Friends,

If you've ever hiked, you know this feeling.

You walk and walk under the trees. You can only see a few steps ahead. Then a small trail breaks off toward something, and you don't really know what it will look like. You follow it anyway.

Then you step into the opening, and it happens. The trees fall away. You can see where you've been and where you're going. For a moment, you just stand there.

Maybe for you it was a lake at the end of a long walk. A ridge on a family trip. A bench at the top of a hill near home. You remember it. You didn't plan to stop there. You stopped because you could finally see.

On my ninety-day course in the Cascades in 2001, we spent days under the trees before they finally opened up. When they did, we stood in places most people never see. Some of those views took weeks to reach.

Where the build is

Last Thursday I had one of those.

It started with coffee with a longtime mentor. Then a call with a potential client. Then a meeting about investing charitable money so it does good while it waits. Then a conversation with an advisor about the families he serves. Then a working session with a client. Five meetings, and every one of them was different.

Somewhere in the afternoon I noticed something. I wasn't building anymore. I was doing the work.

I didn't see it coming. For months the days have been about getting ready: the name, the website, the plan, the people. On Thursday the view opened up, and I could see it happening.

The climb

Under the trees, you can't tell effort from progress. Every step feels like the last one. That's why the clearings matter. But only if you stop. When you reach one, you have to put the pack down and look. Reflect on how far you've come. Listen. Dream a little about what's ahead. If you just keep walking, you can go weeks without knowing whether you're moving at all.

Can you imagine if I hadn't stopped at those overlooks, the ones that took weeks to reach? I would have walked right past them. I wouldn't be writing this letter. And my heart would never have been touched by the moment the world opened up in front of me.

This week I found a second clearing. For a talk I'm writing, I went back through close to a hundred letters I wrote to the athletes I coached. Some of it I'd forgotten. Some of it I'm still trying to say now. Believe for ten seconds longer than you think you can. Build a team where everyone matters, the fastest and the slowest.

I could see how far back this climb actually started.

The view

Here's what I think the top looks like from here.

A day like Thursday isn't rare. A family with money set aside to give knows who to call and what to ask. A nonprofit leader has someone in her corner who understands both sides of the table. The conversations are different every time, because the people are. And the money moves because of it.

Why I'm climbing

Almost every one of those letters to athletes said some version of the same thing. You can do more than you think. You don't have to do it alone.

I believed it then. Thursday reminded me I still do.

What I learned this week

Something small. When I first shared these letters on LinkedIn, I put the link right in the post. Hardly anyone saw it. So I changed one thing. I moved the link into the first comment. More of you found your way here.

I don't fully understand why. I only know that one small change opened a trail I couldn't see before.

That's worth remembering beyond LinkedIn. When something isn't working, you don't have to rebuild the whole route. Change one thing, and watch what happens.

One small step for this week

Tell someone.

Most of the people I sit down with have something they care about. A cause. An organization. A problem they would love to help solve. And many of them have never said it out loud. Not to their closest friends. Sometimes not even to their own family.

Most of us never learned how to share what giving means to us. We don't ask each other what we care about, why we give, or what we hope will change. So the hopes stay quiet.

And when our hopes stay quiet, no one can help us reach them. Our dreams have to be known before anyone can support them. That's how a team works. The goal you say out loud is the one your teammates can help you chase.

I think sharing is one way to the clearing. Money set aside to do good often starts moving when people start talking about it. You have a role to play in telling that story.

This week, tell one person what you care about and what you hope your giving will do. Your advisor. A client. A friend. Your family over dinner. You don't need a plan. You only need to say it out loud.

Or ask someone close to you: What do you care about? Why do you give?

More than once this fall, a good coffee ended with someone saying, "I'd love to help." Now I have an answer. Help tell the story. Forward this letter to someone who might be thinking the same thing.

Saying it out loud is often the first step out of the trees.

See you next Wednesday.

Chris