Action is the Antidote

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“Action is the antidote to anxiety.”

That’s what my husband said to me on a walk last weekend. We weren’t talking about anything in particular — we were actually laughing about something silly, just walking the dog, and then he said it, almost in passing. I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since.

As you may know, in the past year, I’ve really leaned into commitment. Opportunity. Learning. Serving. Just… doing. Boards. Cohorts. Clients. Certifications. A giving circle. A campaign. To some, my plate resembles that of a teenage boy at an all-you-can-eat buffet. FULL. If I listed it all out, you might wonder how it all fits. And if I’ve lost my mind. 

But it doesn’t feel too full to me. It feels like the opposite of overwhelm. It feels like keeping my mind and body occupied in the face of a world that, lately, doesn’t offer much certainty.

I don’t think that’s an accident, and I don’t think it’s unique to me.

When the news cycle feels relentless, when the ground under our institutions feels less stable than it used to, there seem to be three instincts that many people follow. One is to brace — to pull in, wait it out, conserve energy for whatever comes next. Another is to speak up loudly about it — to vent, to argue, to let frustration take the lead, often inside an echo chamber that only amplifies it.

I respect both of those responses. I’ve exercised both of them over my life; the reactions make sense. But there’s yet another instinct that speaks to me, now more than in a very long time: the urge to do something, anything, that puts your hands back on the wheel. Even if the wheel may not be that monumental. 

Anxiety, at its core, is often about a loss of control. Action — even small, even imperfect — is one of the only reliable ways to get some of that control back. It is not because it fixes the entire world. It doesn’t. But it changes your relationship to the not-knowing, and gives some small agency over what you can do.

I think about this often in my work. Philanthropy, at its best, is exactly this kind of action — the kind that doesn’t require you to solve everything, only to do something, on purpose, with your own mind, body, and wallet, and whatever other resources you’ve got. I’ve mentioned the five Ts (time, treasure, talent, ties, testimony) many times. It could be as simple as a conversation about legacy that’s been avoided for years. Joining a giving circle that turns individual uncertainty into collective momentum. Showing up. None of it fixes the unpredictable state of the world. All of it is a refusal to sit still inside it.

Maybe that’s the real value of the full plate — not that it distracts you from what’s hard, but that it insists you’re still in the fight. Still building. Still choosing to act rather than absorb.

So, what are you waiting for? I’m happy to help you fill your plate. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Kari