Client Profile: PCGVR

As a consultant, you want clients to seek your services. You want people to want to work with you. But, there comes a time when you have to move on. 

And, the song is right: Breaking up is hard to do.

When I met Jim MacMillan, a veteran photojournalist with a Pulitzer in his pocket, he had decided to change the way that the media industry interacts with gun violence. Grounded in a bold vision and some residual guilt, Jim is steadfast in his desire to reframe gun violence as a public health issue.

When we met, he wanted the AP Stylebook to issue new standards. He wanted the Surgeon General to take up gun violence. He wanted to attract new funders. He wanted to build a community that included public health scholars, impacted community members, and media professionals.

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The Surgeon General has started talking. The AP Stylebook is making moves. PCGVR secured hundreds of thousands in new funding. They have a growing community of invested stakeholders. They released a Better Gun Violence Reporting Toolkit.

The future is now. 

Jim knows his career is closer to its end than its beginning. We need to build a team, and teams aren’t made from consultants. So, I need to step aside. We’re about to launch a search for a Director of Operations. We’re going to build an Advisory Board. We’re going to prepare for the first-ever national conference on gun violence prevention reporting. 

We’re going to prepare for the organization’s future.

Gun violence is down in Philadelphia, but few people are telling you that. 

Current approaches to reporting on gun violence make communities less safe. They make people fearful and make it more likely people will arm themselves. When this trend shifts, I’ll know that - by supporting Jim - I was part of the change our world needed to see.

I’ll be working with PCGVR until the end of the calendar year. And, after that, I can’t wait to watch what they do!

Gun violence is not just a criminal issue. It’s a public health crisis. Check out PCGVR to learn more about how you might contribute to solutions.

Saying No

It’s been a minute since I last sat down to write.

When I started a consulting practice three years ago, I spent a lot of time managing the downside. How would I find clients? What if I couldn’t find enough work? I would imagine these questions are somewhat common for solo practitioners like me. 

The result: Solo consultants often say yes to almost everything. 

I was not prepared to manage the upside. At the end of last year, having said yes to a couple surprise engagements, I found myself under water. I said yes too many times. This was particularly difficult when I was running two significant discovery processes that overlapped for two months. The work quality remained consistent - I care deeply about excellence in my work - but my life got much more challenging.

Through last fall, I had developed a solid rhythm. I got to spend two days a week with my adorable son and three days working. The three days became insufficient. Work filled nights, weekends, and nap times.

Recently my life has discovered a new equilibrium. Work has returned to reasonable levels and additional childcare has been secured. When reflecting on this challenging six months, a few important lessons emerged:

  1. Workload is not just about the number of engagements, it’s also about specific stages in those engagements. In the future, I’ll work to avoid managing multiple discovery processes at the same time. Discovery processes are especially intense, involving focus groups, individual interviews, and lots of scheduling.

  2. Partnership can add tremendously to an individual’s capacity. Inspired by a friend’s approach, I’ve started growing an “extended family,” a group of people I can pull into engagements when their expertise is needed.

  3. I’m still far more nervous about managing the downside, but I’m definitely grateful to be back to having some dedicated time with my son, though it’s less than it was before.

  4. I will have to, occasionally, say no (and have already).

Hopefully I’ll get back to posting a bit more often about my learnings. Of course, I’m also excited to share about some of the incredible clients I’ve had the opportunity to serve. And, with increased capacity and knowledge, I’m excited to hear about additional opportunities to support impactful organizations with strategic planning, financial resilience, board development, or retreat facilitation.

Dear Ms. Crockett

Dear Ms. Crockett,

In 7th grade, your future mentor was my teacher. She spent much of the year disappointed in me. My effort, for her, did not meet my potential. And, she told me. A lot. 

She did not hold back. 

But, she didn’t know what was happening in my life. She didn’t know my motivation was fading, because my dad was too. She only learned that when he died. 

I remembered that your mentor, Mrs. Irving, thought I could be a good writer. I remembered in 8th grade when my teacher thought my writing was too sad. I remembered in 9th grade when my teacher disagreed - quite forcefully - that I had talent. Then, in 10th grade, I met you. 

A first year teacher. A basement (and windowless?) classroom. You sensed my creativity and my desire to break rules. You had a fascinating idea: I should learn the rules I wanted to break.

Point. Quote. Explanation. 

This is how you taught me to write about literature. You broke it down to the most basic level. I learned how to write an essay. You ensured I had the foundation. I still broke rules, but the departure was grounded in…something.

You taught me that writing is not a magical puzzle. It’s a learnable skill. You taught me that anyone can learn it. Because of that lesson, I helped over 80 DC teens become published authors of over 30 books. I became a published author, too. I told the story of so many young people and the organization that supported them. 

Because of you. 

And, when my life turned ugly - when I got fired from my life’s work - I had a skill…a vocation. Like a carpenter or plumber - someone whose skill can not be taken from them when everything else can - I was a writer. 

When we wanted to start a family, but I didn’t have a job, the things you taught me sustained me (us!). I brought resources to my family by writing profiles. I wrote about endings, beginnings, progress, and problems. The skills you provided me literally gave me the ability to become what I most wanted to be, a father.

I love that you’re obsessed with Andy. One day, he’ll learn why he should be so thankful for you.

Forever my teacher. I’m grateful, my Friend.
Mark

The Book I'm Trying To Write: #2

In an effort to push myself to write more - a struggle with a small child - I’m going to share some of the stories emerging as I work on a book. This is the second excerpt I’m sharing, and I hope you’ll see more soon. This post includes curse words, as my language often does. Enjoy!

My dad’s study had a second desk. His was the serious one - it had dark wood littered with nice pens and blue books from the law school classes he taught. Ours was uglier, perpendicular to the serious one. It was probably from Ikea before it got nice. At our desk, we had an Apple 2C. We used Prodigy CDs to access the internet for the first time. 

Given the hours spent at that computer, you couldn’t help but notice the photo collage that hung on the wall next to it. Long-haired teens stood with signs. The one I remember - “He’s a Helluva Hecker!” - demonstrated impressive wordplay. There were balloons, and there was a younger version of my dad. Many people clearly loved him, but - as a kid - I didn’t know who they were. I learned later that they were the teens of a local church youth group thanking him for his leadership.

There was also a clipping from a newspaper article. In it, my father was quoted. It said, “Teens need a place to skin their knees.” While, as a child, I wasn’t all that interested in why some teens loved my dad so much, that quote sunk in. We all need a place to scrape our knees. A place where mistakes, even significant ones, are considered part of a learning journey.

In his own white, suburban, church-focused way, my father recognized that teens need adults who accept their mistakes. They need to be given the space to grow. His lesson stayed with me.

This resulted in a policy at Reach that stated we would NEVER fire teen tutors. We were all about scraped knees. Additionally, it meant that we often didn’t immediately confront issues (disrespect, cursing, etc) with the hope that space would allow teens to grow through our patience rather than punishments. We didn’t always get it right, but sometimes we did.

——

D was having a bad day. I had tried to ask her to quiet down a few times, but she was just not interested in actively participating in the day’s lesson. The third time I asked her to quiet down, she said something under her breath in that way teens do – just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. 

This was a test. I had told our first cohort of tutors that Reach would be different. It wasn’t going to be a place of order and obedience. So, I knew eyes were on me as soon as D said it:

You be quiet you bitch ass motherfucker.

I took a breath. The class got quiet. But, I was on a roll, so I kept going. D deserved space.

We were discussing a children’s book that we would be reading with the students the next day. Digging into themes and character development, we were studying this children’s story like the piece of great fiction it was.

As we moved on, part way through the conversation I saw D had tuned in. She was finally listening. Maybe she had run out of things to say after talking through the first twenty minutes of the session? I waited for her to tune in completely, as I imagined she had missed part of the conversation previously, but soon, I could see her nodding along out of the corner of my eye. 

I could tell she disagreed with B’s assessment of the quality of The Giving Tree. Eventually, I turned to her with a major question – based on the evidence just stated, what can we infer about the character’s motivations? The lesson was one about inference, something many teens struggled with at the beginning of their time in the program. But, D nailed it.

I gave her a fist bump and a smile. She was clearly both engaged and proud. So, I said the only thing I could possibly say in the moment:

I guess I’m a bitch ass motherfucker that can teach.

We could have chosen obedience, but we created space. Patience rewarded, the class - D included - erupted in laughter.

The Value of Board Service

For two years, I’ve been a problem solver - partnering with social justice nonprofits to generate revenue, communicate impact, and create operational efficiencies. Much of the work I do is informed by my twelve years as an executive director. But, my work is also informed by a different kind of experience: my fifteen years as a trustee.

Board service is a unique opportunity to develop strategic expertise, experience, and skills. As a trustee at the William Penn Charter School, I have had the chance to gain knowledge and skills far beyond those I built as an executive director:

  1. Board service has allowed me to learn about endowment management and financing at a scale much larger than what I experienced as an organizational leader.

  2. Board service has allowed me to learn about and participate in an executive search process to identify and hire a new organizational leader.

  3. Board service has allowed me to co-lead culture change initiatives, involving deep engagement with a wide variety of stakeholders.

  4. Board service has allowed me to participate in defining board recruitment priorities and designing an orientation process to ensure diversity, inclusivity, and engagement.

I was the founding executive director of a small nonprofit for twelve years. During my tenure, we took that organization from $0 to $2M in revenue. We grew from serving no one to serving 500 students per year. But, through board service, I’m learning about managing an endowment over $100M and approving financing for buildings that cost half that. We operate in a complex and evolving space, and we enroll 1,000 students each year while engaging thousands of additional stakeholders. All of this happens in a highly competitive market. 

I did not join Penn Charter’s board because I thought it would help me professionally. However, the learning that has come through this experience has absolutely informed my consulting practice, and I am better for it. I hope Penn Charter is too.

Moving Furniture

My father chose to die at home. He hated hospitals, so the nurses came to us. First, they brought medicine to comfort him. Then, the morphine so he didn’t have to experience what we all watched. It was a Wednesday morning when I saw him lying in bed, lips blue. 

The following weeks were a blur. Flowers and a funeral. Sympathy cards, then silence. At some point during this period of intense grief, my mother rearranged the furniture in their - now her - bedroom. She also replaced the mattress. 

I’ve told this story recently when asked about the decision my wife and I made to move to Philadelphia this summer. It’s the only thing that helps me to communicate the intense mixture of emotions as I prepare to leave DC, my home of almost twenty years.

My mother knew life had to go on. She carries many wonderful memories from her life with my father, but she knew she couldn’t make it comfortable for his ghost to remain present. She had many reasons - three young sons, in particular - to find a way to move forward. 

There was a family that needed her, a life to live. So, she moved the furniture. She made it her bedroom. She would occasionally visit those memories of that life once lived, but those memories could not visit themselves upon her every day.

Like my mother, I intend to move furniture. But, mine will be going a bit further. And, there is much to celebrate about this move. My son will grow up far closer to his grandmothers. His closest-in-age cousin will live nearby. There are many in our village that are thrilled about the news.

But, moving our furniture is about escaping ghosts, too. I need to live in a place where I can focus on my professional present and future, not what I once was. It’s hard to imagine reentering the DC arena when I feel like I’ve already seen the emperor’s thumb turn downward.

Innumerable positive memories remain, and I will visit them often. My first child has already started spending time with the kids that let me love them before I was dad, and telephones and train tracks will keep those relationships close. But, I can’t live with the ghost of my previous life anymore. This summer, I need to move the furniture.

Partner Profile: Youth Sentencing & Reentry Project (YSRP)

“Sending love…and a private message.”

This was a comment, buried among many others, when I posted about my shift to consulting. Lauren, author of the comment, soon followed up with an invitation to speak about the need for some interim fundraising support during a colleague’s parental leave. 

That was my first engagement with the Youth Sentencing & Reentry Project (YSRP). I’m now nearing the end of my third in the last eighteen months. Working with YSRP has been one of the more positive professional experiences of my life. The opportunity arrived right on time, and it provided me the chance to rebuild my confidence amongst a community that trusted both my knowledge and my instincts.

While I’m proud of the many fundraising successes we’ve had during my time as a member of the team, I’ve also thankful for the opportunity to grow my skills through a number of other projects:

  1. I got to build communications chops, specifically by telling the story of Bianca van Heydoorn, YSRP’s new executive director. Lauren and Joanna, YSRP’s co-founders, bravely stepped aside to make room for more proximate leadership. The organization found a rockstar, and I was proud to work with her to share her story.

  2. Additionally, I had the opportunity to do some professional coaching, working with members of the senior leadership team to manage multiple complexities, including leadership transitions during a period of significant growth.

  3. Recently, I also facilitated some strategic human resources planning. With many needs and a budget for one immediate hire, I worked with the team to articulate job responsibilities across the organization, identify gaps, cluster those gaps into potential new positions, and generate scenarios to encourage strategic discussions. These discussions will ultimately lead to increased organizational capacity by creating a position that meets YSRP’s most urgent needs.

In addition to the new position articulated above, YSRP is currently seeking a new Director of Development & Communications to replace an exceptional leader who chose to move on. I am jealous of whoever gets to join this incredible team. YSRP contains a rare combination of passion, integrity, and intelligence. It’s a place of focused on exceptional impact and intellectual growth. 

Anyone would be lucky to be part of such an incredible team.

Beyond My Imagination

In so many ways, this has been a year I couldn’t imagine. I’m now a full-time consultant. I have no relationship with Reach. I’m about to become a father. Each of these experiences has felt like both an opportunity and an obstacle. I never expected a year like 2022, but I actually find myself excited about 2023. I’ve licked my wounds. It’s time to move on.

This year, I worked with six different clients. I worked on my first political campaign (interesting, but a one-time thing) and facilitated my first strategic planning retreat (more please!). Of the five consulting engagements that ended in 2022, three clients have already hired me again. That feels like good feedback. Finances matter (see: impending fatherhood), so I’m proud to say I made more than I did in my last year as an executive director.

That’s not to say the year didn’t come with challenges. I’ve learned the need to clearly define consulting engagements. I’ve learned that health insurance is too expensive. And, I’ve learned that DC’s parental leave policy isn’t as friendly to independent consultants as one might hope. I've learned that, despite having spent the last thirteen years addressing DC's literary crisis - an area in which I'm a proven expert - I feel both my past and potential contributions have become invisible in a community I worked so hard to support. I've learned that the narrative of my departure from Reach has been fed by false assumptions which I know I can't stymie, but they hurt nonetheless.

I also find myself frightened at times. I have plans for an online course that’s been in production for too long. And I have an entrepreneurial idea that remains stagnant. I write in spurts, repeatedly silenced by fear that no one will want to read what I produce. I find myself scared of being judged. My confidence is shaken. But, I’m beginning to feel that fear subsiding.

There are some significant changes ahead. As mentioned, my wife is due to deliver our first child early in 2023. And, let me tell you, that’s motivation! And, another big change is coming. We’ve decided to move back to our hometown, Philadelphia. The distance I've felt from DC's nonprofit community and the consulting work I've done with clients outside of DC has reminded me that I can be helpful anywhere. And, if I can be anywhere, I might as well be 10 minutes from my mom. More on that some other time…

So, what’s in store for 2023? I’ll share a few goals below:

  1. I’ll release an online course on using children’s literature to build literacy skills in high school classes during the first quarter of 2023.

  2. I’ll find at least six new clients, including one strategic planning client, one philanthropic advising client, and one coaching client.

  3. I’ll pressure test an entrepreneurial idea I have to determine whether it deserves further vetting - at which point you might hear about it!

  4. I’ll make more than I did this year.

  5. And, I’ve waited a long time to be a dad. So, I’ll soak that in, dedicating specific days to childcare while investing in outside care so I can continue to earn and maintain the trust of every client I engage.

If the last 18 months taught me anything, it’s that I can’t predict the future. But I know I plan to continue doing solid work for causes that matter. And, if you have ideas about how I might be helpful to an entity you care about, I’m ready. Let’s get to work.

Quick Thoughts (& Suggestions!) on Year-End Giving

Because I’m often asked this time of year, here are ten quick notes on year-end giving as December 31st approaches:

  1. * My newest client is the Philadelphia Center for Gun Violence Reporting. Their first year-end campaign has a goal of just $15,000, so your dollars can make a difference. You can check out one of my posts, about an incredible mother who lost a son, here.

  2. If you are of means, do not keep giving flat this year. If you give the same as you did last year, you’re giving less (hello inflation!). Your dollars are needed. This is not the time to give less because the market is down.

  3. Choose an organization and sign up to be a monthly donor. Consistent cash flow is gold!

  4. * YSRP was one of my first clients. 14 months later, they can’t get rid of me! They’re such an incredible model of social and racial justice. Check out Imean’s Story for an example. And, if you can, give.

  5. * If you respected the model we implemented at Reach, I’m helping OpenDoors Asheville build something similar with AVL Rise. Check it out!

  6. If you have kids, and there is an organization you love, take your kids to experience the work. There’s no better way to seed future philanthropy.

  7.  * When you appreciate an organization, push them (and help them) to do more. Horizons Greater Washington has been successful for decades. And, many of their supporters will be thrilled to learn they’re expanding to serve Ward 8 significantly over the next two years. Help them!

  8. Don’t wait until December 31st. If you plan to give, give now. Stop stressing out nonprofit leaders!

  9. * Penn Charter has had a pretty outsized role in my life. It’s a place that is truly growing students that live lives to make a difference. I’m proud to be a board member.

  10. If you’re a parent, explain to your kids why inequality and injustice exists. Don’t sugarcoat it. They’re more ready than you think.

* For each of the items marked with an asterisk, I am either a consultant or a board member.

My Brilliant Friend: Marisa Parrella

I met Marisa Parrella as a 24-year-old social worker, fresh out of graduate school. She was interviewing me for a position as a child welfare social worker. I got hired and, almost immediately, she got promoted. Though we worked together closely for a very brief time, we’ve remained in touch for almost two decades. During a recent conversation, I learned that Marisa is tackling a very significant challenge, school-based mental health. 

When I asked Marisa how kids are doing. Her response was straight forward: “It’s bad, but we’ve known that for a long time.” COVID brought a lot of child and adolescent stress to the surface, so we need stable, effective clinicians in our schools. “That’s where all the kids are, so it’s where our mental health supports need to be,” Marisa explains.

Currently, many aspiring clinicians come into challenging environments like schools and foster care, but they’re doing so to “get their feet wet,” thinking they’ll go on to do clinical work beyond these challenging settings. They don’t stay - I didn’t, remaining in child welfare for only two years. We need to retain these individuals, and Marisa wants to build a system to do just that. With a launch grant from EdForward, Marisa is developing a School-Based Mental Health Fellowship at Mary’s Center. 

The focus: Marisa is aiming to build a fellowship that “is centered on health equity and justice, plus youth and family voice, with a focus on recruitment of BIPOC clinicians to reflect the communities we serve.”

This program will provide specialized, cohort-based training and supervised clinical experience for new, post-graduate level clinicians. In addition to the increased support, fellows will have opportunities to earn loan forgiveness when they hit specific retention benchmarks. Currently, thirteen organizations partner with DC’s Department of Behavioral Health to provide school-based mental health services. Marisa imagines building a pipeline for Mary’s Center and beyond to create a well-trained, experienced clinical community to serve the needs of the District’s children. 

The development of this pipeline is not without challenge. Enrollment in graduate programs is down, and these programs often don’t reflect the communities in which need is the greatest. That’s why I introduced Marisa to Councilmember Robert White - I previously consulted on his recent mayoral campaign - who recently introduced a bill to make graduate school in social work more attainable for DC residents. These pipeline building initiatives, when combined, could prove incredibly impactful. Marisa plans to work with Robert’s office to support the bill when it is reintroduced during the next legislative cycle.

Imagine a future in which clinicians build careers in school-based mental health, giving our kids access to consistent, expert support. Each year, new fellows would be trained - some of them earning loan forgiveness for their long-term commitment, while others begin loan free thanks to Councilmember White’s bill. Now, all we need to do is pass the bill and build the fellowship. 

Might our kids be so lucky.

Back in the Classroom

Recently, I was invited to speak in an undergraduate class at Yale. I’ve been missing time with students, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity. E (my wife) and I made a trip of it, exploring New Haven for the first time. Once we finished walking around town, I stopped by Berkeley College, where my friend Ben was the Faculty-in-Residence for many years. And, at the end of a beautiful fall day, I walked into Harkness Hall.

My host, Professor Brian Lee, created a plan that meant the students didn’t know I was coming. They had been presented with our country’s current literacy crisis. And, in a class on Social Entrepreneurship, they were asked, What will you do? Then, they were told, an “expert” will be here to evaluate your ideas in thirty minutes.

My ego was quickly destroyed when the first group said, “We considered an interesting idea… what if you matched high school students with elementary school students?”

My life’s work achieved in just 30 minutes!

Many of the ideas were wonderful. Though a bit tech heavy, they were focused on trying to figure out how struggling teen readers could access lower-level content in a motivating way. They were very focused on engaging the teens, though no one thought to pay them(!). The students were very talented and incredibly curious. I was impressed.

Once they shared their ideas, and I provided feedback, I talked about Reach’s founding and growth. I also shared about the end of time at Reach (having told Brian that I’d be happy to chat about my full leadership experience). 

The class ended at 5:20pm, but I remained talking to students until almost 6:00pm. I left energized. And, when Professor Lee followed up, he shared that, “it was easily the students' favorite class of the year and it went even better than my high expectations for it.”

I still love teaching. I’m so thankful to have had the opportunity to be back in a classroom. If you ever need a guest speaker, I’m here.

Seeking Wisdom In Books

In the last year, feeling like an outsider in the movement for educational equity in which I previously tried to participate, I’ve become intrigued by the otherism that seems to be plaguing our conversations. We constantly sit in judgment of each other, looking to critique rather than to build on shared beliefs or priorities. A natural optimist, I began to feel discouraged. Hopeless.

Maybe we’re too far apart? Maybe we’ve lost the ability to speak to each other? When differences emerged, why were we always seeking to punish rather than seeking progress? Looking for answers, I turned to people smarter than I.

Based on the recommendation of a friend, I started with adrienne maree brown’s recent book, We Will Not Cancel Us. In it, brown says that we “have to find the rigor to fight fair, struggle in principled ways, and practice accountability beyond punishment.” I found myself loving a sort-of mantra that she shares:

I will not be perfect, I will keep learning. I will also not be silent, I will keep learning.

brown’s work, at its core is about rethinking the way we engage and interact with each other. Her belief in transformative justice (not restorative justice) is beautiful. And, it also felt like such a long play. I kept reading. I picked up The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We can Prosper Together

In it, Heather McGhee gives clear examples of the way white racism in America has hurt people of color, often as intended. However, she also provides indisputable examples that demonstrate the damage these actions did to white communities. Also, addressing the emerging cynic in me, she gives clear examples of successful multi-racial coalitions, supporting her belief that our greatest strength is in pulling together. 

For me, a tension remained. How do we get from the trauma and abuses of the past to a place of transformative justice without depending on an exceptional and unreasonable amount of grace from those that have been historically oppressed and traumatized? To help me, I turned to Valerie Kaur, author of See No Strangers

Famous for a speech given in DC during which she reframed “the darkness of the tomb” as “the darkness of the womb,” providing hope that we are still giving birth to America, Kaur offers (from the Sikh tradition) the concept of seeing no strangers, something she calls “an act of will.” Like brown, Kaur encourages us to feel anger and to name injustice. And, important, she names rage and grief as important steps in the healing process. But, instead of simply punishing those that cause pain and trauma, perhaps we need to find ways that we can move through these difficult moments. Together. Because that person, too, is a part of us.

My thinking about this is far from over. In fact, I’m not even yet finished Kaur’s book. But, I’m thankful for the learning all three have seeded in me. They’ve breathed new life into the optimist in me.

Do you have any books that help you to imagine a more hopeful future during a particularly challenging time?

The links above are affiliate links, meaning that I would earn a small commission (at no cost to you) if you decide to purchase any of the books. I’ve also created an online bookshop (at bookshop.org) so I can share what I’m reading while giving others the opportunity to support independent bookstores near them!

On Consensus

As a Quaker, the consensus process has long been familiar to me. At my high school, consensus was used for major decisions, and I became familiar with the rhythm of the sometimes-lengthy discussions. As I built a career in the nonprofit world, many people laughed when they learned I serve on a board that uses consensus for significant decisions. People imagine that it’s slow (it is!) and impossibly inefficient (it is not.). 

For the last few months, I’ve been working with the search committee, a group of eleven individuals - members of the Board of Trustees at the William Penn Charter School - to recommend the appropriate candidate to serve as our next Head of School. Once consensus has been achieved on the recommendation, the entire Board of Trustees must reach consensus approving the recommendation. The process is slow. But, once again, I’m reminded that consensus is a powerful - and, perhaps, the best available - decision making process for key, organizational decisions.

Consensus forces participants to do three things:

  • Listen. In voting, the majority rules, leaving some to feel disappointed and unheard. But, in consensus, individuals must really listen. They must work to understand the opinions and values of others to eventually speak in a single voice.

  • Seek areas of agreement. While we’re so quick to be critical, consensus forces participants to seek areas of agreement. It’s inherent that we are moved to seek areas of shared opinions and values rather than quickly moving to debate differences.

  • Stay anchored to intentions. For an entire group to come to consensus, we must remain anchored to the group’s goals and intentions. What are we trying to accomplish? And, if the conversation causes those intentions to shift, that gets named and discussed.

In recent weeks, I’ve spent many hours involved in deep, sometimes challenging discussions with fellow search committee members. But, in the end, we have developed a shared understanding of our goals. And, each member has been given the chance to do their best thinking out loud and with the group. Very little remains unspoken. We’ve learned together that being aligned is far more important than feeling right. And, in the end, we all emerge more excited about and committed to the decisions we make.

Consensus is a Quaker process - a part of my chosen faith. But, for the most important decisions you or your organization face, you might want to consider its use. You’ll find that it helps to develop a more aligned team, a clearer vision, and stronger commitment to the outcome of the decision making process. For these reasons, despite the intense commitment it required, I will leave this process excited and inspired by the outcome.

My Brilliant Friend: Adam Levner

Adam Levner is one of the talented co-founders of Critical Exposure, an organization that trains DC youth to harness the power of photography and their own voices to fight for educational equity and social justice. In 2020, that chapter in his life came to an end. And, like many of us that leave organizations we founded, he was left wondering, “What’s next?”

Adam found himself drawn to coaching - he wanted to help other executive directors to navigate the challenging work of nonprofit leadership. But, like the work he did with young people, he wanted to feel his coaching was transformational. He wanted to be a “first coach” for leaders who would not generally have access to coaching. 

But, first he wanted to actually be trained as a coach. “For the first time in my professional life,” he said, “I wanted to learn how to do something before actually having to do it.” 

Once finished with the training, most people would begin seeking clients. However, Adam explored something different. He was interested in developing coaching pipelines for those that typically didn’t have access to high-level coaching. So, Adam and a partner, Eloise Russo, approached The Equity Lab (where they had both been Seeding Disruption Fellows) and requested funding to pilot what they called the Access Coaching Collective. 

The Access Coaching Collective is building a network of emerging leaders who wouldn’t generally have access to leadership coaching and connecting them to high-quality coaches. Hoping for 40 applicants, 79 people applied to receive coaching (71 of them were people of color). These applicants got to choose from 21 vetted coaches (16 were people of color) to receive a 6-pack of coaching sessions paid for by the previously-mentioned seed funding. 

When not creating opportunities for equitable access to leadership coaching for emerging leaders, Adam is also building his own practice at Tilt/Shift LLC. Tilt/Shift, an Instagram filter that allows focus on a single object while blurring everything else, is the perfect name for Adam’s consulting practice, which aims to make nonprofit leadership feel doable by focusing on one thing at a time. 

As a founder, Adam often felt alone - I know that feeling! But, as he works to create more equitable access to coaching and, hopefully, as more funders recognize the importance of supporting nonprofit leaders through coaching, maybe others won’t have to be so alone.

Interested in leadership coaching? Contact Adam at adam@tiltshift.llc.

Partner Profile: Robert for DC

Few people work on their first political campaign at 40. I did. From March through June, I had the chance to work for Robert White’s mayoral campaign. The opportunity arrived unexpectedly. While looking for some help in their fundraising efforts, I heard the following conversation occurred:

Person 1: We need someone who can articulate a vision, galvanize people around that vision, and encourage people to give.
Person 2: You’re describing a nonprofit executive director.
Person 1: Do you know any good executive directors looking for work?

So, I got a call. And, after taking that call, I learned a lot.

If I thought that politics was the way to create maximum impact, then I would have been involved much earlier. I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to politics. But, I came away from this engagement with two significant learnings.

First, there are good people in politics. I said yes to this engagement, because I think our current mayor does really poorly on the issues I care about most - education and justice. But, I came to learn that it wasn’t just that Bowser was bad. Robert was good. I was excited to learn that there are actually people that enter politics to solve problems. Some do it because they care. Robert is one of those people. I saw it in so many interactions, including when he spoke to my own nieces.

Second, especially when it comes to publicly-financed campaigns, the work of revenue generation is about building good systems and procedures. And, I would argue, it’s actually about four specific processes: sign delivery, donation completion, surrogate activation, and event planning. These are all actually processes that can be articulated and monitored. We need to get signs hung and delivered, get interested people to donate, get enthusiastic supporters to recruit new ones, and get our strongest advocates to gather others to hear from the candidate.

That, it seems to me, is the work. And, because we did these things well, we forced the incumbent to work really hard to win the race - making it much closer than many expected.

I don’t actually imagine working in politics again (though I would volunteer for Robert in the future), but the experience encouraged me to look at the key processes to be optimized in any mission-driven environment. That is something I will carry into all future engagements. 

I’m thankful I got the opportunity to learn.

And, if given the chance, I would gladly vote for Robert again.

My Brilliant Friend: Dr. Rolandria Justice-Emenuga

Last week, I had the opportunity to sit down with Dr. Rolandria Justice-Emenuga. Though we met as first-year Duke University students in 1999, Ro and I recently reconnected and had the opportunity to discuss our respective journeys from psychology majors to educational leaders.

Recently, Ro completed her doctoral work at Georgia State University. Her award-winning dissertation, called Intersections: Black female school leaders’ lived experiences of leading and mother Black children, allowed her to interrogate her own experiences through in-depth interviews with other Black leaders who had both mothered and educated Black students. At the conclusion of her studies, Ro found herself with a new - and somewhat surprising - title: entrepreneur.

Moved by her experience as a mother and confident in her abilities as an educational leader, she became the founder of Homeplace Learning Center, a soon-to-open early learning center in Georgia. In a video-recorded conversation, we discussed her doctoral work, her educational philosophy, and her path to entrepreneurship. And, of course, we talked about how dreams must be funded (check out the GoFundMe campaign here!).

We recorded it all, so check out the conversation here (27 min). I enjoyed learning about Ro’s experience and evolution, and I hope you can learn something from the conversation, as I did.

Partner Profile: Horizons Greater Washington

One of the great privileges of life as a consultant is that you get to learn from many leaders. As I continue this journey, I hope to capture learnings from engagements as they come to a close. Though limited in scope, I recently completed a project with Horizons Greater Washington (HGW), a local affiliate of Horizons National. 

Historically, HGW has been largely supported by families at the independent schools where they host their award-winning summer program. I had the opportunity to work with Executive Director Mike DiMarco and Becca Yates, the Institutional Giving Manager, to expand the organization’s portfolio of foundation donors.

In this process, I got to learn about HGW’s plans to offer additional hours during the school year while maintaining their long-successful summer program. This would serve to deepen their relationship with enrolled students, who they already serve for up to nine years! On several occasions, I also got to hear Mike address the per-participant cost. This is where I had the opportunity to see a solid leader in action. 

While nonprofits are often asked to defend that they’re being as efficient as possible with donor dollars, Mike always approached this question from an equity lens. To effectively serve HGW’s students, the organization removes every barrier - transportation, food, supplies, and more. Though costs may be marginally higher than some programs, Horizons Greater Washington makes sure that nothing stands between the student and the highest quality learning opportunities. That’s more important than a decontextualized price tag.

I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to work with Mike and Becca and to witness the way they keep equity at the center. I look forward to watching the organization’s continued success.

The Book I'm Struggling To Write

For the last year, I’ve been thinking about the story I want to tell. But, frankly, I’ve just been too angry. The story I want to tell isn’t one of anger - it’s one in which I honored my father through the work I did with young people. It’s one in which his teachings lived on through me.

I’m getting closer…

Prologue

Andrew Hecker was a good man – perhaps saintly, if you believe the stories I heard following his death. It’s not possible for me to consider my life as a leader and a learner without contextualizing it within the story of my father.

I had just finished sixth grade when my father told us he had Cancer. Melanoma. He loved the sun, having grown up working each summer in Ocean City, NJ. On my twelfth birthday, I went to the hospital with my mother to spend time with my father during his first of many chemotherapy treatments. 

Upon entering the hospital, I noted a sign saying that you had to be at least thirteen years old to visit a patient. So, when the receptionist asked for my date of birth, I just adjusted the year, quietly aging myself. My mother didn’t blink, knowing it was what needed to be done – a reaction that would predict her response to my dad’s death.

For the entire year of his final illness – it was his second battle with Cancer – I was by my dad’s side. He was my hero. He appreciated something about my passion and sensitivity that didn’t seem appreciated everywhere. He loved me, clearly. And, despite the many demands of his job, he had shown up to support me whenever his presence would be appreciated – concerts, baseball games, swim meets…

So, I clearly owed him the same. 

As a twelve year old, I woke up every morning at 5:30am. I showered and got ready for school, then, I went to my father’s bathroom. We had a pretty solid routine. I would arrive as he was shaving, having already showered. I would get out the gauze and begin packing the cavity that sat open where his armpit once was, where cancerous lymph nodes had been removed. 

Once sufficiently packed, I would cover the open wound with a washcloth and tape that in place, running adhesive tape in circles over his shoulder. This would prevent him from bleeding through his shirt as he went to his job as a partner at a Philadelphia law firm.

Perhaps it’s appropriate for me to name here that my father’s illness was a secret. He felt such responsibility to his partners and employees, and he felt his illness could hurt business. So, no one could know.

So, this is how I spent each morning. Then, we would take off – usually to school, though sometimes I would accompany him to an early morning medical appointment. Sometimes, I would fall asleep in class. Often, I would arrive unprepared, but I could never explain why. 

And, those rides…They all occurred in a used, gold Porsche 944 with a manual transmission. This car, clearly purchased by a man confronting his own mortality, was where we talked about everything and anything during the twenty-five minute drive to my school – one I had picked, and one different from where my mom would drop my brothers. 

This time was special to me. Maybe most kids don’t want one-on-one conversational time with a parent, but I loved it. My dad was super interesting, and he was very interested in me when I felt like few were. I remember regularly being frustrated when our conversations would be interrupted by the car stalling daily at the same spot on the same Wissahickon Avenue hill.

Did I mention my dad never really learned to drive stick?

As seventh grade came to a close, things were bad. I remember many specific moments from that summer.

I remember doing laundry, standing next to my mom as I folded clothes – a chore I only later realized was not necessarily common for my peers. I stated my frustration about dad’s continued illness. “I just can’t wait until he gets better,” I said.

“Mark, he’s not going to get better,” my mom said bluntly. Honestly. Bravely.

I remember when he brought home a puppy. I later learned this happened shortly after he heard there was nothing else he could do to fight the Cancer. I was one of three sons, and he was concerned that my mother would soon face an empty house. So, he identified a clear and rational solution – a dog.

And, I remember the sound of my mother’s footsteps on the wooden stairs up to my third floor bedroom. It was July 27th. It was early in the morning. She didn’t have to say why she was up in my room that early. I knew. But, she said it anyway.

Honest. Brave.

“Your father died.” Such simple words for such a complicated moment. 

My hero – and, at that point in my life, my best friend – was gone. During a time in which I felt so lonely, he was my favorite company. I stood over him, waiting for his chest to move or for his lips to stop looking so blue.  Then, I overheard a rector from our church tell my mom it would be best for the kids not to see their father carried out in a body bag. 

So, we went to swim practice.

I don’t know that I’ve ever recovered from the trauma of that day. I have never been able to get beyond a fundamental need to have my father tell me he is proud of me. And, as you might imagine, if you build your life around hearing four words – “I’m proud of you” - from a dead person, you’ll be left wanting.

But, I’ve tried. 

I have wanted to live a life that made people speak about me in the ways that people spoke about my father after he died. He made them feel heard. He made them feel seen. He made them feel important. 

I built a life and an organization to make him proud and to keep him present. And, when I named the organization, I ensured he would always be there.

My father was Andrew Carlyle Hecker. He died in 1994. I was 13.

In 2009, I founded Reach.

reACH.

We did amazing and impactful work.

And, after about 13 years with Reach, I lost that, too.

My Brilliant Friend: Kathy Lopes

Many years ago, in a small classroom in Southwest Washington DC, two rookie social workers suffered through an interminable pre-service training program for child welfare professionals. More recently, one of them became a published author! Change The Narrative: How To Foster An Anti-Racist Culture In Your School by my friend Kathy Lopes and Henry J. Turner is a great starting point for aspiring, anti-racist school leaders. With clear ideas for both introspection and culture creation, this book makes the work feel a little less daunting. Learn more about Kathy’s work here, and check out my Amazon review below.

Amazon Review:
Being a school leader is an almost-impossible job. And, during a global pandemic, the realities became even more complex. During this period of extraordinary challenge, school leaders are also being asked to lead young people in navigating the racial reckoning currently underway in our country. It is unsurprising that, in this moment, many school leaders are stepping away.

Kathy Lopes and Henry Turner offer a well-timed guidebook for school leaders feeling overwhelmed by the work of anti-racism. Helpfully broken into two parts - the first focused on introspection and the second on culture creation - the authors offer behaviors, processes, and practices to contribute to the creation of an anti-racist culture. Most importantly, the authors make no false promises about linear progress and ultimate success. They’re honest about the difficulty of this work.

Clearly positioned as a starting point for anti-racist school leadership, the book also offers opportunities to Learn, Reflect, Act, and Assess at the end of each of the book’s chapters. Direct and honest, Change The Narrative serves as a useful tool for any aspiring anti-racist leader.

My Brilliant Friend: Adam Hollowell

Today, You Mean It Or You Don’t: James Baldwin’s Radical Challenge is released wherever books are sold. An exceptional guidebook for those interested in learning how to live their values (as Baldwin challenged us to do), this book will prove helpful to all who might feel troubled by our world but aren’t sure what to do. I’ve been honored to speak in Adam’s class at Duke University (Ethics in an Unjust World) for the last ten years, and I was so impressed by the work he did with Jamie to create this book. The review I posted on Amazon is below, and I hope you’ll consider checking out the book. For more information, you can check out https://prayingwithjamesbaldwin.com/.

Amazon Review:
For ten years, I have watched students in Dr. Hollowell's class grapple with what it means to live ethically in an unjust world. Through deep engagement with Baldwin's writing, Adam and his co-author, Jamie McGhee offer an analysis of literature paired with a template for action. Having been asked by many how they can contribute to the betterment of our troubled world, there is now a tool to which I can direct passionate people that lack a plan (and, sometimes, the knowledge) to get involved. The actions outlined in the book are helpful to social justice novices and career activists alike. Baldwin has challenged generations of readers to think differently. But ultimately, to mean it, we have to act differently. You Mean It Or You Don't will undoubtedly assist you on that journey.