While I didn’t grow up with the Thanksgiving holiday in Australia, I’ve come to treasure this American tradition dedicated to practicing gratitude in a world that constantly pulls our attention toward what’s missing.

Whenever I think about what gratitude truly means, I think of what my dad has taught me.

My dad spent much of his childhood living in the shed you can see in the image above. No sanitation. No electricity. No running water. No floor. He and his brother (my Uncle Bob) slept on hammocks made from potato sacks hanging from the rafters (handy for a high tide). He didn’t own shoes until he was 12 and later spent 50 years milking cows to make ends meet as he raised his seven children (of which I was big sister).

Needless to say, Dad has weathered more than his share of hardships and heartache over the years. He’s endured brutal droughts. He’s grieved the loss of his youngest son, my brother Peter, after his long battle with schizophrenia. He’s supported his eldest son, Frank, as he learned to navigate life with paraplegia. And most recently, he’s had to say goodbye to his beloved wife of 56 years — my mum — to the brutal fog of dementia.

In August this year, I had the joy of taking dad on a cross-country train trip across Australia to celebrate his 90th birthday. Whether sitting in our cabin staring out the train window at the red parched earth or reflecting on our day over dinner, time and time again he would take my hand and say, “Oh Margie, this is the trip of a lifetime!”

Every time he did, he made me present to the gift of that time together and the gift of life itself. My own. My dad’s. Everyones. Dad’s outward expression of gratitude is my dad through and through. As he has said countless times throughout the years, “I feel like the richest man in all the world.” And he doesn’t just say it, he truly means it. He embodies it.

And it’s got nothing to do with his monetary wealth. In fact, he’s never had a lot of it. Dad’s sense of wealth has never been in a stock portfolio (the only stock he ever had were his herd of dairy cattle!) but in the love he’s generously given and received, and in his daily expressions of gratitude for what is, rather than lamenting what isn’t.

Dad taught me that gratitude isn’t something you practice only when life is going your way—when the job comes through, the illness lifts, or long-prayed-for rain finally falls. It’s a discipline for all seasons. The more we practice it, the more it bolsters our resilience and buoys our spirits to rise above the waves when life’s storms roll in. (If you haven’t one lately, it’s coming.)

Here’s the thing about gratitude that research confirms and lived experience proves:

What we appreciate, appreciates.

When we focus our attention on what we’re grateful for, it doesn’t just make us feel better in the moment—it actually expands. Our relationships deepen. Our joy multiplies. Our capacity to meet life’s inevitable challenges grows larger and our ability to find the good even in the hardest of circumstances grows deeper.

In a world that pummels us 24/7 with reasons to feel anxious, inadequate, or ‘left behind,’ it’s all too easy to fixate on what’s wrong, who’s to blame, or how life should be different than it is. Our brains are wired for this ‘negativity bias’ which kept our ancestors alive by constantly scanning for threats. But in today’s world, that same wiring can hold us captive to scarcity thinking, living in a perpetual state of ‘not enough’, always chasing the next thing while missing the beauty and abundance that’s right in front of us. Or at least not appreciating it fully. I’m as guilty of falling into this trap as anyone.

This isn’t about denying hard realities. Rather it’s about intentionally placing our attention on what’s good and what’s right. Doing so expands our capacity – mental, emotional, physical and spiritual – to meet our challenges better and to emerge as better humans.

This has been my personal truth again and again—especially in my toughest seasons, when my expectations and hopes collided head-on with a reality I didn’t want or wasn’t prepared for. In those moments when the world has felt like it’s falling apart, I’ve slipped into what I call an un-gratitude state… feeling angry at life or sorry for myself.

And so this is my wish and prayer for you in this Thanksgiving week:

~ To pause long enough to really see your blessings — you have many, even if some are hiding in plain sight.

~ To look for the gifts and goodness in the people around you, rather than focusing on how you wish they were different.

~ And to recognize that the “ordinary” moments of your life — your health, your morning coffee, a hug from your kids, a friend who checks in — are, in truth, the really big things.

On this Thanksgiving week, I’m thankful for YOU, for taking the time to read this right now.

I’m thankful for everyone who has cheered me on this year, supporting me as I reset my sails to launch The Courage Gap (if you haven’t read it yet, the holidays are coming!) or supported my me in any way.

I’m even thankful for the experiences I’d never have chosen and to the people who’ve given me opportunities to practice forgiveness, empathy and patience. They have helped me to grow ways I couldn’t have without them.

The mystic Rumi once wrote:

“Wear gratitude like a cloak, and it will feed every corner of your life.”

What we appreciate, appreciates. May this week remind us all to focus on what we have, knowing that in doing so, we create more of what truly matters.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Ever sold yourself short?

If you can think back to a moment you wished you’d backed yourself more—taken that chance, made the ask, leapt—you’re not alone.

The truth is, most of us regret the risks we didn’t take far more than the ones we did. By a long shot. That cautious voice hammering “What if…?” usually wins. And that’s because we’re lousy negotiators when it comes to our own lives. Not so much with others—with ourselves. Especially with the person we’ve yet to become.

Why? Because your brain treats your future self like a total stranger. Let me explain.

Research by Peter H. Diamandis and Steven Kotler (detailed in their book The Future is Faster Than You Think) found that that when we imagine our future selves, the part of your brain that lights up when you think about yourself starts to shut down. It’s the same reaction as when you ponder a complete stranger. And the farther into the future you go, the more cognitive effort is required and the alien you seem to yourself. No wonder we so often make shortsighted decisions and sell our future time so cheap—we just can’t picture ourselves in it!

That’s why people struggle to save for retirement, ditch bad habits, or make tough calls today that pay off tomorrow. Our biased brains trick us into thinking the person who’ll reap the rewards (or suffer the discomfort) isn’t really us at all.

The hidden ‘timidity tax’ compounds over time

This neurological quirk teams up with what Harvard’s Daniel Gilbert calls the “end of history illusion”: We admit we’ve changed heaps in the past, but we massively underestimate how much we’ll transform in the future. We think we’ve already peaked as who we’ll be.

The fallout? We shortchange our future selves. We cling to safe choices that keep us in jobs that no longer fit, relationships we’ve outgrown, or lives that feel too small. I call this the “timidity tax.” It’s sneaky—it doesn’t hit you now, but it racks up compound interest. Sticking with comfy today can leave you less secure, less fulfilled, and way more uncomfortable down the track. The irony?

In shielding ourselves from uncertainty now, we betray the person we’re evolving into.

I once interviewed Richard Branson at a global leaders’ retreat on his private Necker Island (yeah, tough gig, but someone had to do it). I’d spent the afternoon kite surfing with him—and nearly got blown to Cuba (slight exaggeration) but knowing he’d once flown a hot air balloon across the Atlantic (and nearly died), I had to ask: Have your goals ever been too ambitious? He didn’t miss a beat before replying:

“If your goals aren’t scaring you, they’re too small for you.”

Not gut-wrenching terror. Not paralysis. Just that, “I’m-not-sure-I-can-pull-this-off” aliveness. That’s the sweet spot – the gap between where you are now and where you could be if you made more consistent bets on yourself (present and future!) It’s where your deepest potential lives, and where you make your greatest impact on others.

Look at history’s greatest leaders—they pursued bold visions and chased big dreams that were no sure thing. Some thought they were too audacious. When Martin Luther King Jr. proclaimed “I have a dream,” he wasn’t talking current reality. He was claiming a future that didn’t exist yet, but one he believed was worth fighting for. As I shared in a recent keynote speech (above), in doing so he stretched what everyone else thought possible and rallied a nation.

Yes, King’s dream came at a cost. And no, not every dream was fully realized — not everyone is judged by the content of their character. But his life was profoundly worthy because he refused to betray his future self.

Risking ‘worthy failure’ honors your future self

You don’t need to seek to end racism or world hunger for your future self to high-five you. My family took on such a risk when we decided to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro – Africa’s tallest peak- at 19,341 feet/5,895m. We had four teenagers then. Friends thought we’d gone mad. We lived at sea level; our “big” climbs were sand dunes, not summits. Odds of all six summiting? Slim.

But that wasn’t the goal. If we failed, it’d be a worthy failure—one we’d never regret trying. Nine brutal hours from base camp, we all stepped onto the summit. Every one of us. Back at base camp, I learned our guides had placed bets we wouldn’t all make it. Huh! But that’s precisely the point: Only when you dare to do something that can feel, in the present, a little too ambitious, can you discover how much you can actually do.

Better decisions require empathy for your future self

So, how do we over-ride our neurobiology? How do we stop treating our future selves like strangers and start casting a vote for the person we’re on our way to becoming? By building empathy. Don’t just vaguely daydream—slow down, step in. Feel it. What does that life look like? What do you you look like (enlist GenAI to create an image of you 20 years from now)? What makes you proud? What regrets did you dodge by getting brave today? This isn’t fluffy stuff. This is science applied to your life!

The more vividly and often you connect to the future version of yourself, the more real they become. And the harder it is to let them down.

As leaders and change-makers, we should never underestimate our power to pivot, make changes and pursue challenges our future selves will thank us for. Bold goals, rooted in a big “why,” aren’t reckless in shaky times—they’re vital. Like Ranjay Gulati says in his recent article for HBR, “Now is the Time For Courage!”:

When uncertainty is running high and our instinct urges us to grip harder to the familiar, courage is most essential—and most rewarding.

So… what’s your Courage Gap?

It’s the space between what feels familiar today and the future that’s calling your name; between the person (and leader) you are right now and the one you have it within you to become (the one the people you care about most need you to become.)

Let me leave you with three questions:

1. Where are you underestimating yourself right now?

2. What change are you avoiding because you’re not sure you’ve got what it takes?

3. If you risked a worthy failure—one that honors your future self rather than short changes them—what would it look like?

As I wrote in The Courage Gap (a book your future self will be glad you read):

Dare to risk failures worthy of the person you’re on your way to becoming. 

So, what’s your Kilimanjaro? Whatever popped into your head—it’s no coincidence. If nothing did, start small: do one brave thing today.

Your future self will thank you. I guarantee it.

I almost sent a text I would have regretted.

Someone had misinterpreted something I’d said, and I wanted to fix it — without making things worse. So I started composing a carefully worded message before I caught myself. Instead of hiding behind my iPhone screen, I picked it up and called her.

Within five minutes, what could have spiraled into a drawn-out misunderstanding was resolved. My voice did what twenty text messages never could — conveying my genuine concern, clearing the air, and ending with a laugh.

It reminded me how powerful (and increasingly rare) a real, unscripted (and yes, sometimes messy and awkward) conversation has become.

Chances are, you’ve seen it too: a group of young people sitting together, all on their phones — more likely to text a meme than share a real fear. I call this the connection paradox — surrounded by communication tools, yet starved of genuine connection.

At the heart of it lies something subtle but powerful: a growing reluctance to brave the awkward moments that real connection demands.

We’ve become masters of impression management — curating, editing, scripting — but amateurs at vulnerability.

We draft and redraft our replies. Some even put them into ChatGPT to polish (and yes, I see the irony of writing that here). But beneath all that polish often lies fear — fear of judgment, rejection, fumbling our words, or losing face.

“The leaders I work with rarely struggle to set strategy. What they struggle with most? The awkward conversations that bring that strategy to life.”

And it’s not just Gen Z I’m talking about. We all do it. Even seasoned leaders I work with often find themselves avoiding discomfort. Just last week, I asked a group of executives where they most regret not being braver in their careers. The majority said it was in addressing people issues. One shared:

“I should have let someone go sooner. I kept hoping things would turn around, even though I knew that was unlikely. It just felt easier to delay.”

It’s rarely a lack of intellect or information that holds leaders back — or perpetuates their biggest (avoidable) problems. It’s fear. Fear of the fallout. Fear of confrontation. Fear of defensiveness. Fear of holding people accountable — and the tension that may follow.

In an AI-fueled world of polished communication, genuine connection has never been rarer — or more valuable.

Because it’s not in grand declarations of strategy that trust and culture are built. It’s in the small, courageous, messy moments of human honesty that bring those strategies to life. Yet these are precisely the moments where courage counts most — not in setting bold strategies, but in having the honest, human conversations that bring them to life.

Long before GenAI came along, we were already defaulting to digital distance — sending emails instead of talking, texting instead of calling, posting instead of showing up. (I even wrote a Forbes column on “talking over texting” back in 2012.)

Now, with AI permeating every corner of our lives, communication requires even less of us. It doesn’t just make it easier to avoid awkward conversations — it spares us the effort of even crafting them. But here’s the thing: when something feels too easy, it often is.

“Every time we dodge an awkward moment, we weaken the interpersonal muscle that builds authentic connection and trust — and widen the gap between the influence we have and the influence we want.”

Because it’s not our perfect delivery that earns trust — it’s our willingness to be real. To show up unscripted. To be uncertain and sometimes clumsy. To be fully, awkwardly, imperfectly human. No wonder people today are more connected than ever — yet feel more alone.

📉 In 1990, 75% of Americans said they had a best friend. Today, only 59% do.

📉 The share of people with no close friends at all has quadrupled.

📉 Only 23% of employees say they feel truly connected at work.

📉 Gen Z reports the highest levels of anxiety and loneliness in the workplace.

This isn’t coincidence. It’s the predictable result of a culture fluent in emojis and memes but less practiced in emotional nuance, conversation, and good old-fashioned eye contact. Another irony: we end up experiencing more stress over time than the discomfort we sought to avoid.

We often suffer more from the compounded stress of avoiding an awkward moment that requires us to lay our vulnerability on the line than from braving the moment itself.

It’s why one of the most underrated superpowers today is our willingness to brave the awkward. To make the ask. To give the feedback. To extend the invite. To say how we really feel. Because the things we most want — trust, influence, belonging, confidence, connection — are often waiting just past the awkward moment we least want to face.

If we want to raise braver kids, build stronger teams, and nurture more connected communities, we must re-normalize the awkwardness that comes with being human.

We have to be the ones who go first — who pick up the phone, who start the honest conversation, who say:

“I’m sorry.” “I need help.” “I’m feeling upset.” “I don’t quite know how to say this, but…”

Because in today’s curated world of polished perfection, people are hungry for what’s real. I know I’m not alone when I say I’d much rather build a relationship or work with someone who fumbles over their words but speaks from the heart than someone who hides behind a screen.

So next time you’re tempted to send a perfectly edited message — or say nothing at all — pause.

Ask yourself:

“What might open up if I were willing to brave the awkward moment?”

Connection isn’t built through perfect performance. It’s built through genuine presence.

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?