Advertise on podcast: Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

Happy Easter! Today we celebrate the most sacred day of the Christian year, turning our eyes ad orientum, to the east, to experience the rising of the sun in a posture of joy and hope in the Resurrection. Sixty five years ago, Pope John XXIII initiated the Second Vatican Council in a spirit of renewal within the Catholic Church. The purpose of Vatican II was one of development as the Church responded to a rapidly changing modern world. One of the key documents produced during the Council was Gaudium et Spes, which means Joy and Hope. The document remains very relevant today and seemed a fitting reference point for a reflection on Easter and the message of the Christian faith to the world. Today’s post offers deeper dive on this document, it’s message of joy and hope, and some applications we might find for it in our working lives. May it meet you where you are and remind you of your own reasons for joy and hope on this special day. Gaudium et Spes opens with: “The joys and hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ.”[1] With these words, the Council Fathers invite Christians and non-Christians into a unifying dialogue on the difficulties of modernity, the hope of Christian faith, and the Catholic Church’s Christ-centered answers to “some problems of special urgency.”[2] In many ways, St. Augustine’s famous quotation, “You rouse him to take delight in praising you, for you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you,”[3] captures the central message of Gaudium et Spes. The Second Vatican Council’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World blends doctrinal principles and pastoral application in response to a world in which man’s great progress in power is equaled only by fears and anxieties brought by hearts hungry for a God increasingly pressed into the shadows of modernity. “For faith throws a new light on everything, manifests God’s design for man’s total vocation, and thus directs the mind to solutions which are fully human.”[4] Gaudium et Spes affirms man’s supreme calling to communion with God through a universal holiness reflected in humanity living fully in its God-given dignity, then proposes fully human pathways for the modern world to fulfill that dignity through man’s treatment of self and others. In its call to the modern world, Gaudium et Spes outlines the Church’s pastoral mission in the context of man’s total vocation and some fully human ways for its fulfillment, however, it begs the question: how might we as individuals living and working in this modern world more actively foster the call of Gaudium et Spes in our day-to-day lives? This essay will explore how Gaudium et Spes characterizes man’s total vocation through the lenses of human dignity and work, then how we, as followers of Christ, can help fulfill the document’s pastoral mission by cooperating with God in our secular enterprises to facilitate man’s total vocation through solutions which are more fully human. The Dignity of Man             “For sacred scripture teaches that man was created ‘to the image of God,’ is capable of knowing and loving his Creator, and was appointed by Him as master of all earthly creatures that he might subdue them and use them to God’s glory.”[5] The first movement of the Council Fathers in establishing the dignity of man is biblical, referencing Genesis in stating that human beings are made in the image and likeness of God. Man’s dignity is innate, built-in to our person through the grace of God. But “sin has diminished man, blocking his path to fulfillment,”[6] so the joys and hopes of mankind are mixed with griefs and anxieties amid “the call to grandeur and the depths of misery”[7] that mark our human experience. Human beings are blessed with dignity by virtue of God’s grace, but original sin holds us back, making the Church’s role critical for the fulfillment of God’s design for man’s total vocation. The Council Fathers go on to describe three signs of human dignity: intellect, conscience, and freedom. “Man judges rightly that by his intellect he surpasses the material universe, for he shares in the light of the divine mind.”[8] Man’s intellect enables him to search for truths: those from observable data as well as those “perfected by wisdom…a love for what is true and good.”[9] But man’s reason alone is an imperfect reflection of the Imago Dei and falls short of full human dignity. “It is, finally, through the gift of the Holy Spirit that man comes by faith to the contemplation and appreciation of the divine plan.”[10] Man needs God’s grace to elevate reason with wisdom and faith, bringing it closer to the light of the divine mind.             Though wisdom and faith bring human reason closer to the light of the divine mind, “the root reason for human dignity lies in man’s call to communion with God.”[11] How does man come to communion with God? Through his choices. “In the depths of his conscience, man detects a law which he does not impose upon himself, but which holds him to obedience…For man has in his heart a law written by God; to obey it is the very dignity of man; according to it he will be judged.”[12] God has given man the ability to discern right and wrong, good and evil, but “only in freedom can man direct himself toward goodness.”[13] Communion with God comes through the choices we make. Man’s dignity is wrapped up in his ability to reason those choices, discern their goodness, and choose the good freely. In this way, man is given the opportunity to live his God-given dignity in communion with his Creator.             However, original sin disfigured man’s dignity by introducing death. “Not only is man tormented by pain and by the advancing deterioration of the body, but even more so by a dread of perpetual extinction…the mystery of death utterly beggars the imagination.”[14] Here, the Council Fathers take us back to their opening move on the dignity of man as created in the image of God. “The truth is that only in the mystery of the incarnate Word does the mystery of man take on light. For Adam, the first man, was a figure of Him Who was to come, namely Christ the Lord. Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.”[15] Mankind, whose God-given dignity was disfigured in the Garden of Eden, is returned to communion, to full dignity, in the person of Jesus Christ, “Who is ‘the image of the invisible God’ (Col. 1:15)…the perfect man.”[16] Human beings have a role to play in assenting to their God-given dignity and are called to follow Christ’s example. “He blazed a trail, and if we follow it, life and death are made holy and take on a new meaning.”[17] In Jesus Christ, the living face of God, man’s disfigured dignity is glorified, and his supreme calling to holiness made clear. Next, we’ll explore how the Council Fathers viewed work, in the fully human sense, as an opportunity to reflect human dignity and bring man to communion with God and each other. The Dignity of Work             After characterizing the dignity of the human being in the context of man’s creation in the image of God through intellect, conscience, and freedom, then pointing to Christ as the point of fulfillment of that dignity, Gaudium et Spes journeys into the realm of human activity, under what conditions it fulfills man’s total vocation, and how man’s labor can and should reflect his dignity. First, the Council Fathers connect the span of human labor to God: “…by their labor they are unfolding the Creator’s work, consulting the advantages of their brother men, and are contributing by their personal industry to the realization in history of the divine plan.”[18] Man’s call to be a good steward of all the earth and his own capacities is a mandate to glorify God through his efforts. The “triumphs of the human race are a sign of God’s grace and the flowering of His own mysterious design”[19] as well as a deepening of man’s responsibility to himself and the world – the fulfillment of his dignity. In Gaudium et Spes 35, the Council Fathers further connect the human activity of work to man’s dignity: “Human activity, to be sure, takes its significance from its relationship to man. Just as it proceeds from man, so it is ordered toward man. For when a man works he not only alters things and society, he develops himself as well.”[20] Man’s growth and progress is made good to the extent that it cooperates with God’s divine plan. “Hence, the norm of human activity is this: that in accord with the divine plan and will, it harmonize with the genuine good of the human race, and that it allow men as individuals and as members of society to pursue their total vocation and fulfill it.”[21] Unified with God, man’s labors reflect his dignity and help bring it to fullness in the pursuit of his total vocation.             After the long 19th Century, the industrial revolution, two world wars, and the onslaught of communism, the Council Fathers fully recognized the potential for work to lessen the dignity of man through the conditions, purposes, or nature of his labor, particularly in community and the demands of growing societies. “In the economic and social realms, too, the dignity and complete vocation of the human person and the welfare of society as a whole are to be respected and promoted. For man is the source, center, and the purpose of all economic life.”[22] Growth and advancement for its own sake or to the benefit of only a few has great potent

The word “yes” came to my mind this morning and with it, memories of the movie “Yes, Man.” I was reminded of a post I wrote about it two years ago. Here is part of that 2024 missive: Recently breaking from the modern scrolling dilemma, we went old-school scrolling, and physically sifted through the DVD archives to find a movie to watch. It seems we’ve had the same scrolling issue for years, it’s just become more efficient with technology. We finally found success in our agreement to watch 2008’s Yes Man starring Jim Carrey and Zooey Deschanel. Stuck in a rut after a divorce, Carl (Carrey) finds himself at a motivational seminar in which inspirational guru, Terence, (played delightfully by Terence Stamp) challenges him to “enter a covenant” with the universe and say “yes” to anything asked of him. Of course, clever and cringeworthy hilarity ensue as Carl goes all-in on this strategy. The moral of the story ultimately arrives as Carl discovers that saying “yes” to everything is not a great strategy but that “yes” is a powerful way of opening oneself to the possibilities of life. Considering Carl’s pre and post-yes self, a curious revelation appears. One might think of his “yes” as a counterpoint to saying “no” to the possibilities of life but that’s actually not the case. Carl’s problem wasn’t that he said “no” to life. His big failing was not choosing. In his avoidance, indifference, half-heartedness, and bland lack of effort, he found himself mired in the middle of nothing in particular. His “yes” was an answer to the sloth that had seized his soul. Yes, became a decisive antidote to the “I don’t wanna” that had thrown his life into a depressing journey to the bottom. He eventually discovers that even his “no” has power in this context because it is a choice, a commitment to a direction. In between yes and no, we find ourselves tossed about on the seas of life, blown to wherever the wind will take us. A resounding yes, or no, is a cure to half-heartedness and indirection. The call in that post was to reject the malaise of sloth in being open to the many possibilities that life throws at us. I suggested that we often miss these invitations: Every day, invitations come our way. Invitations to go, to be, to do, to think. Many of them, we don’t even see. Most of them, we don’t respond to. Regarding the scrolling phenomena, consider for a moment how many invitations appear in just five minutes of swiping up and down on our phones. The vast majority aren’t worth responding to. But when we do, something happens. Now, we’re in motion. Our mind and energy move in a direction. I went on to suggest that “yes” is about creating momentum. Though I’m not sure I really like the scrolling example above, I understand where I was trying to take it. Saying “yes” is about getting ourself in motion, moving toward something as willful action. Saying “yes,” or “no,” to the invitation of the moment is definitive. It is a choice, and perhaps a more profound direction with the examples above would be to discuss the half-heartedness of scrolling itself. The mindless activity of looking at endless content with no particular destination or purpose in mind. Breaking it with a purposeful “yes” or “no” is some form of antidote to the massive waste of time scrolling can become. But I’m thinking of a different “yes” today. What do we do with the many invitations to things that we’d prefer not to do? More specifically, the “offer we can’t refuse” that comes in the form of struggle, suffering, disappointment, or change. What role does “yes” have when those things come along? The deeper reality of our lives is that we encounter far more unavoidable struggles than invitations to great possibility. Or do we? Of course, all of us would prefer chances to say “yes” to grand adventure, great advancement, and wildly positive change. Nobody wants trials, difficulty, or suffering. Yet, they come nonetheless. How would the “yes” guru Terence coach Carl in saying “yes” to the struggles? What would it look like to say “yes” to suffering? Would he propose it as joyful masochism? As in, “thank you, sir, may I have another”? Maybe he would suggest a stoic “yes”- grim-faced and gritting one’s way through it. Perhaps it would be a tense, grimacing “yes” that fearfully braces for impact. I’m really not sure that Hollywood could muster anything other than something darkly comedic. There is a different kind of “yes” and it is custom-designed for the unavoidable struggles, trials, and changes of our lives. It’s called “assent.” Most of us don’t go looking for difficulties but they find us and nobody welcomes them with open arms. However, when we assent, we see the difficulties for what they are: reality. Then we accept them and walk forward with hope and trust. To assent is to accept the reality, face it with courage, and seek the opportunity in it. Opportunity within it? So often, we get hung up on the way we want things to be. Our happiness. Our joy. Our consolation. Our pleasure and satisfaction and ideal circumstance. Reality often has something else in mind, and strangely, the harder we grasp the way we want things to be, the more painful reality tends to be. There seems to be some law of physics with regard to suffering that makes it more painful the more we resist it. What might happen if we say “yes” to irritation or burden or inconvenience or loss? Not the “yes” of “thank you sir, my I have another,” but the assent to the reality and what it might reveal. How might it go differently if we can let go of the way we want it to be and look for some other truth in our reality? To assent is to surrender but not in the form of giving up. To assent is to submit to the reality of the situation but not in an inactive, passive fashion. Real assent is to see the reality, the truth, of our circumstance and take the next step trusting that something greater will be revealed. It is taking the hit and walking without crumpling because you believe there is something is beyond it. It is accepting the invitation to a reality that you may not have wanted, knowing that somehow, someway, you will come to more through it. There is great freedom in assent. Yes, it can come at a tremendous price. Often, it is a freedom which we really didn’t want. It is the freedom of acceptance. An active surrender that allows us to be caught up in the reality of a movement greater than us knowing we will land on the other side…somewhere further along than where we started. Somehow more than what we were when we began. This kind of “yes” brings us the liberation of realizing that our life is not about us and frees us to pour ourself out like a libation to something more than ourselves. I don’t think Hollywood would find any comedy there, but I find it beautifully poetic.

The morning air was just warm enough, though still cool in the light breeze. Slow moving clouds, hovered just above me, sprinkling light drops of rain as the moisture and mist conspired in shifting eddy’s, revealing glimpses of the sunrise in gaps and thin, translucent portions of the floating bank. The light and colors were surreal and my mind was drawn to Scripture, first to Matthew 5:45: “for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust” and then Genesis 1:2: “”The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.” The moment marked a deep breath in a week…weeks…of movement on all fronts, in a year that has embraced a chaotic rhythm which is not so much frightening as it is unsettling in pace and expectation. The wild movements on global and national stages seem mirrored in local flavors, and yesterday’s moments were full of a sense of good and bad, just and unjust, amid the formless void of chaos, calling for order and a pause to catch one’s breath. The movement into the lovely pause brought a sense of peace and hope. Chaos of another form found us shortly after, as six of our grandchildren descended upon our morning. Amid donuts and kolaches, I found myself in a conversation with Cooper, now nearly 9 years old and into his basketball season. “Are you ready for your game today?” Looking at me a bit sheepishly, he replied, “Yes, but we’re probably going to get beat.” Surprised, I asked him why he thought that. There is an interesting self-narrative that emerges with all of us as we approach moments of test or conflict. Are we prepared? Do we know what to expect? The fears and uncertainties can claim our headspace and we find ourselves telling a story that has not yet been written. In Cooper’s case, this particular school had produced some very good teams, past and present, and though they had not yet played this team, part of the story had already been written. We often start there because it fosters a sense of safety. Maybe if we lower our expectations, we won’t be disappointed. Certainly having realistic expectations is helpful when we approach any contest but there is something insidious in the inner voice that sounds the defeatist alarm before we’ve shown up on the battlefield. “Have you played this team?” I asked. “No, but their teams are always really good. They have athletes.” Ahh, yes, athletes. For those of us who spend time around kids, the words they use are sure signs of their sponging little voice recorders. They hear everything and put it in their rapidly growing library of words, stories, hopes, and dreams. In this case, “athlete” suggested a young person who had greater than average skills on the basketball court. Perhaps even an unfair advantage, like they had played in other leagues or practiced more than the average player. Often the narratives we pick up are things shared by others: peers, opponents, leaders, parents, friend’s parents, etc. Ideas are like seeds, once planted… Moving close to Cooper, I cupped his face in my hands and said, “Coop, I want you to listen closely. What we tell ourselves has great power – whether its on the basketball court, on a test, or in pretty much anything we undertake. What we feed into our mind often becomes reality. I want to share something with you.” Grabbing my phone, I did a quick search for an old poem. Strangely, I keep a printed version of it on my desk and had been reflecting on it earlier this week. The Man Who Thinks He Can, by Walter D. Wintle If you think you are beaten, you areIf you think you dare not, you don’t,If you like to win, but you think you can’tIt is almost certain you won’t.If you think you’ll lose, you’re lostFor out of the world we find,Success begins with a fellow’s willIt’s all in the state of mind. If you think you are outclassed, you areYou’ve got to think high to rise,You’ve got to be sure of yourself beforeYou can ever win a prize.Life’s battles don’t always goTo the stronger or faster man,But soon or late the man who winsIs the man who thinks he can. Earlier in the week, I was catching up with a friend. “Three years ago when you told me you were launching a TPA, I thought you were crazy,” he said. “Yes,” I smiled back, “You pretty much said that.” There are narratives we write and there are the ones others give to us. My friends hesitation at our plans was formed in his understanding of the difficulties and the nagging question, why? Why take the risk? Why take on the headaches? Why? Of course, one’s “why” makes all the difference in the world. Finishing the poem, I looked into Cooper’s eyes and said, “Coop, you may lose the game. They may have more skills or simply play better today. But the only thing that matters is that you go into the game and do your best. You can’t control what your opponent does, but you can look forward to the challenge of the game and the chance to play. And, if you get in there and do your best, you might win simply by the fact that you believed you could.” There is great chaos in the world around us and it is easy to feel tossed about in the massive ocean of all the things beyond our control. Now nearly 18 years into my journey as an entrepreneur, I’ve won and lost enough times to know I don’t have it all figured out, not all of my ideas are good ones, and there are no guarantees as to what lies ahead. However, I’ve also learned that some of the greatest destinations we’ve come to were once the little seed of an idea and that many of the most exciting adventures came from simply moving in a particular direction because we thought we could. Control has never been the point but there are always opportunities to bring order and hope. Watching Cooper’s team yesterday, I thought about our conversation earlier in the morning and wondered what was going through his mind. From the beginning, his team looked outgunned, trailing by as many 10 points…which is a lot in a game where they only score 20 points or so. However, they hung in there and ended up winning by two points. After the game, he didn’t say anything about winning, scoring points, or any bad calls by the refs. Looking at me, he smiled because he knew. There was pure joy in showing up and just playing the game. And I am proud to see him becoming a man who thinks he can.

A recent conversation on culture and leadership left me reflecting on some of the lessons of my entrepreneurial journey over the last 18 years. My mind went to a post I wrote almost exactly 11 years ago, sharing one of my most profound lessons which had occurred a few years earlier. Some lessons are worth revisiting. From The Tighter You Squeeze… – March 7, 2015 Something was wrong. Over the previous weeks, the pressure in my chest had been building. No, it wasn’t the fuse on a heart-attack. As a business owner, it was a feeling I recognized. It was that knot of stress that comes with very challenging times. It had morphed from the positive pressure of being pushed to rise to an occasion to the nagging heart-burn of feeling overwhelmed. It was turning into something unhealthy, and I knew it. A wave of orders coupled with some personnel changes and a few administrative barriers had conspired to put our operation behind. As customer calls started coming in to me, I knew we had a problem. I sprang into action. Periodic updates became multiple meetings throughout each day. Summary reports became deep dives into all the details. From purchasing to production and on through shipping and communication I jumped in with a high sense of urgency. Things started to move but not all of them in the right direction. During the first and second weeks, my efforts were productive. Into the third week, I started to see signs of fatigue in my team. Not physical fatigue. The emotional and spiritual fatigue of the “death march”. The forced march to some goal that doesn’t seem to be getting any closer while someone is standing behind you asking “are we there yet?” You know of what I speak. By the third week, my incessant questions, presence and interruptions were weighing heavily on everyone around me. By the end of the first month, I felt the knot in my chest tightening as I recognized the destructive effects my sustained “motivational” efforts were having on the entire operation – including myself. There are moments in business that require us to escalate our efforts. Times when we have to rise to the occasion and sprint to the finish line. There are also times when we’ve got to make adjustments to accommodate changes in the environment around us. As driven leaders, our inclination is often towards making things happen through force of will. In my case, this worked briefly from a throughput perspective. My rally lifted production to an impressive level: within a month, we were up 100%+ culminating in a final weekly number that was almost ten times the previous month’s! However…..the wheels were falling off. The wake-up call came on a Friday. Running between offsite meetings, I reappeared in the afternoon for another of what had become daily interrogations of my management team. The knot in my chest had tightened to a point where I thought I might literally be heading towards a heart problem. I could read the look on the faces of everyone in the office; my very presence created stress at every level. The meeting turned from a status check to a heated exchange and I realized I had pushed my team over the edge. A while back, someone asked me if I “believed what I wrote and followed my own advice.” I carry that question in my mind and revisit it frequently. As I retreated from that heated meeting, I found myself thinking back through my blog posts wondering if I had any wisdom for myself in this situation. Not only had my team reached the breaking point, I had reached the breaking point. I can count on one hand the number of times that uneasiness in my gut has escalated to a knot in my chest and it is not a place I care to be. I took a breath and thought of basketball. Basketball? Yes. As a player, coach and a spectator, I’ve spent a lifetime around the game. Much of my philosophy of leadership comes from this sport. Its finite scope and simplicity provides a wonderful window to fully see the impact of many behaviors. When things get tough, ineffective coaches almost always try to micromanage their players. As momentum shifts against them, they hold tighter and it only fuels the slide. Players begin to tense up and over-think decisions. The worse things get, the tighter the coaches squeeze. And so on. As I considered my options, I realized that there was little else I could do to effect near-term change. My die had been cast. My team was in place and I realized that they were in the best position to manage the challenges we were facing. I decided to let go. Not give up. Let go. Not quit. Let go. Almost immediately, the knot in my chest unraveled. I had been trying to control something by gripping more tightly and the correct answer was the exact opposite. I called my managers into the office, acknowledged their efforts and dedication, admitted my mistake, asked them if they felt they had things under control, and then walked away. Running a business or leading any venture is a very messy, organic enterprise. In the process, we maintain a unique intimacy with the world around us and it can be difficult to separate ourselves from our perception of that conversation. The most complex elements involve people and the level of our success is dictated in almost every way by how we relate to those people and they to us. As leaders, we must continually reassess how we push, pull or guide those around us based on what the situation demands. Sometimes we have to walk in the opposite direction of our instinctive drive to control. For me, letting go meant relinquishing day-to-day ownership of deliverables and allowing my team to do what I hired them to do. I didn’t shirk my responsibility; I recognized my limitations and repositioned my role in the process. My team was closer to the situation and more able to do what needed to be done. By jumping-in, I had created another wave of disruption that was perhaps more overwhelming than the first. By letting go and validating their roles and responsibilities, I freed them to be more effective. I affirmed their capabilities and gave them permission to succeed. The Genius With a Thousand Helpers In his book Super Habits, Andrew Abela tells the story of a submarine captain whose command and control style led to a fatal accident involving a smaller ship. The U.S. Navy investigation into the incident concluded that the collision was a “series and combination of individual negligences” including the commander’s “disregard of standard submarine operating procedures and his own Standing Orders” as well as members of the ship’s crew failing “to work together and pass information to each other.” Abela references this story in a chapter discussing the super habit of forgiveness. Why forgiveness? Part of the assessment of the commander’s failing was that he had created an environment in which his crew was afraid to speak up, a culture that led to the fatal incident. The author attributes this to a commander who was unforgiving toward subordinates who questioned orders or gave undesired feedback. As I read this story, I thought back to my 2015 blog post and some of my brushes with command and control inclinations as a coach and as a leader. Abela writes that Jim Collin’s described this leadership pattern as the “genius with a thousand helpers” approach. He writes: “When leaders have high opinions of their own abilities, they have a clear picture in their minds of what the right order of things is, and they expect their subordinates to follow their direction and keep to that picture. Penalties for subordinates who deviate from the picture can be high…” When seas are smooth, the leader’s job is navigation and preparation. Making sure the team knows where it is going and how it will get there is critical. It is equally as critical to ensure that the team is staffed adequately and prepared fully to achieve the mission. When the seas get rough, the leader’s priority shifts to order and clarity. Back to the basketball analogy, the team is assembled, prepared in practices, and given a game plan for each contest. Once they take the floor, the coach’s job shifts to helping them stay calm, reminding them of the game plan, ensuring the right people are on the floor at the right time, and encouraging them through all the difficulties. Agency and Flourishing In 2026, my mind and heart are focused on the notion of human flourishing as it relates to my company and my leadership. I’ve become convinced that my responsibility as a leader centers on fostering it as much as I possibly can. Though there are numerous facets to human flourishing, a key part of flourishing in any role is having the agency, the ability to make decisions and act independently, to fulfill one’s mission. As a player on the court, agency means having the freedom to act fully with all of one’s skills and flourishing would encompass that agency without fear of reprisal at every mistake. In the story from my 2015 post, human flourishing was the farthest thing from my mind and I’m not sure I had ever heard of the word “agency” as it relates to individual accountability. The situation was dire and my initial answer was to grip it and try to will it to the conclusion I wanted. My practical lesson was that I needed to let go and let the team do what they were already equipped to do. However, I see it now as a great example of the necessity of individual agency and how it contributes to the flourishing of that individual and the organization. In many ways, these stories get to the heart of the function of leadership and the struggle to balance control with individual agency. As leaders, we must maintain a necessary tension between what and how we see something needing to happen, and the freedom, the individual agency, necessary for those on our teams to achieve their mission and ultimately to flouri

Forbes Magazine loves its lists and, apparently, we do too. A recent headline for one of their lists caught my eye: Self-Made Billionaires Under 30 Hit Record High. I didn’t bother clicking on the link but the headline troubled me. Does someone at Forbes really believe the individuals on their list are “self-made”? Even more disturbingly, does anyone on that list believe themselves to be “self-made”? What a lie. What a deep and disturbing lie. Forbes says that about 67% of billionaires world-wide are self-made, with 33% inheriting their wealth. Of course, data being data, there is always another angle on it. Another data point served up by Google says that about 37% of billionaire wealth is inherited while 60% “is derived from inherited, crony, or monopolistic sources.” Apparently the meaning of the term “self-made” is subject to some interpretation. But the definition of self-made really doesn’t matter. Even if we define the term as a person who began life in complete poverty and is today a billionaire because they founded a massively successful business, they did not earn their wealth on there own. They did not make it all happen by sheer brilliance, force of will, and heroic effort. Any road they took was marked by many, many, people who helped make it happen and countless moments of fortune. And the reality doesn’t stop there. Look closely at the story of any great athlete, artist, physician, musician, politician, lawyer, engineer, teacher, or saint, and you’ll find the same thing. Nobody is self-made. Nobody achieves greatness alone. Every single person was born into a set of circumstances over which they had no control, were genetically programmed with specific traits that were not chosen, raised by parents who did or didn’t do many things in their childhood, grew up amid social and cultural dynamics over which they had zero influence, and matured within schools, gyms, churches, and social circles, in which they found themselves. We are all dealt a hand over which we had absolutely zero influence. Now, one might argue that self-made means the collection of choices an individual makes, the effort he or she sustains, and the determination with which he or she pursues his or her goals. And they would be right. The many people we admire for great achievement put in tremendous time, effort, and sacrifice, to attain whatever height they reached. But even then, it was never alone. There is a deeply American ethos built around self-sufficiency, freedom, and grit. We’re the don’t tread on me, find a way, can-do, country that has mapped a course through history to the pinnacle of power, wealth, and dynamism. We honor our great with headlines, monuments, and adoration. Power, wealth, and fame, are nearly worshipped in a culture built upon the mystique of picking ourselves up by the bootstraps and making greatness happen by grit and resourcefulness. We love our cult of the individual, the hero, the superstar, the unicorn. The one who came from nothing to win it all. We love it because, in America, we believe we all have the potential to achieve such greatness. Or at least a slice of it. That has always been the dream and remains so even today. Many have argued the point of luck versus effort. In Zero to One, Peter Thiel writes that “you are not a lottery ticket.” People don’t just “win” success or achievement, it is earned through grit, determination, and choice. His point is that we have the ability to move with purpose and choose boldness over triviality, not waiting for some random spin of the dial to achieve our dreams. He’s not wrong about choice, purpose, and effort, but there’s more to it. The American ethos of self determination, of being self-made, is a great strength, but like all strengths, tips into weakness at its extremes. The place where we begin to believe that we are completely self-sufficient. That we did it on our own. We made it happen. We don’t need anyone else. Look at our founding. Independence couldn’t have happened without the support of France. Neither could keeping it 36 years later. All the way to today as we lead the way in the world upon a pile of debt beyond comprehension. A number so large as to be like the air we breath, we can’t see it even though we’re swimming in it. We want to believe we don’t need anyone else, can go it alone, and control our destiny, but that is simply not true. We are fascinated by extremes. We can’t get enough of the stories of people operating at human limits. Whether they are feats of physical prowess, performances that enchant us, books and podcasts that enthrall us, scientific discoveries that astound us, projects of such size and cope that amaze us, or those with riches so great that captivate us, we watch with mixed feelings of awe, admiration, and resentment. That is unbelievable, they did or didn’t deserve it, and why not me? The headlines will continue because we are obsessed with those edges, the people that appear there, and the falls that often accompany those flights to the heights which often accompany those who, like Icarus, flew too close to the sun. But the story of Icarus isn’t really about flying too high – it’s about the hubris of grasping, and the lie of self-sufficiency. At the heart of those falls is typically the person who started to believe that they were self-sufficient, it was all about them, and that they had reached a point beyond the threat of falling. Isn’t that often what lies at the center of our pursuit for more? When we finally get there, we will be safely self-sufficient. We won’t need anyone nor will they be able to reach us. As I think about those young, self-made, billionaires on the Forbes list, I hope they don’t believe it. My prayer for them is that they have the humility and self-awareness to know that their success is absolutely not self-made. The truth for most of them is that the greatest tests of their humanity are still ahead. The places where they discover that they don’t have it all figured out, they can’t do it alone, or that perhaps they weren’t chasing the right thing to begin with. Please, celebrate success. Throw parties. Print headlines. Write books and make movies about the great achievements of great people. There are so many worthy of our admiration. But don’t lie to them, or yourself, about their self-sufficiency or level of control of their destiny. None of us get anywhere alone and whatever amount of control we think we have will never be enough to keep us safe or cocooned from the struggles of life. There is no self-made man and real freedom comes in the humility of admitting that we are not self-sufficient. Then in recognizing that we’re not supposed to be.

In The Beatles’ 1967 hit, A Day in the Life, John Lennon and Paul McCartney take turns describing a random day of headlines and moments. The songs’ lines could be from any day and the fact the song was literally written with a newspaper in front of Lennon and a nostalgic memory from McCartney makes the whimsy of it work in a classic and unexpected way. The singers alternate their portions and we’re given a glimpse through their eyes of some moments that, for whatever reason, struck them. From Lennon: I read the news today oh boyAbout a lucky man who made the gradeAnd though the news was rather sadWell I just had to laugh The poetry of the lyrics leaves us wondering. The gaps in the story left for us to fill as we wonder about the singer’s reaction in that moment. Lennon finishes his airy reflections on the headlines and the song shifts into an up tempo rhythm for McCartney to take us through a morning, it could be any morning, of getting ready and into work: Woke up, fell out of bedDragged a comb across my headFound my way downstairs and drank a cupAnd looking up I noticed I was late Found my coat and grabbed my hatMade the bus in seconds flatFound my way upstairs and had a smokeAnd somebody spoke and I went into a dream Catching up with others at two events this week-end, I was asked a couple of times “What have you been up to? ” and then “How are things?” Reflecting on those questions, a tidal wave of thoughts and images washed across my mind, and I realized that 2026 has entered my life in a particularly kinetic fashion. The notions of “What” and “How” have no simple, or succinct, answers in the context of the first 39 days of the year. But isn’t that just life? Any window of time we randomly grab might run the gamut of human experience: joy, sorrow, ease, struggle, and all the wondrous variety they encompass. The changing of a calendar year creates its own energy in the compression of time to a point of ending and then its launch into the newness of time beyond…but we will likely find plenty of life’s drama in any 30 day window we review. Drama is of course a relative term, not all human drama merits deep reflection, but the point of it is story, and the narratives in which we find ourselves can serve to entertain or enlighten; they can also serve to inspire or caution. In the spirit of all of the above, please allow me to share a few reflections from 2026 so far. You Don’t Really Know Someone Until You’ve Seen Them Falter “Why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.” That nugget of wisdom comes to us from the 2005 movie, Batman Begins. A young Bruce Wayne has fallen into a well, breaking his arm. As his father carries him into the house, he serves up a line that comes back later in the movie when an adult Bruce Wayne is facing calamity in what looks like the end of the beginning of his career as Batman. The good Alfred reminds him of that moment so many years earlier. We all love a winner. Watching the waves of red-adorned fans appear across Indiana as Hoosiers watched the impossible happen for the IU football team, I was caught up in the thrill of the story of Cignetti, Mendoza, and a performance excellence that seemed impossible. Cignetti’s matter-of-fact confidence and Mendoza’s faith-filled aura of goodness added fuel to a fire that needed little stoking. A legend is born. End results simplify the notions of perfection and excellence. A winning score makes it clear, an undefeated record marks a place of flawlessness. Unblemished, not marred by even a single loss, we are affirmed in our assessment of greatness. But the final numbers hide the imperfections along the way. They smooth the particular errors, mistakes, misjudgments, and flaws, that accompany all human endeavors. It all seems so certain in the end but it is always wildly uncertain in the doing. Behind the headlines of such flawless performances, are errors beyond counting. Myriad moments of what might not have been. Forks in the road between flawless and flawed. A score or record may be perfect in the sense of an absolute outcome, but that journey is comprised of moments that always includes faltering, stumbling, tripping, in the time-honored tradition of human error. The real story is the grit, the will, the focus, and the recovery from mistakes, that must happen before any inspiring narrative can come to grip our imagination. We only get there by falling, and learning to pick ourselves up, many times, before the end result affirms any level of greatness. Do I see the struggles in my life as opportunities to pick myself up? Am I missing great progress because I’m stuck on what’s not flawless? Light of the World A few weeks ago, I was in a studio in Colorado recording a podcast with the Catholic Benefits Association (CBA). The organization exists to help protect the conscience rights of Catholic employers. I had been invited to a discussion on Northwind’s approach to health benefits and how our approach might serve CBA members. One thing that really struck me about this organization was its focus on educating member organizations on alternatives to the many drugs and procedures that we often turn to as “easy button” answers to many of the ailments of life. This low-intervention disposition mirrors our own philosophy of empowering individuals to better manage their own health. A key tenet of Catholic social teaching focuses on the dignity of the individual in the context of how we relate to the larger communities in which we live. Solidarity is a term that refers to those communities and the Church’s call to unity for the common good. Parallel to solidarity is the concept of subsidiarity, the notion that individual human dignity is best served on the local level and that each person should be empowered to have the agency to direct their own life in the context of the community. In other words, we come together in community to protect each other and leverage the power of more while we push decision-making agency as close to the individual as we possibly can. At the beginning of the year, I committed to a program called Exodus 90, a ninety day process of self-denial, fraternity, and prayer, to detach oneself from some of the goods of our world that have become distractions to a fuller, more faithful, and more joyful, life. There are nine men in my fraternity, ranging in age from 16 to 69, and it has been a beautiful journey of friendship in becoming better men for those in our lives. By detaching from social media, screen time, and a number of other comforts, we create space for relationship, leisure, and greater self-awareness. This is my 7th “Exodus” and perhaps the most fruitful journey yet. The journey is one of freedom from the many attachments that entangle us and prevent us from being the men we’re called to be. However, the power for me has been in the community, the solidarity, of accompanying and supporting others in their own journeys. We are all gifted with agency over our own lives – the power of choice and initiative. The things that numb and distract us can become impediments to living fully and freely in that agency – that opportunity to be all that we were made to be for those who most depend on us. What are the things that hold us back from living fully? Are we a light of hope to the world around us? Are we helping others live fully in their own agency? The Most Interesting Man in the World On a trip to a recent conference, we met a man named Amin. He was born in Marrakesh, Morocco and moved to the United States about 12 years ago. Amin was working at the hotel where we were staying and took care of us one evening in the restaurant. Recently married, Amin told us about a week-end trip to Malibu with his new bride, who was an immigrant from Korea. A wealth of information, he made numerous suggestions for places we should visit while in Santa Barbara and shared some of his favorite discoveries. We saw Amin several days later, during the final event of the conference. He saw me across the room of about 500 people, smiled broadly, came over, and hugged me. As I reflect on this young man, I wonder, what was it about him that made him stand out? What made him so striking and memorable? We were at a conference of leaders and academics, smart, successful people who were doing great things in the world. There were so many wonderful people. However, the most memorable person we met was this thirty-something man from Morocco working at the hotel. Why? Amin glowed with a joy for life. He spoke with awe and wonder about America, the beautiful places, and the beautiful people. He was grateful for his job and delighted with his life with his young bride. He was excited about items on the menu and the many interesting places in the area. He was proud of his roots in Morocco and I suspect he meant it when he said that he would show us the joys of his homeland if our paths ever crossed there. He was happy to be alive and it showed. Am I memorable? I wonder if I gave Amin any reason to remember me. And Somebody Spoke… “And somebody spoke and I went into a dream.” Paul McCartney’s line fades into a vocal harmony cascading into an oblivion that leaves us wondering, where did he land? Lennon closes the song, “I read the news today oh boy.” Our lives are these beautiful, amazing, surprising, disappointing, and ever-changing paths to our own becoming. A day in the life is now. It’s happening. The magic and the memorable is moving in and around all that we do. Are we seeing it? Are we living it fully? February is here. Sun or snow. Light or dark. Seattle or New England. The extraordinary is happening amid the ordinary and time is marching on. Where are you at day 39, 2026? Where will you be at day 89? Silence the noise today an

I recently had the opportunity to speak to the Indianapolis Chapter of Young Catholic Professionals. The group brings together professionals in their 20’s and 30’s looking to live their faith more fully in their work life and build relationships with others seeking the same. My talk centered on my career and faith journey over the last 35 years, focusing on some key discoveries along the way. As I opened, I quipped that, walking-in to the meeting, I finally realized that I was no longer a “young Catholic professional.” Speaking with members of this group individually before and after, I also realized that my existence as a “young Catholic” was nowhere near their level of understanding or devotion. Such is the journey of life and discovery. In the Q&A at the end of my talk, a young man asked about “work-life balance.” Work-life balance has been a recurring theme throughout my career: in the headlines, in the office, and at home. The concept has gone through a few iterations but remains relevant with the prevalence of dual working parents, divorce, the trend toward grown children not living near their parents, and the myriad demands on parents and their families. The many things of life and changes in traditional support structures can create a sense of imbalance in our many priorities. My quick response to the question was: I don’t believe in work-life balance. Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about the subject and recognize that such a response is provocative, perhaps even a bit antagonistic. I followed with: there is no balancing working and living, there is just living. I proceeded to talk about living an integrated life. As I later reflected on my answer, I realize it was incomplete. I understood the spirit of the question but may have focused a bit too much on semantics. The question of work-life balance is really about time. The thing we struggle with is the spending of our time and the sense that we’re not giving one thing or the other enough. Usually, that “thing” is a person. We feel imbalanced when something we see as a priority – often a person – isn’t getting the time or attention we, or they, feel should be given. Speaking of semantics, now we see the first word that matters: priority. Like our money, how we spend time indicates our priorities, our loves, our attachments. We must first be clear on our priorities before we can even begin to reflect on whether or not we are spending our time appropriately. Normally, the balance question centers on work and family. Does my work consume a disproportionate amount of time relative to my family? After we’ve answered the priority question, we have to answer the expectation question. What is your vision of how time should be spent in your priorities? If someone else is involved, what is their vision? If you have different expectations, the issue isn’t really about balance. It’s about coming to a shared understanding. The first step in solving any disconnect is about reconciling expectations – it’s not about balance. It’s about desires and preferences. If we’re talking about children, it comes down to vision and priorities. What do your children need? What do you want to give or feel you should be giving? What does your spouse expect? From there, we have to honestly assess how we spend our time. Perhaps it’s not work that is really the issue but TV or sports or some other interest we’ve prioritized. Work and family are primary vocations. Everything else is a secondary vocation or just an interest. It may be important, but it’s not the same priority. Or is it? We need to fully live each vocation to which we’ve been called. This means showing up when, where, and how, we need to. We need to make choices that create an integrated life – not one or the other but all of the above. We also need to recognize when a lower priority is impacting a higher one. Many years ago, there was a cliche accepted as wisdom about marriage being a 50/50 endeavor – each spouse needs to do his or her share. Imbalance creates dissatisfaction. I remember my sense of surprise when I later heard a speaker say it wasn’t true. If its going to work, he said, marriage demands 100% from each spouse. Juggling is often used as a metaphor to reflect the notion of work-life balance, but it is an act which no one can sustain indefinitely. Joy and peace are found in living fully in each of the places we’ve committed ourselves. We have to give 100% to the vocations to which we’re called. From there, we begin to realize that the “time” issue is really about correct choices based on our priorities and shared vision. Next, we reconcile the differing demands of our vocations by realizing that life moves in seasons. There are seasons for planting, seasons for growing, seasons for reaping, and seasons for waiting and replenishing. There is a time for all seasons. The demands of the season will change. None of them last forever. We can’t juggle a season – there is no balancing planting and harvesting – both must be done…both must be lived fully in their time. Choices must be made in the day to day, but balance is the wrong goal. You can’t balance love of a child with your duty of work. You keep loving even as you are working. Choosing to live your work duty fully is not a rejection of your child, it is an example to him or her. It becomes problematic when our choice of one duty eclipses our other priorities. This is not imbalance, it is disorder. Sometimes the season we are in demands more in one facet of our life than another. Young children may demand more from us than teenagers. A new job or project may consume us for a time. The key is recognizing the season we’re in and making sure those in our life share our understanding of its demands. The season will ebb and flow but your life, and relationships, goes on. We win in this by keeping our center always before us. We lose by equivocating time and affection and responsibility. There is a time for work, there is a time for leisure, there is a time for homework, and there is a time for date night. But these times don’t lessen or change our ultimate priorities. These are daily tides that must ebb and flow, but they are just part of the ocean in which we exist. Tides aside, we find ourselves floating in the ocean of our heart and soul, the loves we hold close in those waters, and the virtues that define us. When it comes to primary vocations, it’s not either or, it’s both and. The rest is seeing the seasons and the tides, then focusing on shared expectations. We come to find that we’re not balancing anything but pouring ourself out into what matters most to us. Then we’re on to the next season. Our eye turns toward balance because something feels out-of-whack, imbalanced. That feeling reflects disordered choices amid priorities. We can choose to sacrifice a season or a relationship or our virtue in the name of power, or pleasure, or stuff, or glory. But that’s not really about balance. Properly centered and properly chosen, we live in a daily flow of tides amid the seasons of our life. We come to find that we can “have it all” by recognizing the tide and the season, and helping those in our life see them. It is not something to swim against, but flow along with. For those accompanying us, our right choices, right sacrifices, right efforts, and right sharing, help affirm the truth along the way. All will be well. I am here. I see you. Live your season. Trust your tide. Don’t fight them by aiming for balance. Live them fully by embracing the moment and reassuring yourself, and those counting on you, that your choices are rightly ordered, you are fully present and working to be fully alive in your vocations, no matter the season.

The Holidays are past. Christmas trees are piled for mulching. Ornaments are put away. Unwanted gifts are returned. Reflecting on the season now past, I consider the many people with whom I was able to spend time, the many notes and cards and texts, and the beautiful opportunity to share goodwill with those in our holiday circle. We can’t see everyone we’d like to see but we work to keep in touch with people. In some cases, this is the only time of the year we communicate but it is still lovely to check-in. Why is that? All of us maintain many relationships. Sometimes they are seasonal, closeness coming and going through a part of our life. Sometimes they are family bonds, connected in shared blood and history. They may be work related or school or church – the communities within which we move. We have neighbors who we see intermittently, interacting through a wave or a smile passing on the street. Our level of contact is driven by the closeness of the relationship and sometimes once a year is enough. What is a relationship? Between people, a relationship is an ongoing exchange, an investment of time in encounter. There are obviously different types and levels of encounter, but they all are sustained through some degree over time. They all require an ongoing set of choices: am I in or not? What do I invest in this? How much and how often? Digging a bit deeper, we can see that there are elements that reflect the intimacy of our relationships. Things like love, trust, belief, and forgiveness form the bedrock of our closest relationships and are critical to sustaining them over time. Though there are many feelings associated with these elements of our relationships, like the relationship with the person him or herself, they require a choice. We choose to love, to trust, to believe, and to forgive. Looking at them a bit more closely, we begin to see that behind the relationship with the person is a relationship with those elements. How so? I suggested earlier that a relationship is an ongoing exchange but most fundamentally, it is a choice. To be ongoing, an exchange must be chosen. Again and again and again. Do I choose love? Do I choose belief? Do I choose trust? Do I choose forgiveness? These are not one-time events, they are ongoing choices. The degree and frequency we choose them, defines the intimacy of our relationship with the other person. Therefore our relationship with love, the way we see it, engage with it, and choose it, underpins our relationship with the person with who we choose to share it. Can I believe? Can I trust? Can I forgive? They follow the same pattern. What is my relationship with each? Each of these relationships demands its own effort. It must be worked-at, maintained, re-chosen. But forgiveness is a special case. A difficult one. Like any relationship, it’s not a one-time event. We may choose to forgive, but that doesn’t mean the hurt is gone. It doesn’t mean the failure or mistake is wiped away. Like love, there are many feelings attached to it but they are not joyful or pleasant or desired. To choose a relationship with forgiveness will be demanding – it will cost something. It’s a choice to be in a relationship with pain, difficulty, and discomfort. And that’s really, really, tough. No one wants a relationship with hurt. Every time it comes around, we’re reminded of injury and our own vulnerability. Such hurt is often a great injustice and sometimes there is no reparation – some wrongs can’t be made “right.” Like the people we choose for relationship, we have to keep choosing forgiveness. Or, we don’t. And it’s often so much easer to walk away from it. But like the human relationships we choose to sustain, forgiveness gets better over time. Our relationship with it, deepens, becomes richer, evolves. And like those very few relationships that form the cornerstone of our most joyful existence, forgiveness can lead us to a version of ourself we didn’t know could be. It is a relationship that can bring us to fullness of life, moving us to something more than where we started. Over time, forgiveness can show us something greater than the cost of the hurt which first introduced us. Eleven days into the new year might be a good time to reflect on your relationships behind your relationships. What is your relationship with love? Trust? Belief? Gratitude? They are worth investing-in, nurturing. What about forgiveness? Perhaps it’s that relationship you really didn’t want, which bears fruit in the most profoundly unexpected ways.

It’s better to risk boldness than triviality. Peter Thiel, Zero to One Here we are, a new year. The holiday parties are over. Unwanted gifts returned. Resolutions made. The first Monday of the 2026 is upon us. What’s it going to be? Where will you go? Who will you become? What will change? What will happen? Thinking of the new year, the word boldness came to mind, reminding me of a post I wrote in 2022. Reading over it this morning, I can still hear the whisper echoing across the years. Pause and listen for a moment…you might hear it too. From July 27, 2022. Waking up today, I grabbed my cup of coffee and headed into my Holy Hour. What’s a Holy Hour? For me, it’s prayer and meditation – a chance to spend time with God. At 4am, the house is silent, my head is clear, and the day is still to come. When you clear your head and listen, many things appear. Some thoughts may wander to the day ahead. Some may look at the day behind. Sometimes intractable problems get an answer or the hint of an answer. Occasionally, there is reassurance on your current path or a nudge in a different direction. Often, peace appears when you are able to let go, or at least, loosen that grip on life. Today, some meditation on Scripture turned into a bit of self-reflection. There are always opportunities for improvement and silence leaves them no place to hide. Rolling toward the end of my Hour, the whisper emerged. Sometimes, there is a whisper. I made you for boldness. By itself, today’s whisper is vague and of little value. Is it a call to action? Is it referring to a decision? Is it a reflection on a point of failure? I’ve spent some time with the notion already and will continue to discern it’s broader message. That is the gift of it. But this post isn’t about me. It’s about you. I felt compelled to write it today. For some reason, it needed to be said now. We’re all made for boldness. We all matter and we’re made to live our lives as if we matter. You see, you are a person of consequence. What you say has power. What you do changes the world. Most of us spend too much time playing it safe. Living as if we aren’t of consequence. Acting like we don’t matter. Worrying that we aren’t noticed. Scared that we’ll screw up. Forgetting all that we are called to be. Feeling as if no one else in the world sees the infinite potential hidden within. We are taught to color in the lines. Follow the rules. Wait our turn. Avoid the wrong answer. Respect authority. Know our place. Not to say anything stupid. We are conditioned to fear these and many other failings. We frequently equate our value to how we think others see us. We often act based upon the feelings that plague us. Along the way, we begin to believe that no one cares. Or, that we can’t make a difference. Our worth becomes the sum total of the indignities heaped upon us over time. All of it occasionally interrupted by the flashes of brilliance that keep us hoping. A small hope that keeps us pressing forward. In that world, boldness is the radical notion that you are consequential. That you can make a difference. That you matter. Boldness is believing something else than the sum total of those negative messages coming back to you. Boldness is daring to feel alive and vital in the skin you inhabit. I made you for boldness. Looking around, I see so much fear. It drives us to do terrible, craven things. Fear causes us to retreat, doubt, and hesitate before the grand possibilities that might be. Station, status, or zip code doesn’t matter. We’re all wrestling with the same demons. Find a bit of success? How dare you! Fall on your face? How dare you! Real and imagined, the demons remain. What does it mean to be bold in your own life? Firstly, it means letting go of the fear. Fear of what may or may not be. Fear of what others think. Fear of failure. Fear of looking stupid. Fear of disappointing. Fear of a wrong decision. Fear of failing. Letting go of fear does not mean you won’t feel fear. Letting go of fear begins with realizing that you are not in control, for so often, our fears creep in from the places in which we feel that we are not in control. Let go of control, and the illusion of it, even if just for a moment. You control yourself. You control the choices you make. You do not control your imperfections or the humanity that is our shared condition. You also do not control what anyone else thinks, says, does, or does not do. That is not your responsibility. Boldness starts with seeing a better future. Your future. Your family’s future. Boldness is daring to think that you might do something. Boldness is believing you are consequential – that your choices are consequential. Boldness is making those choices believing they will effect meaningful change. Boldness is moving toward your future vision despite resistance. Boldness is being fearless in that pursuit, even when it feels incredibly scary. Sometimes we have to abandon the good to get something better. Often, we have to leave safety to begin the journey. At least the perception of safety. We’re never as safe as we think we are and rarely in as much danger as it may appear. We must imagine boldly. We must act boldly. We must believe boldly. Denying boldness is to risk triviality. Smallness. The safe idea? Trivial. The risk-free decision? Of little consequence. The status quo? More of the same. We fool ourselves into thinking that we can remove risk from the world around us. We try to do it for our children. We try to do it for ourselves. Often, we try to do it for our companies, clients, patients, or students. Sorry, our world is full of risks. The dangers are real. To pursue this path is to risk triviality. To chase safety is to accept triviality. Our companies need bigger ideas. Our business models need imagination. Our jobs need bold energy. Our reflection in the mirror must show determination to be more than we are today. Our challenges must be met with boldness. If we do not risk boldness, we risk triviality. If we do not choose to be bold, we will be of little consequence. Boldness is not cavalier or foolish. Boldness follows the signs. Boldness is good stewardship. Boldness is showing up and leaving it better than you found it. Boldness is counter-cultural and self-assured. It doesn’t matter where you are. Boldness says “I matter” and I will live in a way that reflects that belief. Boldness is trusting even when I don’t feel it. I made you for boldness. The whisper returns. I can’t get it out of my mind. Will you be bold today? Can you be bold? Do you believe that you matter? Is your life of consequence? Whether you recognize it or not, your life is of consequence to someone. Whether you can admit it or not, there are those around you who are counting on your boldness. Don’t risk triviality. Today, risk boldness. We’re all counting on you.

Last night, Sally and I went to see Hamnet, a movie about the backstory of Shakespeare’s classic Hamlet. No fear, there are no spoilers here. The movie is gritty, moody, and very well acted. It is an interesting and compelling story by itself. However, it was the interspersing of lines from the play itself that brought the movie to life for me in a far deeper way. Attaching some of Shakespeare’s staggeringly beautiful, and somewhat mystifying, words to events of his life – putting them into the deeper context of his human existence – brought an entirely different dimension to them. I cannot speak to the facts of the story, nor do I feel I need to – there is a beauty to the idea that is worthy by itself. Earlier in 2025, I had the opportunity to read and discuss Hamlet in a course. Before that class, William Shakespeare’s work was quite opaque to me. I recognized famous lines from his plays but had little understanding of, or interest in, their meaning or context. Our instructor reminded us frequently to “attend to the details,” avoiding assumption and even first impressions to dig deeper into what the author really meant. With her guidance, I began to understand the words, see the images, and follow the story. Adding outside commentary, watching Kenneth Branaugh perform it, and discussing the play brought it to life in surprising and delightful ways. With understanding, it became powerfully beautiful. Just over a year ago, we were standing in the Musee D’Orsay in Paris, looking at a dizzying array of works of art by people like Van Gogh, Renoir, Degas, and Gaugin. I recognized the names and many of the paintings looked familiar. Time was short and there were many, many things to see, so we raced through, trying to put our eyes on a few things that struck us. Curiously, the most memorable thing in that museum came while walking through one of its cafes. Glancing up at the skeleton of a giant clock on one of the walls, we noticed a window behind it with a clear view of Sacre Coeur, the beautiful basilica on the hilltop of Montmartre. I viewed so many paintings that day, however, the image of Sacre Coeur stands out in my mind. The beautiful, white travertine limestone and striking Roman-Byzantine architecture, fill my mind’s eye. We had been there the day before and had spent several hours exploring her vaults, gazing at the artwork of her design, and learning of her history. The Basilica is beautiful to behold, but the details of its design, construction, and story brought it to life – gave it dimension beyond its towering edifice. Sally and I smiled broadly at the beauty of the vision, then laughed at the irony of seeing it amid the priceless art of the gallery and the croissants of the cafe. Knowing it made the Basilica more fully alive to us. There are untold glories hidden in the specific but we miss them. Ours is a culture so often content with skimming along the surface. We are addicted to soundbites, platitudes, and headlines. We stand up, snacking on the crumbs at the counter, rather than sitting down to the five course meal hidden in the particular. We listen to podcasts and books at 1.5x or 2x speed so we can get through more quickly. We binge and fast-forward on shows, trying to squeeze as much as we possibly can into the allotted sliver of time. We race through museums so we can say we saw something famous – often stopping just long enough to get a selfie to prove it. Consumed with telling our story on Instagram, we miss the amazing story hiding behind us. And within us. Down the street from the Musee D’Orsay is the Louvre, holding the famous Mona Lisa, painted by Leonardo DaVinci in the 16th Century. A story unto itself, the iconic Mona Lisa reflects the obsessive genius of its painter, whose use of light and dark – chiaroscuro – and incredibly detailed studies of human and animal anatomy informed and inspired generations of artists and scientists in and after his time. The painting by itself is simply a famous work by a famous artist, having little depth or meaning to the uninformed. But like so many great works, takes on new meaning with understanding. We see this in so many things of life. Books, movies, buildings, research projects – the size, scope, and complexity of which are beyond comprehension – or at least beyond our ability to invest the time to understand enough to fully appreciate. But much is lost in our cursory passings. Walking through Barnes and Noble the other day, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of books. Old books. New books. Great titles, interesting covers, fabulous blurbs highlighting the incredible stories. No wonder we have book summary services to help us get to the point, get the gist, or get just enough to check the box. Considering our tendency to race to the finish or skim experiences, I’m reminded of our time on the Camino de Santiago and how many people we found joining the journey with 100km to the destination. After 3 weeks and 400km, we found ourselves in masses of pilgrims wanting to get the compostelo, the stamp of proof, for completing the journey – or at least enough of the journey. We so often approach the epic as a collector. We want to collect the next experience, the next view, the next been-there-done-that. There is certainly nothing wrong with wanting to do, see, taste, or visit as much of this beautiful world as possible, but how much are we getting along the way? Something happens when we slow down and attend to the details. Sure, we will learn more. Yes, we will see the thing with more depth and understanding. We might come to appreciate it more or perhaps we’ll find that in the knowing, we don’t care for it. We don’t have to love everything. But there is something even greater than the knowing and the understanding by itself. When we engage with the particular, do the hard work of knowing, wrestle with the mysteries that lead to understanding, and dig more deeply to get to the heart of the story, we come to know ourself and our place in the world more deeply. And we often find that we are changed along the way. When we dig more deeply, we find the gold hidden in the hills. When we dive to the depths, we find the pearl of great price, the one worth selling all we have to finally possess. There are great treasures buried in the details. It turns out that within the particular is an undiscovered country: revelations about life, others, and ourselves. Beauty revealed only after great toil and the price of sacrifice. It is a a place that can only be found with significant effort, there are no shortcuts or Cliffs Notes. Most importantly, we discover in going deeper, that the point wasn’t finding something else to collect, but someone else to become.