As 2025 draws to a close, I took a moment to look back at everything we worked on together. What stood out to me was not a big insight or a neat theme. It was the accumulation of small things that shaped this year: the conversations that grounded me, the moments of clarity that showed up at unexpected times, and the collaborators that showed up – seemingly out of nowhere – to walk part of the way with me.  

Woven through all of it was one intention: to offer tools, resources, and stories that help ecosystem builders do their work with more confidence, connection, and care. Looking back, this year felt like a conversation between my own growth and the needs of the field. What I was learning privately often became what I shared publicly. What I struggled with became the seeds for the resources I created.

Below is the story of this year and the gifts it held for all of us.

As I was writing, I realized I wanted something more practical than a reflection alone. So I created a short worksheet with the questions I’ve been using myself to make sense of 2025. You’ll find it at the end of this post, free to copy and use however it serves you.

Building Community in a Year That Tested It

Everywhere I turned, the world felt a little more brittle than the year before. Government shutdowns. Organizations (that historically supported this work) retreating out of fear. Funders stepping back. Practitioners pushed to the edges of their capacity. So many ecosystem builders were quietly asking the same question: what does it look like to stand firm when systems shake around us?

This question guided much of my work this year. I traveled to four national convenings, sat with peers who understood the strain, and hosted ten CreativeMornings gatherings at home that reminded me why community is worth fighting for. I watched people show up for each other when resources were scarce and hope felt fragile. I listened to stories of exhaustion and resilience that never make the headlines but always shape the field.

This was the backdrop for the tools and resources I created this year. They were not theoretical. They were born from real conversations and real needs.

Creating Tools That Help Ecosystem Builders Thrive

One of my biggest joys this year was expanding the practical library of resources available to ecosystem builders. Many of you told me you felt unseen or under-supported in your work. So I focused on producing guides that were clear, actionable, and grounded in experience.

Across the year, I created and shared:

• 6 Ecosystem Essentials that distilled hard-won lessons from experts like Chris Heivly, Fay Horwitt, and Dr. Amy Beaird (my 1,500 newsletter subscribers got these delivered to their inbox for free.)
• 3 Builder Deep Dives that turned interviews into narrative case studies.
• The Future of Ecosystem Building interviews, in partnership with EcoMap, that explored where our field is headed.
• Curated resources in every newsletter, from frameworks to podcasts to starter kits.
• Book recommendations and reading lists that fed not only our work but also our capacity for empathy and imagination.

These offerings were my way of saying: you are not alone, you do not have to reinvent everything, and your work deserves tools worthy of its impact.

Finding Clarity in Complexity

As the year unfolded, I found myself returning again and again to the idea of clarity. Not a clarity that arrives fully formed, but a clarity that emerges through practice. Through reflection. Through trial-and-error. Through community.

In the summer of 2024, after the non-profit I worked for ran out of money, I shared that I felt like I had lost part of my identity. I’d been the Director of Ecosystem Building for the Shenandoah Valley for almost three years, I had moved my family here for that job. Being unexpectedly laid off was a hard blow. I described back then that I wasn’t sure who I was anymore and didn’t yet know what the next iteration might look like. 

This transformation is still ongoing. Whenever I meet someone new and they ask what I do, I still scramble for words. I often feel like saying “Oh, you know, just a little bit of this and that: storytelling, ecosystem building, strategy and hosting meaningful convenings.”

It feels less confident than rattling off a fancy title with an established organization or a long list of impressive clients. I don’t have the gumption for faking it until I make it.

But I’ve started to understand that that is the nature of growth and transformation – they’re never complete.

For the last 18 months I have worked on projects that fill my cup, picked up a passion project (40 Bookshops Under 40) and defined what motherhood means to me; and I listened to sense what resonated and what didn’t.

As a bonus, I’ve gained clarity. Not like a big swooping curtain that dropped, not an explosion of insights. No pennies were dropped in the process of this clarity.  

It felt more like carving away the excess, letting go of the unnecessary and returning to what nurtured that little flame deep inside me.

No fancy process, no tools. I feel like sitting still long enough to hear myself think and remaining steadfast in this discomfort of in-between-ness are the only things that helped.

In short: patience.

Letting Indie Bookshops Teach Me About Belonging

An unexpected lesson came from a creative side project that I pursued purely for fun: I visited over forty independent bookshops across the United States and Europe as part of #40BookshopsUnder40. Each visit was its own little universe. A lesson in care, curation, third places, and the invisible labor of community building.

Those visits shaped the Bookish sections of Impact Curator, which became a space for reading, reflection, and delight. They reminded me that creativity is fuel for leadership. They reminded me that rest and inspiration are not indulgent. They are necessary.

Bookshops became my companions this year.

Rooted Locally, Reaching Nationally

In the Shenandoah Valley, I continued to build and nurture spaces for connection: book clubs, Deep Focus sessions, author events, CreativeMornings gatherings, and the growing community around Staunton Books & Tea. These local relationships grounded me.

At the same time, my national work deepened. Through my work with the Entrepreneurship Funders Network, the ESHIP Alliance, the Builder Platform and EcoMap, I had the opportunity to help shape how the field tells its story, supports its practitioners, and prepares for a future that will demand new approaches.

The local and national work spoke to each other, each offering insight that supported the other.

A Closing Gift to You

As I look back on this year, the numbers tell their own story:

• 18 newsletters
• 11 new podcast episodes
• 6 Ecosystem Essentials
• 3 Builder Deep Dives
• Dozens of curated resources
• 10 CreativeMornings gatherings
• 40+ indie bookshops visited
• Thousands of words written to support your work
  

But the heart of the year is not in the numbers. It is in the relationships, the questions, the stories, and the commitment we share to build ecosystems where people and ideas can flourish.

Thank you for reading, learning, building, and imagining alongside me this year. Every resource I created was meant as a gift to help you do your work with a little more clarity, courage, and care.

Here is to another year of growing thoughtfully, leading bravely, and creating communities that feel like home.

In camaraderie,
Anika