Every week, I sit down and write about business, entrepreneurship, economics, or taxation. I don’t come to you with a perfect map or all the answers neatly folded in my pocket. I come as someone who has lived this work—someone who has managed thousands of people, who has been responsible for billions of dollars in revenue, who has had to make the kinds of decisions that ripple through families, communities, and careers.
And each week, I try to put something on the table. Not a manifesto, not a decree, but an idea. A perspective. A possibility for doing things differently. That’s my commitment: to keep putting forward ideas born not of theory but of lived experience.
One of those ideas—the one closest to my heart—has been about ownership. Specifically, employee ownership. For most of my career, I’ve believed that building something meaningful should mean more than enriching the few at the top. It should mean creating real opportunity for the people who build it alongside you.
At Instrument, the agency I co-founded, we proved this wasn’t just philosophy—it could be practice. When the company was sold, we paid out tens of millions of dollars to employees. Let me say that plainly: this was not money owed. It wasn’t contractual, it wasn’t “part of the deal.” It was a choice. A choice to say: if you walked this road with me, if you poured yourself into building this place, then you deserve to share in the outcome.
I’m proud of that. But I don’t share it to brag. I share it because it points to something bigger. It shows what’s possible when owners choose generosity over hoarding, when leaders remember that their teams aren’t just labor—they’re partners in building.
And yet, here’s the rub. Every time I write about these ideas, I get the same comments. Entrepreneurs are greedy. Capitalists are fascists. Owners are all corrupt. And without fail, when I sit across from other business leaders and try to convince them to share equity, these are the comments they point to. Why would I? they say. Why would I give when people clearly don’t even respect what’s given? They’ll take the money, and still resent me for giving it.
And I can’t entirely blame them.
Because here’s the hard truth: sometimes the very words we speak—or the posture we take—become the reason we don’t get the thing we claim to want. If you say owners are inherently greedy, why would any owner risk being generous? If you sneer at equity, why would anyone hand you equity? If you mock fairness, why would anyone bend toward fairness?
Cause and effect. It’s not complicated.
Look, I have put my life into trying to be fair. Into proving that you can build and share, succeed and lift others. And still, I’ve seen how quickly cynicism can poison the well. How quickly people can talk themselves out of opportunity because they’ve already decided it doesn’t exist.
But here’s what I want you to hear: fairness is possible. Generosity is possible. Equity is possible. But they require a partnership. They require a willingness to meet the world with respect if you want respect to come back your way.
This doesn’t mean staying quiet in the face of abuse. It doesn’t mean tolerating corruption or exploitation. It means keeping the door open. It means not closing off the very thing that could change your life before it even has a chance to reach you.
Help me, help you.
If you want more entrepreneurs to open the books, to share equity, to build companies where wealth is spread instead of concentrated, then meet them halfway. Don’t start by assuming the worst of them. Don’t shut down the possibility of generosity before it arrives. The simple truth is this: if you want generosity, make space for it. If you want fairness, welcome it.
This isn’t naïve. It’s practical. It’s how trust works. Trust begets trust. Respect begets respect. Opportunity begets opportunity.
The lesson is as old as time: what you put into the world tends to circle back. The cynicism you spread may be the very thing closing off the opportunities you seek. The fairness you desire may be just on the other side of offering a little fairness yourself.
So the next time you’re tempted to call every entrepreneur a villain, pause. Ask yourself: am I closing the door before it ever has the chance to open?
I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: words matter. Posture matters. The way we choose to show up in the conversation matters. If we want a better economy, if we want a more generous version of capitalism, then we need more bridges, not fewer.
Help me, help you.
If there’s one thing I hope you take away, it’s that fairness is not a myth—it’s possible, but it requires partnership. Generosity only thrives when there’s space made for it, and respect has to travel in both directions if we want a better system to emerge.
If today’s message resonated, please share it with someone who might need to hear it. And if you’d like to keep up with my weekly writing and reflections, make sure you’re subscribed on Substack, Spotify, or Apple Podcasts—wherever you listen and think.
Until next time: be kind, be great, and work hard.
