Hi friend,

How are you these days?

I’m hanging in here, bouncing between life’s grounding little moments and the surreal darkness of…everything else.

Here’s what I have for you in this edition of the Issue Space Letter (hit “Read Online” up top to use the table of contents to skip around):

In this Letter:

• Something Sweet: a teacher's enduring connection

• In Case You Missed It: thoughts on who 'counts' as an impact pro

• And With That...a kind reminder to take with you

And before all that, if you want to dig into this month’s essay with me, exploring community and what we’re meant to mean to each other, step right this way…

I’ve been thinking a lot about us.

Working and socializing in social impact spaces, there are certain phrases one hears again and again. (And again. 🥲) For practicality as much as passion, our sector trades in key words that become the shorthand of our values and the timestamps of our priorities.

And right now, one word I hear orbiting around us is “community.”

Is it hard to imagine why? Our sector is being pulled apart. Against the backdrop of our country being pulled apart. Against the backdrop of our world being pulled apart. Isn’t it only natural that we’d be looking around to other people for reassurance? 

At least we have each other, right? (Makes panicked eye contact.) Right?? Hahaha.

These days, as I move through my own corners of the vast social impact network, I feel like I’m observing it from the outside in, noticing all the dynamics and expectations that aren’t always acknowledged outright.

And I’m wondering – what, if anything, makes a group of social impact pros a “community,” as we sometimes refer to ourselves? What makes us more than a workforce (people in the same industry), a crew (people working closely together to get a job done), or even a clique (people held together by what they have in common and, notably, who does not qualify to join them). 

An amusing question for someone who’s literally started a community for the people she works with.

And one I can only answer from my observation and my gut:

It’s gotta be about the way we treat each other.

I’ve worked with a lot of people who, like me, are transplants to this space. Their schooling and early careers weren’t in social impact or even related fields; a mix of personal conviction and market opportunity got them in the door. And in these folks, I’ve witnessed a community expectations life-cycle that goes something like this:

😍 The rosy glow – Believing wholeheartedly in the goodness and enlightenment of the folks you now work with in social impact. They’re so principled! They’re so dedicated! They’re so nice! And they are so nice, but…

😕 Faded glory – Inevitably, there’s a slip-up. Maybe a leader says or does something that disappoints, or a colleague drops a ball on important work. Whatever it is, that something sullies the worker’s imagined halo on the sector, leading to…

😒 Disillusioned doldrums – A disenchantment, and a grumpiness. The worker might start venting about our space – a lot. After all, they came to this work wanting to walk among the Principled and the Enlightened, only to be met with...ew, regular people? No, thanks! But usually, there’s eventually…

😌 Restabilizing – A coming back around to understanding that, while we get the privilege of doing purpose-driven, change-making, even soul-affirming work in the social impact space, our experiences – and our community – won’t be perfect. And we’ll survive.

I feel like this rollercoaster is natural in a space full of contradictions. I take my own experience — some of the most beautiful moments of supportive community I’ve ever felt have been among my peers in social impact. At the same time, when a group of people is branding itself as the keepers of a better, brighter, more ethical future for all, one’s hopes get pretty high. And the higher the hopes, and harder the fall.

Social impact pros don’t need to burden ourselves with the pretense that we’re flawless. (And good thing, because we’re not!) But I do believe we have to try, deliberately, to transcend those baseline categories of “workforce”, “crew”, or “clique”. We have to be a body of people who, while given the grace to be flawed and the freedom to be our unique selves, ultimately embody a true community experience of enduring and appreciative connections; social and emotional presence and safety; active participation in productive and equitable exchange; and a genuine investment in seeing everyone thrive. 

In short, we have to be a microcosm of the more fair, more free, more perfect world we chase after through our work.

Getting there won’t be pain-free. We’ve all felt the sting of when community, even the goodhearted, social impact-y kind, has let us down. 

Maybe you cherished someone as a close connection only to find that they don’t count you among their circle past a certain point of access. Maybe you treated a colleague openly as a collaborator only to realize that they handle you like a competitor. 

Or maybe you miscounted your champions, clapping long and hard to celebrate someone else’s wins, only to be met with conspicuous silence when the moment to shine is yours. You might have given grace and not received it. You might have held space but had yours taken. You might have withstood performative community – loud and effusive in the streets, but unresponsive without an audience.

Or, classically, you could get hit with the Ugly -Isms — racism, sexism, ageism, classism, elitism — that rear their heads in our space as they do in any other. Maybe you’re slapped with one -Ism again or again, or get walloped by a combination. (In my experience, it’s usually an unfortunate combo. Have you ever been White Savior-ed to your face? It’s like racism and elitism had a baby whose sole purpose is to ruin your day through condescension. It’s a doozy.)

My point is – social impact pros, as individuals and as a collective, are far from perfect, because social impact pros are still people. We’ve all yearned for community and instead gotten something that’s not quite what we needed, and we’ve all been the ones to disappoint someone else in our network, even when we didn’t mean to.

But whether we recognize ourselves in these dynamics or simply want to hone our ability to connect, we have to keep trying to treat each other better. Because if we want to be more than a clique – if we want to prove that it’s possible for people to live and work in such a way that they uplift others, open doors, share resources, and maximize potential, just like we talk about in our work every day – we have to prove it to ourselves first. Which means it's not enough to just ‘have’ community like a habit or a possession; we have to cultivate it into a home base that feels safe, fun, fair, and fruitful for us all. 

So take a moment to reflect – are we truly living out the community values we say we’re working toward? What’s one thing you can do better, more consistently, more generously, or with more intention to be the change we want to see across society?

The reasons we have for clinging to each other in this moment might be specific and extreme. But the truth is, we’ve always counted on, and will always need, community to thrive. 

So let’s nourish ours.

With love — and in community,

…

If you know other folks who would appreciate this letter, you can share it with them online:  

Something Sweet

So often, “holding space” in social impact means working through the hard stuff. But we owe it to ourselves to capture the good times, too. The Something Sweet series highlights uplifting moments and memories in impact work shared by members of the Issue Space community.

In this edition, we hear from Blair Brown, a nonprofit Executive Director.

Friend Request

Before stepping into leadership roles in arts education and the nonprofit sector, I spent several years as a dance teacher at a charter school. 

The schedule was intense — long school days followed by rehearsals, tech weeks that stretched into evenings, and weekends spent prepping for performances — but the work was deeply rewarding. Through the rhythm of daily classes and the intimacy of rehearsals, I came to know my students on a profound level. As a teacher, I was witness to students discovering themselves, pushing past limitations, and building meaningful relationships through creativity and collaboration. 

In my first year teaching, I worked closely with a fifth-grade student who played the lead in our annual musical. They were magnetic on stage — full of heart, potential, and charisma beyond their years. We spent hours together preparing choreography, reviewing lines, and navigating the rollercoaster of tech week nerves and opening night excitement.

After that year, the student moved on to middle school outside of the city, and I didn’t teach them again. Life, as it often does in schools, moved quickly — new classes, new performances, new students. But that student never fully left my memory. There was something about the experience of watching them grow — creatively and personally — that stayed with me and helped shape my own evolution as an educator. 

Just a few weeks ago, I received a friend request on Instagram from a name I hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. It was that same student, now 18 and preparing to graduate from high school. It had been nine years since we shared a classroom, and yet they remembered me. 

I sat with that for a long moment. It reminded me, in such a tangible way, of how deep and lasting my impact had been. In just one year, one production, one series of rehearsals, something meaningful had been created — something that endured over time. 

It’s easy, especially in leadership roles, to get caught up in strategy, logistics, and deliverables. But that moment brought me back to why I began this work in the first place. It’s the one-on-one relationships, the quiet moments of connection and growth, that create lasting change. 

The arts offer a rare space for that connection — a medium where students can be themselves, take risks, and be seen. This is why I have become so committed to expanding access to arts education through schools, community organizations, and grassroots projects. Because I’ve seen and felt the impact.

And it’s through those human moments — often small, sometimes years in the making — that I know our work matters.

…

Is there a moment from your social impact work that makes you smile? To submit a story to the Something Sweet series, please use this form.

In Case You Missed It

It’s no secret that the landscape of social change work is being forced to shift. As important efforts find new homes or return to old ones, we’ve been thinking about the full landscape of allies and collaborators we have in impact. Whose work did we miss?

And With That…

Take comfort in knowing:

…

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