Meeting in the Middle
If you grew up in Michigan, you may know the Zilwaukee Bridge — that long, elegant rise on I-75 that signals you’re officially on your way “up north.”
What most people forget is how the first attempt to modernize it went: the two spans, approaching from opposite sides of the river, didn’t meet in the middle. It was the butt of many jokes. What happened?
The engineers were working toward the same goal.
They had the same blueprints.
They shared purpose, plan, and intention.
And still — the pieces didn’t connect. They lacked communication, shared standards, and an agreed upon timeline.
(you can read more about the Bridge and its history here)
I keep thinking about that image because I see versions of it everywhere: in families navigating shared philanthropy, in giving circles trying to find consensus, in community work, and of course, in our country around (pick your issue!).
Moments where people truly believe they’re building toward the same vision, only to realize they’re approaching it with different assumptions or histories. You look up and realize: We’re supposed to be meeting here… why aren’t we?
We like to believe that a shared goal is enough. If we all want to “help,” “give back,” or “create impact,” alignment should follow. Except it rarely does.
People can share a destination and still define impact differently, have opposite risk tolerances, or assume the other side sees the world the same way they do. Sometimes what looks like resistance is just someone working from a different set of standards. It’s human — not personal.
What I love about the Zilwaukee Bridge story is that no one gave up. They didn’t (publicly!) blame one side or the other. They recalculated, rebuilt, and learned from the misalignment.
And they tried again — together.
Today, millions cross that bridge every year. Few remember the first updated attempt. We only see the finished structure — strong, reliable — because people were willing to pause, reassess, and figure out where the middle actually was.
Groups that give together — siblings, committees, boards, communities — often need to re-meet in the middle after the first attempt falls short. Not because the goal was wrong, but because the approach was different.
The real work is in laying out both sides’ assumptions, the stories you both carry, your values, and of course, what success looks like.
Something powerful happens when people slow down enough to understand each other’s starting points. When they stop guarding their own side of the span and start building toward the other. When they see misalignment not as a verdict, but as an opportunity.
And when the two sides finally meet?
Movement becomes possible again.
You travel together.
You get somewhere.
Sometimes, if you’re lucky, even “up north.”
Where are you still working from separate blueprints in your philanthropy — and what would it take to meet in the middle? If you’re curious, let’s explore it. Keep in touch.
Fondly,
