Something Bigger

I recently had a conversation with a friend who had just sold her multi-million-dollar business. She’d achieved extraordinary success—closing a deal that would set her and a small country up for life. But instead of feeling on top of the world, she felt profoundly uncertain. “I’ve accomplished so much,” she said, “but why does my world feel so small?”

It’s a question I hear often from high achievers: If I’ve reached the pinnacle, why does life feel so small and insignificant?

My answer is usually simple, though no less profound: maybe life feels small because, in some ways, it is.

I often follow that up with a question: How big is your circle—your circle of concern? It’s a question that cuts through the noise and leads to reflections on what truly matters in life.

Think about it. After high school or college, many of us enter into “survival mode”—we’re just trying to make ends meet, cover rent, and keep food on the table. At this stage, our circle of concern is often no bigger than ourselves.

If we’re lucky, hard work pays off. We climb the ladder from survival to success. We start to earn a steady income, pay down debt, and maybe even make a few smart investments. At some point, we may be able to quit our day job, travel the world, eat exotic foods—and continue to make money.

But even with all that success, our circle of concern is still no bigger than ourselves, and we may still feel small—like something is missing. The truth is, what’s often missing isn’t more success. It’s significance. Significance begins to take root in our lives when we move our circle of concern beyond ourselves.

I can trace this shift back to a moment in my own life. When I was in undergrad, my 17-year-old brother was badly burned in a tragic accident. For months, we lived in a hospital waiting room, hanging on to hope and praying for his survival. I was consumed by the chaos of his situation, and my circle of concern was tight—my worries were about my brother’s health, my grades, paying for school, and how I was going to manage it all.

But then, one day, something happened that shifted everything for me. A gift arrived at the hospital: a football cap, signed by Joe Gibbs, legendary coach of the Washington Redskins. It was a gesture that might have seemed small, but it was anything but.

At the height of a very successful career, Gibbs found the time to extend a personal act of kindness to my brother. He had redrawn his circle of concern to include a stranger—someone he’d never met, someone in need of encouragement. That moment stayed with me in a way I hadn’t expected.

In those long hospital hours, amidst the uncertainty and fear, I began to see things differently. People came and went, some facing the possibility of loss, others waiting for news of healing. But in those fragile moments, I realized that my presence—my words, my actions, my prayers—had the power to make a difference, even if it wasn’t dramatic. And that’s when I first felt it: significance.

Inspired by Joe’s example, I made a conscious choice to expand my own circle. It wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about the people I met in that hospital waiting room—people whose lives were marked by pain and uncertainty. I stopped focusing solely on my own problems and began looking for ways to offer support and service to others, particularly those going through their own struggles.

That shift transformed my life and took me to places I never expected to go. I became involved with causes in Philadelphia, New York, and around the world. In my late 20s, I traveled to Bosnia, where I worked with children who had lost their families to the horrors of war. In 2005, I went to India and Sri Lanka to provide relief after the tsunami. In 2006, I found myself in Gulfport, Mississippi, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. The following year, my family and I moved to Africa to support those devastated by AIDS and disease. With each new experience, my circle grew bigger, and with it, my sense of purpose deepened.

What I’ve learned is this: The more we expand our circles—moving beyond the boundaries of self-interest—the more meaningful our lives become. In redrawing my circle, I found a sense of purpose greater than my own concerns. And in giving of myself, I discovered a deeper sense of fulfillment, happiness, and connection.

At Vox, we’ve been reflecting on something that feels both urgent and necessary. Yes, we’ve experienced success—we’ve made strides, built a brand, and hit some remarkable milestones. We could easily celebrate that and call it a day.

But success alone, as we’ve come to realize, isn’t enough.

Success is one thing, but significance is something entirely different.

We’re now asking ourselves: What does it really look like for us to have a significant impact? What will it feel like someday when we look back and know, with certainty, that what we did truly mattered—that we dreamed big enough, prayed big enough, planned big enough—that our circle of concern was big enough to encompass more than just our own success?

So, rather than leaving this to chance, we’ve intentionally expanded our circle. We’ve chosen to make our impact reach further, to include the 16 million people in Mozambique who still struggle every day for something as basic as access to clean drinking water.

So, here’s the question: How big is your circle?

Could it be that, just like us, you’re ready to redraw the boundaries of your own concern? To step beyond your comfort zone, to consider not just what you can do for yourself, but what you can do for others—especially those who are suffering in silence?

The need is vast, but the opportunity to make a lasting difference is even bigger. We invite you to join us.