Marianne Willamson once wrote,
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.”
When I first read those words, I saw them lived out in my childhood.
My parents did something few would have considered wise. They left the United States, the place most people move to for stability, and moved to Ecuador. They didn’t move for adventure or a new job. They did it because of my brother’s health. They didn’t know what waited for them, but they trusted that something meaningful could grow from the unknown.
Ecuador changed everything for me. I had to learn how to speak Spanish, not because it was a nice second language to have, but because it was now the only way to belong. I had to make new friends, adjust to new schools, and navigate a world that looked and felt entirely different. We lost power from time to time, but those nights became moments of connection, our family gathered around candlelight, playing cards, and laughing until the wax burned low. It was also the first time I saw poverty up close, and the first time I saw extraordinary wealth. That contrast opened my eyes. It was the moment I began to understand both how much I had and how much I could give.
Looking back, I realize that move was my first lesson in disruption.
Now, as a keynote speaker and strategist, when I sit across from leaders navigating uncertainty, I recognize the same tension I saw in my parents: the pull between what feels safe and what leads to growth. Their move taught me that “safe” often means staying still, and staying still can cost us our future.
In Ecuador, I watched my parents create a new life from scratch. They built relationships, learned new systems, and modeled resilience every day. That was the muscle memory I carry with me today, the ability to find opportunity inside disruption.
We are living in a century where families have the same opportunity my parents had—to build something entirely new. Technology is rewriting how we live and work, but the fundamental transformation is human. Families are the laboratories of adaptation. Around the dinner table, in car rides, or in the quiet of late-night conversations, we are shaping how the next generation will think about risk, courage, and purpose.
When there are more questions than answers, that is not a signal to stop. That is the invitation to create. The unknown is not a void; it is raw material for imagination.
Every generation has a choice. To protect what they know, or to step into what they don’t.
My parents’ choice shaped everything about who I am. That is why I see change not as a threat, but as an opportunity. It is why I believe families, not institutions, will define what comes next, what I call the Human Era. A time when creativity, empathy, and adaptability will matter more than efficiency or scale.
The truth is, our greatest fear is not that we will fail. It is that we might succeed beyond what we imagined. That our light could reach others.
Your legacy begins now.
Your impact unfolds now.
The world you can build begins on the other side of fear.
The lessons my family learned in Ecuador continue to shape how I see change, courage, and leadership today.
If your organization is navigating uncertainty and wants to inspire people to face the unknown with purpose, I’d love to bring this message to your next event. You can learn more here.
