The Next Right Thing
In 2020, as the world convulsed in the grip of a pandemic, I—like so many others—found myself unmoored. After fifteen years at Sundance, the Theatre Program was dissolved, and I was laid off. One day, I was part of something vast and luminous, orbiting the bright yellow sun of an institution that had shaped my professional identity. The next, I was floating in the void, untethered, forced to reckon with a question I had long been able to avoid: Who am I without this?
During my years at Sundance, I had the immense privilege of supporting a generation of artists by creating residencies and championing their projects within their own contexts, across continents and cultures. I witnessed firsthand the transformative power of space—how the simple act of providing time and sanctuary could unlock creative breakthroughs, deepen artistic inquiry and forge unexpected collaborations.
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In Berlin, I saw artists grapple with the weight of migration while imagining bold futures.
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In Marrakech, I marveled at how storytelling traditions intertwined with contemporary narratives to create something entirely new.
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In Utah, against the stark beauty of the mountains, playwrights and theatremakers found solace and clarity, reshaping the landscape of American theatre.
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On Governors Island, the ferry ride across the harbor became a threshold, a passage that offered artists a rare moment of stillness—a brief but necessary escape from the relentless pressures of urban life, allowing them to engage with their work in a space apart.
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At White Oak, in the quiet of the Florida wetlands, ensembles pushed their physical limits and new musicals came to life.
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At Ucross, surrounded by the cast Wyoming plains, writers found the stillness to hear their own voices more clearly.
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In Banff, where the air itself seemed charged with creative energy, musicians and other artists shaped works that would go on to inspire audiences around the globe.
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On Manda, an island off the coast of Kenya, I saw artists connect across geographies, their creative impulses carried by the rhythms of the tide.
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In Addis Ababa, I was reminded that innovation flourishes in unexpected places, as directors carved our new spaces for expression despite systemic challenges.
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In Kampala, I saw the resilience of theatremakers who used their craft to speak truth to power.
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In Beirut, amidst the complexities of a city that has endured so much, I bore witness to artists whose work was both an act of defiance and a love letter to their people.
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In Cairo, where the past and future exist in an uneasy dance, I saw how art could serve as a bridge between generations.
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And in Los Angeles–where the industry often dictates the rules of engagement – I was privileged to support artists who were rewriting those rules altogether, creating work on their own terms and shifting the very foundation of what was possible.
Each of these places, each of these artists, reinforced for me what I have always known to be true: creativity thrives when it is nurtured, when it is given space, when it is met with curiosity and care. To have played even a small role in making that possible—by designating resources, designing residencies, advocating for artists to have what they need to do their best work—is something I will always carry with me. It was never about the institution. It was about the people, the stories, the moments of revelation. It was about creating conditions where artists could not only survive but flourish. And in turn, their work—urgent, necessary, luminous—continues to shape the world we live in.
And then, everything changed. The world shifted beneath our feet, and the structures that once felt immovable crumbled almost overnight.
The discombobulation of that moment was profound. Theatres shuttered. Stages emptied. The industry I had devoted my life to was suddenly in freefall, and I, along with it. But even as I grieved the loss of what had been, I knew I had to redefine my worth—not by proximity to power, nor by the prestige of an institution’s name on my email signature, but by something deeper, something inherently mine. My values. My vision. My ability to create and lead, regardless of external validation.
As I tell others navigating upheaval, sometimes all we can do is take one step, and then another. In Frozen 2, the song The Next Right Thing captures this sentiment beautifully. On the surface, my affinity for an animated Disney movie may seem odd, but the lyrics are deeply profound, centering and directional. In the aftermath of Sundance, I had to take my own advice. I had to take a step. And then another. And then another. I had to trust that somewhere down the road, the path would reveal itself.
“Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing
I won’t look too far ahead
It’s too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath
This next step
This next choice is one that I can make
So I’ll walk through this night
Stumbling blindly toward the light
And do the next right thing
And with the dawn, what comes then
When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again?
Then I’ll make the choice
To hear that voice
And do the next right thing”
This journey of searching for the next right thing, the next opportunity, the next chapter, has led me through many conversations, interviews and experiences. Over the past five years, I’ve interviewed over one hundred times for leadership roles in the arts and culture sector. And, I’ve been a finalist a quarter of those times. Each interview followed a predictable script: questions about budgeting, fundraising, managing teams and organizing time. Can I balance a budget? (Yes.) Can I raise money? (Yes.) Can I manage people, structure an organization, make tough decisions? (Yes, yes, and yes.)
Not once did anyone ask: Who are you? What do you believe? What drives you? Not once has anyone asked what I believe about the world, what drives me, or how I live out my values. Not once has a hiring process acknowledged that leadership is not just about executing tasks—it’s about alignment, integrity and the ability to inspire others toward a shared vision.
You would think that might matter.
It's not just the endless applications and rehearsed responses. It’s the emotional responsibility of envisioning myself completely in a role before even applying—crafting a meaningful cover letter that isn’t just a formality but a real act of imagination. It’s the ramping up of my emotional reservoir to prepare for yet another interview process, the bandwidth required to embrace new ecosystems, new communities, new organizational cultures. It’s the exhaustion of seeing each possibility as a reinvention of my future, only to have it dissolve at the finish line. The nicks and bruises on my confidence. The whispering doubt that maybe, at 51, I should have more to show for a lifetime in this field.
Yet even in this unmooring, I have built, collaborated and created alongside extraordinary people. With the Guild of Future Architects, I have imagined new possibilities. With Videos for Change, I have amplified young voices. With Cinereach, Ettijahat-Independent Culture, HB Studio, the Guthrie Theater, and my board work with Zoukak in Beirut, I have found deep, meaningful collaborations that reaffirm why I chose this path in the first place. And with The Enclave, I have experienced the rare and profound joy of building something new from the ground up. Drawing on everything I learned at Sundance—the power of space, the necessity of unstructured time, the alchemy that happens when brilliant minds are given room to breathe—I have crafted a residency model that redefines what creative sanctuary can be. It is a project rooted in both pragmatism and possibility, an experiment in generosity and trust, and a reminder that even in the face of upheaval, we can still create something meaningful, something needed, something now. Each experience has been a step, and then another, toward something I am still in the process of discovering.
In shaping The Enclave, and in each of these collaborations, I have come to understand that leadership is not about maintaining what exists, but about daring to imagine what could be. At its core, leadership is about more than just meeting external demands or checking off competency boxes. Leadership is about vision—about seeing a path where others might see obstacles, about charting a course with deep conviction, and about bringing others along in the journey. But organizations, especially in the nonprofit and cultural sectors, too often approach leadership recruitment like assembling a machine rather than seeking someone who can lead them into an uncertain future.
So, we ask ourselves: What if we, as hiring bodies and leaders, moved beyond these mechanical processes? What if, instead of focusing only on whether a candidate can balance a budget, we took the time to explore why that financial decision was made, and how it aligned with deeper values? What if, instead of grilling a candidate about the largest dollar amount they’ve fundraised, we got curious about their relationship with donors and the philosophy that underpins their approach? And what if, instead of assessing someone’s ability to “manage people,” we asked them about the values that shape their leadership style and the organizational cultures they create?
Imagine a hiring process rooted not in checkbox compliance but in real engagement. What if we redefined the hiring interview as an invitation to truly get to know someone—not just through a resume or a LinkedIn profile, but through authentic, deep, human interaction? What if, instead of being asked to give yet another performance in front of a panel, candidates were taken to dinner, to a walk in the park, to a place where conversation could unfold naturally, revealing the truths of who we are as leaders, as people? Leadership is about relationships. Hiring should be, too. And now, in a post-pandemic world, it’s high time we did away with Zoom interviews whenever possible. Yes, virtual meetings can serve a purpose for out-of-state candidates, but when hiring for leadership roles in the same city, why default to a screen? There is something irreplaceable about in-person interaction—the energy exchanged, the nuances of body language, the way a conversation can shift and deepen when we’re truly present with one another. If leadership is about trust, about vision, about the intangible qualities that make someone the right fit, then we should be meeting face-to-face. Let’s embrace that again.
The currency of values, then, is what we bring into those relationships—the lived experiences, the deep commitments, the capacity for connection that cannot be measured in spreadsheets or bullet points. It is the way we lead with empathy, humility and vision. It’s about choosing to act from a place of alignment with our truest selves, not just performing to meet external expectations.
If you want a leader, hire like it. Assume competence. Assume experience. And then do the harder, more important work: get to know me. Understand what I bring beyond a resume. Recognize that my wealth of lived experience is currency, and that it is your job to earn it. The next right thing—the next right step in leadership—is about being willing to ask these questions and listen with empathy, vision and integrity.
And now, just as we begin to rebuild, a different kind of erasure is underway. The deliberate dismantling of DEI initiatives and arts funding isn’t just about shifting policies—it’s a stark reflection of the values being modeled by those in power. Leadership, as they define it, is loud, self-serving, and rooted in dominance rather than dialogue. It hoards attention rather than distributing it, mistaking force for strength and spectacle for substance. But I believe a different kind of leadership is emerging—one that is collective, generous and deeply attuned to the needs of others. A leadership that doesn’t cling to the stage but instead makes room for many voices. In the arts, in our communities, in the spaces where true change is incubated, we are seeing a rejection of the lone figure at the podium in favor of something more expansive, more humane. The question is not whether this model will take hold—it already is. The question is whether we will recognize its power before it’s too late.
Leadership is not a formula; it is an ongoing practice of trust, alignment and vision. When we redefine the currency of values and commit to truly understanding what drives our leaders, we begin to see a shift—a shift toward organizations that thrive not just because of the decisions they make, but because of the people they choose to lead them.
