Impact the World. Carrie Rich
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from her family, in exchange, her parents were able to spend time with their grandson uninterrupted. While she was absent from her organization, she was able to give her support team—and especially her chief operating officer—the experience of leading an expansive and growing nonprofit. While she was out of contact with her supporters and allies, donors were able to connect with other people on her team in new ways. Her husband—who had been supportive of her decision from the beginning—engaged in new ways on the home front in her absence.
Dean was likewise facing his own constellation of challenges. He had a three‐year‐old child at home with his wife, and so he required the same kind of family support. He had a very busy day job as a partner at a global law firm, which meant a huge transition for him and for his legal practice. There were financial considerations for a month‐long absence. And yet, in conversations with his wife, it was always clear that the question was how to take advantage of this opportunity, not whether to pursue it.
In Dean's view, the interaction between the United States and China was shaping up to be the most critical geopolitical relationship on the planet. The Eisenhower Fellowship offered the chance to be at the center of it all, and to take a step back from legal transactions in order to focus on a broader understanding of how the world worked. For Dean, it was a long‐term consideration: 20 years later, were his kids going to be prouder if he experienced this fellowship, or if he had a few more dollars in his pocket? What experience would define him and evolve his thinking about the world around him? While he had done a fair amount of legal work in China, the ability to spend a month meeting with leaders from across government and throughout the nonprofit and business sectors presented a chance for personal and professional enrichment that would otherwise have been impossible.
At the end of the day, for both of us, the decision primarily came down to three considerations. First, the opportunity offered long‐term benefits that outweighed the short‐term sacrifices. Second, the decision felt positive in the moment; that is, while we understood the drawbacks, it still made us feel excited to engage in an experience that would expand our horizons. Third, the decision to participate was supported by our convictions, and our belief in citizen statespersonship as an engine of progress.
Some people might have a difficult time understanding why any parent would choose to leave an infant child at home for a month in order to traverse the planet, meet other people, engage in conversations, and learn—and the truth is, it wasn't easy. But we both believed that being a citizen statesperson was the most meaningful way to create systemic, long‐term positive change. We believed that it was important to our children's long‐term future, and the future of their global community, for us to be able to make the greatest possible positive impact on the world around them. And we were committed to fulfilling our own roles as changemakers—not only when it was easy, but especially when it was hard.
Of course, being a citizen statesperson doesn't only mean investing your time. It also means understanding the value of financial investments in your professional development. That shouldn't involve harming your financial security or putting yourself in dire straits, but it may require making reasonable, consistent investments in your own training and opportunities to grow as a citizen statesperson. Over time, for example, if you are able to put aside $100 per month, you can save $1,200 every year—meaning that every other year, you can go to a major conference that makes a dramatic difference in who you are able to meet and the platforms you can experience. Think of it as a venture capital (VC) fund for your personal development.
Like any VC fund, your investment of time and money can spur others to invest as well. True story: at age 22, Carrie wondered aloud to her mentor, Larry Warren, who was then the CEO of Howard University Hospital, why more health systems didn't engage young people to serve on their boards. Three years later, Carrie participated in a women's governance training program to help women prepare for board placement. The program was expensive, so Carrie put as much of her own money toward the program as she could before asking for help by fundraising the rest of the fees. By showing that she was eager to dedicate her time and money for the training, others (shout out to C.E. Andrews) became willing to invest in her too. The lesson was that she shouldn't expect anyone to invest in her if she didn't invest in herself first.
But it wasn't just her financial investment that paid dividends. Carrie also spent a great deal of time emailing and arranging conversations with many people she aspired to learn from. Quite a few responded to her emails and were willing to answer her questions, which helped Carrie prepare for life as a citizen statesperson by uncovering important insights early. Twelve years later, one of the people Carrie asked her questions to—her old mentor, Larry Warren—reached out to ask if Carrie would be interested in serving on a health system board.
Carrie hadn't just idly wondered about the viability of youth participation on health system boards; she had spent years working on the issue, positioning herself to be a sought‐out resource in helping to diversify boards and routinely introducing board candidates through The Global Good Fund network—the organization Carrie leads. That investment of time and energy paid off—and presented her with an opportunity to serve on the Trinity Health board, a $20 billion organization where Carrie serves today.
That story points to another important lesson: it’s important to make known what you want to learn and achieve. Your networks will crystalize opportunities once they know your interests. In fact, that's how this book came to be in the first place: being vocal about our interests is what led us to learn about the Eisenhower fellowship, how we discovered a remarkable opportunity to participate—and how we met each other and began writing this book together three years later.
Time is a finite resource, so there will always be trade‐offs and costs to taking action. If you feel a sense of conviction and you're excited about the opportunity, don't let naysayers or obstacles stop you from achieving your goals.
A Unique Value Proposition
Let's take a moment to understand what sets citizen statespeople apart from other individuals interested in change. We don't see ourselves as protesters. We're not angry fanatics. Citizen statespeople stand in contrast to more strident voices and forces like populism and radicalism because we don't just want to protest an unjust or unacceptable status quo; we want to find and achieve an effective solution. That's not to say that protesters can't become citizen statespeople. Sometimes warriors become diplomats, and nonviolent protest movements play an important role in raising society's awareness of important issues, priming the larger community for change. But to find a solution—when society is ready to change—it's time for a citizen statesperson to step into the breach.
Being a citizen statesperson means you are willing to engage outside of your own bubble by going to communities where you are uncomfortable, by meeting people where they are, and by engaging with views that might run completely counter to your own perspectives. In that sense, being a citizen statesperson is perhaps an antidote to the echo‐chambers and self‐segregation that we see in our public and private lives. Effective politicians often need to work across the aisle to move legislation over the finish line. In public leadership and social entrepreneurship alike, the way to drive impact is by bringing together stakeholders that are, to some degree, at odds with one another. Being a citizen statesperson, like all good diplomacy, is about understanding other peoples' perspectives, needs, and the pressures they face. This bridge‐building capability is what gives a citizen statesperson the power to make a greater impact than a typical protester, activist, or government representative. It's the ability to bring people together around a set of common values and shared objectives.
You may think to yourself: What if I don't have that kind of insight? What if I don't have that kind of empathy? What if I don't always see the broader implications of policies and ideas, and how they affect others?
Here's the thing: few people are actually born with all these skills, and an instinct for empathy alone doesn't translate into effective citizen statespersonship. Instead, these are muscles one can develop and exercise, and attributes one can hone over time. By attuning oneself to a variety of roles and ways of thinking, one can learn to see the connections between people, proposals, and policy implications, develop