Because you can do it all "right" and still have things go sideways: the economy turns, someone you love dies, your plans fall apart. So Sue threw out her expectations and the rule book, and instead started paying attention to what life actually is, along with what becomes possible when we stop fighting it.

Sue was born and raised in Pennsylvania steel country and spent three decades in corporate leadership, most recently as Chief Growth Officer for a publicly traded company. Her favorite work was with veterans and active-duty military around the globe, who taught her life-changing lessons about resilience, community, and what actually helps people navigate the hard stuff.

Unexpectedly widowed in midlife, Sue often says her life has been defined but not diminished by loss. Her book Do Loss—part memoir, part companion—grew from her search for real wisdom about grief, and how life reshapes itself around what's missing. Because while life after loss will never be the same, it can be a different kind of great.

Sue writes a weekly column called The Luminist, essays about noticing reality rather than the stories our minds and culture like to spin. No answers, no fixing. Just expanding our understanding of life, and thus our capacity to bob, weave, cry, and laugh through it all.

She's brought this perspective to stages including the Do Lectures in Wales, Duke University's Fuqua School of Business, and three years as keynote speaker for a global Women's Summit she founded. She speaks on resilience without platitudes: trusting our capacity for change, the unexpected power of a good walk, embracing uncertainty, and giving ourselves permission to be human.

Sue approaches life with an irreverent sense of humor and a hard-won appreciation for human connection. When she's not visiting her grown kids on their world adventures, you can find her in her Virginia treehouse, planning her next adventure, hiking the Potomac, or working on her next book:

A memoir about her 500-kilometer walk on a Scandinavian pilgrim path, and what surfaces when you finally get quiet enough to listen.