What do you see?
Don’t want to read? Take a listen here:
If you’ve seen me in person over the past couple of years, you’ve probably noticed that I look different from most of my adulthood.
First, I stopped coloring my hair. Some people assume it’s a statement. It isn’t, really. It has more to do with recognizing when I was fighting a losing battle — and choosing instead to embrace the stage of life I’m in, along with the ease that comes with it. (I save a lot of time and money, too.)
Second, I no longer wear contact lenses. I started wearing them in sixth grade, and after more than forty years of daily use — and countless prescription changes for myopia — I developed a condition that makes continuing to wear them painful, and likely unsafe over time. I’ve always been self-conscious about how thick my glasses are, so for years I only replaced them when my prescription changed dramatically, opting for the least expensive frames to offset the very expensive lenses since I rarely wore them outside of my house.
And no, I was never a candidate for LASIK. I’d still need glasses afterward, which felt beside the point. I may be the only woman I know who is impatiently waiting for cataracts, just for the chance at “new” lenses and naturally perfect vision.
In the meantime, I’ve surprised myself by enjoying glasses. I now rotate among four pairs — a small concession that makes not wearing contacts feel less like a loss and more like a choice.
But this isn’t really about hair or eyewear.
In many ways, this more natural state — thick glasses, gray hair, fewer attempts to correct or conceal — mirrors how I now see the world. With fewer enhancements. Fewer shortcuts. Less interest in polishing things into something they’re not.
What I’ve found is that removing the embellishments hasn’t made my vision fuzzier. It’s done the opposite. It has brought clarity.
Clarity about what deserves my time and attention. About the importance of building things consciously rather than quickly. About the necessity of continual learning — not as a reaction to trends, but as a commitment to staying engaged and capable. About doubling down on community and culture, especially when the world feels fractured or noisy.
It has also clarified something deeply personal: my comfort in being publicly, unapologetically Jewish. Not performative. Not defensive. Simply rooted. Even — and perhaps especially — when that feels challenging. Clarity has a way of stripping away the impulse to explain or soften what is essential.
And clarity, too, about philanthropy.
I believe more than ever that philanthropy is not just about outcomes or transactions, but about values made visible. It is a way of shaping culture in real time, of investing in people and ideas that strengthen the fabric of our communities. It requires discernment, humility, and a willingness to see things as they are — not as we wish them to be.
Which brings me, inevitably, to legacy.
Legacy isn’t something we engineer at the end. It’s something we practice daily. In the choices we make. In what we build. In what we support. In how honestly we’re willing to look at the world — and at ourselves — without disguise.
So I’ll leave you with this:
What are you seeing clearly these days?
And how is that clarity shaping the legacy you’re living into right now?
Fondly,
Kari
