Not long ago, Morten Kamp Andersen was in a class and the instructor asked them to go around and introduce themselves. They should say their name, where they’re from, and–wait for it: What they were passionate about. Oy. Of course at that moment every single person started quietly racking their brains for something appealing, profound,

This is the face of someone who was just cut off mid-sentence on a Zoom call. Thought you could relate. Conversations are moving targets; they’re also unscripted, unpredictable, and on Zoom, subject to tech glitches. So, interruptions happen sometimes. The problem is when they happen all the time. To you. To women. To underrepresented populations. And

What’s the difference between someone who writes and someone who used to, means to, or wants to write? How often they START. So you stopped for a while. Got distracted. Waylaid. Depressed. Busy. Overwhelmed. It happens. Whether you’ve been writing for 40 years or for 4 months, it starts the same way. With a blank

You’re not stuck. You may, however, as Austin Powers demonstrates in an almost existentially perfect way, be temporarily caught in a K turn of the soul. Here’s how I know: Because you, me, your dog, my cat, large intestines, tulips, tornadoes, and anything else you can think of, go through periods of contraction and expansion.

One of the most intriguing moments of a show is when you discover someone is really good at something you didn’t expect. Often, they didn’t expect it, either. How can we forget that moment in Good Will Hunting when he takes a break from mopping up the school to solve a complex math problem. Or,

I celebrated International Women’s Day with the women, colleagues, and friends of the people at Franklin Templeton today where I led an event called: “Raise Your Voice: How to amplify your virtual presence and make yourself heard in the Zoom age” and we got record turnout. A question that came up (and always comes up)

I’m in the last few days and hours of finishing up the first draft of my very first book. Do I know what I’m doing? Kinda, not really. It’s a little like climbing a tall ladder: You’re better off staying focused on the next step, rather than looking down. I started dancing around the edges

On Valentine’s Day in 1992, I was in a very involved relationship with my Macintosh Classic. I thought it was adorable and fascinating, couldn’t stop looking at it, couldn’t keep my hands off it. I was wholly unaware of its limits, or my own for that matter, of our own potential and expansive futures. With