Hello friend, I’ve been slow to write here for a number of reasons:   I’ve finally pressed "SEND" on V3 of my next book’s manuscript, Uncompete . I’ve not felt as professionally challenged in my life so far as I have with this book. I’ve cried. I’ve stressed. I’ve wanted to throw in the towel. I’ve questioned my worth as a writer. I’ve vowed I’d never write another book.   What’s been harder still, is I’ve always been drawn to writing as my peaceful place. Even when everything around me feels incomprehensible, when I write, my brain begins to make more sense. Usually. But this time, I felt like I was going round and round, knowing I wanted to write a thought-provoking and hopefully, paradigm-shifting book, but the words on the pages were anything but. This space of learning and unlearning has characterized the whole past year for me–and I realized it’s actually important for me (and my ego) to be “bad” at something I thought I’m “good” at. I know we’re supposed to not use those words, but I’m keeping it real with you.   Yes, this is about “growth edges” and “beginner modes” in theory, but in practice it looks like questioning everything  and many, many tears and plenty of self-doubt.    It was a tough 13 months to get here, but eventually the clouds began to clear. In no small part because of the support ranging from physical (my husband taking the lead on caregiving for our kid), emotional (I found a fantastic therapist for the first time! And amazing family and friends who really showed up when I needed to unload), spiritual (read next point) and logistical (my editor, my Chief of Staff, literary agent and the team at Meghan Stevenson books)...I’m finally excited about the book–and can’t wait to share more details about it when I can. I’ve kicked off 200 hours of yoga teacher training with Atha Yoga, an Indian-led program focused on the spiritual grounding as much as the physical (asana) practice and a fabulous anatomy curriculum, that has been an incredibly tough but meaningful journey physically, spiritually and mentally. I’m not going to bore you with cliches like “transformation” or “enlightenment,” but I will say that I’m only now realizing how much time I’ve spent “out” of my body in trying to hustle, “succeed” and push through pain.    I’m really struggling to reconcile the devastation we’re seeing writ large over the past year globally, but especially in Gaza, and trying to stay optimistic, hopeful and advocate for a better world. I’m at a loss and the grief feels very heavy. I’m holding on to moments of joy where they’re available–from taking my 8-year-old to the Seattle Aquarium on Indigenous People’s Day last week, to celebrating Diwali (and some of the wonderful events in its leadup) with friends and family. But I, like so many, am hurting. I’m learning to give myself and everyone around me SO MUCH SPACE.    You may not hear from me as often and I’ve also dialed down on public events for a bit as a I continue to leave space for book revisions, healing and time to process all that’s going on. Thank you for your grace with me.   And wherever you are as you read this, my hope for you is rest and ease.   In solidarity, Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

Earlier this month, I was lucky enough to interview famous travel writer (and brilliant human!) Pico Iyer for Seattle Arts & Lectures . With decades of “criss-crossing the globe” under his belt, Pico weaves storytelling with his own observations on cultures that demonstrate his genuine love for people. He does it in lyrical prose, but also with a humility that I find so lacking in many travel “experts.” Our connection was instantaneous and our conversation stayed with me long after. Like Pico, my roots span countries and cultures. So what really struck me about his work is his explorations of seeking travel AND finding home. I’ve struggled to define “home” for me as an Indian-Singaporean-British-American global citizen. When I asked him how he defines home, he responded: “Home is not really connected with a piece of soil as much as a piece of soul.” I love this idea—that home isn’t a physical place, but a piece that lives within us and a connection with the people we love. We may be constantly searching for the place that feels like home, but it doesn’t have to be a physical place, no matter how much the world and passports and our colleagues want us to choose a neat box and category. Pico told stories of traveling to places like North Korea and Yemen, parts of the world where he risked imprisonment for the way he folded a newspaper and feared being kidnapped as he traveled through the countryside. And as he took us to these corners of the globe that were so fraught, what he focused on was the common humanity and generosity of all the people he encountered. His storytelling is remarkable, truly. Ruchika T. Malhotra and Pico Iyer sitting on blue chairs with microphones in front of them. Image courtesy: Seattle Arts & Lectures He brought up the example of how people in North Korea could be executed for just glancing at a foreign newspaper, for being curious about the world. He’s met many people who would give anything to visit Seattle or New York or any number of cities outside of their own, but face barriers to even reading about it. But what is our excuse for not being more curious and informed about the world and seeking stories of it beyond a narrow, western lens? It is so easy to surround ourselves with people who are just like us. (You know I’ve talked extensively about affinity bias .) And Pico brought up a point that meant so much to me—perhaps the illusion of living in the digital, smartphone age can trick us into believing that we know more about others than we do. But “the world is always richer and deeper and more interesting than our ideas of it.” And then there is our fear of the unknown which prevents us from seeking stories beyond ones like our own. I draw inspiration from his approach: “It’s wonderful that we know so little.” When we know so little about the world, there is opportunity to get curious and explore. So how do we do so responsibly? As we gear up for summer and, possibly, travel, I encourage people to travel while also considering that there’s a line between cultural appropriation and appreciation. Learn about where you’re going, educate yourself on cultural norms, and treat everyone you meet with respect. For some places, this may even mean planning a trip elsewhere. Hawaii, for example, does not encourage visiting many parts of the state that have been negatively impacted by tourism. Pico and I talked about how I’ve learned so much about the world by frequenting restaurants and shops in Seattle owned by people from cultures around the world. Sometimes, the greatest adventures come from exploring new cultures in your own backyard. I’ll close with another favorite quote from Pico: “Travel has very little to do with movement and everything to do with being moved. You don’t have to go far to be transformed.” Click here to subscribe to the Inclusion is Leadership letter.

When you’re a person from a historically marginalized group, being overlooked or underestimated is a frustratingly regular occurrence.   It’s common to be talked over, to be regularly passed over for opportunities, or to have others take credit for an idea you shared only minutes before someone else’s “brainstorm.” It’s a maddening and exhausting experience, and one that is often dismissed by others as inconsequential or even imagined. But let me assure you, this is very, very real.   Decades   of   research  back up the truth of this experience.   Years ago, when President Obama was in office, I read about a   strategy  that the women on his staff adopted: amplification. Even on a progressive-leaning and diverse team, women were still being talked over or called on less often in meetings than their counterparts. So they banded together, and when one woman made a key point, other women would repeat it and give credit to its author.   Amplification worked because it forced the men in the room to recognize the contribution and denied them the chance to (intentionally or not) claim the idea as their own.   It’s a brilliant example of what can happen when we uncompete–band together instead of competing to “stand out.” It also can change a sea change; in the original   Washington Post  article, the women reported that gender parity in Obama’s inner circle was achieved by his second term.   There is no singular way to practice amplification–it’s not only applicable during meetings. We can all amplify others, especially those who are silenced or talked over.   Historically marginalized people and allies alike can do it. Amplification is good for all of us. Research   finds  that when a voice steps in to amplify a colleague’s idea — and gives credit for it — both parties benefit. The person with the idea looked high-status compared to those whose ideas weren’t amplified, and teammates who amplified others looked high-status, too, compared to those who responded in any other way. Amplification helps others to feel heard, safe, and valued, encouraging people to contribute and boosting our ability to innovate.   Amplification builds trust. It strengthens relationships and encourages collaboration. It makes the workplace (and the world) a better place to be.   One way I try to practice amplification publicly is on my social media platforms. Amplify July is a time for me to turn over the mic (online) to those whose stories and ideas and creations should deserve to be heard. It’s a practice I started last summer, and it’s one of the easiest and most effective ways to be an ally. Here are a few ways you can practice amplification in your own life.   Band together: If you’re seeing inequities at your organization, odds are that you aren’t alone. Talk with colleagues you trust, and make your own amplification plan, like the women in the Obama administration did. It’s like a game of volleyball; when someone sets you up, deliver the strike. With time, this practice will become more natural.   Increase awareness:  If you have privilege in your workplace, making others aware of their bad behavior can be incredibly effective in preventing others from being silenced. We know that when   women  and other marginalized people call it out, they are more likely to be rated negatively. Not so with it is done by someone the offender perceives to be   similar  to themselves. If that’s you, use that power for good.   Offer opportunities: Historically marginalized people are often overlooked for opportunities to shine, like leading an initiative or being chosen as a presenter. If you are in the position to dole out those opportunities, be intentional about how those people are chosen. Seek out those who may have been overlooked, and look for candidates outside your normal sphere.   Spread the word:  Sharing the work of others is often as friction-less as clicking a button, so when you see someone or something brilliant, spread the news. Let those around you know about your colleague’s research or share their recent article on LinkedIn. Share the product you purchased on Instagram, or forward their email announcement to someone who needs to know about them. It’s one of the simplest and most powerful ways to amplify.   Know what amplification isn’t: Finally, remember that amplification is about giving others the space to speak for themselves - not about speaking for them. It’s important not to center yourself in someone else’s story or experience.   Please consider using your platform — whatever it may be — to boost the signal of those whose voices may have been suppressed, overlooked, or undermined. And please check out the amazing folks I’ve been amplifying, and will continue to, on my LinkedIn  and Instagram  profiles.    At a time when I’ve been reeling from world events and politics, I’ve found immense joy in Amplify July. It’s a reminder that we aren’t alone, that even when we feel despair, there’s an incredible community of leaders out there doing the work to make the world more inclusive and just.   I know I’m not alone in feeling powerless when I read the news. But amplification reminds me time and again: We are much more powerful than we know, especially when we are in community together. In solidarity, Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

You’ve probably wondered who Ruchika T. Malhotra is, and if you’ve been signed up to some spammy email list before realizing that it IS a list you’ve previously subscribed to–mine–and I suddenly have a new last name.   I’ll be honest that this year has been replete with tough, emotional moments personally, alongside a 300+ day war in Palestine and in so many parts of the world. So much heartbreak all around, so names feel like a trivial matter to some extent, and yet, has been the bane of my existence in the past few years. I’ve agonized about changing my last name, especially the feminist implications of changing to my husband’s last name, the professional implications with a fairly Google-able profile, and also, what feels right to me. There’ve been no easy answers. I wrote an OpEd about my decision, published this week by MSNBC . Here’s more of the reasoning below. As many of you may appreciate, my first and last names have been mispronounced my whole life. By friends, work colleagues, and even emcees announcing me as an event’s keynote speaker to rooms of thousands. I entered my own book launch event with a huge sign outside that had both my names misspelled. Any time I’ve introduced myself to a Western audience, I’ve cringed. I know that mispronunciation and awkwardness are par for the course.   And now, just to make things more complicated, I decided to publicly change my last name.    I’ve made a career of creating a sense of belonging through intention, stories and action. But I’ve been hiding a secret: my last name hasn’t provided me with a sense of familial or social foundation for a long time.    In a world that doesn’t easily allow women, women of color, and those who are not public figures to change our minds, I am doing what I have said I’d never do as a feminist.    I’m changing my last name to “Malhotra” to match that of my husband and my son.    The reasons are complicated, and some of them I’m choosing to keep private. “Tulshyan” doesn’t resonate with me because it reminds me of the fraud and deceit of the man I inherited it from — my estranged father.    I didn’t make this decision lightly.    Like many professional, straight women who marry or who have become estranged from one or all members of their family of origin, I’ve wrung my hands thinking through the feminist implications of changing my name after establishing a public identity.   After years of agonizing about how to distance myself from a name that’s never quite fit — literally as podcast, upon article, upon blog post published with that very last name — the decision became crystal clear as I finished the last chapter of my next book, “Uncompete: Dismantling a Competition Mindset to Unlock Liberation, Opportunity, and Peace.”   In it, I write: “In order to create a world that’s better than we found it, our decisions must be guided by the legacy we want to leave. As Jonas Salk reminds us to ask: ‘Are we being good ancestors?’” The Malhotras The good ancestor I’m striving to be for my 8-year-old son makes it urgent that we have the same last name. Simultaneously, I am grieving leaving my old name behind because of the bond of love I do have with the people who I once shared it with: my mother and siblings.   As a former journalist and the author of two books with a third on the way, my name is more Google-able than average and harder to pronounce than average.   Despite the accomplishments tied to it, I am changing it because I deserve a name that feels authentic to who I am and who I want to be, regardless of who it may inconvenience.    Names can help us stand out. They can help us fit in. Mine have only done the former, and just as people started to recognize my name, I’m changing it.    Our surnames often tell the world about our identity, offering clues about who we are, where we are from, our cultural background, and our family lineage. Our names reveal where we are in the human tapestry of race, ethnicity, class, gender, and — for better or worse — our families.   I’ve talked about how pronouncing names correctly is a key foundation to being inclusive and anti-racist. The most commented section of a course I teach about inclusion is one where I talk openly about the shame I felt growing up with an unusual name and the path to reclaiming it. In short: I know that names really, really, really matter.   Forcing people of color to change their names to be more “Western” has been part of the assimilation playbook since colonial times.   Christian colonial missionaries in India, Africa and other parts of the world forced those they oppressed to change their names to become “less heathen.” The horrors of the residential boarding schools where American Indian and First Nation children were forcibly taken from their parents and coerced to “fit in,” including by adopting Western names, are well-documented.    The tradition to take on our father’s names is deeply Western and patriarchal, stemming from the 15th century when wives were considered property. Not until the 1970s did many states make it easier for a woman to keep her pre-married last name.   Contrast this with other traditions, including the Khasi tribe in India, where children take their mother’s clan’s last name and women inherit land. Fluidity is common in the naming traditions of many Native American tribes, where children are given names according to their personalities. Their names can change throughout their lives to reflect their evolving identities and life circumstances.   We all become more free when we think beyond the binary forced upon us and choose names that empower us. Changing my name to Malhotra feels most reflective of me, not least because of my identity as a mother of color.    My husband is a feminist and a loving role model for who I want my son to become. His name deserves to live on, more than my own father’s does.   While the younger me thought it was anti-feminist to take it on, I now realize how the choice to decide either way — even if it may cause confusion — is a hard-earned privilege.   If feminism is truly about choices, then this will be mine. It is a choice rooted in legacy, rather than accommodating white America with a more palatable-sounding name. That choice is something many people never experience, especially women from immigrant families. If feminism is about agency , then I’ll be honest. I wish I had more than just two choices when it comes to my last name. Western society doesn’t make it easy to build and maintain a legacy within its constraints. Having to choose only between my father’s or my husband’s name for the sake of being more easily categorized feels deeply patriarchal and unfair. I’m grateful for the support and conversations with my mother, sister and women friends. Some are instantly-identifiable authors and speakers, including some who changed their names. Each woman affirmed that I should focus on how my name made me feel and the legacy I hope to create for my son, rather than business or professional considerations.    As I work through this private struggle in public, I hope it will allow more people, particularly those like me with uncommon names, to make more authentic choices.    When I was introduced by my new name in a recent CNN  interview , it felt surreal — like they were talking about someone else.    But when I later watched the replay with my son, he pointed excitedly at the screen exclaiming, “Mum! You’re a Malhotra! Like me!”    And at that moment, it felt just right. Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

There are some stories that don’t quite ever leave your mind or your heart.   For me, a recent read that's left that mark on me is Gabrielle Zevin’s incredible novel,   Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow .     Spanning 30 years, this imaginative story follows three friends who meet in childhood, later begin a successful video game company together and navigate all the ways that "life continues to life" in between — and it’s about so much more. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow is at the intersection of art, technology, and human experience, examining identity, disability, failure, redemption, class, the passage of time, and our deep need for connection. As Gabrielle says in her description, “Yes, it is a love story, but it is not one you have read before.” I agree. It’s an astonishingly creative, touching, and epic work.   Can you tell how much I love this book?    So when Seattle Arts and Lectures asked me to interview Gabrielle for a conversation at Town Hall Seattle, this April, I jumped at the chance.    With 10 novels under her belt over two decades, Gabrielle was refreshingly candid about the highs and lows of the industry that I’m just only starting to understand (1 and a half books in!) Writing a book is HARD, and getting it published is doubly so, as she confirmed.   I learned so much in our short time together; here are just a few valuable takeaways. Photo Credit: Libby Lewis Photography Time is an asset   The passage of time is a major theme of Tomorrow (as I'm going to refer to it here) and it is explored through both the character’s personal perspectives and the change in society. Think of how much has changed in our world in just the past 5 years (let alone the 30 years the book spans). Think of how much you’ve changed. Time is relative, and gains meaning with perspective. Embracing this relativity allows us to recognize that today's challenges are literally what’s shaping our tomorrow.    Gabrielle reminded me of how valuable time also is to our growth, especially when it comes to our work, “I don’t think all of my books before Tomorrow are bad or anything like that, but I think as I’ve gotten older, I can write in a richer way because I have some sense of time. Time is actually an asset.”    Honestly, when you read amazing novels like Gabrielle’s, these words make so much sense.   It’s so hard to capture those nuances of people and life’s events if you haven’t lived a lot of life yet. I definitely feel this change in myself already, from writing Inclusion on Purpose in 2020 and working on Uncompete, my next book, four years later, especially with the perspective of an ongoing pandemic, various wars and so many of my own personal experiences–painful and joyous, alike–in between.   In hard moments, the idea of time as an asset has taught me to seek perspective – what is this moment in time trying to teach me? How will I look back on it, and what would I have learned?   In good times, I try to really stay present, knowing that each moment is fleeting and while other good ones are (optimistically) ahead, these particular moments won’t come back. Anyone who has young children in their lives will know how much more these words ring true. Create for yourself   No matter what job we have, we’re often busy focusing on others’ reactions or praise. Even more so for us in a creative industry, especially in my role as an author.   Keeping an audience in mind is important, but when working to please others becomes your singular focus, it can hold you back. Gabrielle started writing Tomorrow at the end of 2017, and she admits that she struggled in the beginning:    “For the first couple of years, all I did was research…  And I was kind of scared of the concept, of knowing enough.”    The pressure of reader reactions and expectations had, in many ways, kept her a little frozen in place, she admitted, and she took a break from writing the book.   After a few years, she ended up writing the bulk of Tomorrow during the early pandemic. And that time, horrible and traumatic as it was, also gave her a sense of freedom for her to write for herself. She said:   “I didn't know if there'd be publishing again, or if I'd ever publish a book again, or anything like that. When I wrote Tomorrow… I cared more about myself as an audience.”   Doing something solely for someone else won’t bring long-term satisfaction; that can only come from within. The drive that comes from wanting external acclaim is ultimately unsustainable, but intrinsic motivation is a renewable resource. When you focus on creating in a way that’s first and foremost true to yourself, even if it’s not a commercial success, you can always come back to the fact that it’s made you happy.   And sometimes, as in Gabrielle’s case, that can even lead to creating something that literally touches millions of lives. Don’t be afraid to create beyond what you know   I love the book's diverse cast of characters and its unflinching look at how our identities shape the way we experience the world. In our increasingly-global society, we have to consider how to forge bonds with people from inherently different backgrounds, identities, and worldviews. It is our differences that make this world a more interesting place to live, but also what creates misunderstandings and even conflict.   I found that tension portrayed very truthfully in Tomorrow, which features Sam, a protagonist with a physical disability, interacting with characters from a wide variety of differing backgrounds who don't have a physical disability.   In my discussion with Gabrielle, I found that first, conceptualizing, then writing about Sam's disability was a very intentional choice for her.   “When I went to write Tomorrow, I decided that I would not be fearful. I feel this as an Asian person; when I read books about Asian people, I would rather you try to depict me and get it wrong than to depict a world that is only one kind of person… I decided that I wanted to fully write about the world as I saw it.”   I found this perspective to be really intriguing. It got me wondering: would I rather that white authors never feature characters of color and only write about white characters? Truthfully, no. In fact, it’s becoming harder for me to read fiction where all the characters are white, and I’ve even abandoned books halfway that were huge commercial successes. I've learned that I just can't enjoy a book that lacks a diversity of voices. If I'm not seeing the world from a new perspective through my reading, I'd rather not spend my time with that book.    Of course, there’s a lot of nuance to this and how to do it right without perpetuating stereotypes or gratuitously inserting a character of color, or one with a disability or any other historically under-written identity, to check a box. But as Gabrielle told me and the audience that night, as someone who doesn’t have a physical disability, she did not want that to deter her from writing a protagonist with one. She took a lot of care to get it right. And it shows.   Gabrielle and I only spent an evening together, but our conversation remains etched in my mind. The gift of time, the value of pleasing yourself, the importance of seeking to understand one another and portray as many perspectives as possible — these are lessons that resonate deeply, not just in the context of writing, but in every aspect of life. If you haven't picked Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow  up yet, I hope you do. It might just leave an indelible mark on you, too. In solidarity, Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

I have a terrible poker face. Recently, my husband, seven-year-old son, and I started playing poker as a post-dinner family activity. I’ve had so much fun learning the game, but I almost always come in dead last. I’m quite certain it’s because my cards are written all over my face. I’ve always had a hard time silencing my facial expressions. Looking back at my childhood, even if I could pretend with my words (“I was studying at the library, mum, not goofing off at my friend’s house—I promise!”), my face was the giveaway. The same is true today, whether my cards are great or I’m bluffing. My telling facial expressions were part of the conversation when I had the honor of interviewing Elaine Lin Hering, my friend and best-selling author of Unlearning Silence, at Town Hall Seattle a couple of weeks ago. She noticed my (apparently) deeply expressive facial expressions, which communicated so much even when I didn’t say a word out loud. It made sense for her to notice all the words I said with my face, even when my voice was silent. For those of us who have been conditioned to be silent and whose voices have often been suppressed, we find other ways to communicate (intentionally or unconsciously). For me, it's through my facial expressions, which, as Elaine told me, communicate loudly. It was a huge aha moment. Perhaps learning to express myself through my face was the beginning of finding my voice. First, with my face while I learned to speak up with words. I wasn’t always told my voice was welcome and even until today, am keenly aware when people around me prefer me to remain silent on issues like equity, justice and racism. In western leadership advice, we're told to focus on communication with words. But in so many parts of the world, we learn to speak up first with our bodies. As I reflected on finding my voice slowly and carefully–pushing way past all the years I've been told silence is expected from someone like me–I couldn’t help but wonder–how did I learn silence in the first place? Learning silence Elaine read a section of her book that mesmerized me. It was her definition of silence. “Silence is, by definition, an absence. Absence of voice, absence of opinion, absence of life.” Mic. Drop. There’s more to it, and you can hear her read it in full (and watch our entire discussion) here. Silence does leave a hole, not just where sound should be, but where we should be. Growing up in Singapore, I was conditioned to believe that silence is the way that you behave, that it’s how you “should” move in the world, particularly as a “good” Indian woman. I was told that the best version of me required an absence of voice, opinion, and now that Elaine said it...an absence of a life defined by me. It's taken me decades to unlearn this. Silence is so ingrained in some of us that it’s practically in the water we drink. Elaine’s definition of silence goes on to highlight, “Silence is also having to hold your tongue to keep the peace, to choose your words to incur only the amount of backlash you can currently bear, to play the role you're given, rather than the one you want. Silence is when you're not invited or allowed into the conversation because there's no room, no welcome, or you're not deemed worthy.” Our learned behavior, combined with bias that silences historically marginalized people, creates a cycle that can be hard to break to unlearn it. In article after article about “how to speak up,” we’re told to be more courageous, to put ourselves out there and just speak up! But that solution only deals with half the problem. Speaking up more often is all well and good, but only works if people are actually willing to hear you. Yes, we can unlearn silence. But in order for things to really get better, we also have to make it safe for people to speak up. And, as Elaine tells us, we need to stop silencing one another. How we silence each other If you’re feeling a little defensive about that last sentence, I’ve got a hard truth for you: all of us have silenced other people. And part of unlearning silence is to learn to stop silencing others too. In our discussion, Elaine explained that it’s human nature to assume that others are like us. In psychology, it’s called the False Consensus Effect, a kind of bias that leads us to believe that our opinions, beliefs, and behaviors are more widely shared than is actually the case — that means we are more likely to be dismissive of anyone that falls outside our own worldview. Unlearning silence means that we have to own that we are silenced and that we silence others. We incline other people towards silence, expecting them or requiring them to look and sound like us in order to be heard. We can end up, as Elaine says, in “siloed worlds of our own where there’s no cross-pollination, no real connection.” It’s easy to see this in action; just take a look at your own social media echo chamber. In unlearning silence, we have an opportunity that each of us can take on, to make space for others to be heard, even if we look, sound, or see each other differently. We have to actively, consciously, inclusively hear others out, even if we're worried we'll be uncomfortable. Creating community to speak up When I asked Elaine to share what she’d learned on her own journey to unlearn silence, her answer was simple, but powerful: “The risk is worth it.” The ideas she shares so (seemingly) easily now were originally cloaked in self-doubt. Elaine shared that it took her a lot of back and forth to first begin sharing her ideas on LinkedIn. And that can be a really anxiety-producing thing. What will your employer or your colleagues think? What if people judge you? It’s so public! So often, we let those anxious thoughts run the show when we’re considering speaking out. It’s a mind trap that’s easy to fall into. Elaine advises, “We focus so much on the cost and the discomfort, that we don't have an accurate calculation on the potential benefit.” Silence is lonely, but when Elaine used her voice online, she was anything but. She received affirmations from total strangers. People (and publishers) were interested in what she had to say. When she stopped trying to be someone else or live up to another person’s expectations, that is when big things started happening. Her voice was a catalyst for community, an alternative to a culture of silence. As I read Elaine’s book and was doing my own risk-benefit analysis of speaking up, it was this benefit that stood out the most to me. When we use our voices, those who need you will find you. And you will, in turn, find those you need. Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

Happy spring, dear friend! I love this time of year. It reminds us not only of the possibility of growth, but also of what it takes to nurture that growth. Buds cannot bloom without the sunshine and water and care they need, and the same is true for us. What’s happening around us determines our ability to grow and blossom. So in that spirit, I’m excited to share news about springing forth the latest version of my book. Inclusion on Purpose is out in paperback today! As I celebrate these new blooms, I can’t help but reflect on what the world looked like as I was writing this book. Isolated during Covid lockdown, reeling from the murder of George Floyd, the constant assault on other unarmed Black people, the spate of anti-Asian violence, and unsure of what my future—and the future of the world—would look like, Inclusion on Purpose was created from pain, uncertainty and grief. I truly never expected it to be read widely, because I literally couldn’t imagine a future in the early days of a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic. And somehow, through such a long, dark winter—and what remains an ongoing pandemic—we made it here. Two years since its release, it means a lot when readers tell me how this book has impacted their lives, because writing, by nature, is a solitary exercise anyway. Writing this book during lockdown, so much more so. And as I’ve just finished writing the first draft of my next book, Uncompete, I'm reminded once again that books are a tremendous labor of love and require a level of dedication and discipline that I've not had with any other endeavor in my life. Apart from becoming a mother. I questioned myself many times along the way. Was I on the right track? Would the right people sit up and pay attention? Would we even work in-person again? As I conducted virtual interviews with courageous women of color, I wondered if I could even capture the difficulty and pain of being the first, the few, the only. Yet in these conditions I saw new growth, healing and community all around me. The calls for racial justice became louder and louder, and I witnessed more and more leaders begin the work of confronting the history of racism and anti-Blackness in their communities and in their workplaces. I saw people of color finally being recognized for leading positive change, and organizations answer our call to action. It felt like the right moment for this book, then and now. Ruchika holding up the new paperback cover of Inclusion on Purpose Revisiting why I wrote this book I wrote Inclusion on Purpose because I believe wholeheartedly that cultures of belonging are possible to create anywhere and everywhere. It doesn’t happen overnight, and it cannot happen without deep work and ongoing, intentional action. This book is for those who want to be better (and those who want to encourage others to be better). We have a long way to go, and I believe that change comes in small increments, the result of chipping away at generations of injustice and socialization. Every person who reads this book or uses the resources within it contributes to toppling the hierarchy of privilege and to creating a future where we all win. I wrote it with the workplace in mind, but I know that doing the work to be more equitable and inclusive in our workplaces (where most of us spend more time than with our families), has a knock-on impact on our society and the world. The paperback version includes a new preface to the book that reflects the current conditions in which we have to grow, and I’m thrilled to include a Readers’ Guide in this new edition. It’s impossible to solve a problem without naming it. One of my goals with this book is to facilitate these necessary conversations that are often difficult to initiate. In the Readers’ Guide, you’ll find a list of 10 questions designed to spark reflection and to inspire discussion. I hope very much that when readers use this book as a way to initiate positive change in their workplaces, these questions will make it easier for them to initiate these tough topics. Since the release of Inclusion on Purpose in 2022, I have been overwhelmed by the positive response I’ve received from readers, and by the societal change I’ve seen, led by people of color. However, I’ve also been devastated by the backlash to that same progress, and against these very leaders, in the past few years. Rights that once seemed untouchable have been challenged. In these conditions, fewer protections for marginalized people and a slowdown of the global process seem inevitable. But like the flower that miraculously emerges through a crack in the concrete, we find ways to blossom. When I wrote Inclusion on Purpose, I believed that inclusive leadership was necessary. Now, I believe it to be urgent. Like the renewal that comes every Spring, I believe we can intentionally recommit to inclusion and equity even when it may seem harder than ever. So then, my questions to all of you are: How will you commit to growing and nurturing inclusion, equity and belonging in your lives? How will you protect and advocate for it in our current conditions? Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

Travel is one of the great joys of my life, and I am lucky enough to be able to travel internationally frequently, for work, for pleasure, and sometimes for both. Experiencing people, cultures, and environments different from our own can be life-changing, and I encourage others to take those opportunities when they can. Over the holiday season, I visited my family in Singapore, and decided to take my seven-year-old to various parts of Thailand while we were in the region. I'm thinking about inclusive travel explicitly, particularly as this was the first trip I had to articulate and explain the fact that people live, eat and worship differently in different countries, to my seven-year-old. I explained why it's respectful to keep our voices down (something that doesn't come naturally to my American son) and learn to appreciate others' customs. And that the effort to adapt and learn was worth it over ignorance. (He agreed!) Ruchika at the Wat Arun temple in Bangkok, Thailand. Ruchika is an Indian, brown-skinned woman with short brown hair, wearing an orange dress, red sandals and sunglasses. In the three different cities I visited, I saw beautiful elephant keepsakes everywhere for sale. They’re the national animal of Thailand, and since elephants are also meaningful to my own spiritual tradition, I was excited to bring some home as gifts and souvenirs. We were visiting Chiang Mai, when I came upon a store filled with gorgeous, colorful elephant statues. The fancy box around these keepsakes shared that proceeds went to elephant conservation. I was thinking of buying some, but I hesitated. My work in equity, inclusion, and justice has taught me to ensure that the decisions I make center the voices and interests of communities most negatively impacted by tourism when I travel. And so, I wanted to make sure I was buying responsibly. I passed on making a purchase at that moment, hoping I’d find another opportunity to purchase some equally beautiful elephants. When I got back to the hotel and connected to the Wi-Fi, I looked up the organization that was selling these keepsakes, citing partnerships with huge hotel and lifestyle brands. When I dug a little deeper, I discovered that all the founders were European people; not one person listed on the team identified as Thai. The organization did donate a percentage of proceeds to elephant conservation, as advertised, but I just couldn't look past the fact that no one who was actually Thai was involved in leadership. To be clear: I support elephant conservation fully and enthusiastically. But the discovery about who owned the enterprise brought me some discomfort, and it sparked some reflection on my part. Although international travel can be so exploitative, is there a way to be responsible to those native to the country we are visiting? How do we show respect to a culture that may be different from our own? How can we ensure that our presence is beneficial, not detrimental? Five elephants walking in a line in the river surrounding Elephant Nature Park, Chiang Mai, Thailand. Invest in the local economy, intentionally Tourism is extremely complicated. It can be beneficial economically, but that only works when travelers spend their money intentionally. As our society becomes more global, wealthy foreign investors are often encroaching on local economies, seeking to make money from afar, or as expats. If we want to make tourism mutually beneficial, we have to ask ourselves who our money is going to. Are we putting money back into the community, or are we making someone 10,000 miles away richer? Ensuring that you’re spending responsibly is easier than it sounds, it just takes a little legwork - and intentionality. For example, I was able to find the owners of the elephant keepsakes organization in under 10 minutes with a simple Google search. When I saw that no Thai people were part of the leadership team, I decided not to spend my money there. You can repeat that process anywhere you seek to invest your money. We visited Elephant Nature Park (ENP), an elephant rescue and rehabilitation center run by esteemed Thai elephant rights activist, Saengduean Lek Chailert, the day after I encountered the shop with keepsakes. We had an absolutely incredible experience while contributing to elephant conservation, but we did it in a way that benefited those who call Thailand their home. While many elephant “sanctuaries” in the area claim to benefit elephants, our wonderful guide at ENP told us anywhere that allows tourists to touch, feed, bathe and/or ride elephants does inflict some level of cruelty on these beautiful creatures, to make them compliant. ENP was the only place that only allowed visitors to observe elephants from afar. I also found beautiful elephant keepsakes made by the Thai staff who work there, and bought my elephant souvenirs from there instead of the fancy, European-owned enterprise I encountered the day before. One of my "golden rules" of travel is to maximize choices that benefit local people wherever I go. (Side note: Intentionalist.com has a fantastic list of local businesses in many North American cities so you can spend your money…well, intentionally. I’ve relied on Intentionalist listings when making coffee, dining and other spending choices in Seattle and when traveling domestically). On international travel, this can be as simple as getting your coffee from a local vendor instead of the Starbucks, or buying from a small local shop instead of a big-name department store. A discussion for another day is how in some white, European countries, local, handmade goods are considered artisanal luxury, while the same tradition in formerly-colonized countries and/or engaged in by artisans of color are considered "less than." Here's an article on World Economic Forum about this. Some travelers are intimidated by small local businesses, especially when they don’t speak the language, but I've learned that the cost of letting my fear of not knowing how to communicate has robbed me of spectacular experiences. The best interactions I’ve had while traveling happened because I went off the beaten path, literally. Restaurants, shops, bars, and hotels run by those native to the area are among the most gracious people I’ve ever met. I also try to prioritize staying in locally-owned hotels when possible. Passing by a Temple (Wat) in Bangkok, Thailand at sunset. Respect above all else The old proverb, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” is excellent advice for anyone seeking to be a more responsible and ethical traveler. I really try to notice–really notice by keeping my mouth shut and observing keenly-so I can attempt to best follow the customs of the place I'm visiting. You’re a guest in another's home, and it’s crucial to learn and respect the local customs and cultures of your destination. Before you book your trip, take time to research local and national traditions, and follow them. Dress codes, especially in sacred or religious sites, are common all over the world, from Italy to the Maldives to Thailand. Breaking these rules is offensive, and in some countries, could result in hefty fines. Watch out for dress codes elsewhere as well. At the Parthenon, for instance, high heels are banned to avoid damaging the structure. Restrictions on certain foods - like alcohol, beef, or pork - are also common for religious or cultural reasons. Here's where self-awareness is key: if you feel that you will complain about or openly defy cultural norms, opt for a different destination. If, for example, if you prefer to consume alcohol to enjoy a vacation, it's deeply unfair to go to a country where alcohol is scarcely available and complain about it. Make a different choice. Sadly, I've encountered a number of western tourists who complain incessantly to me about dress codes, alcohol bans and/or other traditions. This is the very definition of a traveler that's not inclusive. If you do arrive unprepared or unintentionally cause offense, the best remedy is an apology and changed behavior. Don’t push back: Listen without defensiveness, apologize sincerely, learn and adapt. Further Resources A little research goes a long way, so make sure you’re fully prepared before jetting off on vacation. Here are a few resources to get you started. The Sustainable Travel Handbook Center for Responsible Travel Global Sustainable Tourism Council Travel to Transform: Awaken the Global Citizen in You and Thrive in the Modern World Beyond Guilt Trips: Mindful Travel in an Unequal World Travel is good for us individually and–engaged in responsibly–good for the global community, helping us to become more open, empathetic, tolerant, curious people. It can be beneficial for both the traveler and those whose home is being visited, as long as we remember to be respectable, inclusive and intentionally responsible guests. Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

I don’t know about you, but I tend to get a little nostalgic in December. I don’t know if it’s the short days or the holiday lights, but as the end of the year approaches, I feel compelled to reflect on the joys and challenges of the past 11 months. This year, I have had much to celebrate, both personally and professionally. And I have found that keeping a practice of joy and celebrating wins is necessary for my mental health because my heart has broken so many times seeing innocent lives lost in Gaza and the rise of hatred against two historically persecuted communities with an abhorrent increase in Islamophobia and antisemitism. 2024 has got to be different. And so, in my attempt to find small moments of joy among so much heartbreak, here are just some of the things I’m grateful for (and gave me joy) in 2023. Please comment with your joys! A New Yorker feature Early in the year, Jodi-Ann Burey and I were featured in the New Yorker in a characteristically beautiful Leslie Jamison exploration, “Why Everyone Feels Like They’re Faking It.” The article examines the dubious rise of “imposter syndrome,” a concept Jodi-Ann and I have pushed back against for years. We wrote our Harvard Business Review piece in 2021, and while the narrative of women’s lack of self-confidence is still widespread, it means a lot that our work to challenge it resonates so strongly. Stylish transformation Authors aren’t usually highlighted for our fashion, so when 425 Magazine wanted me to participate in a style feature, I said “yes,” though I initially wanted to say no! Style provides us with a fun, much-needed outlet for self-expression, but it’s also an underutilized tool for systemic change. Constantly challenging traditional Western standards of fashion, beauty, and art can be a catalyst for leaders to cultivate an inclusive, representative industry for all. Styled for 425 Magazine Uncompete is coming! This summer, I could finally reveal some incredibly exciting news with my community. My third book, Uncompete: Dismantling a Competition Mindset to Unlock Liberation, Opportunity, and Peace, will be published by Penguin Random House’s Viking Books! I’m deep into writing (and will be until mid-next year!), and I can’t wait to share what’s to come. Deals like this don’t happen on their own, and I’m so grateful to those in my circle who encourage, uplift, and believe in me, especially my agent, Maile Beal. Celebrating one year of Inclusion on Purpose Sometimes, 12 months passed by in the blink of an eye, doesn’t it? Inclusion on Purpose feels brand new, but March marked the one-year anniversary of its publication. Magic like that can’t be created without the support of a strong community, and celebrating this book means celebrating my community, too. On March 1st, I gathered with 24 incredible women leaders in Seattle to thank them for what they helped build. We ate, we drank, and I got a little (okay, a lot) emotional. It was an unforgettable, joyful evening that still makes me smile 9 months later. Celebrating the first year of Inclusion on Purpose  and this incredible community of women leaders Amplify July I know how fortunate I am to have a super engaged audience on my social media. It’s a privilege, and this July, I chose to use my platform to boost the signal of some truly brilliant thought leaders. Each weekday in July, I turned over my social media to a different creator (all from underestimated communities), allowing them to share their expertise with my over 50,000 followers. I learned so much from each and every one of them, and I feel honored to be able to amplify important voices, experiences, and conversations. Spreading the word There really is nothing quite as exhilarating as sharing my ideas with an engaged audience, and I am thrilled to have had so many opportunities to do so over the last year. Thank you so much to my audiences at the National Institutes of Health, Toast, Spotify, Columbia University, LinkedIn APAC, TD Bank, Edelman, Spotify, and so many others. Your enthusiastic response and desire to cultivate equity and inclusion in your organizations is what keeps me going. Thank you. Sharing Inclusion on Purpose with an incredible audience at LinkedIn Singapore New adventures This year has been filled with exciting professional successes and new experiences, but none of it holds a candle to the precious time I was able to spend with those I hold most dear. Travel is one of life’s greatest pleasures, and in 2023, I was able to enjoy time with my family in New York, Singapore, Canada, and Italy. Each new adventure brought us closer together, enriching the relationship we have with our global community and each other. Gratitude for the good When I read the news, I’m often reminded of the New Yorker cartoon that says, “My desire to stay informed is currently at odds with my desire to stay sane.”  It’s a tough time in our world, and both experiencing personal hardship and witnessing the suffering of others naturally takes its toll. While I do believe it’s important to not turn away, and especially stay engaged even if you have the privilege to look away, moments of rest and recovery are so important to keep on the good fight. I am so grateful for my community, and take so much joy in the kindness and compassion I see at home and in every corner of the world. Sometimes you have to squint to see it, but it’s there. 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Happy autumn/fall to all who are reading this as the weather cools down and the leaves change colors. This transition is always really hard for me as I leave behind the restfulness of summer (a commitment I’ve been keeping for the past few years is a “quiet August”) and get thrust full speed into “back to _____.” School for my kid being the most hectic among all of the transitions. We also kept falling sick in turns, so I made COVID booster and flu shot appointments as soon as they opened. It can feel frustrating to be “back” to masking and being cautious, but my immunocompromised friends remind me it’s a privilege to have had a respite from it at any time since March 2020. I hope you’ll consider getting the booster if and when you’re able. Anyway, all of this meant my book writing was pretty nonexistent for the first part of September. And I have 70,000 words to deliver in March 2024, so there’s literally no time to waste. So how do I approach a momentous project like this? First, I try to adhere to the rules of Essentialism (doing less)–I try to say “no” to everything that isn’t book-related or in service of me writing the best version of my book. This is probably the hardest part of it all, as a woman of color who has been socialized to always be “helpful” and “never say no.” Second, I try to set small, small goals. View from my kitchen table writing at 6ish AM A successful writing day for me is one hour of getting what was in my early morning brain on the page. It’s rarely beautiful or even coherent, but I believe that for me, my best work is massaged (kneaded? beaten?) out after many edits. I can barely stand to read anything I’ve written until after I’ve had significant space from that initial morning download. It’s imperative I get those words down before the rush of getting a kid to school on time begins, otherwise I mostly have to write the day off (pun unintended) as a non-writing one. But there’s a lot that’s not in my control. Most of all, time to think. The book Who Cooked Adam Smith’s Dinner by Katrine Marçal was a fundamental reminder (among others) of how much the space to think and create expansively is gendered and geared towards privileged, able-bodied, cishet white men and more recently, privileged, able-bodied cishet white women. For the rest of us, it’s snatches of borrowed time, feverish notes scrolled on grocery receipts in between juggling all the plates. I wrote Inclusion on Purpose in lockdown while homeschooling a three-year-old. I gained a chronic backache in return (among other ailments.) Threeish years later, I’m writing Uncompete with a seven-year-old school-going kid with a full social and activity schedule, while also trying to integrate various facets of my life into the mix. Lack of social structures in so many western societies exacerbate this gender gap so much more and I know so many brilliant women who find it absolutely impossible to find the expanse for any creative endeavors. I know I’m struggling with this in writing my next book; it’s not that the ideas aren’t there—it’s just that the first time I have a moment to really explore them ends up being at 3 AM (when it’s dead quiet in the house), but if I’m up to write then, there’s no way I can get a child to school. If there was ever a case to build and reward a collaborative—not competitive society—it’s now. Just as I’m living through the fallout of the latter daily. Anyway, for now, the one hour or so per morning of getting words on the page seems to be working. Sometimes it stretches out to more than that, but my commitment is that one hour. The part I enjoy the most is getting to interview amazing people for the book! I’ll share more about that in future editions. How do you tackle big projects, when time feels tight? How do you make time for creative endeavors? Please send me all the tips! And meanwhile, please keep well and healthy! In solidarity, Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

I’ve been reflecting a lot on humility lately. And how often the lack of it emphasizes the hubris (and lack of empathy) that we see leading to horrific decisions. I wonder how more of us can cultivate more humility in our lives? Humility that comes from being fairly incompetent in something, but not giving up until finally, you’re incrementally better. Here’s how I’ve been trying. In early October, I performed a Bollywood dance medley with the amazing Afsaana Dance Company, for the Asian Counseling and Referral Service 50th anniversary gala. (Side note, both, Afsaana and ACRS are amazing organizations and I encourage you to look them up!) With the Afsaana Dance troupe I was once really into Bollywood dancing and would spend much of my time choreographing, rehearsing and performing, all through school and college. Then…life happened. I've been out of practice for over 11 years. So getting back to dance was more humbling than (for example) learning something brand new, especially because I know what “good” looks like. And in this iteration of returning to dance after over a decade, I was so far from “good,” it was painful. I realized my brain is so overwhelmed, I couldn’t remember basic choreography. The brain-to-body connection was even harder to make. I've discovered so much about myself in these last few months of learning, rehearsing, failing and trying again. Basically, I don’t like to be “bad” at something. And the growth mindset I once had as a young professional and early entrepreneur has been replaced by…dareIsay….overconfidence? I realized that I mostly don’t throw my hat into the ring unless I have a fairly high chance of success. There are many reasons for this, including how I was socialized and the higher expectations on women of color professionally (and less room to fail!) But I think it’s so necessary to seek out experiences to be a beginner, or beginner again, as in my case. It required so much humility to be a beginner again in something that once came naturally to me. I had to be humble about what my body could (and in many more cases, couldn’t!) do. And I really, really had to let go of the idea that I could be great at it. As a perfectionist and a highly self-critical person, I had to let a lot of my old habits fall away and make room for a lot of humility and mediocrity. There were so many times I thought I should give up, and times I pushed my body beyond what I thought it was capable of. We often celebrate marathons and triathlons and "Iron Mans" but learning the nuances of Indian dance mudras (hand gestures) gracefully and cultivating the strength it takes to be fully energized for even a 5-minute-dance is also worth celebrating. In adulthood, many of us shy away from challenges we don't "have" to take on. But by being really incompetent at the start and pushing through my ego and humiliation, I was able to grow in ways I couldn't have imagined. Having an amazing guru (our choreographer, Geeta) and an amazing and patient troupe of dancers was also key to keep me on track. You need cheerleaders when you’re going to fail. I realized that in having a few sleepless nights about getting on stage and freezing or tripping, I was hitting a growth curve. I was about to do something I wasn’t that good at, the weakest link among a team of professionals, and I had to be ok with being the underdog. Once I let go of any aspirations of being “great” or delusions of grandeur of being “the best,” I could set small, tangible goals. Like the fact that I needed to practice daily, so I could go from “terrible” to “mediocre.” And that meant making time, actively and consistently. As regular readers will know, I’m constantly struggling with time management. I had to step away from other commitments to focus on rehearsing. I also deliberately rehearsed in front of my seven-year-old. Having him witness me forgetting, failing and getting frustrated with myself was an important teachable moment. As leaders (whether of a team or little humans!), we are told we always need to be unflappable. But it is in the humility of owning up to not knowing or not being great at something, that we can make the biggest impact. Nothing makes me trust a leader more than seeing them commit to getting better and finding the right answers, rather than faking their way through it. That’s when we truly practice leadership. And that’s how we make it ok for those around us to also keep learning. The good news is that the performance went really well and I didn't forget any steps! I had a wonderful time…and I realized I need to get back to being at the beginner level more often. Humility isn’t the most comfortable feeling to navigate in a world that tells us all that we need to be great at everything ALL THE TIME. Social media makes it look like everyone can do everything perfectly well. But the real growth comes from leaning hard into challenges you know you’re going to fail at (safely–both for yourself and others, if I needed to clarify this), and growing from them. I’ll be hanging up my dancing skirt for right now, but can’t wait to get back to it soon! For now, I’m still savoring humble pie. :) What's a new challenge you've taken on recently? Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.

After spending the last few years in a whirlwind of activity—working on my upcoming book, organizing #AmplifyJuly, and balancing everything else that comes with being a professional and a mother, I was beyond ready for my month of rest, this August. What I didn’t expect? Struggling to rest. I left for Singapore committed to rest, feeling very inspired by Tricia Hersey and her book, Rest Is Resistance. Tricia’s work “is a pathway to the rest practices needed to collectively build and imagine new worlds as we simultaneously dismantle and deprogram ourselves from the systems that prop up and perpetuate the racial, social, and environmental harm done by white supremacy and extractive capitalism.” Even though I knew that my reluctance to power down stemmed from the ways in which I’ve internalized how much my worth is linked to my ability to work, I found it difficult to decouple myself from this idea in practice. Only after a week or so did I turn the corner and realize how beneficial that quiet was for me to literally power down and just be. Anne Lamott says: “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” This made so much sense to me, and I needed to power down for a few weeks, in my case. During this time, I re-committed to a daily yoga practice, which I’d been out of since before the pandemic. I spent time with family and friends for no other reason than to connect, no other agenda. I didn’t respond to emails. I napped every single afternoon, surrounded by the familiar scent of my mum’s cooking and childhood photos around me. Overall, I realized the true value of rest as a tool of resistance (again, big thanks to Tricia Hersey). This is not to be confused with rest as a way to fuel more productivity, which I’ve generally seen the conversation around rest focus on. I’m talking about rest for the sake of rest. Spending time with my mum, Seema, is the definition of rest and home for me. What happens if we aren’t able to rest? A lack of rest means more of us operate from a place of scarcity and chronic stress. In fact, 48% of employees report having burnout. But another symptom of a lack of rest is the feeding of a scarcity mindset. As Shankar Vedantam says on the Hidden Brain podcast, “When you have scarcity, and it creates a scarcity mindset, it leads you to take certain behaviors which, in the short term, help you manage scarcity but in the long term, only make matters worse.” When we are operating from a place of scarcity, we’re going to have tunnel vision around our immediate needs, and we may also be convinced that there’s not enough to go around. For me, I’ve seen this scarcity mindset result in a lack of collaboration, generosity and compassion, in the workplace and in society. Why is it so difficult to rest? Scarcity is supported by the pillars of white supremacy (as Sahaj Kaur Kohli writes in her blog, “Cultural experiences that reinforce scarcity mindset”), including fear, perfectionism (or the belief that there is only one right way to do things), either/or thinking, individualism, and urgency. These pillars have permeated our culture, which is one of the reasons why for so many of us, when we find ourselves with an opportunity to rest, we’re unable to fully release ourselves to it out of fear of scarcity. In short: we need to keep working or we’ll lose out to someone else. Struggling to rest isn’t a personal shortcoming, it’s a symptom of hundreds of years of conditioning to constantly be productive for systems that weren’t built to benefit historically underestimated communities. The view from a celebratory lunch with my family and friends in Singapore In an act of resistance, I’m aiming to write my next book from a place of abundant rest. A major theme that I’m exploring is how operating from an abundance mindset drives fundamental social change. I can think of no better way to do this than to leave scarcity behind and find moments to genuinely rest. I haven’t found the perfect formula yet, and may never, but the idea is to build a lot of rest into every day and not berate myself if I don’t hit a word count or deadline. I’m setting liberal goals and saying “no” to most new commitments unless they feel in service of the rest I’m trying to cultivate—like coffee with a friend, a yoga class or a walk and ice cream with my child (debatable whether this is “rest” with a high-energy 7-year-old, but you know what I mean! :) ) When we cultivate rest, we are better able to broaden the tunnel vision that a scarcity mindset traps us in. From there, we can be intentional about crafting an abundance mindset, supporting our communities and planning for a future that is mutually beneficial for all of us. How can you find moments of rest this week? Do you find it difficult to rest? When you’re unable to rest, who benefits from your lack of rest? Click here to subscribe to the Inclusion is Leadership letter.