The music was still echoing from the main stage at Unite 2025 when Julie (former CEO) leaned over and told me she was going to make the announcement.

I remember where I was standing. Slightly off to the side. Close enough to feel the energy of the room, far enough not to be the center of it.

“I’m going to announce you as CEO today.”

My first reaction wasn’t pride.

It was resistance.

Not because I didn’t believe I could do it. And not because I hadn’t dreamed of it. When I was 20 years old, I wrote down a goal: CEO before 30. I had structured my early life around that ambition.

And here it was.

But as the applause built and my name carried across the room, my stomach tightened.

We weren’t ready.

The title felt premature — not for me, but for the vision.

Because every promotion I’ve ever received, starting from when I was an intern, followed the same pattern. I either turned it down or negotiated it differently. Not for a bigger title. Not for visibility. But to redirect resources. Hire someone else. Strengthen the team. Build capacity instead of hierarchy.

Titles never motivated me.

Building did.

So when I stepped into the CEO role, it wasn’t triumph I felt.

It was responsibility.

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The Question That Changed Everything

Instead of immediately casting a grand vision, I started with a question:

What is a Real Leader?

Not what sounds good on a website.

Not what looks impressive in a press release.

But what does it actually mean — in practice — for the CEOs we serve?

If I’m a member, can I see myself in this vision?
If I’m a prospect, does this platform elevate me — or just feature me?
If I’m a customer, am I growing because of this ecosystem?

So I listened.

To founders. To operators. To speakers. To those quietly building movements without recognition.

And what they told me shifted everything.

They didn’t want to just attend events.

They wanted to speak on stages.

They didn’t want to join a network.

They wanted to build their own.

They didn’t want to consume content.

They wanted to create it.

And slowly, it became clear:

If we weren’t careful, we were unintentionally keeping them small.

We had built a respected stage. A strong community. Meaningful connections.

But it still centered us.

If leadership is truly about service, then the model had to evolve.

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From One Stage to Many

That realization changed our direction.

We are no longer building one central stage.

We are building multiple stages.

If our members want to grow their audience, we need to help them create a consistent communications plan to reach millions of leaders, not just our community. 

If they need the tools to track their progress, our SaaS contributor platform gives them one simplified system to host their best links, track analytics, and generate leads tied directly to their mission.

If they want to host events and grow their own communities, we partner, support, and amplify.

We are not trying to build one global unite event.

We are trying to unite the globe — one leader-driven event at a time.

Because progress does not scale through centralization.

It scales through multiplication.

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The Reckoning

Here’s what I know now that I didn’t understand at 20:

Leadership is not about becoming the leader.

It’s about creating other leaders.

It’s not about your stage.

It’s about how many stages exist because of you.

It’s not about your reputation.

It’s about the credibility you help others build.

Anyone can organize a team toward a goal.

But a Real Leader is someone who thinks beyond themselves.

Someone who asks, How do I empower others?

How do I build systems strong enough that others can lead without me at the center?

That’s what Julie did.

And when she announced me as CEO at Unite 2025, I felt the weight of that shift.

It’s me now.

And my job is not to be the loudest voice in the room.

My job is to build rooms where others find theirs.

If in five years Real Leaders becomes the ultimate stage for CEOs driving change, it won’t be because we perfected a flagship event.

It will be because thousands of leaders built their own movements — with stronger infrastructure, clearer media, better tools, and deeper confidence.

The measure of my leadership will not be how visible I am.

It will be how many leaders emerge because we built the systems to support them.

That is what Real Leadership is.

And that is the future we’re building.

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“Peter … you’ve become a pirate.”

I think about this scene from the 1991 movie Hook way more than I should. It’s when elderly Wendy meets a grown-up Peter Pan, who is suited up and very proud of his important work. Peter had become, by all definitions, a corporate plunderer. And Wendy is naming a truth he can’t see about himself. 

Wendy’s statement captures something important about leadership: what we do eventually tells the truth about what we value, whether we intend it to or not. Which brings me to my (perhaps unpopular) belief: 

A firm’s succession plan says more about its values than any mission statement, business plan, or award ever could.

Values can be easy to write. Succession plans are often harder to fake.

As leaders, we can say we’re people-first. That we’re long-term oriented. Or that we care about stewardship and culture, sustainable business practices, and meaningful change, not just profits.

But eventually, every leader has to answer one important question: Who should benefit from what I’ve built when I’m no longer in charge?

That answer, quietly embedded in contracts and deal terms, is your real values statement.

The Allure of a Big Exit

I had my own Peter Pan moment.

As the CEO of Abacus Wealth Partners, a California-based B Corp, I had a responsibility to explore all options on the table. When the opportunity came to learn about selling a minority stake in Abacus, I took the meetings. 

Consultants promised big numbers — numbers that would let me fully retire at the age of 39. The pitch was polished. The projections were compelling.

So, I started asking questions.

I asked about the upside and downside. I dug into who actually benefited from these deals. And the more I probed, the more the answer became uncomfortably clear: the people who won were the largest owners on their way out.

I kept thinking: Who is left holding the bag after all these deals go through? How does this serve our clients? And just as important, how does this serve our team?

We at Abacus have spent 20 years building a company that models the type of world we’d like to live in, one that demonstrates it’s possible to prosper financially while also living a more fulfilling and purposeful life. If we sold a stake in our company, we couldn’t guarantee new owners would uphold those same values.

Could I honestly sit across from the people I’d spent all these years building trust with, those who I fought to protect during hard times, and tell them this was better for them? Better for our clients? Better for the business we’d built together?

I felt it in the pit of my stomach. We’d spent years at Abacus doubling down on our B Corp roots, on being purpose-driven, on building something that mattered beyond profit.

That’s when Wendy’s line hit me. Accepting a deal like that would turn me into a pirate.

Why Private Equity Often Signals a Succession Planning Failure

Whether your company is in financial services, manufacturing, retail, or something else, you’re likely also grappling with the idea of what’s next. Thinking about who will step up to lead when you’re gone. Or wondering who will carry the torch and remain dedicated to the same values that have led your company to where it is today.

For purpose-driven businesses, your exit plan matters even more. And if your exit plan involves selling to private equity, that’s a succession planning failure.

I don’t say that to be provocative. Private equity is very clear about what it optimizes for: time-bound returns, leverage, and exit. That’s not hidden. It is the model.

But in the world of purpose-driven models, the private equity model is the ultimate pirate ship. It pulls into your harbor not to invest in the local community or maintain the lighthouse, but to load the gold onto the deck and sail away with it. Maybe not immediately, but in the next five to seven years.

When a firm that claims to value people above all else hands control to capital whose job is to extract value on a fixed timeline, actions start speaking louder than words. Succession planning forces a choice most of us would rather blur: Is this firm something to be stewarded or something to be monetized?

The Difficult but Rewarding Path of Internal Succession

Internal succession can be harder. Employee ownership can be messier.

It doesn’t happen overnight. It takes patient, thoughtful education and internal communication. It can take a decade to do right. You’re working with people and emotions and money, and all of that gets complicated. People need to opt in, but they also need to understand what they’re opting into, and more importantly, what happens if they don’t.

You don’t get one big check. You don’t get a clean exit. The blueprint isn’t simple or clear.

Once again, you’re forced to answer uncomfortable questions. Do I actually trust the people who helped build this place? Am I willing to earn enough instead of maximizing? And do I believe in my firm’s values beyond my own tenure?

But the upside is so, so sweet.

You get something less flashy and far more revealing: alignment between what you say and what you do.

The founding generation of leaders at Abacus trusted me and the next generation with a vision of stewardship and shared prosperity. We crafted a succession plan by investing in people, not just extracting value.

That’s what it looks like to choose stewardship over plunder.

It’s Time to Take a Look in the Mirror 

A company’s succession plan is its values in action.

So, before you polish your next mission statement or redraft your core values, take a hard look at your succession plan.

Does it match who you say you are?

Or are you becoming a pirate?

Hook’s Peter Pan may have temporarily lost his way, but in the end he rediscovered who he truly was. And while he had sought big adventure, he finally realized that “to live … to live would be an awfully big adventure.”

It was the summer of 2020, and I was flying down the street on my Vespa 150cc, wind cutting through my T-shirt, flip-flops tapping the pedals, a small speed-racer helmet strapped to my head. I loved how powerful I felt riding that thing—unencumbered, fast, free.

As I passed a father and his two daughters playing in their front yard, one of the little girls pointed and said, “Look, Daddy! A girl on that motorcycle!” In that moment, I felt like a superhero. Like maybe I was showing them what was possible.

Minutes later, everything stopped.

The Vespa wiped out. My body slammed into the pavement. My tibia fractured—a sixth-degree tibia plateau break that would change far more than my mobility. The pain was unbearable, but I didn’t cry. I made jokes. I waited. I couldn’t stand. All I could do was lie there on the concrete, in shock, waiting for the ambulance.

I thought the Vespa would give me freedom. Instead, it confined me to a wheelchair for six months, followed by another eighteen months on crutches. Nearly five days a week, I was in physical therapy learning how to walk again.

And in that wheelchair, I learned something I never expected.

I wasn’t being seen.

People were polite. Kind, even. But they didn’t look at me. They looked over me. Around me. As if I were furniture—present, but invisible. For someone who had always prided herself on being capable, independent, and self-sufficient—the builder, the provider, the one who made things happen—this was devastating.

One moment still lingers. I was sitting outside a restaurant, staring at the front door, unable to open it. I had to wait until someone noticed me. I was humiliated. I hated asking for help.

One of my closest friends used to call me Supergirl because I had a knit beanie with “SG” stitched on it. I can still hear her voice saying, “You don’t have to be a superhero every day.”

At the time, I didn’t believe her.

That realization came later, in the quiet.

When I realized there was no one left to ask but God.

I was the main provider for my family, lying in bed with my leg elevated, answering emails between pain medication and moments of fear—not because I lacked time off, but because I didn’t trust the world to keep spinning without me. Control had always been my safety net. Letting go felt like losing everything.

But over time—nearly two years, in fact—something softened.

I began asking different questions.


What if this wasn’t just chaos?


What if there was meaning here?


What if this wasn’t the end—but a beginning?

That’s when I remembered something David Reiling, CEO of Sunrise Banks and a leader I deeply admire, once taught me: adopt an abundant mindset. Not scarcity. Ask, “What can I learn right now?” instead of “What am I losing?”

And that’s when I made a decision.

If I was going to build again, it would be different not from force or fear, but from trust, listening, and abundance. That decision became Morris Hoeft Group.

We build communities around brands by connecting head and heart. We create trust through human-centered design, Theory U practices, and deep listening. Our work is grounded in truly seeing people—because I know what it feels like to disappear in plain sight.

This isn’t just branding. It’s meaning-making. Brands grow when trust is present. And trust is built through repeated positive experiences—through being seen.

But this reckoning didn’t start with the Vespa.

When I was sixteen, my dad—a WWII veteran—asked what I wanted for high school graduation. “A SAAB? A new car?” he offered.

I chose college tuition.

He looked at me, confused. “Why would you pick that? You’re just going to get married and have babies.”

That moment stayed with me. I knew I wanted more. I didn’t want to be boxed into a role I hadn’t chosen. I wanted to learn, lead, and build.

And I did.

Throughout my career, I’ve mentored young people—formally and informally, through leadership programs, one-on-one conversations, and quiet coffees when someone needed guidance. I co-created a leadership initiative at Bethel University. I launched a podcast, Is That Cashmere?, to share the lessons I wish I’d known sooner.

I tell these stories because leadership isn’t linear. It’s fractured. It breaks. And sometimes, it heals stronger in the broken places.

My Vespa crash didn’t end my freedom. It redefined it.

To every leader reading this: there is strength in surrender. There is purpose in your pause. And there is power in being truly seen.

When I first met the women who would change my life, I was 19 on a gap year from university. They were mothers, daughters, entrepreneurs — women who made the most of every opportunity to support their families.

 

What began as a field project grew into a global social enterprise, partnering with more than 2,000 artisans across East Africa and Latin America. Together we leveraged their artistic heritage to create beaded bracelets that would eventually make their way to North America. Over time we produced more than six million bracelets, sold in stores like Nordstrom, Bloomingdale’s, Walgreens, and World Market. 

The most exciting part was the sales because they fueled transformation. When a woman earns her own income, everything changes. In development circles we often say that for every dollar a woman earns, 90 cents go back into her family and community. Investing in women isn’t just the right thing to do — it’s smart economics. Our entire project aimed to empower women to use their earnings to invest in microbusinesses or their children’s education.

Then came the pandemic. People weren’t panic-buying beaded bracelets, and the artisans we worked with were mandated to stay home. The project had achieved its goals, but this was a hard stop. Like many others, I was forced to pause and ask myself: What now? What next? 

In my next act, I wanted to be part of people’s daily habits — something that was a “need,” not a “want.” I wanted to build something that could scale quickly and create lasting impact. While a few people may argue this point, I know the first thing I think about every morning is my first cup of coffee — and I am not alone in that.

Coffee is one of the world’s most traded commodities, yet there are many women coffee farmers whose stories behind the bean remain untold. I saw an opportunity to bring the same model of empowerment and purpose to a new category, to bring more purpose and connection to something people do every day: drink coffee. This was the seed of &BACK COFFEE. 

It was always important to me to source our coffee responsibly from women coffee farmers, ensuring that every step of the journey, from bean to cup and back, creates value for those who grow it, those who drink it, and the planet we share.   

Our business model is intentionally B2B. We partner with companies seeking to infuse purpose into their everyday choices — helping them meet sustainability and employee engagement goals through something as simple and universal as serving coffee. Each cup tells a story of resilience, regeneration, and women whose work fuels more than caffeine — it fuels change.

After 25 years of building socially conscious ventures, I’ve learned that responsible commerce at scale can create profound, measurable, and lasting impact. It is possible to build businesses that deliver profit and purpose, and to do so in a way that uplifts rather than extracts. 

At &BACK, our model is “bean to cup and back,” a closed-loop, regenerative circle of impact. It’s about returning value to where it began, ensuring every business decision reflects not just profit, but people’s futures — because when impact is built into the way we do business, everyone rises.

Fabric scraps find new life as functional, aesthetic building material.

It started with a bold idea: Turn textile waste into renewable building material. French architect Clarisse Merlet realized his dream by founding FabBRICK in 2018. Today it continues to combine aesthetics, durability, and environmental consciousness while growing on an international level, proving that innovation and sustainability can go hand-in-hand. 

FabBRICK makes eco-friendly bricks from 80% recycled textiles and 20% ecological binders. This unique blend avoids the need for firing or harmful chemicals, resulting in a strong, insulating, and sustainable material. The recycled textile wall-cladding bricks are used for acoustic absorption, thermal insulation, and non-flammable lining and come in a variety of colors and patterns.

“The biggest challenge we’ve overcome at FabBRICK was turning an innovative idea into a sustainable, scalable business,” CEO Merlet shares with Real Leaders. “Our focus has always been on proving that sustainable materials can be both functional and desirable.”

The company also dabbles in customizing creations for furniture and decor. At its core, the functional and artistic innovator champions the circular economy. By collecting textiles from clients in France, FabBRICK ensures traceability and reduces waste. This strategy keeps materials out of landfills while addressing the construction industry’s ecological footprint.

FabBRICK’s milestones include securing patents, establishing a production line, investing in industrial equipment, opening a workshop, and earning the business of major brands like Google, L’Oreal, and Levi’s. The company entered the global stage with its international debut at Mexico Design Week in 2023 and its first U.S. sale in 2024. It continues to fundraise to further scale production.

As for Merlet’s advice to other impact-driven companies? “Stay resilient and adapt through failure,” Merlet says. “Focus on solving real problems, stay committed to your mission, and build a team that shares your vision.” 

It was after midnight on the ramp — one C-17 in front of me, two C-130s idling nearby. We were receiving the remains of a fallen soldier while prepping for another mission before sunrise. The engines never stopped humming, and the mission clocks kept ticking, but for a moment, everything stood still. I remember the silence, the reverence, and the absolute clarity that something sacred had to be honored — and then, something important still had to be done.

In moments like that, there’s no time to compartmentalize. I deeply felt the weight of loss, but I also carried the responsibility to lead the next mission. That night galvanized my approach to leadership and eventually shaped my purpose: helping business owners leave a lasting legacy for themselves, their families, and the companies they built and led.

In the military we’re trained to lead through extremes — life, death, volatility, and uncertainty. But what surprised me most wasn’t the action; it was what leadership often demanded internally — the ability to let go of ego. I stopped thinking about myself and focused entirely on those around me — the families, the teams, and the mission. I learned to lead with empathy to help others stay resilient and focused on the outcomes that matter most. The unexpected part was when I made it about others, not myself, I actually became stronger. That shift left me more grounded, more resilient, and far better prepared for whatever comes next. Leadership isn’t about proving something; it’s about carrying something forward, especially when the stakes are high.

In that sense a successful mission wasn’t just about what I accomplished; it was about what remained after I stepped away. That principle never left me. I carried it from my military service into my own life and transition, and now I find deep purpose in helping others prepare for theirs, particularly the moment after the sale of their business.

Today I help entrepreneurs navigate one of the most defining moments of their careers: selling their business. At first glance the stakes seem different. No lives are on the line. There’s no enemy contact. But the emotional complexity, the identity shift, the weight of knowing that your next move defines your legacy — that part isn’t unfamiliar.

What many founders don’t expect is just how hard it is to let go. They’ve built a thriving enterprise from an idea, but it’s not just a company; it’s years of hard work, personal sacrifice, building relationships, and caring for all those who rely on you. Then one day it’s time to walk away from it all. To some that might sound like a retreat, retirement, an ending — but to me, it sounds like something else: mission complete.

The clarity I had back on that tarmac is the same clarity I try to bring to founders when they approach their exit. This isn’t just a financial transaction. It’s a transformational and emotional journey that few are prepared for, and if we do it right, it won’t feel like walking away. It will feel like the moment you know: You led well.

Employee-focused initiatives unlock value for a company.

Imagine over 20% of your manufacturing workforce were formerly incarcerated or had struggled with homelessness, you grow consistently year over year, and your goodwill adds to the value of your intellectual property — your brand. If you knew that this would work, would you still take the risk? Frontier Co-op’s inspiring journey shows how alternative hiring practices and other employee-focused initiativescan unlock value for a company.

Frontier Co-op is a cooperatively owned wholesale company based in Iowa that has grown to 50,000 member-owners since its founding in 1976. The co-op sells sustainably sourced herbs, spices, seasonings, aromatherapy, and other botanical products under its Frontier Co-op, Simply Organic, and Aura Cacia family of brands. Cooperatives operate similarly to other businesses as for-profit entities, where member-owners earn dividends from profits, have bylaws, and are governed by a board of directors. However, co-ops are unique in that they are owned and controlled by members who directly participate in the business. This cooperative structure has driven Frontier Co-op’s success by fostering responsible business practices, allowing it to reinvest in its sourcing partners, support causes globally, and break down employment barriers.

In 2018 Frontier Co-op formally established its Breaking Down Barriers to Employment initiative to address systemic barriers to employee success and economic mobility; it provides important support services including second-chance hiring practices, access to subsidized childcare options, transportation, and apprenticeship and skills training programs to ensure employees are successful not only within its co-op, but also in the wider community. “We have to look for our own solutions to these problems,” CEO Tony Bedard tells Real Leaders. “It’s not somebody else’s problem to solve.” 

Frontier Co-op partnered with the U.S. Agency for International Development in 2018 to empower smallholder farmers to bring ready-to-eat spices and teas into U.S. markets. As Bedard puts it, “The difference is that it works, that you can tie a straight line tangible benefit to the work that you do along with the intangible.” At the heart of this philosophy is the belief that real impact comes from action, not just words. He emphasizes, “The difference between what people say and what we say is that we actually do it, and we can show you that straight line.”

This sentiment aligns with Frontier Co-op’s approach to business growth. For example, it developed a strong internal talent pipeline. “I want to bring people in,” he notes. “I want them to see a career. I want them to end up being the plant manager … the CEO of the future.” In addition to breaking down barriers to employment with second-chance hiring practices, Frontier offers subsidized onsite childcare. This vision is underpinned by a focus on community locally and globally where it has dug wells, opened schools, and contributed over $1 million annually to causes around the world. 

Bedard believes effective leadership involves cultivating an environment where people are empowered to thrive. “A real leader is a person who breaks down the obstacles so that other people who workin the company can be successful,” he says. It’s this combination of action, vision, and empowerment that drives sustainable growth and meaningful change.

LISTEN UP

Hear our full conversation with Frontier Co-op’s Tony Bedard on Episode 488 of the Real Leaders Podcast.

When I joined BL Companies as CFO in 1999, no one expected I would become CEO. I was hired as CFO for a fairly well-established architecture and engineering firm. I came from the telecommunications industry with degrees in economics and business. In a field where technical credentials traditionally define leadership, I assumed I’d spend my career managing finances, not leading the company.

When I arrived the company appeared successful, but beneath the surface rapid expansion had outpaced internal systems. Financial reporting was inconsistent, decisions were made in silos, and accountability was weak. I spent my first months building structure by introducing financial controls, regular leadership meetings, and clear accountability. Progress was slow but steady.

Then in 2005 our founder and CEO announced his intent to retire. While his chosen successor had strong technical credentials, he had limited leadership experience. The remaining partners, including me, bought out his shares and believed the crisis was behind us.

It wasn’t. The founder accelerated his exit, leaving us months to complete the purchase or risk being sold. We had already been exploring an employee stock ownership plan to reward all employees — a structure that aligned with our values — so I led the effort to become employee owned in just three months.

Employee ownership gave us stability, but new challenges followed. When the Great Recession hit, another new CEO struggled to act decisively and ultimately resigned. The board appointed an interim three-person team — two technical leaders and me — to steady the firm, but as the impacts of the financial crisis grew, it became clear that crisis leadership required singular accountability.

I coordinated communications, developed our recession strategy, and with a heavy heart led a 17% workforce reduction that prevented a $1-million loss. The next day we met with all employees to outline our recovery plan.

By year’s end the board asked me to serve as CEO. I accepted and we finished that year with a $250,000 profit, which we shared with our employee-owners as bonuses.

Crisis taught me that effective leadership transcends technical expertise. Success comes from collaboration, clear communication, and the ability to make tough decisions. I learned that financial discipline and operational rigor are as vital to firm health as design and engineering excellence.

The architecture and engineering industry often assumes that great leaders must also be licensed professionals. My experience proves otherwise. Strong leadership grounded in empathy, transparency, and shared purpose can emerge from any background. What matters most is not what you studied but how you lead when it counts.