When I was twelve, my mom started buying me a magazine called Conozca Más — "Know More." Every month, without fail, she never missed one.

I had no idea what research was. But those pages were full of discoveries about science, psychology, the future, how people think and why they buy things. And at the end of every story, the same words: "researchers at Harvard," "a study from UCLA," "scientists at the University of Michigan."

I didn't know what those people did, or how to become one of them. But somehow, without understanding any of it, I wanted to be one.

Life went on. The dream faded. I didn't know what a Ph.D. was until I left Ecuador for my MBA. By then I had forgotten I ever wanted to be a researcher at all.

It was my wife who saw it before I did, and pushed me toward the Ph.D. when I couldn't see the path myself. Leaving wasn't easy — my mom was one of the few who didn't want me to go. But my wife and our oldest son came with me anyway.

Then the twins were born while I was still finishing the dissertation. For the first three months, my wife and I cared for all three boys alone, sleeping two or three hours a night, half out of our minds. Somehow we made it through. The dream was never just mine — it became ours.

Now I am a researcher. I publish articles about how people feel, choose, and connect with brands — from a university in the United States. And somewhere, I hope, a kid is reading something with my name in it, dreaming of a path they don't yet know how to find.

This one's for my mom, who first made me wonder. For my wife and my boys, who made it real. And for that kid.