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After spending time in five countries in eleven days — the UK, India, Malaysia, Singapore and Vietnam — in the midst of war, uncertainty and a fraying sense of trust, I'm reminded of the quiet power of human connection. Of showing up. Of bringing yourself fully. Human connection offers the chance to come alive. When we truly attend to one another, we remember how much we need each other — and how deeply our lives are intertwined. Our horizons expand even as the connections, when they are real, deepen our sense of grounding and belonging to something larger. Wherever we stand, may we find the courage to be the soul of that place. Happy Sunday. 🙏 P.S. Writing this on a 25-hour journey home to NYC on my 36-hour birthday (!). I feel deeply nourished by the diversity of souls I'm lucky to know, the new people I met and the extraordinary hospitality and grace I encountered. So much gratitude to the team and all who gave so generously of themselves.

Joy is not naive. Joy is the choice to look at hard things and to say yes… Joy is a decision to lean into the cracks where light is possible. It is the spark that reminds us that we’re alive to beauty, to connection. Joy softens us when the world seems to push us to the bone, fueling resilience. Joy is part of the moral courage this moment requires. It is a reminder that moral leadership is not just about bearing burdens but about carrying light.

How does a company serving low-income people work when fighting powerful headwinds like 70% currency devaluation and high inflation? To Nick Imudia, CEO of d.light and a teacher of mine, it's about creating real impact. Change is hard. And change is possible.

I'm relaunching my LinkedIn newsletter to share lessons from change-agents who hear the call of moral leadership. These are people who look to the future not with blind optimism but with a hard-edged hope. People who recognize that every problem is an opportunity for us to act.

One of the through lines of my life is the idea that angels and monsters live in each of us; and that, in times of insecurity, it is easy for too many leaders to prey on our fears and broken parts and blame others. We live in such a time, and it is more important than ever that each of us becomes a light in the darkness. I’ve spent this week on the ground in and around Hargeisa with Somalis of all backgrounds, people who carry their communities forward in myriad untold ways. I’m proud of the work we are doing with them, and I’ll be writing a bit about it over the next few days. May you focus your own efforts with hard heads and soft hearts. And may you hold fast to love as the antidote to all that makes us smaller and more afraid.

Kindness isn’t simply softness, but some of us are made to feel small or weak in return for the kindnesses offered. And yet, leaders know that real kindness entails caring enough to tell people sometimes hard truths in ways they can hear. Real kindness means showing up when it is sometimes the last thing we feel like doing. Real kindness requires respect for other human beings, even if we disagree vehemently with their ideas. Goodness knows we need more kindness — especially the kind that can astonish and make the world a little less mean, a little more hopeful.

The news is hard to read these days — people applauded for achieving at the highest levels, later exposed for a tragic level of indecency and inhumanity when no one is looking. And yet I am reminded everywhere of how many truly good people exist. Last weekend, I spoke to the loveliest man who told me his life was “small but happy.” His most joyous moment of the week, he beamed, is showing up at the local shelter, where he and his wife “make eggs and potatoes and talk to those less fortunate.” He may think of his outer life as smaller than some, but his inner life is gigantic. I am humbled by his generosity and goodness. It comes not from a place of posturing but of humility — a place of wisdom. We’re pushed to achieve in material terms, but life pays off in character. So yes, in this moment of such utter indecency, saints are everywhere. May we notice them. May we learn from them. And for goodness’ sake — may we try to be among them. (And I am grateful for the builders who dare to create change amid all of the mess.)

One of the through lines of my life is the idea that angels and monsters live in each of us; and that, in times of insecurity, it is easy for too many leaders to prey on our fears and broken parts and blame others. We live in such a time, and it is more important than ever that each of us becomes a light in the darkness. I’ve spent this week on the ground in and around Hargeisa with Somalis of all backgrounds, people who carry their communities forward in myriad untold ways. I’m proud of the work we are doing with them, and I’ll be writing a bit about it over the next few days. May you focus your own efforts with hard heads and soft hearts. And may you hold fast to love as the antidote to all that makes us smaller and more afraid.

Happy Holi! Wherever you are today, may your world be full of color, love and the promise of new beginnings.

This is a moment to look forward, to reimagine our systems, and to find those who would build them with us. It is why I love builders, those who see what is wrong and even terrible, yet lean into creating something better. For twenty-five years, I’ve seen what happens when moral imagination meets patient capital — when entrepreneurs are backed not just with applause for their vision, but with the venture, proximity and stamina it takes to climb the stairs. I’ve seen how much change is possible. So, after a week at Davos, I’m sitting with this question: what would it take to create an alliance of all those builders and those who support their vision, people who dare to put our humanity and the earth at the center, not just profit, not just power?

We love the idea of a clean slate, but most real beginnings are not clean. They often come after disappointment, exhaustion and endings we didn’t choose. Renewal is not simply about intention and optimism. It can come when you feel you’ve just about hit a wall. It can require effort, a bearing down to hold nothing back, a leaning into risk and into the courage needed to find new rhythms and patterns. And even if we did choose this place where we start the new year, we may feel pulls of both exhilaration and being daunted, each keening in an opposing direction. Yet if we are not daunted, we may not be challenging ourselves. I, for one, am excited for the new page that is 2026.

I’ve started many New Year’s mornings with John O’Donohue’s beautiful poems. I love this one because it carries the kind of hope I trust: grounded, unsentimental, sturdy for the world that is. It doesn’t promise easy, but wishes for us the inner resources to take on what this next year brings. I also wish for you a slow wind to encircle you like an invisible cloak to give you gentle, yet fierce and even joyful bravery. This I wish you most of all, as we all have the chance to turn the page into newness. Happy New Year.

The news is hard to read these days — people applauded for achieving at the highest levels, later exposed for a tragic level of indecency and inhumanity when no one is looking. And yet I am reminded everywhere of how many truly good people exist. Last weekend, I spoke to the loveliest man who told me his life was “small but happy.” His most joyous moment of the week, he beamed, is showing up at the local shelter, where he and his wife “make eggs and potatoes and talk to those less fortunate.” He may think of his outer life as smaller than some, but his inner life is gigantic. I am humbled by his generosity and goodness. It comes not from a place of posturing but of humility — a place of wisdom. We’re pushed to achieve in material terms, but life pays off in character. So yes, in this moment of such utter indecency, saints are everywhere. May we notice them. May we learn from them. And for goodness’ sake — may we try to be among them. (And I am grateful for the builders who dare to create change amid all of the mess.)

After spending time in five countries in eleven days — the UK, India, Malaysia, Singapore and Vietnam — in the midst of war, uncertainty and a fraying sense of trust, I'm reminded of the quiet power of human connection. Of showing up. Of bringing yourself fully. Human connection offers the chance to come alive. When we truly attend to one another, we remember how much we need each other — and how deeply our lives are intertwined. Our horizons expand even as the connections, when they are real, deepen our sense of grounding and belonging to something larger. Wherever we stand, may we find the courage to be the soul of that place. Happy Sunday. 🙏 P.S. Writing this on a 25-hour journey home to NYC on my 36-hour birthday (!). I feel deeply nourished by the diversity of souls I'm lucky to know, the new people I met and the extraordinary hospitality and grace I encountered. So much gratitude to the team and all who gave so generously of themselves.

In 25 years of impact investing, Acumen has been asked more often than you'd expect how many unicorns we’ve produced. The answer is humbling: exactly one. And yet our portfolio has reached more than 700 million low-income people, created hundreds of thousands of jobs and reshaped fundamental systems for those historically overlooked. I think of our companies whose impact is transformative in ways the world urgently needs. Yet we have no category, no rubric, no shared recognition that captures what they're achieving or connects them with the investors who would back them. That doesn't feel right. So, how do we create a different measure of success? And what might we call those organizations truly transforming our communities and our world?

I'm relaunching my LinkedIn newsletter to share lessons from change-agents who hear the call of moral leadership. These are people who look to the future not with blind optimism but with a hard-edged hope. People who recognize that every problem is an opportunity for us to act.

For years, I’ve posted poems and quotes on Sundays with words that have moved me. I wanted to share five from this year that seemed to resonate most with you in hopes that they inspire reflection and renew your intentions heading into the new year. 🧵

Joy is not naive. Joy is the choice to look at hard things and to say yes… Joy is a decision to lean into the cracks where light is possible. It is the spark that reminds us that we’re alive to beauty, to connection. Joy softens us when the world seems to push us to the bone, fueling resilience. Joy is part of the moral courage this moment requires. It is a reminder that moral leadership is not just about bearing burdens but about carrying light.