What Comes Into Focus
Over the past year, I’ve written about many things.
About language and listening. About bridges that don’t quite meet in the middle. About courage and legacy. About generosity and grief. About community and belonging. Some of those essays were light and personal; others heavier, more searching. A few made me laugh as I wrote them. Others sat with me for weeks before I could be released.
At first glance, they may have seemed disconnected. But to me, they’ve always been part of the same conversation.
It’s impossible to ignore the context in which all of this is unfolding. The world feels heavy right now. Many of us are carrying fear, grief, anger, and a sense that things we once relied on feel less steady than they did before. It would be easy—understandable—to pull back, to harden, or to disengage.
But I don’t believe despair is an option. And I don’t believe walking away is a solution.
What we do control is ourselves: how we think, how we show up, how we treat one another, and where we choose to place our attention, our energy, and our resources. For me, philanthropy has always been one of the most grounded ways to do that. It’s a place to act rather than retreat—to lean toward values rather than away from them, and to stay in relationship even when the world feels fractured.
When I look back at the essays from last year, I see the same questions surfacing again and again. How do we find meaning—as individuals, as families, as communities? How do we make decisions when the answers aren’t obvious? What do we carry forward, and what do we choose to pass on?
For a long time, much of this work happened quietly—in living rooms and boardrooms, around kitchen tables and conference calls, inside family conversations and philanthropic partnerships. I’ve helped people clarify what matters to them, navigate shared decision-making, and give in ways that feel thoughtful, aligned, and true. Often, I was holding stories as much as strategies.
One place where this comes to life most clearly is in my work with giving circles, particularly women’s giving circles. Here in Detroit, I continue to build spaces rooted in shared learning, trust, and collective decision-making—places for people who want their philanthropy to be relational rather than transactional, and who believe that giving alongside others can deepen both impact and understanding.
Another thread running through all of this is legacy—not as something reserved for the end of life, but as something we shape every day. Legacy lives in our choices, our relationships, and the values we model for the people watching us. I’m often sitting with individuals and families asking quiet but important questions: What am I building? What am I responsible for? What do I want my name to stand for? These are conversations I feel deeply honored to hold.
I also continue to say yes to rooms—living rooms, sanctuaries, conference rooms—where people want to talk about philanthropy, values, community, and the stories we inherit and leave behind. Speaking and teaching have always been part of how I process the world, and part of how I connect with others.
None of this has been built alone. I’m grateful to the mentors, colleagues, partners, friends, and family members who trusted me, challenged me, and nudged me to name the work more clearly. I carry your fingerprints in this work every day.
As we move into a new year, I’m thinking less about resolutions and more about intentions. Not what we want to accomplish, but how we want to move through the world. If you’re in that reflective space too, here are a few questions you might sit with:
- What do I want to be known for this year—in the small, human moments?
- Where am I craving more connection, and where might I be holding back?
- What stories or values do I feel responsible for carrying forward?
- Where could generosity—of time, attention, or resources—change the tone of my year?
- What feels ready to be built, and what feels ready to be released?
If any part of this resonates—if you’re curious about giving circles, thinking about your own legacy, or simply wanting to continue the conversation—my door is open.
I’m glad you’re here. And I’m grateful to be doing this work, together.
With. my best wishes for a new year filled with grace, joy, health, and happiness.
Fondly,
PS — That’s me, below, with my new friend El Toro in Mexico City, wishing you a feliz año nuevo!
