And that was everything.
Family, friends, and neighbors who looked out for one another — that was the foundation I was built on.
My grandfather served in the United States Army. After his service, he was offered a job with the Seaboard Railroad Company, and that job brought our family to Boca Grande, Florida. Named for the deep natural channel at the island's pass that allowed large shipping vessels to navigate it, Boca Grande became a hub for the phosphate trade — and for fishing enthusiasts, it's known as the Tarpon Fishing Capital of the World. You may also know it as Gasparilla Island, one of the most beautiful barrier islands on the Gulf Coast. We weren't wealthy. We were part of a community that worked hard, looked out for each other, and never asked for more than what we earned.
My grandfather, photographed at the Marshall Islands during his time in service.
My grandfather fished the crystal waters of the island's south end and handcrafted souvenir gifts for the visitors who came from all over the world to see that beautiful stretch of coastline. He was also a carpenter — he built additions to our home with no measuring tools, no blueprints, no guides. He would simply look at a space, feel what it needed, and build it. Perfectly. He didn't measure twice and cut once. He just knew.
My grandmother was the matriarch of our family. She held a full-time job as a maid — and still managed to keep our home and everyone in it together. My mother worked on the island too — and watching the women in my family show up every day with grace and quiet strength shaped everything about who I became.
We grew from the land and the sea. My grandfather pulled conchs, crabs, and all kinds of fish from those waters — and that's what we ate. Fresh, abundant, and earned by hand. We didn't go to the store for what the ocean freely gave us. There was a richness in that life that had nothing to do with money.
My uncle Johnny, circa 1956 — sitting on a Goliath grouper my grandfather caught off the Phosphate Dock in Boca Grande.
Our home was just steps from the beach, with pepper trees and sea grass standing between us and the water. We had no air conditioning. On the hottest nights, when the fans were doing nothing but pushing hot air around, I'd open the refrigerator door and stand there as long as I could — soaking up every bit of cool air it had to offer. Then I'd close it and go back to sleep, with the sound of the ocean waves outside my window doing the rest.
What we lacked in money, we made up for in each other. Our village — the families, the friends, the neighbors — looked out for one another. Nobody felt alone. Nobody struggled alone. That sense of community, of collective responsibility, of people showing up for people — that is the single greatest lesson of my life. And it shapes everything about how I lead and how I serve.
Looking back, it really was a dream. The crystal waters. The fresh seafood pulled straight from the sea. The people who made that little island feel like the whole world. I still have dear friends from those days — and when we find each other, we trade island stories like they happened yesterday. Some places leave you. That one never did.
I didn't know I was different until I was eight years old, when a friend's older sister told her not to play with me because I was Black. That moment cracked the world open for me. I realized people would judge me not by my character, but by the color of my skin. So I leaned into what I knew I had — great genes, a quick wit, a strong work ethic, and a natural gift for connecting with people. Those were my tools. And I took them into every room I walked into.
When we eventually had to leave the island, every remnant of the life we'd built there was left behind. The home. The memories. The evidence that we had ever belonged to that place. But what my grandparents instilled in me — that no one could take.
My grandmother raised me from three days old. My grandfather passed away when I was eight, leaving her to hold everything together on her own. She had eleven children — seven survived. She had an elementary education, but she was one of the smartest, strongest, most confident women I have ever known. She worked hard her entire life, never leaned on anyone, and never once let the world shrink her.
I had a mother. But ours was never a mother-daughter relationship in the way most people understand it. My grandmother was the one who showed up, every day, in every way that mattered.
"Education is a key to success — but not the key."
That distinction shaped everything about how I work. Knowledge opens doors — but character, grit, and the ability to connect with people are what keep them open.
Before she passed, she didn't call me her granddaughter. She called me her child. I carry that with me every single day.
I think about my grandfather often when I walk into a transformation engagement.
He never needed a measuring tape because he had built enough, seen enough, and learned enough to trust what he knew. He could look at a space and understand exactly what it required — not from a manual, but from mastery.
That's what 15+ years of leading enterprise transformation has given me. I walk into an organization — I read the room, the culture, the resistance, the opportunity — and I know what it needs. Not because I'm following a template. Because I've done this work long enough to feel it.
My grandfather built homes without measuring tools. I build transformation without a one-size-fits-all playbook. We both just know what it takes to make things work.
I became the first in my family to graduate from college. I worked full time to pay my way through school — and when I walked across that stage as the 50,000th graduate of the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, I knew it had all been worth it. My grandmother was in the audience. She was proud. So was I. To mark the moment, I was presented with the 49er Gold Miner plaque — signed by university founder Bonnie Cone and the chancellors of the university. A piece of history. Mine to keep.
Receiving the 49er Gold Miner plaque from university founder Bonnie Cone and the chancellors of UNC Charlotte.
Photographed for The Charlotte Observer, crossing the stage as the 50,000th graduate of UNC Charlotte, greeted by my grandmother in the audience. A day that meant everything. Not just to me, but to everyone who believed I'd get there.
After graduation, I was selected for the Management Associate Program at Bank of America — a competitive leadership track that opened the door to everything that followed. I went on to manage one of the most successful branches in the Triangle region of North Carolina. All while working full time, I pursued my Master of Economics degree from NC State through an evening program — because stopping was never an option. From there, my career grew — leading teams, managing a portfolio of affluent clients, working in lending and corporate communications, and ultimately being chosen for the historic Merrill Lynch merger.
Everything I built, every room I walked into, every lesson I learned — it all led to one decision: to build something of my own. In 2025, I founded e53o, operating under Evolve360 LLC.
Life has not always been kind. There have been setbacks that knocked the wind out of me. Betrayals that cut deep. Losses that left marks I still carry. But every single time — every single time — I got back up. Not because it was easy. Because I knew how. My grandmother showed me. My village showed me. You get up. You keep going. You do the work.
Today, I am the Owner and Principal Founder of e53o. Everything I have built, learned, and lived is what I bring to the organizations and leaders who need it most.
Transformations don't fail because of bad strategy. They fail because of people.
After 15+ years leading enterprise-wide change at organizations like Bank of America and Humana, I've managed $70M+ programs, guided teams through regulatory overhauls, and sat in rooms with resistant stakeholders until they became committed champions. What I know after all of it is this: the technical plan is never the hard part. The human part is.
I'm Tracy Sanders. I work at the intersection of strategy, execution, and people. I don't hand you a roadmap and step back. I stay in the room until the work is done, the teams are aligned, and the results are real.
I am authentically Tracy. That's my story. And I'm sticking to it.
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