On the east coast of the US fall arrived with a bang this year. On the fall equinox, literally overnight, the temperatures went from 90-something days to 60- something days. Trees started to suddenly pop with color and damp cold air hung over the landscape that had been scorched with heat a week before that.
Fall is a season of transition and letting go of what is no longer needed. The abruptness with which it arrived in this corner of the world seems to mirror the sudden and dramatic societal changes happening on what seems like a daily basis. There is no chaos in the shift of seasons. It happens gracefully, even if it is sometimes more abrupt than usual. Colors change as the air cools, leaves fall effortlessly, and the more-than-human world responds as needed.
The human world, on the other hand, feels as though it is in chaos. Whether it is through rising supply chain prices, unpredictable markets, the normalization of oppressive attitudes, or deepening political polarization that tears at the fabric of democracy, everyone we talk to seems to feel it too. Many of the changes are painful. Many are causing fear. Most are being felt both on interpersonal levels, as well as societal ones.
These are difficult times, as transitions usually are. As more people become motivated to work towards collective well-being on this planet, push back gets louder, more virulent, and more frequent. It is a sign that progress is happening, although it often feels like regression. This reflection is not to minimize the difficulty of the times we’re in, and certainly not to condone poor behavior. It is, however, worth looking clear-eyed at what is no longer serving us, and what was never actually serving us even when we thought it was. There are many old assumptions and paradigms that are cracking under pressure, like leaves that are ready to let go of their branches as the air gets cooler.
These old relics of our cracking systems vary, but they have this in common: they are built on the impetus to optimize efficiency and performance. “Performance” in this context often, but not always, translates into financial wealth.
“Financial” before the word “wealth” is not redundant; it is intentionally added as an adjective. This clarification is needed because money is just one form of wealth, but it is the only one that our old systems have seen as having any value. Therein lies the problem. There is an endless list of things that make money (for some) while hurting us and society, from AI to cigarettes to junk food.
Would AI companies still make money if we truly valued the practice of generating human creativity? Would companies make profits from junk food if we really valued the web of relationships that went into providing the nutrition that sustains us? Would we continue to tolerate a take-make-waste economy if we truly valued the natural resources we depend on and that depend on us? Would tobacco or fossil fuel companies make money if we really valued public health as a form of wealth?
Most people, regardless of political affiliation or economic status, regard certain things as basic: family, friendships, health, clean air and water, safety, happiness, and many others.
Money is needed to provide these things, but only to an extent. We need to pay for healthy food, shelter, and other basic needs. But other things are needed too: time for neighbors to socialize, green spaces for our children to play outside, trust that utilities providing energy and water to the community will do it in an ecologically responsible way, among others.
These are the things that represent a non-financial impoverishment in American culture. In a performance obsessed world, socializing has taken a back seat to work in our time-starved lives. Our green spaces are disappearing under data centers that also make energy and water more expensive. Trust in anyone or anything, beyond perhaps our immediate circles, feels virtually non-existent.
Yes, our financial-obsessed systems are cracking under pressure. And yes, resistance to that is strong. Seeing the opportunity of this moment does not mean that we disregard money entirely, but it does mean that we can balance our relationship with money to make way for other forms of wealth.
We can all do this, in large ways and small. Those that are in positions of leadership can use their influence to open up other avenues of wealth in whatever scope they have. The ways they do that will depend on what the needs are in their context. Maybe employees get time off to engage in their community or even create space for community gatherings to happen (time and social capital). Maybe they begin to create a culture of psychological safety through demonstrating genuine interest in staff bringing their full selves to work (emotional capital). Maybe they invest in green roofs and other landscaping that serve as a source of local food, outdoor classrooms on agriculture, and green spaces for staff and customers to relax and play (educational, health, aesthetic, and natural capital).
Some of these ideas take money, some don’t, and some even increase profit margins. For example, a restaurant that creates community events can increase their customer base. A green roof can extend the life of a building’s roof and decrease energy costs (American Society of Landscape Architects, 2026). A hospital that increases green space access for patients can reduce patient recovery times, as well as anxiety and stress among patients (Intensive Care Med, 2023), likely leading to higher patient satisfaction scores.
When we see money as the only thing to track and measure, we miss out on the myriad of other forms of capital that form a truly abundant society.