In nonprofit leadership, clarity is not a luxury. It is what helps us distinguish urgency from importance, make better decisions, and direct limited resources toward the people and communities we are here to serve.
Vision gives that clarity a destination. Alignment turns it into movement.
When boards and executives share an honest understanding of where the organization is, where it needs to go, and what the moment requires, they can move beyond managing today’s pressures. Together, they can take the bold, innovative steps that help a mission grow, thrive, and create greater impact—even in difficult times.
But alignment becomes difficult when familiar limitations begin to feel like facts and the status quo begins to look inevitable. Organizations—and people—can become so skilled at adapting to constraints that they stop asking whether they can change those constraints.
I learned that in a deeply personal and very literal way when I finally reconsidered a reality I had lived with for decades. For me, clarity and vision were about to take on an entirely new meaning.
Key takeaways
- Clarity begins with naming what is true.
- Vision asks what could be different.
- Alignment allows board and executive leaders to face the tradeoffs together and act with shared resolve.
- Getting unstuck requires a clear goal, an honest assessment of the cost of staying where you are, practical preparation, trusted expertise, and a willingness to act while still afraid.
When we live with a limitation long enough, we learn to work around it
I started wearing glasses when I was six years old. By then, my vision was so poor that I had the nearsightedness of someone ten times my age.
Life as a kid wearing glasses in the early ’80s was no picnic. My glasses were one more reason to be the class outcast. I had already skipped a grade and was the smallest kid in class. Now my “coke bottles,” as the other kids called them, ensured that I was the last one picked for any dodgeball team at recess.
Playing softball in them was especially difficult because the glare kept me from seeing fly balls. Running with glasses was a constant exercise in pushing them back up my nose with every other stride. I could not see when I swam or showered. I couldn’t see the clock next to my bed, or my reflection in the mirror unless I was an inch away.
At age ten, I began wearing hard contact lenses as a medical therapy to keep my eyesight from worsening. I wore them for more than 40 years.
For decades, I juggled glasses, contacts, and the everyday challenges of not seeing well. I carried on as though it were no problem because it was all I had ever known.
From an early age, I learned that when we encounter obstacles, we adapt. We compensate, find ways to use our limitations to our advantage, and build lives around them. Sometimes, however, adaptation can keep us from recognizing that we may be able to change the limitation itself.
When the workarounds stopped working
By my early forties, I needed multifocal contacts and glasses. My eyes were frequently irritated, and even with both tools, I could not see as clearly as I wanted. Simple parts of daily life became harder. Hiking or doing something active with my young child required more effort.
The workarounds I had relied on for decades were no longer enough. The limitation I had accepted was beginning to interfere with experiences I valued.
The fear that kept me stuck
One of my biggest fears has always been undergoing surgery while awake. Hearing, seeing, or feeling what is happening during a procedure has always been a dealbreaker if I could avoid it. From dental work to childbirth, it’s the part I’ve loathed most—and avoided whenever possible.
The thought of eye surgery while awake seemed like a double whammy: the fear of being conscious during surgery, combined with the possibility of losing my sight. It seemed too risky to consider, so no form of eye surgery was on the table. No, thank you.
The cost of staying stuck
As my vision became more difficult to manage, the situation began to feel absurd. I was spending approximately $3,000 a year and still could not see well. Driving at night was harder, my eyes were constantly irritated, and every new expense produced diminishing returns.
If nothing changed, I could spend another $60,000 to $100,000 over the next twenty years. What else could that money support? Retirement, my child’s education, or an around-the-world sabbatical someday?
That was when I began to get unstuck. I stopped treating surgery as an unthinkable risk and started treating my vision as a problem I could solve.
Then I scheduled the procedure.
Moving forward requires preparation
Making the decision was only the beginning.
Preparing for the procedure meant spending much of 2025 without contact lenses, learning about my options, and finding a phenomenal surgeon willing to operate on someone over 50 with my vision history. By the time I had surgery on the calendar for January 2026, I had done the research and taken the practical steps necessary to move forward.
There was a lesson in that, too: once I knew what I wanted, preparation turned the decision into a path forward.
As the day approached, I became nervous. I had committed, but commitment did not make the fear disappear. My doctor helped me manage the anxiety, and I arrived ready to follow through. In the end, it was nothing that deep resolve—and a little Xanax—could not get me through.
“I can see the clock on the wall”
During the procedure, air bubbles formed beneath my corneas, forcing a ten-minute pause before the surgeon could continue. Eventually, the surgeon finished both eyes and told me that a medical assistant would help me sit up.
That was when everything changed.
One assistant took my hands and helped me into a seated position. Another stood behind me.
As I began to stand, I said, “Oh my God.”
The person behind me asked whether I was going to faint.
The young man in front of me looked at my face and asked, “Can you see?”
“I can,” I told him. “I can see the clock on the wall.”
After decades of needing help to see even the clock beside my bed, I could already see one across the room.
Then I told him, “I don’t consider myself very religious, but this feels biblical, and I might cry. Is that okay?”
He reassured me that it was.
A moment I couldn’t have prepared for
Before I could say anything more, a wave of primal emotion came over me. I couldn’t have prepared for it. I was crying and laughing at the same time, overwhelmed by the simple joy of being able to see across the room.
Later, in recovery, I told the team, “I can see why you do what you do.”
Helping someone experience that kind of joy—and watching people leave happy every day—must be extraordinary.
What getting unstuck can teach nonprofit boards and executives
Sitting there—and in the weeks that followed—I felt the reward of moving through a fear that had held me in place for years. I had spent so much time accepting my condition and refining ways to compensate for it that I had never fully imagined what removing the limitation might make possible.
Organizations can become stuck in much the same way.
Boards and executive teams inherit programs, structures, funding models, and assumptions that may once have expanded services, supported clients, and built trusted reputations. Because those approaches once worked, leaders may defend them long after their effectiveness has declined—especially when they still help some people.
Over time, yesterday’s strengths can become today’s constraints:
- A program no one is willing to reconsider
- A funding model that no longer fits
- A governance practice that slows decisions
- Declining fundraising revenue
- Fear of change disguised as prudence
Because people are resourceful, we adapt. We build routines around the limitation, compensate for it, and keep the organization moving. That persistence can be admirable—but it can also make the constraint harder to see.
Clarity begins with naming what is true. Vision asks what could be different. Alignment allows board and executive leaders to face the tradeoffs together, agree on the future they are working toward, and act with shared resolve.
Five things it takes to get unstuck
For me, moving forward required five things:
- A clear goal
- An honest assessment of the cost of staying where I was
- Practical preparation
- Trusted expertise
- A willingness to act while I was still afraid
Organizations facing major change need the same things.
The goal is not boldness for its own sake. It is the courage to remove barriers that keep the mission from reaching its full potential—and to create wider possibilities for the people the organization exists to serve.
Seeing the next possibility together: questions for boards and executive teams
For boards and executive teams, getting unstuck rarely begins with a dramatic answer. It begins with enough trust to ask honest questions, enough discipline to examine the evidence, and enough shared vision to choose a direction together.
That work can begin with a few honest questions:
- What have we learned to work around that deserves a closer look?
- What is our current approach costing us in time, energy, or resources?
- Are we creating the greatest and most meaningful impact possible through the way we currently operate?
- What is holding us back or keeping us stuck?
- What preparation or support would help us move forward?
- What would become possible if we took that next step?
These questions are not invitations to change for change’s sake. They are a way to see the organization more honestly, surface assumptions that may no longer serve the mission, and build alignment around what comes next.
When the cost of staying stuck outweighs the risk of moving forward
My experience reminded me that clarity does more than reveal what is in front of us. It allows us to imagine what could be different—and to recognize when the cost of staying stuck has become greater than the risk of moving forward.
In January, that realization arrived in one unforgettable instant: I could see the clock on the wall.
For nonprofit leaders, the moment of clarity may be less dramatic, but the possibility is just as real. When boards and executives name what is true, align around a shared vision, and prepare to act together, they can stop building ever more elaborate workarounds. Instead, they can start making the decisions that strengthen the organization, expand its impact, and better serve its mission.
What might become possible if your board and executive team stopped working around the limitation—and finally looked directly at the clock on the wall?
Ready to bring greater clarity to your organization’s next steps? Raise the Bar Consulting helps leaders and teams work through strategic and operational planning with intention. Learn more at raisethebarllc.com.
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