The 2023 Workshop team (with Kim Zajac and Manuel Herrera)

I’ve reached my 10th year of the SXSW EDU conference (including seven as a presenter and one as a mentor)—my heartfelt thanks to many of you who clicked “vote for our session” in our summer newsletters!

The decade milestone inspired me to take stock of SXSW’s impact on this work. It’s mindblowing.

Here are some ways, which emphasize why People are at the center of Innovators’ Compass and all our ways of making things better and less stuck.

The culture.

SXSW EDU is created, volunteer-staffed, and attended by people passionate about making positive change by unleashing our capacity to learn, grow, and make positive change in the world around us at any age. It was a “bucket filling” experience every single time, no matter how exhausted I went in or came out.

The experiments.

I quickly came to use SXSW as a yearly milestone in this work:

A tool for any challenge I can unleash not teach (the Compass, till 2018).
The simplest addition to make the results much more powerful (exploring with more punctuation marks, 2019).
Ways to ensure people explore “with and for” everyone involved in positive and not harmful ways (2020-21).
Tapping into more of our human tools (2022-2023).
Developing the most immediately powerful physical tools and way to introduce them (2024-25).

I’d develop and test the tools in all my workshops leading to SXSW EDU, where they got further testing in sessions, spontaneous conversations, and especially in the 3-day “playground” interactive space I was generously granted in 2018-19.

The 2019 Playground team with Hillary Golthwait-Fowles, Dylan Ferniany, and Dave Coffey

Topics that were “Unstuck @SXSW EDU.” And yes, even Texas Longhorns need a breakthrough (or at least a break) to get unstuck sometimes!

The collaborations.

Each year I had the privilege of drawing in new collaboration partners. Most I’d never worked with, or in some cases even met in person, but I was inspired by them and their work and how they could stretch me and my work.

Among them have been Jessica Huang; Kaleb Rashad, Eric Chagala, Dawn McWilliams, Dan Coleman, Mitch Davison, Valeria Rodriquez, Dave Coffey, Manjula Karemcheti, Kim Zajac, Manuel Herrera, Jess Bacal, Kaylah Holland, Michael Hernandez, Hillary Goldthwait-Fowles, Dylan Ferniany, and Denise Kern.

The infusions.

I’ve been as passionate a consumer of SXSW EDU content as a creator of it. I can’t begin to list the impactful talks (I’ll just share this year’s closing keynote), panels, workshops, interactive spaces (like the d.school’s), meetups, evening events (notably, Leadership Journeys), and more I’ve attended.

This year I loved the addition of more intimate BrainDates—and discovered SXSW’s sensory/reflection room at just the moment I was compelled to create the most powerful single piece of paper I could (pg. 3 of this) and sought a space ripe for sketching it.

And every conversation I’ve had has been an inspiration—from Paula Intravia’s insights about purposeful daydreaming, to Louka Parry’s heart-and-head-provoking questions or Paris Gamble’s passion about meeting kids with money conversations to get them going.

And above all, the unfolding connections to people who contributed profoundly to this work.

The ripple effects of random SXSW encounters are where this gets really mind-blowing.

I must begin with infinite gratitude to Sean Hewens, a colleague at IDEO who drew me into my first SXSW—a panel at “the big one,” SXSW Interactive, which led me to discover SXSW EDU.

The K-12 Design Thinking Crowd Connections
At my first SXSW EDU, I had the luck to see someone I knew there—Sam Seidel—right at registration. He introduced me to the K-12 design thinking crowd, who would go on to name the Compass and start the hashtag (Kevin Day, Dan Ryder), and through the #dtk12chat weekly Twitter chat, expose so many more educators whose experiments fueled this work (just a few: Kim Zajac, Mary Marotta, Melissa Foley-Procko, Taryn Grigas Lang, Megan Ewanyk, Rosita Darden, Erin Quinn, Jacquie Gardy, Matt Drewette-Card…).

I then saw another friend, Jessica Huang from the MIT dLab, on an escalator. In the moment she had while passing me going up as I went down, she had enough time to say “Ela! You’re here! Do you want to present with me?”. She had the grace to pull me and my messy early thinking into her session, and inspire me to propose a session the following year.

The 4.0 Schools Connections
Some time beforehand, I was introduced to the wonderful Gabrielle Santa Donato by our mutual friend Tony Wagner; Gabrielle would text-connect me to the team of 4.0 schools, an incredible accelerator and community of “edupreneurs” at my first SXSW. As I shared the nascent Compass with David Fu on a warm balcony of the convention center, he pulled out his phone and began to record—he believed in it, in me, and pulled me into the 4.0 fold. The 4.0 Essentials program, Hassan Hassan, and the rest of the team who led it were a great kickstart to take this more seriously.

Kathleen McKissack said, “This needs a website.” Then she walked her talk and built it (in Squarespace, thankfully, so I was able to easily continue and fill it with content!).

Tim Hall said, “You need this thing called a folding business card.” Voila, the pocket compass was born!

And Garrett Mason said, “This could change the world.” The fuel those words offered in the long nights of this work is incredible on its own. But I didn’t know then that Garrett would take it across continents—Kosovo; China and Indonesia; and countries throughout Africa as a core tool to unleash local CorpsAfrica volunteers and changemakers.

Garrett also led to my meeting Valeria Rodriquez, a passionate educator and thought partner who contributed the Spanish sketchnoted version, foldable cubes, and much more.

The Universal Design For Learning & Juvenile Justice Connections
At my second SXSW EDU, I met Audrey O’Clair in a “meetup” session. She took one of those original “Pocket Compass” cards and a copy of the Compass chapter in Taking Design Thinking To School, put them in her purse…and pulled the card out on the day after SXSW to guide a meeting of Special Education teachers.

She would go on to be a force in the design of icompass.me, create the facilitation approach I’ve come to call “Sticky then Speak; read, add, repeat,” bring this work with her to Soundtrap and Spotify, and connect this work to the wonderful world of universal design for learning (Hillary Goldthwait Fowles, Lori Cooney), the incredible people and juvenile justice work of BreakFree Education (Kat Crawford, Kaylah Holland), the journalism work of Michael Hernandez, and many more.

More supporters
I’ve met wonderful supporters along the way, like Getting Smart (Tom Vander Ark and team), Big Picture Learning (Andrew Frishman, Carlos Moreno and team), Kwaku Aning, and many more.

Closet Compass Innovators
And I’m still discovering people impacted by this work at SXSW EDU. The number of people who came to me this year and said, “I stopped by your booth in 2018/2019 and took one of those cards” or “I was in your workshop way back in 2017” and that they still use it in their school/org—or pulled out their Pocket Compass—is incredible and so inspiring! It’s why I sport the colorful Compass T-shirt—so people can spot me and share their stories.

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I’ll end with a round of gratitude for the people of SXSW. The staff over the years (like Kat Stidham, who supported Playground) and got to meet more this year (including Greg Rosenbaum, one of the cofounders). And the armada of wonderful volunteers—I was delighted this year to see and catch up with the IT volunteer who saved Jessica and me in our first session, and another (Anupam Saraph) who was inspired when he supported our workshop room in 2023 and made sure to be in our session.
I’m grateful its incredible 4-day programming is relatively affordable—plus early career discounts and free admission for presenters. And I’m grateful for every acceptance and waitlisting received—the competition is tough. So thanks again to all you voters, too!

In 2025 with a SXSW-IT-volunteer from 2016 who saved Jessica Huang and my session!

Nurit with a birthday card I gave her a couple years ago: *Once in a while, someone very special comes along and makes the world a little more wonderful.*

I’ve never shared an extended personal story in my professional newsletter. When I watched my father die less than two years ago, I shared briefly how being in nature and seeing new leaves offered some solace and motivation—it reminded me of the life cycle and our short window in the sun. But having lost my sister so much earlier in her life, it’s been much harder seeing spring rebirth and knowing that she isn’t seeing it, too. I’ve had to lean into these tools we created more than ever. I’ll share just a sliver of that journey here.

Cognitively and physically disabled, Nurit was a shining spirit who loved music, art, and people—with a huge smile and heartfelt “thank you” for everyone, even in her hard final days. She shaped me profoundly and was certainly the first inspiration for this work, along with our parents, who supported us creatively and unconditionally through their early struggles as immigrants. I loved her fiercely.

Despite tireless efforts from her and all of us, and roller-coaster-highs-and-lows, it became clear we’d need to let go. This felt impossible, even physically. After I’d held her hand for 16 hours, minus a few fast bathroom breaks, a nurse gently reminded me that the dying need us to be ready. Still holding her hand, Compassing with the other, I forced myself to explore what was happening and why—with my heart, gut, and body, and lots of commas and ? marks. Three threads emerged as I explored my pain:

Ways that she’s such a powerful part of me, which felt stripped away.
And then, all the ways she still lives within me, my family, my music-making, and my work.
Ways she felt far too young—certainly at heart—and had fought through so many medical challenges before, including a wonderful day of seeming recovery before her final crash. And the many things I hoped to do or places I hoped to go with her.
And then the recollection that, after her life-saving surgery as a child—and before the other challenges that arose—she was given 50, maybe 60 years to live (she was 53).
Mistakes I unconsciously made that may have contributed to her decline.
And then, those made by others who care so, so incredibly deeply for her and gave her their all.

I realized that what mattered most for me was to explicitly keep her alive in all those ways; to embrace that this may be all the time she was given; and to remember how she was devotedly cared for by so many people who are ultimately human, forgiving myself as easily as I did the others.

The first was satisfyingly tangible—a chance to use my hands and the space and stuff around me. I resolved to put pictures of her in my workspace and our family’s living, music, and art spaces, right along like pictures of shared meals with our parents, and making things together with my Dad. To keep our weekly time to play music “together.” And, since she’d ask for Twinkle, Twinkle each time and was such a spark and light for me, to connect in some way with her each time I see a first star at night.

My other two needs were less tangible—when pictures are usually my superpower to save the day. This time, no sketch or symbols would come.

Then, I accidentally opened a video of a song I didn’t remember taking a couple of surreal weeks earlier at a retreat with my favorite band.

I was reminded of why there’s a + on “Our 10+ Human Tools”: music, especially combined with words in song, is a powerful way we capture what matters most in a way that infuses our ears, hearts, bodies, guts. It’s why countries have anthems, cultures pass songs down through generations, and why we have playlists for different moments.

The words of the song suddenly had new meaning and precisely matched what mattered most for me to hear then and often since:

(From Verse 1) I will never be the best I can, except for fleeting moments.
(From Verse 2) I will never see this town from space…but I’ve seen the light of Bogata.
(From Verse 3) I’m surprised I got this far, like a monarch in El Paso.
(Chorus) If your body’s sore it’s ‘cuz you’ve done something; If the sun is in your eyes, then you’re alive; If your heart is worn it’s ‘cuz you loved someone; and when you die, you lived a life.

Nurit and I playing together in happy times

Songs and stories also offer us helpful observations and ideas. Another, true-story song of theirs reminded me that a final rally before dying is common—and to do what we’d always done together and fire up my fiddle for her one more time.

None of this changed the loss I can feel to my core. But it’s helped me live with it. To slowly be able to hear this, let her go, a little, to live while continuing to love her fiercely—and love on my mom, husband, and kids. We never know how much time we and loved ones have.

These life-celebrating and life-changing songs, Lived a Life, One Last Drink, and Let Me Go, are written by Trevor Lewington, like three that have fueled this work: Shangri La (which I shared last year and becomes more relevant by the day), Broken Line (on repeat through the longest nights of this work, about his grandfather’s letter-writing that changed Canadian law—with a soul-filling bridge), and Letters (which comes on just when I need a little “compass” pick-me-up). Along with songs by fellow members Brian Buchanan and Craig Downie, the band’s repertoire is filled with true stories, and heartfelt awe, of people’s capacity to withstand profound challenges—punctuated by songs with pointed questions about our own choices. I’m so grateful for what this band has poured into their music, which has filled our family’s cups in so many ways. Trevor’s sons are the same ages as our daughters; his 11-year-old is fighting recurring brain tumors. Trevor is encouraging donations for research here in Dale’s honor.

And we welcome donations in Nurit's memory to VARC (formerly Careers)—whose people and programs filled Nurit's last 30 years with so much love, joy, activity, and meaning. People are what ultimately matter most; Nurit won everyone’s hearts—at VARC, her group home, and at the hospital—and they put their full hearts right back into their care for her. We are endlessly grateful.

Nurit continues to inspire me—this became my first blog post! Only through writing it did I realize that of course a song was the channel for this insight. Songs were Nurit’s clearest language. While she could speak only in short phrases and her paintings were beautiful abstractions, as I described in her tribute, she could sing along to her huge rolodex of songs—kids’ and holiday songs in two different cultures and languages, and popular songs of all eras (especially Elvis). A reminder that to truly involve everyone and their insight, we have to engage through their natural human tools and, in Victor Udoewa’s words, their ways of being and knowing. A bit before she passed, and ever since, I’d started experimenting with putting playlists (with known or new songs for me) on random shuffle while going on a run (one of my human tools) and finding that the songs which arose had surprisingly helpful insight for the moment. That practice will remain another concrete connection with my wonderful sister.

Thank you, always, Nurit.

The difference a decade of the SXSW EDU conference has made