For over 30 years, scientists had been observing Japanese monkeys (Macaca fuscata) in the wild. In 1952, they began an experiment—dropping sweet potatoes in the sand for the monkeys to find. The monkeys loved the taste but hated the gritty sand that clung to them.

Then one day, an 18-month-old monkey named Imo made a discovery. She could solve the problem by taking her potato to the water’s edge to wash before eating it. She taught this trick to her mother, then her playmates learned it and taught their mothers too.

For six years, the older monkeys stubbornly clung to the old way. But eventually, almost overnight, a critical mass adopted this new behavior—what researchers called the “Hundredth Monkey Effect.” The practice spread rapidly across the entire tribe, and washing potatoes became the new norm.

While claims that the behavior suddenly leaped to other tribes across the island lack evidence, what’s undisputed is this: a single monkey’s change in behavior sparked a cultural shift that spread throughout her community.

The importance of this story is its principle:

Individual behaviors can create a ripple effect that changes collective norms and reshapes the whole.

What social scientists call “social contagion”—the well-documented phenomenon where behaviors, attitudes, and norms spread through populations once they reach a critical threshold.

As research consistently shows, when enough individuals within a group adopt new behaviors, change accelerates exponentially until it becomes the new standard. Whether we’re talking about safety practices in organizations, cultural shifts in communities, or social movements, the pattern holds: individual choices have a ripple effect, spreading outward spreading out to shape new norms.

Right now, as political polarization reaches dangerous new heights, we’re witnessing the darkest ripples take hold. Political violence has claimed lives. Assassination attempts have become part of our political discourse. Too many people now view those who disagree with them not as fellow citizens with different perspectives, but as enemies to be defeated—or worse, eliminated.

Fear breeds more fear. Hatred fuels more hatred. What was once unthinkable—celebrating violence against political opponents or business leaders—is becoming normalized in some circles. Dehumanization hasn’t just crept into our culture; it’s taken root.

Yet just as negative ripples spread, so too can positive ones.

So too can civility, courage, and compassion.

So too can the choice to see the humanity and inherent goodness in those with whom we don’t see eye to eye, and to speak in ways that respect the dignity of our fellow humans, regardless of whether we agree with them.

As I wrote in The Courage Gap:

Change happens in circles, not rows.

It doesn’t take everyone to change everything. But if we each take responsibility for our personal agency, we can contribute to collective change. Whether it is one hundred monkeys or one million, each of us can do our part. Here are four ways you could start this week:

1. Practice the pause. Before responding to something that triggers you—whether it’s a social media post, a comment at work, or a heated dinner conversation—take a breath. Ask yourself: “Will my response add to the division or help bridge it?” Choose your words accordingly.

2. Lead with curiosity, not judgment. When someone shares a view that differs from yours, try saying: “Help me understand your perspective” or “What led you to that conclusion?” Genuine curiosity disarms defensiveness and opens dialogue.

3. Call out the good. When you see someone choosing civility over contempt or respect over ridicule—acknowledge it. A simple “I appreciate how you handled that” reinforces positive behavior and encourages others to follow suit.

4. Choose one relationship to repair. Think of someone you’ve written off or distanced yourself from due to differing views. Reach out with genuine intent to reconnect as humans first, not opposing sides. It might be uncomfortable, but discomfort generally precedes breakthrough.

Change happens in circles, not rows. What ripple will you choose to spread?

“I never want to be one of those egomaniacs jostling for position,” said Sandra, her brow furrowing. “It’s just not my style.”

“But how will the new CEO know what you want if you don’t tell him?” I asked, leaning forward.

“He knows about my work. My track record speaks for itself. I shouldn’t have to line up with everyone else just to say I’m deserving of a bigger role.”

Many of us have felt like Sandra—torn between the desire to make a greater impact and the discomfort with anything resembling “self-promotion.” I certainly have. Yet I’ve observed how fear often disguises itself as humility, giving us socially acceptable ‘air cover’ for avoiding the very actions that would risk our status or comfort.

We tell ourselves we’re not egotistical like those people, particularly those who are thumping their chests the loudest. Which is true, to some extent. But consider this paradox:

Not wanting to seem egotistical is, by default, egotistical. We’re simply protecting our ego from judgment or rejection.

True humility isn’t about depreciating our value or thinking less of ourselves. Rather, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, it’s about thinking of ourselves less and focusing more on what we can learn from—and do to help—others… even when that means raising our hand, advocating for our value, or stepping squarely into the spotlight.

Sandra’s reluctance struck a personal chord with me. While launching my book The Courage Gap over the last few months, I’ve wrangled with an internal tug-of-war between avoiding exposure and sharing my message with as many people as possible. As much as I’d have loved to spare myself the vulnerability of touting my book, complete with fear of seeming too self-promoting (a cardinal sin in Australian culture, which has elevated self-deprecation to an art form), I knew that holding back would do a profound disservice to why I wrote the book in the first place.

If you’re reading this now, consider that the biggest obstacle to your highest growth and greatest impact isn’t a lack of intelligence, opportunity, or education. It’s a lack of courage to risk being exposed as inadequate, unworthy, or not sufficiently modest.

Let me be clear: Your fear isn’t wholly unfounded. Research shows that self-promotion can trigger social backlash (particularly for women). It’s why, in cultures where modesty is prized, we’re more likely to tell ourselves what Sandra did:

“I’m more of a quiet achiever.” “I let my work speak for itself.” “If it’s meant to be, it will ‘just’ happen.”

These self-protective stories, while sparing us from uncomfortable actions, also sell us short, limit our growth and stand between us and the person we have the potential to become.

What we call humility often cloaks deeper fears. “I let my work speak for itself” sounds virtuous but sometimes protects us from visibility and vulnerability. Everyone misses out.

The mystic Rumi advised that we should live our lives as though the universe is conspiring in our favor. Yet, what he didn’t say is that we need to do our part, which often requires doing the very things that our fear would prefer we didn’t. This explains why researchers have found that we are three times more likely to regret the risks we don’t take than those we do.

I encourage you to stay tuned to where you sometimes create narratives that give you socially acceptable excuses for not moving forward. As I wrote in The Courage Gap:

“Your desire for a positive outcome must transcend your fear of a potential negative outcome.”

Don’t let your fear of what others might say keep you shrinking back or dimming your light. If that sometimes requires venturing out onto the far limb of vulnerability to make a bold ask or advocate for your value—so be it.

Real humility doesn’t shrink back to avoid discomfort. Rather it steps up—sometimes right into the spotlight—not for applause, but because the impact you want to make demands nothing less.

Live bravely!

Margie

Today is Good Friday, a sacred day in the Christian calendar and one that holds special significance for me and my family.

It was on Good Friday 17 years ago that my older brother Frank was injured in a motorbike accident that left him with paraplegia, unable to ever walk again. And it was on Good Friday, 15 years ago, that my youngest brother Peter ended his life after a long battle with mental illness. After Peter’s death, Frank joked that perhaps we should rename it Bad Friday.

Of course, we haven’t. Not because it doesn’t hold painful memories, but because at the heart of Good Friday—and the holy Easter season—is the most eternal message of hope. Hope that however large our loss, our grief will ease. Hope that no matter how raw our heart, it will heal—and that our life, while never the same, can be remade whole.

My family late 70s—pre the arrival of my sister Cath!

Of course, amid dark times, despair can knock hard on our door, tempting us to fall into self-pity, to blame, to rage at life, or cave to despair.

Why this? Why me? Why now? It’s not fair!

Nope, life is not fair. It’s why the times that wrench the hardest on your heart require you to sit with your sadness and nurse your aching heart—embracing the full spectrum of your humanity and letting go of expectations of how your life should be. Because amid the ashes of shattered dreams and broken expectations lie the seeds of new beginnings–

To put down deeper roots into the soil of our lives.

To blossom in new ways.

To grow into new dimensions of our own humanity,

And become present to the sacred that flows along the deeper stream of life.

It is no small task to surrender our well-laid plans and trust that every struggle and disappointment, in every hardship and heartache, lies a silent invitation to live more deeply and love more bravely.

Yet it is perhaps the ultimate act of courage to keep our hearts wide open the full spectrum of human emotions, however raw they make us feel.

As I wrote about in The Courage Gap while reflecting on my mums decline with dementia (p 86):

Attempting to cherry-pick the emotions we feel not only cuts us off from our full humanity but confines us to living in the middle octave of life where we risk arriving at life’s end with an unlived life still inside of us. We humans aren’t wired to embrace the low notes—those uncomfortable and painful emotions that trigger our deepest vulnerability. We’re wired for the exact opposite: to protect ourselves from pain. Yet the avoidance of suffering is a form of suffering.

We may not share the same faith, but whatever you believe, on this Good Friday, I hope you’ll be mindful of the reason for this Easter season and the message of the cross—to retain hope amid your heartache and keep faith despite your fear. Indeed, hope is risk that must be run.

Life is precious, it’s fragile and it’s finite.

So loosen your grip on how you think it ‘should’ be,

And stay open to what might yet become. When all is said and done, hope is a risk that must be run.

Sometimes the storms we think are ruining our path are really just revealing it.

Happy Easter and Live bravely!

Margie

“We can’t all have the textbook life we once imagined at 18, 21, or 30. Life is what it is. Your future depends on the decisions you make from here on.”

I’ll never forget the day my brother Frank was told he’d never walk again. I sat beside him in his hospital bed, ten days after a motorbike accident severed his spinal cord, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down.

He gazed past the end of his bed, beyond his lifeless legs, contemplating the years ahead, trying to grasp the enormity of the news. He would never walk, run, or dance again – activities he loved dearly, especially Swing dancing.

It was overwhelming. Too much for any moment. As I held his hand, I fought back tears. This was not my time to cry.

After several long minutes, Frank squeezed my hand. “There may be a thousand things I can’t do anymore,” he said, looking at me with firm conviction, “but there are still 5,000 things I can do. And I intend to do them all.”

I had never been prouder of my big brother than in that moment.

In the 16 years since then, Frank has continued to inspire me countless times. He refuses to be defined by what he cannot do and remains determined to make the most of all he can do. Despite facing numerous challenges related to his paraplegia, including many hospital visits, his ‘can do’ spirit has never dimmed. A recent visit to stay with me in Virginia, all the way from his small farm in Australia – just across the road from the dairy farm where we grew up – is a testament to that. (Here’s a photo of us, looking grubby as farm kids often do.)  

I made sure Frank’s journey to visit me was worth his mighty effort. From touring the White House and witnessing the US Senate in session to boating on Chesapeake Bay and exploring Manhattan – we covered a lot of ground and captured many memories!

Traveling is more challenging for Frank. Much more. Health is more challenging. Life is more challenging. Staying in my 240-year-old home, scoring ‘F’ on disability access, was plenty challenging. Yet, he did it. Without complaint. Without fuss. He simply got on with it.

Amidst our adventures, we recorded a podcast that offers insight into Frank’s perspective on life – a gift to be lived fully, pursuing growth despite its discomfort, embracing adventure amid its inconvenience, and focusing on what you can do rather than what you can’t.

Let’s face it, it’s easy to get caught up in negative thinking, dwelling on what’s unfair, what we can’t do, what we don’t want or have, or what shouldn’t have happened. Our brains are wired to focus on deficits. But what you focus on expands. If all you dwell on deficits, you gradually shrink your comfort zone and lose sight of the possibilities beyond it.

To honor Frank’s spirit, I will be running the New York Marathon this November, raising funds for spinal injury research with the Christopher Reeve Foundation. Your support means a lot to me as I step far beyond my comfort zone. Having grown up internalizing the affectionate label ‘bumblefoot’ from my dad, this is me breaking out of my own mental barriers to accomplish something I once thought impossible.  

So, let me ask you:

What could you achieve if you focused all your energy on what you can do?

As you listen to our podcast, I hope Frank’s ‘just do it’ mindset inspires you as it has inspired me. In a recent LinkedIn post from the day Frank arrived in Virginia, which also marked the first anniversary of our mum’s passing, I shared that while we don’t choose the cards we’re dealt in life, we need to play them to their fullest. 

Here’s to living boldly; to being the captain of your life, not the captive of your circumstances.