We tend to think of change as a process of building or adding something new. That can be misleading though ... because often, change actually begins with subtraction.

It can be more about what breaks down, what gets composted, and what takes root far beneath the surface, in areas we cannot see. And that kind of change begins in the dark.

What If We’re Asking the Wrong Question?

In moments of overlapping crisis (a.k.a. the polycrisis), it’s tempting to reach for tactics. New fundraising plans. Program pivots. A tech solution that will solve all of your problems. AI, anyone?

Photo displays a sticker that reads "push to reset the world" on a street sign — *Photo credit: Jose Antonio Gallego*

But I say we’re sidestepping the real question: What do we actually want nonprofit work to become?

If we zoom out, we can see a sector under strain. Philanthropy is being called to do more and work in new ways. Staff turnover remains very high, as employers struggle to both listen to and fully understand the needs of staff. Trust in all institutions is wobbling. In these moments, the default is to search for a map (like a formula or framework) … anything to give us a confirmed ‘right’ direction. I mean, who doesn’t want certainty?

I believe that this moment isn’t about having the ‘right’ answers? It’s more about becoming more attuned to what’s emerging.

The Biology of Becoming

Here’s something we don’t think about often: seeds germinate in the dark. Not in the spotlight. Not in the polished marketing of a new launch. Growth within a kernel happens quietly and in the dark.

Biologically, germination begins when a seed absorbs water and activates the enzymes needed to grow. It cracks open. It begins to reach–but not upward; not yet. First it has to establish its roots. And before that it gathers strength where no one can see it.

Too much light too soon can actually interrupt this process. Growth, whether it's the birth of stars or the blooming of tree roots, requires darkness, trust, and a dash of patience :)

This isn’t simply a poetic metaphor but a systems truth. Transformation is non-linear and does't follow a predictable timeline. Nor does it translate neatly into formulaic progress in quarterly reports. Wouldn’t that be nice! Rather, it starts with internal shifts—ways of seeing, listening, relating—that slowly ripple outward and make change over time.

Second-Order Change and the Problem with Over Planning

Systems thinkers talk about first-order and second-order change. The first is directly applied such as improving a tool or shifting a workflow. The second are chain reactions that follow a primary action and are outcomes that aren’t immediate ... and can be more significant over time.

Too much planning in complex systems can blind us to what's really unfolding, as we get hung up on the controlling first-order change. This creates a false sense of control in a landscape that actually calls for adaptability. In short, you can’t fully plan second-order change. You can, however, better attune to the emergence of it and be ready for what it offers.

This calls for us to not just do things differently. But to also see differently.

*Photo displays a view of overlapping arched doorways*

To be clear, this doesn’t mean that, in this moment, we sit here and do nothing. It means we shift our posture. We stop trying to engineer outcomes and start tending the soil they might grow from. We listen more. We slow down. We stay open.

What Might Nonprofit Work Feel Like?

In conversations with nonprofit staff, funders, and community builders, I’ve asked a simple question: what do you wish nonprofit work could feel like? Their answers weren’t vague or divergent. They were surprisingly aligned and sounded like this:

Less about individual heroics, more about relational effort
Less extraction, more sustainability
Less performance for funders, more rooted service to communities
More love and dignity. More joy in the day-to-day

These aren’t just Pollyanna values. They’re actually really good structural clues! They’re early signals of a future that’s trying to take root. But change of this kind requires us to leave the comfort of incremental tweaks that offer a “guarantee to increase your funding by 50% in the next year.” It asks us to compost old transactional logic and become brave enough to imagine something we haven’t yet built.

As environmentalist Paul Hawken wisely puts it, “nature doesn’t plant trees, it grows forests.” The future of the social sector isn’t about scaling individual programs like seedlings in isolation. It’s about cultivating conditions for entire ecosystems to thrive. That means designing not for replication and organizational scale, but for our interdependence.

A Different Kind of Vision

The future is perpetually a push and pull between the old and the new. And right now, we’re standing in this liminal tension. And we can feel it. Mythology scholar Mark Meade describes this moment as a collective rite of passage. The old stories are falling away but the new ones haven’t fully arrived.

It’s uncomfortable. Yes. And also… it’s necessary.

In this in-between, we have an opportunity not to rush toward the next shiny thing, but to braid the strands back together. To remember that the wholeness of social good work was never individuated and organization-centered. It was always relational.

So what do we do now? We tend the soil and we stay in the important questions:

Who is doing well in the current system? Who is not? (systems level)
What relationships deserve deeper trust? (group level)
How am I complicit in creating the conditions I say I don’t want? (individual level)
What ways of working would you want future generations to inherit from us? (future-facing)

Even the smallest seed trusts the dark before it ever meets the sun. Perhaps right now the best thing we can do is to be faithful to the process.

The Ending That Isn’t

We’re conditioned to believe that progress must always be visible, measurable, and delineated by a growth curve that trends upward and to the right. But real transformation never begins that way. It starts quietly, beneath the surface, in places that look like stillness or even decay.

In this fertile darkness, we don’t need to force the light. We only need to stay present, patient, and trust that something alive and different is already on its way, just beneath the soil.

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Michelle Flores Vryn, CFRE is a nonprofit fundraiser, writer and consultant. She is recognized as an engaging speaker, teacher and writer on how to accelerate nonprofit impact through sustainable growth. You can reach out to her for speaking engagements and trainings.

Connect with Michelle on LinkedIn and routinely check out her [re]generative nonprofit blog for more insights on the social sector.

Seeds Germinate in the Dark: Rethinking Our Posture in a Time of (Poly)Crisis