Why Greater Good Co exists
I didn’t set out to create a method for change. I set out to solve problems — mostly messy, complex, people-shaped problems.
I started out as a Town Planner in local government, immediately struck — and genuinely horrified — by the siloed mentality and the absence of anything genuinely human-centred. That frustration became a calling.
In my very first role, I watched a system fail a human being in plain sight. A colleague who was overqualified, unfulfilled, isolated, and whose real needs the organisation had no mechanism to see. She wasn’t a resistant stakeholder. She was a person whose needs had been betrayed. And the system around her just experienced her as a problem to manage.
That moment crystallised something my whole career has gone on to prove, again and again: sustainable change starts and ends with people. Not structures. Not strategies. People.
Every role that followed showed me the same pattern. Walk in. See the system clearly. Understand the people inside it. Create change. Outgrow the container. Move to a bigger one. I was never given the official change mandate — the work just found me, because I could see what the people around me couldn’t.
In 2001 I established my own consultancy. In 2021 I founded Greater Good Co, with a conviction that had been building for decades: organisations are living systems, not machines to be optimised. The question underneath the method — the one that asks how we change — is this: what becomes possible when change starts with people?
And underneath that sits a bigger question — one I keep returning to, one my Substack is built around: change toward what? These days I hold it even more simply, as one enduring inquiry: what helps people thrive, for the greater good? I don’t expect to answer that once. I intend to spend the rest of my life living it.
What I Know
Local and State government, infrastructure agencies and corporations. Strategy, planning and service delivery. Housing, development, health, education, environment. Different scales, different languages, very different stakes. But the same patterns, showing up again and again. The same solutions landing in new settings and failing for the same reasons.
This is not theory. It’s what I’ve learned from communities navigating change they didn’t choose, from organisations trying to transform systems built for a different era, from leaders sitting with the gap between who they could be and how they’ve been asked to show up. From a year of genuine rest after decades of relentless doing. From a small white dog who taught me more about the nature of a life well lived than almost anything else.
We are never not participating.
The living world is complex, interconnected, and full of things we’re still learning about. Every decision we make sends ripples through systems we can’t fully see. There is no standing outside. Even opting out is a choice that shapes what happens next. The question is not whether we participate. It’s whether we do so consciously.
The doing that comes from feeling is completely different from the doing that precedes it.
We have been trained to act first and reflect later. But when we slow down, really slow down, and ask how do we want this to feel? before we ask what do we need to do? everything changes. Feeling into doing is not a softer path. It is a more honest one.
The shadow isn’t in the machine. It was already in us.
We built systems oriented toward growth, profit, power and control. Our institutions, our technologies, our AI: they reflect back what we put into them. The work of regenerative change is to go upstream — to ask honestly what we have been optimising for, and to choose something different.
Inner coherence shapes outer design.
Aligned humans create aligned systems. This is the most consistently observable truth I’ve seen, again and again, in systems work. When people are depleted, fractured, performing rather than present, the systems they build and lead reflect that. When people are genuinely regenerated, something different becomes possible — not just for them, for everything they touch.
Regeneration is not a strategy. It’s a way of being in relationship with life.
Living systems don’t extract and accumulate. They circulate, adapt, and regenerate. Choosing regeneration means choosing thriving over surviving, nourishment over depletion, enough over more. It is a continuous orientation, not a destination.
When people feel genuinely seen, heard and valued, something remarkable becomes possible.
This is the simplest and most consistent truth I know. Not because it is naive. Because it is foundational. Every significant system I have seen change for the better has changed first in this way: someone was genuinely curious about someone else’s experience. The conditions for collective thriving are not complex. They are human. And we keep underestimating them.
Difference is essential, not a barrier to thriving.
Human thriving depends on both our uniqueness and our interconnectedness. The world doesn’t need everyone to become the same — it needs every person to discover, embrace and contribute their own unique gifts. Belonging isn’t fitting in. It’s becoming fully yourself, while knowing you’re part of something larger than yourself.
Collective power is real.
Every significant shift in human systems has ultimately come not from the top, but from enough people deciding, at the same time, that the current direction is unacceptable. This is the nature of living systems. It is also the most practical lever for change we have.