Hello Reader,
I put my book down this morning and exhaled a year's worth of hope.
A few days ago we marked the end of 2025 and the beginning of 2026, and today I sense what I always sense at this time of year.
A sense of reflection, a little bit of helplessness and fair bit of hope.
I would've been no more than ten years old when my mother first told me how they celebrated new year's eve with her parents — 1922 refugees from Constantinople (later renamed to Istanbul in 1930). I'd like to think that times were simpler back then, but as I read the news, I'm not sure much has changed.
My mother's parents and grandparents, eventually settling outside of the beautiful city of Thessaloniki, would sit with their children on the eve of the new year, and share stories about the people who crossed their paths over the last year, their joys and their hopes for the year ahead.
They would speak of the people in their community, the baker, their teachers, their friends, the people who helped in some way. They recalled the people who made them laugh and also, those that brought sadness into their lives. They would remember those that advocated for them when they needed it most, and even acknowledge those that remained silent. The little food they had would be shared as each story was told, and today I can only imagine the warmth and love that surrounded those moments of reflection. Moments of gathering and gratitude for the abundance of what they had with one another.
Moments designed with intent.
Moments of community and belonging.
I have not had the lived experience of a refugee, but my family certainly has; people in my family have had to flee war, forced displacement and fight against occupation. Some of them have walked the many miles to cross a border to safety, whilst others have worked tirelessly their whole lives to ensure their communities remain safe, healthy and well.
After all, isn't that all we can hope for?
To live, to lead, and to love within the many fractures of our world and to cultivate what philosopher and Buddhist teacher Joanna Macy calls a “fierce hope for the world." A hope not dependent on outcomes, but on our capacity to be present, to stretch, and to care more deeply than we once thought possible.
I looked down at my book. The 24th book I read in the last 12 months, and I recognise that I have this same hope. That one day I can truly say that today is better than it was back then, that the work I did today contributed to making it better than yesterday.
Looking back this year I am grateful for many things, yet hopeful for even more.
I remain grateful to have put my feet on the ground of my ancestral home in Athens, Greece, through September and early October, spending time with those I love most in the world. Connecting to my roots is an important part of who I am, and I ensure that my continual education of culture, creativity and the way the world works, finds its way into my work and my family, every single day.
I remain a grateful student, my children continual teachers of resilience, wonder, critical thinking and creativity.
This last year my team and I continued our work developing strategy with some of Australia’s leading institutions, conducting qualitative research and insights (listening), and bringing a level of cultural integrity to organisations that I continue to be proud of.
Over the last year I was invited to co-host Australia's largest design conference and aimed to do this in a way that ensured the almost 800 people in the auditorium and the thousands that streamed across the globe felt a sense of belonging and inclusion; and in some way were challenged by ideas that had them thinking deeply about the meaningful work they were here to do.
In the same breath my partners and I established our ownership of the global community of creative professionals, The Design Kids, and helped to develop it into a connected series of spaces, people and initiatives spanning 28 cities around the world. We’re driven to developing this initiative into one that represents inclusion for all levels of creative professionals around the world, irrespective of discipline, age, experience or location. We have a number of great plans this coming year.
As a Director of The Centre of Multicultural Youth (CMY), I was grateful to work alongside people who inspire me, teach me and blow me away for their ability to carry dignity, integrity and moral clarity in every part of their work. We navigated some of Australia’s deeply felt issues that intersect with multicultural young people, some more traumatic than others, and in the process, we learned about ourselves and the mountain of work needed to do to ensure young people from all walks of life are able to be themselves and thrive in Australia without compromise.
I too hold fierce hopes that our world will be a better one than it was in the past year. I remain hopeful that I can enable and empower the leadership capacity of a small but growing cohort of people in my March First project, and launch what I hope will be the most relevant Creative Leadership learning program we’ve seen in our industry. A learning program that demonstrates the power that resides in the intersection between good leadership and the power of creativity to listen deeply, make meaning and show up with enduring impact in our work.
However, my fiercest hope is that the world is kinder, more connected, less divisive and more communal.
My three children are emerging into this world (one is already an adult) and I worry for the lack of kindness that parades itself as opinion, thought leadership and in some domains a don’t-worry-about-it-just-live-your-life sense of individualism.
I also hope for a new kind of courageous creativity to emerge.
One that wakes people up from their slumber, and the lazy comfort of neutrality and silence and helps them realise that climbing a ladder, winning awards and more followers, chasing accolades do not define a meaningful career but positively impacting people’s lives does.
A kind of courageous creativity displayed over the last year by creative leaders who have inspired me; people like Misan Harriman, Clementine Ford, Bisan Owda, Francesca Albanese, Omar El Akkad and so many more journalists, photographers, authors and policy makers who have helped us see that creativity isn’t some kind of unique unearthly talent reserved for a select few, but the courage to see the world clearly, and translate it for us to understand it anew.
The kind that helps us see justice, kindness and in small, incremental steps, helps us listen to one another more deeply, absorb another’s experience and make meaning from what we have heard.
Happy new year.
See you next week,