Once upon a time, when people asked me where I was from, I’d duck the question because my hometown felt like a place I was trying to escape. Now, I realize how profoundly it influenced my life’s direction and prepared me for the work I do today.
I was born in Levittown, New York, the first mass-produced suburb in the world. Our homes looked like Monopoly houses—largely identical and built in 27 steps. It was the brainchild of William J. Levitt, who applied construction skills he learned in the military to building affordable housing for a growing middle class.
Levittown was never my happy place. It wasn’t just the sameness of the houses that bothered me. It was what felt like a smallness and sameness of perspective it engendered.
As far as I could tell, many people seemed to care only about what happened on their one-eighth acre of land. I witnessed little curiosity or caring about the big glorious world beyond.
Of course, a teenager’s vantage point isn’t the most reliable. So, looking back now, I know there are many possible reasons that people seemed to keep their focus on their own lives; and I’m sure plenty of them did care about the larger world. But my formative impression was that most people didn’t. And I couldn’t for the life of me understand that.
I was immensely curious—and I cared deeply.
A Burning Question
I began to discover the world when I enrolled at Columbia University with a dream of becoming a foreign correspondent and seeing as much of the world as I could.
But along the way, I found myself caring about what was happening—what seemed both unjust and unwise—here in our own country: the racism, the homophobia, the gender inequality, the growing economic chasms, and, above all, the disregard for our natural environment.
The disregard for nature baffled me the most, given not only its beauty but also the countless ways in which our health and well-being—indeed, our survival and the survival of our children and grandchildren—depend upon it.
And so began a lifelong journey of questing after an answer to the big question:
Why do some people work to solve problems while others stay on the sidelines?
The Simple Truth About Why Some People Step Up
As a writer, mission-driven leader, and mom, I’ve spoken with hundreds of people about this—everyday changemakers, experts in psychology and neuroscience, Buddhist teachers, parents, even extreme athletes.
I’ve also done some deep diving into my own heart and soul, often finding more similarities with those I struggled to understand than I would have imagined.
What I discovered was breathtakingly simple:
Capacity makes the difference.
More specifically, our belief about our capacity to meet challenges determines whether we act or remain bystanders.
When we don’t believe we can make a difference, we tend not to try. When we do, we often step up—and, as research affirms, are rewarded with greater fulfillment and well-being than if we had stayed on the sidelines.
And so, in these times—when the challenges we face as individuals, families, organizations, and communities are more consequential and complex than ever—I believe this:
Cultivating our capacity to rise to challenges
is one of the most important things we can do together in 2025.
This is why I offer capacity-building workshops for mission-driven people reckoning with some of the most pressing issues of our day. This involves focusing on the skills that help us navigate outsized challenges—and sometimes elicits the happy recognition that our past has made us more ready to deal with present challenges than we may have thought.
Which brings me to my invitations.
Two Invitations for You
1️⃣ Look for Something in Your Past That Can Help You Now
As in my story, it’s easy to look back on our lives and see certain experiences as roadblocks, detours, or even mistakes—things that slowed us down, held us back, or made things harder than they needed to be. Or not!
Indeed, what if those experiences have given you something essential for the challenges you face now?
Maybe it’s a particular kind of awareness—a way of seeing patterns or asking questions others might overlook.
Maybe it’s a hard-earned skill you had to develop to navigate difficult terrain.
Or maybe it’s a sense of purpose from something you once struggled to understand or accept.
We tend to think of preparation as formal—degrees, training, credentials. But so often, what deeply equips us for meaningful work is something less tangible but no less real:
The way we’ve learned to pay attention
How we handle uncertainty
The resilience we’ve developed
Or the deep empathy that comes from having experienced something ourselves.
So, I invite you to pause for a moment today and consider:
👉 What’s something in your past that once felt like an obstacle but has actually prepared you for this moment?
It doesn’t have to be something dramatic or life-changing. Sometimes, the most formative experiences appear subtle on the outside.
If something pops up for you, please consider sharing your thoughts below. I’d love to hear them and suspect others would, too.
2️⃣ Join Me for a MRS. ROBINSON Virtual Watch Party and Chat
While our own stories can inspire us, so can other people’s stories.
That’s why I am excited to collaborate with Project Dandelion to host a virtual watch party featuring a powerful story about female leadership, human rights activism, and climate action.
MRS ROBINSON tells the inspirational life story of Mary Robinson, Ireland’s first female President, a pioneering UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, and Nelson Mandela's successor as Chair of The Elders.
Please join me on Thursday, April 17th, at 7 p.m. ET, 6 p.m. CT, 5 p.m. MT, and 4 p.m. PT for inspiration and conversation. (The documentary runs for one hour, and I’ll stay on after for a conversation.)
Register here.
The strongest teams recognize and harness different strengths to move forward together in times of crisis. In my workshops, I seek to help them do this—laying the groundwork for greater clarity, confidence, and impact. Learn more about my offerings here.
Stunning. Thank you for this beautiful writing and message.