The snowy trees outside looked magical, but I don’t do fir trees very well, so I wasn’t trying to capture them. I just let the paint do what it does, and finally, it happened.

I was tempted to put a mountain behind it, but I knew that would ruin it. So I stopped myself from overworking and set the page aside by the window.

It’s year-end.

Others are posting their numbers and setting ambitious goals for 2026. And here I am, painting trees.

For most of my life, I believed my worth was measured by my output. That rest had to be earned, and stopping before it was perfect meant I had failed. So making art that serves no productive purpose feels counter-intuitive. But, that's the point.

Not working is also a form of work.

My executive coaching clients are busy leaders who are sometimes too slammed to sleep.

Many come in wanting strategies to do more in less time, when what they really need is permission to pause. Permission to get quiet enough to hear what they actually need, instead of filling every moment with motion.

My friend, the artist Kate Mundie, in “When is a Painting Finished?” gives this advice:

If a painting fills you with frustration, if even looking at it makes you queasy, turn it to face the wall and give it time. You may come back to it later and see something worth pursuing in a new painting.

Kate’s describing percolation: stepping back so your brain can work in the background. An active form of processing that happens only when we stop actively processing.

Before you can see what actually matters, or what you actually need, you need time to percolate on it.

The best ideas and solutions come from those quiet spaces.

The year is ending beginning.

You’re probably feeling pressure to have it all figured out—new goals, fresh starts, ambitious plans.

Resist that urge.

Instead, give yourself permission to define where you actually are right now. Not where you should be. Where you are. Think about what this next season might require of you, and what you might need to let go of so you can make space for what really matters.

Don’t add mountains, don’t overwork it.

Percolate.

Set the page aside by the window. When you come back to it, you’ll see what it needs.

My father-in-law, Jim, died yesterday. When his first son was born back in 1972, I imagine he felt that exact same mix of terror and thrill - and that same fierce desire to make sure his child knew he was loved.

Jim spent his life acting on that desire.

Jim’s childhood was not filled with warm hugs or emotional security. His father James Sr. had been set to inherit the family business, but a brother’s tragic death, Prohibition, his father’s passing, and the Great Depression left the family destitute. All that trauma and loss shaped James Sr. profoundly.

When baby Jim arrived in 1943—a miracle baby to older parents after many miscarriages—he entered a household still carrying the weight of years of hardship. From the few stories Jim shared, I gathered his childhood was marked by fear, shame, and chronic financial worry.

It must have been a lonely house for an only child.

But in spite of his childhood (or maybe because of it) Jim was an unusually engaged and loving dad.

He married his high school sweetheart, Bernadette, and went all in on fatherhood. Making lunches, helping with homework, teaching his sons different languages (he could speak four!), coaching their teams, and just being there.

When I first met Jim 28 years ago, he was most worried about David, the artist of the family, who was taking a gap year before college.

Of course, David found his way when ready - following his artistic instincts through college, recording music, working odd jobs, creating art, and eventually co-founding an award-winning film production company. His company recently won an Emmy for the documentary Patrice: The Movie - this would have made Jim so proud.

Sadly. Alzheimer’s robbed Jim of one of parenthood’s greatest joys — watching the child he worried about most prove that his path had been exactly right.

But I like to think maybe Jim did know, in the ways that matter.

Each son found their own way to channel the work ethic, curiosity, and confidence Jim modeled. Whether through academics, civil or military service, or creative entrepreneurship, they all became men who show up for their families, pursuing excellence in their own distinct ways. And Jim always made sure they knew how very proud he was of them.

What I’ll remember most fondly is Jim’s presence - especially how he interacted with his grandchildren, bringing a childlike joy to each moment.

This kind of engaged fathering (and grandfathering) doesn’t guarantee specific outcomes, but it provides something more valuable: the deep knowledge that you are seen, supported, and worth fighting for.

For parents wondering if they’re doing enough, Jim’s family legacy offers a simple but profound answer, based on two essential questions:

1. Did you show up — intentionally and with love?

2. Did you create that unshakeable knowledge in your children (and/or grandchildren) that you loved them, believed in them, and equipped them to become whoever they were meant to be?

In Memory

James Aloysius “Jim” Dunn (aka “Pop”)
August 31, 1943 - September 24, 2025

Jim leaves behind his beloved wife of five decades, Bernadette, his three sons Michael (Karin), Bryan (Meredith) and David (Robin), seven grandchildren (Maggie, Charlotte, Gavin, Julian, Beatrice, Juniper and Hannah), and countless friends and students whose lives he touched through decades of community involvement and teaching as a Professor of Political Science at Rutgers University, Camden. In big and little ways, Jim showed us all what it means to “show up.” We will miss you Pop.

The sun was beating down. I was breathless and had to take it slow.

The trail was beautiful but steep, rocky and hard. I stopped worrying about how far ahead everyone else was and focused on the path right in front of me. One careful step after another, just trying not to lose my footing.

Eventually, I made it to the destination. I was the last to arrive, but I didn’t care.

The reward was this beautiful high mountain lake.

On the way back down the trail, my legs were tired and I was getting hungry. With a recent knee injury, and multiple boulder fields to cross, I knew I couldn’t afford to rush.

Ultramarathon runners flew past me, and a deeply critical internal voice started whispering, “You’re going too slow.”

But the wiser part of me knew that there was no good shortcut to the bottom — and that my hiking pole was providing good support, and I was pacing myself, and would get there eventually.

I kept going, slowly, carefully - and as other fast hikers scuttled past me. My family was far ahead.

But I stayed focused, making my own pace.

Getting down safely (and without injury) was my primary goal.

One foot in front of the other…

My slow, steady pace got me thinking about a friend who is trying to quit alcohol.

People often report that the road to sobriety feels similarly slow, lonely, steep and uncomfortable. You set a goal, but it mainly becomes about placing one foot in front of the other…until the minutes, hours, days, and weeks begin to add up.

As I walked on, I realized that this metaphor could apply to so many other things too - like starting a business, or writing a book. Those can feel lonely, hard and unpredictable too.

You can see the summit, but the trail to get there is often steep and scattered with boulders. Some days, you're energized and making progress. Other days, it feels like everyone else is racing ahead while you're still figuring out where to place your next step.

It's all the same principle.

You don't have to know exactly how it will all unfold - you just have to keep moving forward with intention.

Step by step, trusting your pace, trusting the process.

Moving forward doesn't always look impressive.

Progress is often slow, quiet, and deliberate.

Success might mean being the last one to arrive, being willing to adapt, or just accepting that you need to take more breaks than you'd planned.

Whether you're navigating a trail, a recovery, a business, or some other goal, the approach is the same.

You take one step, then another.

That's basically the whole thing.

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Thanks for reading. I am a family business leader and executive coach, writing about the messy intersection of leadership, ADHD, family, business, parenthood and more…and I am figuring it out as I go. If this resonated, hit follow, give me a like, comment, repost, or just swing by next month for more.

He sat with the adults, watching other kids on the water trampoline and rope swing. A few times, he'd walk to the dock's edge, look into the water, then quickly return to his chair. I could tell he wanted to join them, but something was blocking him.

By day two, avoiding the water wasn't helping - whatever was happening inside him was growing stronger.

After another day of tension and self-imposed suffering by the water’s edge, I brought him back to the cabin. I took out my paints and sat with him. Then gently, I started asking him to describe what was happening.

• How did his body feel near the lake? "Jittery. Nervous."

• His stomach? "Sick, with knots."

• His mind? "I'm having really bad thoughts."

He was visibly distressed.

I handed him a pencil and said, “If this were a cartoon, what would we see that shows what the main character is feeling when he’s thinking about jumping into the lake?”

I told him I wanted to understand it better, and that a picture might help.

He drew for a few minutes, then showed me. He explained that the part of the lake he couldn’t see was what scared him most.

We used paints to bring the scene to life.

I told him I’d had similar fears, and talked about how emotions can offer useful information and warnings, but that it's also important to look at the evidence before choosing what to do.

I explained that his jittery feeling wasn’t something wrong with him, just his body saying, “Pay attention. Something feels uncertain here.” And that the bravest people learn to use a combination of physical signals, emotional cues, and facts to make wise decisions.

And, then we talked facts: In 100 years, there had been no monster, fish, or gator attacks at Indian Lake. In all our years coming, he said, he'd never felt a fish brush his legs. Then he added one more piece of evidence: “all the fish we’ve seen here are actually small and might actually be scared of the swimmers”.

By the end of our painting session, something had shifted. The fear wasn’t gone, but the monster now had shape, color, and a story. It wasn’t nameless dread anymore, it was something he could see and understand.

And about an hour later, he said, “I want to try again,”.

He put on a wetsuit, grabbed a towel, walked back to the lake, and in he went. I took this photo to memorialize his moment of bravery.

I think about that painting- whenever people talk about anxiety.

Anxiety is that monster under the surface we can’t quite see. It drives our worst fears, makes our hearts race, and causes us to act in ways that feel completely out of character. And avoidance only keeps it alive.

So the real question isn’t how to make anxiety go away, but how to sit with it long enough to understand what it’s trying to tell us.

Here are three ways to meet anxiety with curiosity:

1. Name it: What does your body feel? Where? What thoughts are coming up? Tell someone, or write them down.

2. Draw it: What would this look like if we could see it? Give your fear shape, color, and a story.

3. Check the facts: What’s actually true here? What evidence supports—or contradicts—these worried thoughts?

That day by the lake, my son learned that anxiety doesn’t disappear through force, but it softens when we listen. When we can accept it, name it, and give it form, we get to choose how to respond… instead of letting it choose for us.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this post, consider following, liking, sharing—or subscribing — or just come back around next month for the next post. I write about the flex and flow of life, leadership, work, family, ADHD… and everything in between.

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I am back to tell you what happened.

We were down to two options—neither perfect.

• The front-runner, was the giant state school I privately called the lion’s den for its lack of ADHD friendly structure.

• The other was a smaller, closer, private university with generous ADHD resources and, a scholarship.

I knew what I wanted for her, and my daughter knew what she wanted for herself — but our “musts” weren’t quite the same.

I knew the college choice had to be hers in the end, but what I’d learned about one school, and what I feared about the other, was eating away at me.

We agreed not to talk about it for a few days, even though the clock was ticking.

Then, just like on House Hunters, a surprise third option showed up…
right on time.

Not the one we researched to death.
Not the one that looked perfect on paper.
But one that felt right, to her.

And when she said it out loud, it clicked (for both of us).

It’s still a large school, but it’s closer to home. The campus is beautiful, the cost more manageable, and it offers stronger support for undeclared students with ADHD, which puts our minds at ease.

It’s not what we pictured at the start, but it’s the perfect next step!

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Thanks for reading. This one was close to the heart!

My late-life ADHD diagnosis didn’t just name something invisible — it unlocked a whole history lesson about why and how I had struggled with school and tasks that seemed so simple for others.

And, as a full-time working wife, mother, and business leader, the diagnosis was also a kind of liberation. It gave me permission to live more fully on my own terms.

It also brought some surprising emotions.

• Grief—for the time I lost trying to fit into systems that weren’t built for me, for the years I spent thinking I was just disorganized, flaky, or lazy.

• Regret—over how much easier things might have been if I’d known earlier.

• Joy—in finally having answers, and being able to say, “This isn’t a character flaw. This is ADHD.” My life improved once I understood that.

The diagnosis also helped me see how many of my so-called “quirks” were actually smart, resourceful workarounds in a world not built for brains like mine.

ADHD is an inheritance no one asks for.

It’s genetic—one of my parents has it, I have it, and my children have it too.

My oldest has really struggled to accept this reality, and who can blame her? ADHD is confusing, inconsistent, and often invisible. No one wants to have it.

Unlike me, she finds no empowerment in claiming ADHD as part of her identity. No joy, no comfort in the idea that her brain simply works differently.

She doesn’t want to be different. I can understand that.

But this spring, when she (someone who wants nothing to do with having ADHD) seemed to be diving headfirst into a college decision that looked, to me, like an ADHD person’s worst nightmare —

I didn’t just feel confused…

I felt terror.

As my daughter narrowed down her college list, the school she called her “top choice” felt like a lion’s den: a massive state university, far from home, short on disability resources and packed with the kind of bureaucratic hurdles that make students with ADHD struggle needlessly.

At a school like that, you're a dot in a sea of 20,000+.

Getting support for ADHD isn’t seamless or simple.

And graduating in four years? That can feel like a full-time hustle.

I wanted to save her from all that.

From the burnout, self-doubt, and the slow erosion of confidence that happens when your best never seems to be enough.

I guess because I’d lived it. I did the big state school thing too. The football games were fun, but the rest of it wrecked me.

But this wasn’t about me.

This was her life, her decision.

The other top choice was a smaller liberal arts college.

With the scholarship they offered, it was the debt-free option, which, to me, sounded pretty great.

It also came with a supportive first-year program for undecided students, personalized advising, smaller classes, and built-in systems to help students strengthen executive function and build confidence.

But that’s not where she saw herself.

So the school that best aligned with her actual needs—and her finances—was being turned down in favor of the “name brand” option. The one least likely to support her transition, academic success, or long-term growth.

She didn’t see what I saw.

I sent myself a text message in the middle of one night, just to get it all out of my head and remind myself to stay steady:

I am so stressed about her selection process. I know some of this is my own college trauma talking. But I also know her challenges, and I know what it looks like when a system swallows you. I’m scared she’ll be swallowed.

That message came not just from the parent in me, but from the version of myself who had ADHD in college and didn’t know it. The one who remembers how quickly things can spiral when systems aren’t built for you. The one who still aches from that experience.

I needed to help us both pause and reflect.

So I wrote her a letter to gently ask her to consider who she is, not just where she wants to go.

People with ADHD don’t fail because they aren’t smart or capable. They fail because they fall through cracks that shouldn’t be there in the first place. So if this school is really your choice, let’s plan for the cracks—before they appear.

And I included questions like:

How will you manage in a place where professors might ignore your accommodations?

Do you tend to thrive in systems where no one checks in until you're already falling behind?

Where will you go—and who will you see—when (not if) you need support?

She didn’t appreciate the letter.

She stopped talking to me for a few days.

“Parenting Is Not for Wimps.”

That’s what my mother says - and she is absolutely right.

In my work, I talk a lot about elastic life and adaptive leadership—
being strong and flexible, learning to surf the waves of work and life that come your way.

This moment of motherhood was demanding exactly that of me.

I knew that I couldn’t force her to choose differently…And that I couldn’t make her want what I know she needs.

But I could tell the truth. I could share what I see.

And I could also prepare myself to support her, with compassion, if she went to the lion’s den school despite me, and it didn’t go the way she hoped.

It was elastic parenting.

• I was flexing between letting go and holding on.

• I was trying to accept that my past didn’t have to define her future.

• I was trusting that, despite my worst fears, she’d find her way.

And I Finally Decided to Say to Her:

I can’t predict the ending.
But I can trust that you’ll be okay.
And I’ll be here, no matter what.

❤️

by Karin McGrath Dunn for Elastic Life
Originally published in April 2025 as a reflection on a current situation.
Updated in May 2025 to look back on the experience and preserve it for future reference.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, please like, comment, or share with a friend to help it find its way to others.

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I’ve always been fascinated by how and where work gets done.

Over the years, I’ve seen how rigid workplace policies can fail both employees and employers.

And it doesn’t take an expert to recognize that many of today’s Return-to-Office (RTO) mandates (especially from the so-called “innovative” tech companies) aren’t really about results. They’re less about the work, and more about control - and justifying expensive office space.

But if you’ve led teams and experienced a thriving, high-trust work environment, you know the truth: mandates do not drive engagement. They don’t fix underperformance, and they certainly don’t improve retention.

Ironically, some of the same leaders insisting on five days of “RTO” are also the ones ducking out early for a round of golf (or many) - and then logging back in… from their phone, from home.

That’s hybrid work, by the way, whether they call it that or not.

And hybrid work isn’t a trend. It’s how humans have worked for generations.
Kodak sales reps, pharmaceutical reps, and traveling executives were doing “hybrid” long before the term went mainstream.

Hybrid is about working contextually, seasonally, efficiently, and humanely.

And the most strategic, future-ready leaders are designing intentional workplaces with hybrid as a founding principle. And they’re attracting and retaining top talent because of it.

All-or-Nothing Thinking Serves No One

Our culture (especially here in the U.S.) really loves a binary.

Office vs. Remote.
Democrat vs. Republican.
Work vs. Retire.
Black vs. White.

But the reality? Most people live and work in the middle - constantly shifting between various roles, identities, values, and ideas.

An all-or-nothing mindset doesn’t reflect how we actually function. And it’s failing us, not just in how we work, but also in how we imagine what comes next.

Hybrid reflects how humans actually operate.
We shift. We adapt. We move through seasons.

We don’t need rigid models, we need responsive ones. And nowhere is that more evident than in how we approach retirement.

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The Retirement Cliff

When I coach retirement-minded professionals, one theme always rises to the surface: a desire to downshift. They want to move at a different pace, and to find more freedom, space, joy, and meaning.

But many are planning to just… stop. Cold turkey.

Can a leader really go from calling the shots one day… to doing absolutely nothing the next?

And with people now living well into their 80s, 90s (even 100) it’s possible that retirement could last 30+ years.

Have you ever made a 30-year plan? Even with the best of intentions, it’s hard to know what that much time off the field will actually feel like.

Which brings me to the question I find myself asking:

Isn’t there a middle ground between all-in and all-out?

Of course there is.

That in-between space, between working nonstop and walking away completely, isn’t just theoretical. I’ve seen what it looks like, and how powerful it can be.

And so what if we approached retirement the way the most forward-thinking leaders are approaching work… not with rigid mandates, but with flexibility, intention, and room to evolve?

Retirement Pivots That Shaped My Thinking

I’ve taken mini-retirements1 throughout my career - most recently, a three-month sabbatical in 2022. That time away gave me clarity, some much-needed pandemic recovery, and ultimately, permission to step back from a big, intense job.

It also gave me a chance to test whether my successor was ready to lead the company, which she was.

Then there’s my dad.

He built the business I was running in 2022. In January 2015, he made a big, public statement about retiring and handed me the President title. He didn’t hover much after that, but he never fully retired, either.

He took some cruises. Traveled with my mom. But he also stayed involved in adjacent projects, and he is still working, at 79. His ongoing involvement used to frustrate me, until I realized something:

He wasn’t done contributing.
And there was real value in having his knowledge, focus, and wisdom around.

My mom stepped away from her leadership role just before turning 70. At first, she loved it: no more commute, no higher ed politics, no people to manage. But eventually, the glow faded.

She joined boards, tried volunteering. But the structure, purpose, and challenge she was used to at her Ivy League institution? That was hard to replicate.

Eventually, she went back to work, took on a few new coaching clients, wrote a book, and joined a dragon boat team. Because as she put it:

“Book clubs get boring if they’re all you have.”

She now wonders if she retired too soon, or too suddenly.
Honestly, I wonder too.

We often treat retirement the same way we used to treat work: as a binary, abrupt, and “all-or-nothing”.

But why should retirement have to happen all at once?

What if it could be flexible, phased, and evolving? Or better yet… hybrid?

Hybrid Retirement Could Look Like…

Reduced Hours, Same Value
Part-time or flex roles for seasoned professionals who still want to contribute, just not at a 60-hour pace. (If you love what you do and could still do it part-time… why wouldn’t you?)

Consulting or Advisory Work
Mentor younger leaders, provide strategic guidance, or take on occasional projects that others don’t have the bandwidth - or experience - for.

Project-Based Engagements
Short-term, high-impact roles that let retirees stay involved without long-term time commitments or traditional employment contracts.

Legacy Projects
Support succession planning, capture institutional knowledge. Leave a roadmap - not just an empty chair.

Mini-Retirement Bursts
Three months off. Nine months on. Six-month projects, six months living somewhere else. Travel, rest, recalibrate, explore—and return with fresh energy. Repeat as needed.

Seasonal Sabbaticals
Think in decades: 65–75 will look different than 75–85. Plan accordingly for evolving needs, interests, and capacity. Adapt as you go.

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A Growing Trend?

The desire to find “a more flexible approach” to retirement has been showing up more and more in my coaching practice and in the news.

I’m also starting to see it reflected in conversations with friends—and in articles like this one by Alicia Adamczyk2: “Boomers and Gen Xers are betting on a retirement ‘mega-trend’ that could transform the workforce—and when employees leave their jobs.”

With Baby Boomers retiring en masse, and Gen X not far behind, I think this conversation is just getting started.

People don’t want to disappear. They just want to contribute differently.
They don’t want to stop working (and maybe they can’t), but they do want to work less. They want more autonomy and flexibility…A middle path.

Sound familiar?

It’s the same shift we’ve seen in how we think about work itself.

If You’re Lucky Enough To Be Contemplating Retirement, Ask Yourself:

• What could a hybrid retirement look like, for me?

• What kind of role would allow me to contribute, without overcommitting?

• What kind of people and projects do I want in my life at 70? 80? 90? 100?

• Could I test my plan with a sabbatical or part-time arrangement?

• Is my dream of retirement about joy, or about escape?

• Who might value having my expertise for 2–3 days a week instead of 5?

It’s Also a Solution for Organizations

Retirement isn’t just personal - it’s organizational, too.

When a seasoned employee walks out with 30 years of knowledge and no transition plan? I’ve seen it firsthand, it creates a crisis.

Now imagine a phased handoff: time for mentorship, knowledge transfer, and relationship- building. Employees are prepared. Clients feel supported. Teams move forward with clarity.

Hybrid retirement models preserve wisdom, smooth leadership transitions, and strengthen culture. And they’re triple win solutions3 :

1. Good for the individual.

2. Good for the business.

3. Good for the customers & clients.

Don’t Exit → Redesign

Whether someone is stepping aside or stepping away, we all need more options between hustle culture and disappearing completely.

This is true when you’re a new parent navigating life with an infant, and just as true when your kids are grown and you're being called into a new role, one with fewer meetings and more moments that matter.

And retirement isn’t the end, it’s just another pivot. And, like any season, it unfolds in phases.

That’s why I encourage my clients to begin with the end in mind, and work backward from there. Take the opportunity to shape a version of retirement that’s flexible, meaningful, phased, and aligned with what matters most.

And if you think in a hybrid way, I bet you can do it.

Thinking about your next chapter? I’d love to help. Reach out here.

A woman shared how overnight she had become the default parent because her husband, a federal employee, was forced back to the office full-time. Gone was the flexibility that let them share the load. Now, she’s juggling drop-offs, sick days, school calls, activities, and home care tasks — alone.

She and her husband had spent years building a co-parenting partnership—talking about invisible labor, creating systems, having hard conversations.

One policy change erased it all overnight.

I’m also married to a federal employee.

He’s been an engaged co-parent not just because he wanted to be, but because flexible policies made it possible.

When our kids were little, he worked a compressed schedule, covering childcare 2–3 days a month while I worked—saving us money and, more importantly, strengthening his bond with our kids.

When the kids got sick, we took turns. One of us could work from home, making sure they were okay without falling behind at work.

His need for flexibility was never about slacking off. It was about adjusting his location and schedule to work smarter. It meant he could walk the dog on his lunch break instead of wasting an hour in traffic. It meant he could support his aging parents while remaining fully available to his team. It meant showing up for his family—without missing a beat at work.

And it’s not like he never went to the office. He’s a professional—he goes in, attends in-person meetings when needed, actively manages his staff, and gets the job done. Like millions of other responsible adults, he doesn’t need to be micromanaged.

But he valued flexibility—and he needed it— to help us balance and share the load as two working parents with caregiving responsibilities for both our kids and aging parents.

Now — that flexibility is gone.

And with it, his ability to show up for our family—and for me—so I can do my job too.

And here’s what’s maddening: We proved flexibility works. So why are we even still having this conversation?

I ask myself:

❌ Do these leaders really not see what their workforce needs?
❌ Are they so privileged that they don’t realize how work actually gets done?
❌ Why are organizations so ready and willing to let talented people burn out or quit rather than intentionally creating smarter solutions?

Or—let’s be blunt—is this just a slow-burn strategy to shrink the workforce?

“Make work unbearable so people quit.”

Elon Musk has admitted as much.1

Since when did we stop valuing fairness? What happened to the Golden Rule—treating others the way we’d want to be treated?

And seriously—what the heck are we even doing?

No, really—what the heck are we doing?

We’re talking about the people who keep our country running—the ones responsible for critical government functions like the FAA and the TSA. These agencies aren’t just bureaucratic offices; they are essential to security, safety, infrastructure, and public well-being.

These aren’t overpaid bureaucrats. They’re public servants. They care about safety, efficiency, and doing their jobs right.

Yet instead of investing in them, we’re demoralizing, politicizing, and defunding—then blaming them when things collapse.

Punitive measures aren’t the answer. As a leader, I know remote work isn’t always easy to manage—it requires intention, trust, accountability, and a commitment to helping people succeed.

I also know that when work isn’t a constant battle, people bring their best.

So when companies and agencies impose rigid policies instead of trusting their workforce, I have to ask—who does this really serve?

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Workplace flexibility isn’t new—it’s just smart business.

Not everyone can work from home—but many can. Smart leaders have known this for decades.

My grandparents started a real estate office out of their home in the 1950s. The kids helped out. They built a thriving business—without sitting in a downtown office for eight hours a day.

Did they need to do everything in person? Of course not. Was the phone good enough? Many times, yes.

Workplace flexibility isn’t new, it’s smart business2 and a catalyst for innovation.3

And When Families Lose Flexibility, We All Lose.

🚨 Parents burn out and drop out.
🚨 Partners miss out on meaningful caregiving.
🚨 Businesses lose talent, innovation, and loyalty.
🚨Companies drive away their best people.

And for what? To satisfy leaders clinging to outdated control?

Good leaders understand that a thriving workforce requires a thriving home life. The two are not separate.

This is an ‘everybody’ issue.

Organizations like ThirdPath Institute get this. For twenty-five years, they’ve been helping leaders navigate work-life integration challenges with research-backed strategies that prove what should already be obvious:

✅ Flexibility isn’t a perk—it’s smart business.
✅ Outcomes matter more than hours in an office.
✅ When caregivers can fully participate, families thrive.
✅ Hold people accountable for results, not rigid schedules.

Learn more about ThirdPath here or, donate to help advance their work.

At the end of the day, this isn’t about politics, it’s about common sense.

We can build something better— so why don’t we try?

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P.S. I’ll be speaking at ThirdPath’s 2025 Virtual Parents Forum (Feb 21, 26, & 28) This event offers practical tools and strategies to help parents reclaim control of work, family, and personal well-being. Join me! 📅 Learn more here.

For most, the day after a birthday is a chance for quiet reflection. But for me, it’s like a double dose of expectations: birthday and New Year’s combined.

The world seems to collectively shout, “What’s next, Karin? How will you remake yourself? How will you make this year count?”

But of course life doesn’t magically change just because the calendar flips.

New Year, New Season

This year brings a new season of milestones and transitions.

My daughter is preparing to graduate high school and begin her college journey, while my son transitions from middle school to high school. My husband and I are balancing these changes alongside the responsibilities of supporting aging parents and managing our own careers. It’s a lot, and honestly, trying to control every detail just isn’t realistic, or healthy.

That’s why I’m going to be taking a different approach this year, inspired by something I’ve always loved watching: surfers.

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The Surfer’s Mindset

Surfers don’t expect to ride every wave perfectly or avoid wipeouts. They prepare for what they can—waxing their boards, suiting up for the cold—but they know the ocean is unpredictable.

The magic isn’t in controlling the waves; it’s in showing up, paddling out, adjusting to the conditions, and riding what comes.

Life, like the ocean, will always bring new waves - some will lift you up, others will knock you flat.

The key to reducing your own suffering isn’t striving for perfection; it’s learning to adapt, to paddle out anyway, and to stay focused on what truly matters.

Or as Bruce Lee once said, “Be water, my friend.”

So this year, I’m letting go of the need for perfect goals or rigid plans, and embracing a go with the flow mindset instead.

Small Waves, Big Progress

Another lesson from surfing is that progress doesn’t have to be dramatic.

Surfers aim to improve a little at a time: 1% better with each wave. They don’t fight the ocean; they vibe with it, making the most of what each wave offers.

So that’s how I’m approaching my goal setting this year: not with big, sweeping gestures, but with small, steady shifts that will allow me to go with the flow:

• Walk 1% more this week.

• Add 1% more laughter to our family dinners.

• Reach out to 1% more connections this year.

• Leave 1% more margin in my daily schedule for unexpected opportunities.

The "1% more" approach emphasizes progress over perfection, creating space for flexibility and momentum.

It’s also a way to avoid that crazy pressure around changing everything with a New Year’s resolution.

This year, I’m shifting my focus away from perfection and toward presence.

I want to show up, adapt, and find joy in the ride.

How About You?

What big waves are rolling into your life this year?

• Are you making space for what’s coming, or trying to squeeze more things into an already full life?

• Can you carve out even a little space on your calendar for something unexpected?

• Can you embrace the "1% more" mindset instead of striving for 100% improved?

• Who can you lean on to help you navigate the big swells and find your balance?

• How can you insert a little more “go with the flow” into your life?

Remember, resolutions are a choice, not a requirement.

Even 1% is progress.

Catch you later! Surf’s up!

Can’t get this song from The Backyardigans out of my head.

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Elastic Life is a bunch of sporadic dispatches about life and work—sprinkled with reflections on leadership, caregiving, ADHD, adulthood, motherhood, and more. It’s a hybrid of the personal and professional, meant to inspire connections and care.

Karin McGrath Dunn
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And when it’s your turn to step in—whether you’re working alongside a parent or preparing to take over—that constant presence creates tension. You want to play a pivotal role, but you also need boundaries. Navigating that balance can feel like walking a tightrope.

I was not raised to take over

My dad started his company when I was five, growing it into an award-winning property management business. It wasn’t something he intended to turn into a “family business”—he was just trying to earn a living.

My brother and I were always around, though—helping out on projects, answering phones, and absorbing the culture. But we weren’t groomed to take the reins.

So, when I finally joined the family business, I brought with me a decade of professional experience from outside its walls. I came in with my own expectations, goals, and ideas. But those didn’t always land smoothly in an environment shaped by deeply rooted traditions.

Resistance to change was inevitable. There were clashes between how I worked and how my dad worked. But those early tensions taught me valuable lessons in listening, patience, and aligning new ideas with the shared values of the organization.

Proving my worth—to employees, to clients, and even to my own family—was an uphill battle. My DNA may have opened the door, but staying in the room took grit, strategy, and resilience.

The turning point came when my dad and I stepped outside the office—literally. We started meeting with a therapist to work through some of the tough issues that were bubbling up at work.

Those sessions helped us find alignment, and soon life inside the office began to shift for the better.

No one talks about this in Harvard Business Review, by the way—that you might end up going to therapy with your dad.

Two Families, One Leader

Just like no one talks about therapy, no one tells you how hard it is to balance the needs of your family inside the business with the needs of your family outside of it.

I was a mom, a wife, and a daughter, and some days it felt like I was running two businesses: the family business and the business of raising my own family.

The boundaries between work and home blurred constantly. Work trips doubled as family trips, and my kids—then toddlers—spent more time on job sites with me than they did at home.

Trying to meet the needs of both my family of origin and the family I was building often felt impossible. The guilt of not being fully present for either weighed heavily on me.

The therapist had helped my dad and me find common ground, but I knew I also needed support of my own. Working with an executive coach was the turning point.

With her guidance, I learned to set firmer boundaries and more intentionally separate my work from my home life.

By focusing on what mattered most in each space, I could show up more fully—as a stronger leader in the business and a more present, engaged parent at home.

Pushing for Change While Honoring the Past

With the personal groundwork in place, I turned my attention to leading the business—and the weight of those expectations felt heavier than ever.

As a next-generation leader, I worked to balance innovation with tradition.

I introduced policies to support working parents, upgraded technology, and improved wages, benefits, and training.

Progress was slow, and every decision felt scrutinized. At times, the weight of expectations felt overwhelming.

I made mistakes along the way, but moments of validation kept me moving forward—a positive employee survey, a client’s satisfaction, or an encouraging word from my dad reminded me of the purpose behind my efforts.

Leadership, I learned, is about progress, not perfection.

Support: Essential but Elusive

After working with both a therapist and an executive coach, I came to understand just how much support truly mattered. As I worked to implement company level changes, I knew I couldn’t navigate these things alone.

This time, I didn’t need therapy, coaching, or advice—I needed peers. Joining an industry working group gave me clarity and connection, offering fresh perspectives on the challenges I faced.

But I also needed space—space to reflect, process, and navigate the complexities of succession, legacy, and the messy dynamics of working with family.

Eventually, I created a “circle of trust” with a small network of peers—many of whom understood the unique pressures of leading in a family-run organization. Together, we built a space to be real, honest, and supportive, helping one another tackle the challenges that only we truly understood.

When you’re navigating struggles—especially those intertwined with both family and work—knowing you’re not alone can make all the difference.

Five Strategies for Thriving in a Family Business

Navigating leadership in a family business takes both intention and strategy. If you find yourself in this role, here are five key approaches I recommend.

1. Hire a Facilitator: Engage a neutral professional, like a therapist or facilitator, to lead tricky family business discussions. This ensures weighty conversations can remain constructive and relationships are preserved.

2. Build Community, Outside the Bubble: Seek opportunities to engage with peers, mentors, and industry professionals beyond the family business. Build a ‘circle of trust’ of your own. Fresh perspectives can challenge assumptions, inspire innovation, and broaden your leadership skills.

3. Invest in Your Own Development: Invest in learning through formal courses, certifications, coaching or workshops to enhance your skills and stay updated with industry trends. Continuous education builds credibility and ensures you can bring valuable expertise (of your own) to the table.

4. Clarify Roles and Set Boundaries: Clearly define responsibilities and decision-making authority (and honor it) to avoid unnecessary conflict or confusion. Establish “no business talk” zones at family events to protect personal relationships and maintain a healthy work-life situation.

5. Prioritize your Home Life: Prioritize undivided time with your spouse and children to ensure work and family business doesn’t dominate every aspect of life. Create routines that foster connection, like family outings where work and work talk is off-limits. These moments help you to decompress, but also remind your spouse and kids they are your first priority, even during busy seasons.

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In 2025, I’ll be launching a series of monthly discussions designed specifically for family business leaders and successors. If you know someone looking for support, please share this opportunity with them.

Perfect If You...

• Are part of a family business preparing for leadership transition, succession, or sale.

• Want to strengthen your confidence and leadership skills within the family business setting.

• Need support balancing family dynamics with your career goals.

• Are looking for a like-minded community to share experiences, challenges, and solutions.

• Are trying to honor your family’s legacy while building your own unique leadership style.

• Want to align your goals and skills with the evolution of your family business.

What You'll Walk Away With...

• Practical Solutions: Tackle family business challenges with confidence.

• Build connection: Connect with peers navigating similar journeys.

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• Cost: $100/member/month

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Thanks for Reading!
I am a career and leadership coach specializing in helping creative and neurodivergent professionals navigate transitions with clarity and confidence. As a successor and former President of PRD Management, I bring firsthand experience of the unique challenges—and rewards—of stepping into the next-generation leader role in a family business. Looking for support? Reach out at karin@resourceful-leaders.com.

Many of my clients are ambitious, Type A executives balancing career and family growth. Recently, one client, overwhelmed at home and work, shared that she was so exhausted she’d fall into bed without brushing her teeth.

I introduced a cell phone battery metaphor and got curious:

• 🪫What was draining her battery?

• 🔋How charged up was she starting each day?

As we explored the topic, she admitted she was beginning each day at a mere “10-20%” — drained before the day even began. She’d been waiting to recharge only once she hit rock bottom. And the list of draining tasks was very long.

Recognizing this, we set a new goal: to reach at least “50% charged” daily, which promised to improve her energy, effectiveness, and happiness.

Afterward, I sketched this colorful battery visual to capture our insights. I hoped it would deepen her awareness, but I also made it as a reminder to myself that energy is a finite resource — and managing it requires mindful choices.

As an ADHD working mom of two ADHD kids, I really struggle to make time for rest. And when I was rising in the ranks, leading a company full time, I ignored all the warning signs and worked long hours, sacrificing my well-being and time with my family.

My colleagues could see that running on fumes left me more irritable and impatient—but I couldn’t. I was just grinding-grinding-grinding instead of pausing to refuel my drained battery. It was a recipe for disaster.

So the battery metaphor also reminds me that prioritizing rest and managing my energy isn’t just helpful; it’s essential, and it takes effort.

Sometimes, recharging means doing a lot less, not a lot more.

Now, when I feel overwhelmed, I use a “Do it / Delegate it / Defer it / Dump it” grid to help me prioritize and let go of what doesn’t matter. Instead of piling on, I give myself more grace, more rest, and more time for what truly matters.

I hope my client is finding her way to this path too.

What if you managed your energy as intentionally as your phone battery?

Just imagine the difference a fuller battery could make—in both work and home life.

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Thanks for reading and supporting my free creative writing project!

You can find a shorter version of this post on my LinkedIn page.

To get in touch, you can email me or visit www.resourceful-leaders.com.

The Disconnected Digital Maze

As a business owner, I’ve seen firsthand the impact of inconsistent, disorganized digital systems: when employees get confused or can’t find key information or lack a shared set of priorities, chaos ensues.

As a parent, I’m watching my high school senior struggle every night to find assignments, track what’s due, and confirm what’s been turned in. High school students like her navigate a wide array of platforms—Canvas, Google Classroom, Genesis, IXL, and more.

And teachers post assignments in different ways, times, and places, which forces parents like me to step in to help track missing work. In one of my daughter’s classes, the teacher uses:

• Canvas LMS: For course structure, assignments, and announcements

• Gmail: For 1:1 communication with students

• Genesis: For grades and missing work

• Google Docs: For assignment submissions

• Third-party apps: For specific tasks or subjects

Other teachers use entirely different platforms and methods, like verbal reminders, paper handouts, and additional apps, creating cognitive challenges for students who rely on consistency and structure. For neurodivergent students, this daily “treasure hunt” leads to cognitive fatigue and overwhelming stress.

The educators I speak with seem unaware of how disjointed these systems are and the effect they have on students' ability to learn effectively. Even more concerning, many don’t believe there’s anything they can do to improve it.

This is the future of work if we let it continue.

The tech-related disorganization and overwhelm in school systems doesn’t just affect students—it carries over into the workplace.

For example, many new employees are struggling with basic organizational skills, like managing emails, naming files, using a shared calendar and tracking tasks. This means that business owners must invest more time and resources in remedial training for employees — for basic organizational skills that should have been taught in school.

And if we don’t address these issues early, we’re setting up the next generation for even more stress and inefficiency.

Cognitively Inclusive Standards Can Help

Around 1 in 14 children and 1 in 16 adults have ADHD (see the recent CDC research here), which means we really must prioritize systems that work for everyone. Acknowledging neurodiversity in all schools and workplaces means recognizing the need for simpler tools and more inclusive, accessible work practices.

By designing systems with everyone in mind, we can better support diverse needs and set people up for lasting success.

Cognitively inclusive practices, aligned with proven executive function strategies, would include standardized formats, consistent locations for accessing work, clear communication, and the use of shared calendars and task managers to help reduce task switching.

We Can Do Better, Working Together.

Our students—and our future workforce—deserve a better start.

By addressing the current “hot mess” of disorganized school tech with simple changes, consistent methods, and more cognitively inclusive design, we can significantly improve both education and workplace readiness.

And the good news? We don’t need a massive budget or a team of consultants to make it happen—just a shared commitment to ease the burden for everyone and the willingness to take that first step.

Five Simple Fixes For School Tech

School tech strategies that could benefit everyone (neurodivergent people too) by reducing confusion and promoting good organizational habits.

1. Shared Calendars: Please, Just Use Them!
   We get it, teachers are busy. But why aren’t we using the one tool that could end the chaos? If assignments were posted on the google classroom or canvas “shared calendar” students might actually know when all the things are due. Bonus: These integrate with Google Calendar, which they can see on their phones. No more 'Wait, when is the test?' moments at 10 pm.

2. Let the LMS Do The Task Management
   That to-do list feature in Canvas and google classroom that teachers ignore, is a student’s best friend. When teachers use it consistently, students can stop asking 'Did I turn that in?' every 5 minutes. It also can provide one rollup list of every assignment that is due, overdue and missing for the student. Using this feature would make things more visible to everyone.

3. Standardize Layouts & Locations
   We don’t need a new syllabus design for each class. Stick with a standard format, make them all the same, add key dates and important grading and contact details, and have every teacher pin the document to the course home page in the same spot, so we can find it again. This can help everyone’s brains work smarter, not harder.

4. Use A “One Source of Truth” System

   If kids need to check Canvas, Genesis, Gmail, Google Docs, and a handwritten note taped to the fridge, something has gone terribly wrong. You can help students to stop spending so much time hunting for the work, and more time doing the work, by eliminating all the systems, and just using one.
   (P.S. This goes for the parent tech, too: Sending me a link to the S’mores app from ParentSquare, then emailing a Signup Genius link, is too much task-switching and a giant waste of time.)

5. Teach the Tech, Already
   It’s great that we have all these cool apps and systems, but can someone teach my student how to use just one of them, really really well? Teachers, students, and parents all need a crash course in their Ed-Tech. Students need other basic digital training too - things like how to name a file, create a folder, and declutter their Google Drive at the end of each year. Let’s stop pretending students and teachers already know what to do, and really dig in to improve and build skills in this area.

Thanks for reading Elastic Life - work, life, leadership and ADHD.
I am a family business owner, leadership coach, mother of two neurodivergent teens, and a passionate advocate for work-life integration and neurodivergent-friendly policies. Feel free to connect on LinkedIn or visit my website Resourceful Leaders to find out more about my coaching practice.

#EdTech #DigitalLearning #WorkforceSkills #InclusiveEducation #Neurodiversity #ADHD #FutureOfWork #Cognitive Inclusion

[please note that this post was edited after publish date, for improved clarity, and an updated CDC attribution link]

Revealing My Diagnosis: A Necessity for Support

When I disclosed my late life ADHD diagnosis, at 41, it was largely for practical reasons. As the leader of our family business, I needed to explain my challenges so I could get better team support. 

The diagnosis didn’t change how I saw myself—I knew I was capable and intelligent. But it explained why I struggled with multi-step directions and why visuals were essential for my productivity.

What I didn’t expect was the negative way others viewed and treated me after revealing my diagnosis.

Misunderstood and Underestimated

I quickly realized that many people didn’t understand ADHD or how to work with someone who has it.

Some equated it with a lack of intelligence: When I asked for a written (instead of verbal) set of instructions, a colleague repeated the instructions louder and slower, as if I couldn’t hear them.

Small frustrations built up.

• When I asked for acronyms to be explained in meetings, one employee mockingly defined all of them, saving the one I asked about for last.

• Despite my repeated requests for labeled spreadsheet columns, they were always ‘forgotten.’

• And when I needed help with our file system, the office manager rolled her eyes and acted like I was lazy. (After she left the company, I found an outline of the whole system in her desk drawer).

But the most painful moment came when a former employee I’d fired for poor performance publicly accused me of being “off my meds” and mentally unstable.

These experiences sparked deep self-doubt and shame —something many people with ADHD struggle with.

Building a More Inclusive Workplace

Inspired by Gandhi’s words, “If you want to change the world, start with yourself,” I began to work on building the more inclusive and supportive work environment that I needed.

I hired a visual thinker to help implement project management software and we moved files to a Google Shared Drive. These changes made it easier for me to find information, delegate tasks, and work independently.

I introduced "no meeting days" to focus on deep work without interruptions. I signed up for virtual co-working sessions, to make sure I avoided procrastination, and had accountability for important deadlines.

I made countless other changes to reduce confusion and build on my areas of strength.

As I implemented each change, I noticed increased collaboration and improved workload sharing across the team.

During the pandemic, the systems I had put in place made the shift to remote work seamless.

Many of the “ADHD hacks” I developed for myself, became valuable tools for the whole company.

Clarity is Kindness

I no longer apologize for my ADHD, nor do I expect others to disclose their challenges.

Instead, I advocate for clarity and access to information. These are universal principles which improve performance, foster support, and allow for well-deserved time off.

Universal principles can work for everyone.

If you're ready to lead more inclusively, start by rethinking how you support the cognitive diversity on your team.

By fostering transparency, leveraging strengths, and promoting inclusivity, you just might create a work environment where everyone can thrive.

Tips For Cognitive Inclusion

• Make it Easy to Find: Ensure information is easily accessible. This builds trust and boosts productivity.

• Leverage Strengths: Recognize the unique strengths of neurodivergent individuals. Varied perspectives drive innovation and improvement.

• Promote Inclusivity: Implement systems that support diverse working styles and cognitive profiles. Doing so strengthens teams and fosters new talent development.

• Remove Barriers: Just as you wouldn’t ignore a request for a wheelchair ramp, don’t overlook accommodations for neurodivergent individuals. Be proactive in providing support and job aids so they don’t have to ask.

Books on Cognitive Inclusion:

• Reynolds, A., & Lewis, D. (2017). Teams Solve Problems Faster When They’re More Cognitively Diverse. Harvard Business Review. Read Here.

• Dunne, M. (2021). The Neurodiversity Edge: The Essential Guide to Embracing Autism, ADHD, Dyslexia, and Other Neurological Differences for Any Organization. Read Here.

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About the Author: Karin McGrath Dunn is former President and Chairperson of PRD Management, Inc., and founder of Resourceful Leaders, LLC. Karin is an ACC ICF Leadership Coach who works with creative entrepreneurs, neurodiverse leaders and innovative teams. Her work-life insights have been featured in The Wall Street Journal, SHRM Magazine, and ThirdPath Institute. This article was first published in September 2024.

It was August and we were at the beach with our two young kids who were sunburned and whiny, and avoiding the beach.

My husband and I had been half working, half vacationing, in that way you do when you don’t feel able to turn off from work.

Nothing felt fun, and we were all crabby — for so many reasons.

We already wanted “next summer” to be different. So we began to brainstorm about the pros and cons of changing the plan for next summer.

There were some things we could change, and other things we couldn’t:

• Late August was a good time because daycare was closed and work was slow.

• We didn't have to go to the beach next summer.

• We needed more fun reasons to unplug from work.

• A wishlist item was that we didn’t have to cook, shop or clean up food.

Later that night, I sat down and googled: "Lake, meals included, kid friendly, no wi-fi" and up came Timberlock, a rustic (no electricity, no kitchens, wi-fi or cell service) lakeside family camp in upstate NY.

They had one cabin left for the following August, so I booked it.
And exactly one year later, as we were driving away, our son said,

"That was the best vacation we’ve ever had."

And it really had been. We had finally found a place where we all could have fun, and we truly unplugged.

Here’s what made the new place work for us:

1. We Planned Together: Before booking, we talked about what we all wanted and needed from the trip.

2. It Matched Our Needs: The camp fit our idea of fun perfectly. Parents got to play and skip kitchen duties (they fed us!). Kids had the water trampoline, tech-free activities, and other kids to play with. Without Wi-Fi or cell service, we unplugged and really connected.

3. Less Stress, More Fun: The setup made life easy—no cooking, no decisions about when to eat (a bell rang to signal mealtime), no battles over screen time (no signal!), and no bedtime fights (it was dark, no electricity). We didn’t realize how much we needed this until we were there!

4. We Were Open to Trying Something New: We all went in with low expectations, which made it easier to have fun and enjoy the experience.

Going in with low expectations is key to having fun with your family.

Our kids were also pleasantly surprised to find other kids to play with and plenty of fun activities they could do on their own. The wood shop was a big hit too, adding an extra layer of excitement for them. Meanwhile, my husband and I finally got the rest we needed—no cooking, no stress.

It was a win-win. Case closed.

Where do you go to escape the grind of working and parenting?

You don’t have to head to a rustic camp like we did, but you do need to be intentional about creating those moments of fun and relaxation for yourself and your family.

What's your family's idea of “summer fun”?

think forward…

• What can you eliminate around the pressures of work or caregiving to truly slow down?

• How can you balance everyone's ideas of fun with more realistic expectations?

• What are you willing to compromise to make the summer feel great for everyone?

• What kinds of experiments could you try?

• What kinds of work norms could you begin to establish now, with your team, to make next summer better?

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