during these pivotal moments.
The trajectory from those early days to founding my own company, Camino5, is marked by countless moments of adaptation and growth. From the early days when everyone did not understand what the World Wide Web would change about the future of how we work to even today, where we stand uncertain about where AI will lead us. Looking back now, as I hear similar discussions about AI and its impact on creativity, I have to smile. It reminds me that while tools and technology may change, it's the human soul that keeps artistry and individuality moving forward.
The name Camino, meaning "way," "path," or "road" in Spanish, emerged from a deep understanding that business, like life, is a journey. It's a constant process of understanding who you are and pushing forward, not just for yourself but for those you serve and those who will follow.
What strikes me now, reflecting on my mother’s computer room and my daughters’ futures, is how interconnected we are through generations. My mother’s practical choice of working with early computers, though not her dream, created ripples that influenced my journey into digital technology. Today, I hope to create ripples of my own—to show my three daughters that change and success are possible at any stage of life. As I navigate this next chapter, I’m learning to embrace imperfection and use my mistakes as stepping stones. I’ve realized that resilience is not just about moving forward but also about knowing when to release what no longer serves you.
My mother once dreamed of running a family salon—a place where she could do what she loved, my father could serve coffee with his charm, and my grandmother could sew and share her wisdom. Though that dream never came to life over time, I’ve realized that resilience isn’t about holding on to every dream; it’s about creating space for new ones that reflect who we are today and the lessons we’ve learned along the way.My mother sacrificed so much—afraid in a new country, struggling with language, yet working tirelessly and fighting her leukemia with incredible strength. Years later, I'd face my own cancer journey, not as a battle, but as a profound life lesson. The universe was teaching me to change, to grow.
I appreciate the life she created for us, even as I carry the sadness of losing her too soon. She passed away when I was in my 20s, long before I truly understood a mother's love. Having my own daughter awakened a desire to know her better—but it was too late.
As a mother, I've tried to show up for my daughters, though I know I didn't always succeed perfectly. Yet watching them now, forging their own paths, I see the precious gift of time—a legacy of love passed between generations.
When I was first asked to write this, I paused. The weight of past losses made me hesitant to remember. But then I realized that by picking up the pen, I was honoring those experiences and giving them the dignity they deserved.
When asked to write this chapter, I said yes. Some days my mind resisted, questioning the value of my story. But I knew—deeply knew—that every story matters. Not just mine, but yours too.Now I understand that resilience sometimes means breaking patterns. I’ve faced similar fears but made different choices—choosing to show my daughters that anything is possible at any age. Starting Camino5 was another leap, a testament to both honoring my roots and forging new paths. It’s a constant journey of perseverance—navigating the ups and downs of entrepreneurship while striving to stay true to my vision.
And yet sometimes I still live by "I don't know what I want to do when I grow up"... I've worked on amazing campaigns, but what mattered most was defining time with my family. It took years of struggle—blood, sweat, tears running down my face as I navigated work and motherhood. I felt that loss deeply, the loss of Mami … remembering my mother's gentle ritual of always finding a moment to kiss my forehead before heading to work.
My true measure of success transcends professional achievements. It's about weaving the rich threads of my heritage into the fabric of innovation. As a first-generation daughter, I carry the profound legacy of my parents' sacrifices, transforming their hopes into new opportunities. Through Camino5, I'm not just building a business—I'm creating a pathway where each success becomes a bridge for someone else's dreams.
The journey from that little girl who vowed never to work with computers to a woman navigating the digital landscape hasn't been linear. Our camino is full of unexpected turns—losses and discoveries, letting go and holding on. This past year challenged me deeply: first breaking my foot and relearning to walk, then facing cancer. I'm now a survivor, a word that carries a profound complexity. It's about embracing life with newfound depth, reimagining what it means to be whole.
I'm still trying to figure out what my story is and where it ends... was it a battle or an awakening? Some days drift in shades of grey, while others burst with unexpected light. And then our beloved city of Los Angeles was on fire the week that I finalized these words. What is the universe trying to tell us? Such resilience pulses around us, whispering the eternal questions: Why do challenges find us? Why do we love knowing loss is inevitable? Why do we suffer? Because we live. We live on for those joyous moments, for that moment we feel alive — pushing through, breaking through, finding light in the midst of everything
My words keep moving through me like they haven't moved in so long. I realize maybe this is what this year is for. I forgot to write and live, and here I am... fighting it, but I'm going to release this... in its imperfectness. But through it all, resilience has been my constant companion—teaching me that our greatest limitations are often self-imposed and that anything is possible if we dare to try.
This is my camino—I'm not sure where it ends yet, but I know I'm on a path of continuous resilience and rediscovery. Marked by the footsteps of those who came before, illuminated by the promise of those who will follow. Resilience isn't just about surviving, but thriving—adapting and creating spaces where others can grow.
Obstacles aren't just challenges; they're opportunities to feel alive. We don't choose them, but we move through them—sometimes with sadness, sometimes with joy—always figuring, always becoming. This is the true essence of resilience: not merely enduring the journey, but transforming it, making each step a testament to the power of hope, of roots, of dreams that stretch beyond what seems possible.
We aren't confined by the limits of what was, nor are we afraid of what will be. We may fall, but we will always rise back up again. At any stage of life, in any moment, we don't stop. We can begin at any time. Our power flows from the resilience in our blood, the creativity in our minds, and the determination burning in our hearts.This is our camino—unfolding, unpredictable, uniquely ours. Through resilience and creativity, we honor those before us and light the path for those to come.Let’s continue this journey together:LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/francesmendez/IG: https://www.instagram.com/la.frances.mendez/Twitter: https://twitter.com/francesmendezWebsite: https://www.camino5.com/
