0.3 The Illusion of Doing Everything Right

My Story Part 3

Surviving a near-death experience at the age of 27 left me with a clarity I couldn’t ignore: I wasn’t meant to add to the world’s suffering. I was meant to help relieve it. I made a vow to myself: I would no longer be a source of pollution—to my environment or to those around me. That vow called me back to school to study sustainability and design.

Studying under the renowned sustainable designer Lynda Grose, I fell deeply in love with the planet … and equally into grief for how we had been treating the planet. I remember a moment in 2010 when I could hardly walk down a street without being overwhelmed: rust-streaked sidewalks; overflowing trash bins; plastic packaging spinning in the air; a friend tossing an eggshell into the garbage instead of the compost. Oh my disgust!! The weight of the world’s pollution problems settled on my burdened shoulders. The more I learned about the damage caused by production systems, the heavier the burden became. A deeply emotional and empathetic person, it was impacting me in every way. I felt like I couldn’t move.

One day, walking through San Francisco, I couldn’t see the sky for all my mental pollution clouding my view. I remember thinking, Maybe I should leave this place— If I’m not here, at least I’m not adding to the problem.

But instead, I made a different decision—a clear, grounded one: I would focus on the solution. I chose to put my love for the planet at the center and move forward— not away.

At school, that conviction took shape. I created the world’s first zero-waste fashion collection made entirely of equilateral triangles—no curves, no scraps. I won awards for garments with modular pieces that could be replaced where stains tend to appear. I designed a recycled-materials collection while in India, and studied natural dyeing and embroidery with artisans in Guatemala.

These weren’t just clothes; they were systems.

Today, the school invites me back to speak at fundraising events and commencement ceremonies—a full-circle honor.

While studying full-time, I was also immersed in my inner-growth and service, supporting others on paths like mine. That spiritual grounding fueled my creativity and gave me the courage to stay in the work—even when fear about the future crept in. It gave me hope and a pathway. It also fueled my creativity like wildfire!

After graduation, I brought that hope into industry. I developed design education at Gap (which later became my book, Fashion Fibers: Designing for Sustainability), and joined Cradle to Cradle—the founding design methodology for the circular economy.

I was hopeful—I could feel the momentum, I could feel the constitution behind our actions and moves. We set out to help designers change the way they design products so they wouldn’t end up in the trash.

Newsweek, September 1, 2016

We presented our work to hundreds of leading designers globally and to large groups of industry leaders. The presentations were powerful—but the questions that followed were sobering: “What do we do now?” Or even, “Where can I shop sustainably?”

I never had a satisfying answer for myself or for the people asking the questions. I’d hesitate, scramble for a name—Stella McCartney, came to mind—and feel a pang of shame that “sustainable” options were out of reach for most people. The concept of “sustainable” felt like a moving target—I wasn’t even sure where I stood on its definition. At times, the version I was advocating for felt impossible to achieve.

I set out to find an answer—and like any good designer, I began experimenting at home.

I tried to do everything right. I bought only sustainable fabrics—organic, natural fibers like cotton, linen, and wool. I avoided synthetics, read every label, and vetted every brand. I shifted to buying only secondhand clothing, toys, furniture, homegoods. I donated, consigned, gave away. I was making several drop offs to different donation organizations (clothing to XX, toys to XX, kids clothing to XX, furniture to XX) to ensure they went in the right hands—those that would actually use what I was giving them. Some things went to eBay, others to Goodwill, Facebook Marketplace, Salvation Army, Poshmark, ThredUp, RealReal, a local consignment store in San Francisco or Oakland. I had my daughter by then—her outgrown clothes cycled and shipped to my sisters or friends, depending on the style (and none of them living in my state).

The sorting, the systems, the rules—they multiplied.

I banned plastic bags in my home, and reused the ones I had. I carried totes. I gave rude looks to people who accepted a plastic bag in a grocery store. “How dare you!” I thought.

I ate organic, vegan, nothing packaged in plastic. I drove an electric car. I composted. I refilled containers at the bulk store, rinsed food wrappers and dried them on the counter. I avoided flying. I offset emissions. I brought my own to-go containers to restaurants and wrapped lunches in beeswax. I bought only what could be recycled. I tracked brands’ take-back programs. I tried rental, refill, resale, repair. I visited stores across Europe checking out how they did it.

Still, with every action, I clung to the hope that it would lead to real change. I had reshaped my entire life in pursuit of getting results and impact. It started to feel like nothing I did made a difference—maybe even made things worse.

Why could someone else drink a Capri Sun with impunity, while I agonized over every wrapper? Neither of us seemed to be changing the outcome.

Global CO₂ emissions keep rising—not falling, not even leveling off.

Species kept vanishing. Coral reefs bleaching. The patch of plastic swirling in the Pacific continues to grow larger. Forests are burning. Storms are worsening.

And I had experienced this before—in 2007—when I realized that all of my efforts to fix my problems weren’t fixing anything. That same disorienting truth was now playing out on a global scale. It was familiar. It was all very well intentioned, even noble, but it wasn’t working.

What was left to change? What stone was left unturned? The books, the frameworks, the goals. We’ve been resourceful and creative in crafting solutions—ingenious, even. All the books are sitting on my shelf right next to me. (I’ll be touching more on these in Step 1). After Rachel Carson, all my efforts, all the efforts of my friends around me, all your efforts—the carbon emissions line on the chart continues to go up.

All of it circles around the one thing we collectively avoid—the quiet, persistent force that’s slowly killing us: the pollution that begins inside all of us. The real work isn’t out there. Real transformation begins within.

Nature already lives this wisdom

Just like a tree—its strength doesn’t come from the leaves or branches, but from what’s beneath the surface. A palm tree has a dense, fibrous root system that spreads wide and holds tight. That’s what lets it bend without breaking in the fiercest storms. Its strength comes from beneath the surface.

The connection is real—and it's growing. More and more people are taking responsibility for their inner worlds and, as a result, creating real, measurable impact in the outer one. Not performative pledges or shifting commitments—but tangible change. From individuals driving 5 million pounds of landfill diversion in a single year, to over 8.5 million tonnes of CO₂e avoided through collective action, to leaders who’ve completely reimagined their careers and business models—this is a movement.

A movement of people who looked inward, realized that what they were doing wasn’t working, and faced the hard truth: effective true change starts within.

This is about what we discovered in our innermost selves—how we got there, and how you can too.

It’s also about how we can actually get results—prodigious results.