Getting ready to leave the house today, I had a moment of pure satisfaction. I realized that I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.  

I was on my way to be with a team at a local grassroots non-profit. I’ve supported this organization on and off for almost a decade, coming in “off the bench” as needed. Right now, they’re facing a huge change and have asked me to help them through it. I’m honored to be asked, I know I can be helpful. But if I weren’t writing about this today, no one else would know. Small ripples in a small pond. 

I’ve long suffered under the idea that I’m supposed to “make a difference” in the world, or “be impactful.” In the last few years, that has fallen away, and what I’m left with instead is, “How can I be present to reality? How can I become more of who I am? What’s mine to do?” I’ve stopped comparing myself to people who seem more confident, successful, or relevant. I don’t view my work or identity as especially important or special. Paradoxically, my work often does feel important, and I value and love myself immensely. I have to laugh and wonder to myself, “What’s my secret?!” 

I’ve had many good teachers along the way. They include: 

  • My friend and colleague Katie and her wise words on the minimum viable dose.  What are the smallest changes we can make, the ones that help us develop at a sustainable, human pace? 
  • Seth Godin and his  1000 true fans. I’ve used his question for 15 years: How few people can I influence and still be able to do this work tomorrow?” 
  • My friend Peter recently writing about the “ecosystem of change” and how all the “smallest” parts, like lichen or microorganisms in the soil, make the forest what it is. He says, “…we must continually remind ourselves that we are only ever just one small piece in the beautiful mess of it all, one small piece in the puzzle of change. We play the roles that are ours to play, admire and appreciate others playing theirs, and watch in wonder as change emerges and unfolds before our eyes.” 
  • My dad doing his sacred work fixing plumbing at The Lighthouse Mission, my mom making meals for grieving people, my first-responder partner, my sister-in-law preparing taxes for elderly clients, my aunt caring for her grandson, and countless other people in my life quietly noticing, serving, and loving. 
  • Oliver Burkeman’s book 4000 Weeks: “The average human lifespan is absurdly, terrifyingly, insultingly short. But that isn’t a reason for unremitting despair, or for living in an anxiety-fueled panic about making the most of your limited time.” I want to make the most of my limited time by not worrying about making the most of it.  
  • What I learn in silence, solitude, and stillness. 

I’ve seen a lot of organizations, leaders, or movements fall apart under the pressure to become more influential. There is another way, and it’s one I’ve chosen as I’ve developed myself and my business. Nora Bateson talks about ferns sensing that the creek has stopped running— “Drought is coming. Stay small.” I love this so much. It’s not PLAYING small, having a false of modesty, or giving up. It’s adapting, knowing what can be sustained, being connected to our environment. It’s another way of talking about humility—a right-sized sense of self. Not growth at any cost or overestimating our place in the ecosystem but knowing who we are and the work that’s ours to do, however “small” it is. I just don’t think we have the perspective to judge whether something is big or small, and it’s not the most interesting question. I’d rather, as Peter says, “Watch in wonder as change emerges and unfolds before my eyes.”