If you're in a space between — where you are and where you want to be — I encourage you to reflect on the mountains you've already covered, and acknowledge your progress with generosity. Consider what you've learned since your last big challenge, and how much more equipped you are — even if it doesn't feel that way — for what's ahead.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it takes to truly communicate well — not just to deliver a message, but to make it land. To communicate in a way that changes how someone thinks, feels, or acts, and deepens trust in the process. It's on my mind this week because of a challenge recently posed by a new executive — someone who stepped into a role where trust had been damaged and now needs to earn his team's trust while rebuilding what was previously lost.

There’s an illustrated children’s book I love called Quiet. It was written in 2018 by legendary author-illustrator Tomie DePaola, just a few years before his passing. DePaola wrote some of my favorite children’s books, but this one is decidedly different. Each time I pick it up, I’m reminded of how important its message is today—a message for children as much as for adults.

I was in my early 20s, navigating the first years of my professional career, when I remember thinking to myself: I have no idea what I’m doing here. The pace was fast. The expectations were high. I was being asked to do work I had never done before, surrounded by colleagues who seemed far more fluent in it than I was. And I wasn’t about to admit how lost I felt. 

At Mission Partners, we help organizations communicate what matters—and communicate it well. We write speeches and stories that capture attention, messages that move decision makers to act, and strategies that engage employees and volunteers to champion bold new ideas.

But none of those desired outcomes can happen without first asking a more fundamental question: How do we communicate in a way that all audiences—not just a select few—can understand and access the message?

When I wrote my first Finding the Words column on January 3, 2022, I didn’t know quite where it would take me, only that I needed a place to help make sense of our changing world.
 
Between the lines, though, something else started to unfold. I began to notice patterns and trends among the leaders who were inspiring my columns.

We are living through tragic and deeply disorienting times. And the “safest” response, we’re often led to believe, is to protect ourselves by filtering what we say. Water it down. Lose the feeling. Be forthright—but not too vulnerable. But sometimes, what helps most is simply naming what’s true. That doesn’t mean you need to share a prayer. But it does mean you can share something meaningful to you.

The truth is, when news breaks, leaders are often left balancing urgency, responsibility, and uncertainty—all while knowing their words (or silence) will be interpreted. This framework isn’t about saying the ‘right’ thing. It’s about making intentional choices in moments that don’t allow for easy ones. In today’s Finding the Words, I’ll offer a brief breakdown of those considerations and invite you to explore the full resource, linked at the bottom of this post.

You can't do it all alone. You're not expected to. And in times of complexity, when you're feeling overwhelmed, sometimes the very best thing is knowing that you have someone you can turn to, talk with, and work through the complexity together. By focusing on what we can do or who can help, we regain momentum—even if it doesn't solve everything.  Because progress, especially in uncertain times, is rarely dramatic. More often, it’s quiet and incremental. It's bit by bit.

You don’t need a dozen principles to guide you this year. You need one that can carry you forward and help you stay steady—especially on the hard days. And whatever it is, it has to be right for you. Think of it as a grounding practice. A daily prompt. An intention for your leadership—and your life.

So, where to go from here? If you are launching something new, turning away from something familiar, or digging deeper wherever you are, I hope something in this week's reflection can help light your path forward. Because no matter which way you're headed, you can always go further when you're open to the possibility.

So, in this season of gratitude, and for however our paths have crossed this year, I thank you. In one way (or more), you've gladdened my heart, and I hope to have done the same for you.

Remember that accessibility is a practice, not a checklist. You don't have to get it perfect today. You just have to start—and then keep going. That's what it means to keep a movement moving forward.

You don't need to dominate a room to command it. Instead, the next time you step up to speak, remember to prepare so well that you can be present, connect so deeply that others feel seen, and share your passion so openly that it moves people to action. Do those things, and you won't just command a room—you'll change it.

We are all in a pressurized state right now. The weight of uncertainty is heavy and dizzying. But as one nonprofit leader reminded me recently, diamonds are formed under pressure. And just as a brilliant diamond can be formed under pressure, so too can our mission be clarified under intense conditions.

So, what if we made listening, not talking, our greatest act of leadership? When we choose to listen, we will also choose to quiet the noise. And that one simple act can begin to bridge divides, repair harm, and re-humanize the spaces we share.

We can choose to be lost in the work, or we can choose to find meaning right where we are—even in the chaos—and let that meaning guide us forward. So today, I’ll choose to get lost in something that matters. Something small, hopeful, forward-looking. And I hope you can too.

Disagreement will always be part of our work. It can also be good for the work, as long as there are equal amounts of disagreement, respect, and collaboration. If we can hold space for all three, we will not only get through the challenges but also build something lasting.

The opportunity before us is not to be superhuman, but to be that super kind of leader, manager, or peer who says through your actions: You belong here. And you don’t have to choose between being who you are and being who we need you to be.

This is the often-unsung terrain of leadership. Wins and recognition matter, but what endures is how we support the success of others, share knowledge, and offer grace under pressure. Leadership isn't the work that earns applause—it's what we do quietly, when no one is watching.