I've Failed.

I forgot the most important thing.

I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. Not this time. The stakes are too high. You get only one chance.

I resolved to do it right. I etched it into my heart. Branded it in my daily planner. I started a Substack and named it Monuments of Suffering to hold myself accountable.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve failed.

I’ve worked in the nonprofit sector for decades. I’ve consulted dozens of organizations locally, nationally, internationally. I held titles of President, Chief Executive Officer, Managing Director (UK), Executive Director, Vice President, Director.

And I’ve seen the tendency—correction, not merely a tendency, but the norm—to forget about the suffering. Relegate it to the optional. Sequester it to “mission moments” in board meetings. Using business parlance, ignoring your customer. Using Covey, to let the urgent replace the important.

Recently for me it’s been…

• The Board Governance documents I sent Brad, our board chair

• Writing the first UAF email

• Checking back to gauge the open rate of the email

• Reviewed the UAF Bill of Rights

• Reading stats and data

• The work on the position paper

• The conversation with an old friend (fundraising/development)

• Tweet

• Check for donations on Stripe

• Reading stats and data

• The conversation with Jim about Meta

• Refined the one page UAF summary

• Checking back to gauge the open rate of the email

• Reading stats and data

• Read about that RFP

• Check for donations on Stripe

• The conversation with Todd about the position paper

• LinkedIn posts

• Check for donations on Stripe

• Reading stats and data

• Getting clips to Goldencomm for the website

• The conversation with Kristen about strategy

• Tweet

• Refining our donor deck

• Reading stats and data

• Recording three conversations for our new Thought Leader Series

• Meeting with a new potential intern

• Checking back to gauge the open rate of the email

• Reading stats and data

• Tweet

• Dozens of emails

• The bi-weekly strategy Zoom call for internet safety

• Checking back to gauge the open rate of the email

• Reading stats and data

• Tweet

• Research, hours and hours of research

• Checking back to gauge the open rate of the email

• Write opinion piece on fentanyl as a chemical weapon.

This is just a small sample of all the urgent stuff. It reduces to meetings, emails, phone calls, board development, fund development in one way or another. And being a data junkie.

Over the past few weeks the urgent has gone on and on and on and on while important had been suffocated out. All of the items are required, of course. Each is a part of the work of United Against Fentanyl. But leaving out the important for three weeks blocks perspective— it means no sitting in the hot sun listening. No mustering all within me to convey impeccable body language that says, “I’m here. I care. You have value.”

Here’s the thing—worry never brings you a particular physical place where you are sitting and listening and lending a hand to one suffering. Worry’s cunning nature lives within your subconscious. And being latent, worry is always there to work on the things that bring “success” and “security”—meaning money, viability, wins, even dominance.

When you forget to engage with the suffering—as a leader, a community of faith, a nonprofit organization, a community, a nation—you forget the mission. It’s the Aristotle thing—We are what we repeatedly do.

Then days become weeks.

Weeks become months.

Months become years.

And years make up the DNA of the organization.

You become no different than a for profit business, no different than McDonalds or Costco or Chevron or Google.

According to Drucker, the nonprofit organization is in the "business" of changing lives. . And you can’t—or I can’t, or I won’t with UAF—ignore the centering sense of devastation I’ve witnessed in both those suffering with fentanyl addiction, the parents afraid of losing a child, or the parents whose grief is the most sobering reminder of the insidiousness of this drug.

Two months ago, we had a post on Facebook that was shared over 500 times. (I know because I opened my Facebook app a hundred times to check.) For a reason I can’t really understand, a flood of comments were posted. Hundreds went to our website and signed up for our newsletter. Dozens emailed about losing a child. Many offered to volunteer. I made this collage and made it my screensaver.

I told myself when the comments started coming in that I would DM these Monuments of Suffering. From me, the Founder CEO. To listen. To see how we might serve them, as that at the core of our mission.

I’ve failed.

(I’m going to now finish this post now and go do what’s important.)