Dear Friends,

As some of you know, last month, we lost one of Ei's best, Kaz Brecher. The team and I are still finding our way through the loss, but wanted to do our very best to share a glimpse of Kaz’s magic, whether you knew her or not.

One of One

Kaz first joined the Ei team as a facilitator in 2020. Hers was one of the shortest interview cycles in our history. Simply put, she was a perfect fit. She dove right in, helping shape our Innovation and Futures Casting programs for teams. From there, she grew into one of our first PALs — Practice Area Leads — where she oversaw the curricular design of our programming for managers and executives at some of the largest companies in the world. She defined a clear, bold point of view on what experiential learning can mean for leaders and teams.

Kaz’s fingerprints are all over our workshops. But her presence? That was something even greater — sharp, kind, playful, unflinchingly rigorous, and deeply human. Kaz was 1 of 1. A total force. If you knew her for any amount of time, we know you agree.

What Kaz Taught Us

Curiosity
Kaz was the most curious person we’ve ever known. Even though she was often the smartest and most well-read person in the room, she didn’t lead with answers. She led with questions. She listened deeply and asked generously. “Can you tell me more about that?” wasn’t a facilitation tactic; it was who she was. Her consulting practice was even called Curious Catalyst. She taught us that great leadership begins with genuine interest: in others, in the work, in what’s possible.

Empathy
Kaz had a remarkable ability to show up fully, even when it wasn’t easy. Whether she was facilitating while pregnant or juggling motherhood and cancer treatment—she wasn't just grinding through. She was present. Vulnerabilities and all. Most leaders think they need to be invincible. Kaz showed us a different model. She led with honesty, presence, and care. She made it safe for others to bring their whole selves, too. That’s not soft leadership. It’s the hardest kind.

Rigor
Kaz held the bar high — for herself, for us, for the field of learning and development. We’d often wake to find late-night messages from her pushing us to think about a specific part of our program from another angle. Sara eventually needed a dedicated folder just to keep track of Kaz’s many recommendations. Kaz had a deep love of frameworks and mental models and used them often. Not for their own sake, but because they helped people make sense of complexity and take meaningful action. Her standards made the work better. But that rigor was never about ego. It was about service.

Connection
Kaz built bridges. Between people and ideas, and between what someone said and what they meant. Her presence created a kind of gravity — grounding and energizing at the same time. If Kaz knew you, your community would grow exponentially just by the number of times she’d say, “I know someone you should meet — let me put you in touch.” And when Kaz was in the room, you wanted to be more present. Because that’s how she showed up: fully here.

Play
Lastly, Kaz loved to play. Even in the serious stuff. She had a contagious laugh, a sharp wit, and a love of language that made her work sparkle. She reminded us that learning should feel alive. Her delight was its own form of leadership — a reminder that joy belongs in the room too.

From Here…

As we seek to move forward, we’ll keep practicing what Kaz embodied: curiosity, empathy, rigor, connection, and play. When we convene a group, facilitate a program, coach someone through a Leap, or create something that helps someone feel seen and supported — we do something Kaz would have shouted "HUZZAH!" for.

That's the work ahead of us. To grieve, yes. To remember her, always. And then, to keep building — the way she built. And now that you know a bit about Kaz, that’s our challenge to you too.

Thanks for taking a moment to honor her with us.

With love for Kaz and gratitude for each of you,

Victor