In this episode, Trisha hands the microphone to her listeners. After last week's confession about the skip button, voice notes arrived from around the world - Scotland, South Africa, the USA, Guatemala, Aotearoa New Zealand, and Australia - sharing the songs that shifted them, the music that carries their pride, and how they use music deliberately in their work across cultures.

Is music a universal language, or thousands of particular ones?

A newly published piece of research gives a name to the answer that runs through every one of these voices - and it may reshape how you think about similarity and difference across cultures. Trisha also discovers which doorway is the hardest to catch yourself walking through, and finds an unexpected homecoming in a song she almost skipped.

With thanks to the voices in this episode:

Shirley Moana Duff - Coaching Psychologist

Hanlie van Wyk - CQ Fellow and Social Scientist - (Episode 54)

Greg Dearsley - CQ Fellow, Workplace Health and Safety - (Episode 14)

Lucy Butters - Author of "Cultural Intelligence in Practice" - (Episode 24 and Episode 67)

Lisa Liang - Intercultural Storyteller, Actor and Performer

Dr Angel S. Longino - Career Design and Cultural Intelligence, Higher Education

Resources mentioned include:

• "Universal Pluralism: Appreciating and Exploring Both Similarity and Difference Across People and Cultures" by Dr Tim Lomas
• Dr Tim Lomas' LinkedIn post
• "Luna de Xelaju" duet by Oscar Isaac and Gaby Moreno (YouTube)
• "Matariki Hunga Nui (Calling Me Home)" by Rob Ruha, Troy Kingi, and Kaylee Bell with Professor Rangi Matamua (YouTube)
• Listen along on Spotify - the songs our voices shared, followed by bonus picks spanning jazz, gospel, reggaeton, and more: The Great Equaliser - Music from The Shift Podcast

Referenced in this episode:

• Moon Joy and Cultural Intelligence
• Cultural Blindness - When Fairness Isn't Fair
• The Cost of Sameness - Voices from Three Continents
• What My Skip Button Taught Me About Bias

Make sure you join Trisha in this journey of growth and discovery throughout the year via Substack or LinkedIn.

I would like to acknowledge the Dharawal people, the Aboriginal people of Australia, whose country I live and work on. I would like to pay my respects to their elders, past, present, and emerging, and thank them for sharing their cultural knowledge and awareness with us.

Hi there, everyone. I'm Trisha Carter. I'm an organizational psychologist and an explorer of cultural intelligence. I'm on a quest to discover what enables us to see things from different perspectives, especially different cultural perspectives, and why sometimes it's easier than others to experience those moments of awareness, the shifts in our thinking.

As our regular listeners know, cultural intelligence, CQ, is made up of four areas. There's the motivational, CQ drive. There's the knowledge, CQ knowledge. Sometimes we think-- call that the cognitive aspect. And then there's the metacognition, which is CQ strategy, thinking about our thinking. And then, of course, there's different behaviors, CQ action.

In this podcast, we tend to focus more on thinking about our thinking, the metacognition, because that's where the shifts often happen Last week, I made a bit of a confession, and I told you about my thumb, about catching myself reaching for the skip button and discovering that my listening to music has a doorkeeper, one that only lets a song in if I can follow the words.

I mean, does that sound very culturally intelligent to you? Anyway, I asked you a question, "What's your listening looking for before it lets a song in?" Well, dear listeners, you answered, and I deeply appreciate it. This episode belongs to different voices, your voices, people from other parts of the world, Scotland, South Africa, the USA, yes, Aotearoa, New Zealand, and Australia, but also Guatemala and the United States.

People sent me voice notes about the music that had shifted them and the music that carries their identity and their pride, and how they use music deliberately in their work across cultures. And honestly, listening to those messages was a real joy. So today, I'm going to mostly get out of the way, but I will offer a thread here and there because it was amazing to see those threads emerge.

And near the end, I want to share an idea that came from some research that I've just come across this week. Thank you, LinkedIn. And I think that that research gives a name to something that you'll hear running through just about every single one of these voices. But the voices come first. Our first voice is Shirley Moana-Duff, a coaching psychologist who focuses on wellbeing, on relationships, and on careers.

And she's like me, a Kiwi living in Australia. Shirley took me straight back to 1985. She talked about her lounge room full of mattresses and a 12-year-old watching something the world had never seen before

I love music, and I never get more joy out of it than when it's connecting me with others, whether that's through listening, singing, dancing, or just being moved together. That communal energy is pure joy, and I know that the seed of that comes from watching Live Aid and listening to the Band Aid single, "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

So I would've been around 12 or 13 when Live Aid happened, and at my house, we dragged the mattresses off our beds into the lounge room to watch, eat, and sleep our way through the concert together. And what I saw was a bunch of bands, most of whom I didn't even know, come together for a great cause, supported by this vast sea of people having the best time because of music.

It was spectacular and unlike anything I'd ever seen before. And so that was the beginning of the shift for me. Live Aid taught me that music is a tool that can bring strangers together and put us in sync with each other, and I've seen that again and again in my life, whether that's the perfect song at a funeral that helps people release sadness together or that banger, I'm looking at you, Boney M.,

with your "Rasputin" weirdness, that gets everyone on the dance floor on New Year's Eve. Music collapses differences. It's a great equalizer

did you hear that? Music collapses differences. It's a great equalizer. Isn't it a wonderful line? And can you hear what's happening in Shirley's story? It's two of the doorways we talked about last week together. The being moved doorway, that warmth in the chest that researchers call kama muta, and bodies falling into sync with each other from the lounge room in New Zealand to a stadium on the other side of the world.

Hold onto Shirley's line, though, "Music is the great equalizer," because we're going to come back to it Next is my friend and colleague Hanlie van Wyk, a CQ Fellow and a social scientist whose research takes her into the hardest territory there is, the study of hate. You heard her back in episode 54, and I find it really moving that someone who spends her working life understanding what happens when belonging turns dangerous began her story with music as connection

I was very lucky that my parents and stepparents had very varied tastes in music. My mother was into classical music of all kinds, played several instruments. We all learned to play several instruments. My stepdad was into jazz. My stepmom was into Chinese music. And my father like, liked rock and roll.

Also, his favorite artist was Joan Baez, and one of his favorite songs was, I'm the Great Pretender, the Queen song. So that was, kind of funny For me, music had to do with connection. So first of all, it was connection for me between my brain and my body. I grew up in the, I grew up in the rave culture, so it was very much feeling the music when you went into a club or you went into this environment in where, in, in which the music was completely, all-consuming, and I loved that connection between the brain and the body.

I suppose it's the same with playing instruments as well. And then later it was also to do with cultures. In the South African culture, it had to do with understanding the different music choices that the Black South Africans would have versus the white South Africans. And then when I started traveling, I always asked about local musicians, local artists, what people's favorite artists were locally.

And my husband is a collector of vinyls, and so, it's now a tradition that I will always find a vinyl shop for him wherever I travel and buy something that is local Of course, I think Shazam is the most incredible app ever invented. Just love it. It's probably the most used app on my phone. Work-wise, I would say I mostly use it to create a fun atmosphere when people are joining a facilitation group, which helps lower anxiety and, and barriers, and also has people ask about the music or talk about the music sometimes.

It's also a great way to do an icebreaker, asking people their favorite band or song or the first concert they attended. And that always has a sort of a connective and leveling effect as well

The connection between the brain and the body, that's the door I told you about last week that I'd been walking straight past. That's where the beat, the entrainment, the music gets you before your mind is even consulted. Hanlie grew up inside that door. And did you notice that what she does now, everywhere she travels, she asks about local musicians and the music that they love, and she finds a vinyl shop.

That's CQ Drive in action. Curiosity with a shopping bag. And for the facilitators listening, note her technique, music at the start of a session, lowering anxiety before a single word is spoken. She's using that body door professionally

And now a voice from Aotearoa, New Zealand, Greg Dearsley, a CQ fellow who's an expert in the workplace health and safety area. You might remember him from episode 14. Greg sent me a story about the first song he ever had an emotional connection with, and as I listened, I felt very, very seen

So I grew up in the '70s to the sound of Anne Murray, the Osmonds, Barbra Streisand, and John Denver playing in the background of the house. And then in the early 1980s, MTV appeared and images of Freddie Mercury in black leather, Split Enz in their clown-like costumes and painted faces, Ziggy Stardust with his characteristic lightning bolt on his face, and the Dire Straits song Twisting by the Pool, with its playful lyrics and animated video started appearing on TV, on the New Zealand show Ready to Roll, which no doubt you're familiar with.

Dire Straits was the first concert I attended at Western Spring Stadium in 1983, and their song Telegraph Road is, I think, a song that shifted me. It's probably the first song I had an emotional connection with. It had a story that could be followed. I loved the way it created images of a settler and a new piece of land starting to build something from scratch, the trials and tribulations of community growth, and it reflected what I knew of the world at that time.

It was such a descriptive song, and as a 12 or 13-year-old, I could picture every line that was sung. And a few years later, it resonated with me even more as at the time I'd just started an apprenticeship in a factory environment, and I was the people coming home from the factories. Mind you, there weren't six lanes of traffic in those days.

Mark Knopfler's guitar playing style introduced me to the intricacies of music and the way he held the instrument, and now I listen and hear the little things that musicians do that make the song for me, the value of backing singers, a small tap on the top hat by Charlie Watts in the Rolling Stones song, "Angie," or Debbie Harry's nasal vira- vibrato in "One Way or Another."

I haven't used a lot of music in my work, but there was a period of time when I was delivering health and safety rep training, and one of the exercises asked students to rank items that they would take off a boat in the event that it started sinking, and who would they rescue. To add a bit of background humor and connection, I played the Split Enz song, "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" while the students worked through the exercise, and I guess Split Enz has a great connection and pride, I suppose, to New Zealand culture, with the popularity of first Crowded House, Tim Finn's solo career, and Neil Finn making it onto stage with Fleetwood Mac, just has been, I guess, an image and a thought of, of what New Zealand culture can do that has, is, is world-class.

Did you catch it? Greg's song had a story that could be followed. " I could picture every line that was sung," he said. He loves the same door that I do, the lyrics door, the story door, and there's nothing wrong with loving that door. A great story song is one of the gifts of the world. The question last week and this week is only whether it's the sole door that we use.

I also love that Greg gave us a practitioner story, playing six months in a leaky boat as a backdrop to a training exercise about a sinking boat, and it's a bit of a pride story because New Zealand is, for us, Split Enz and Crowded House. They aren't just bands, they're proof of what a small country's culture can offer the world And from another small country, Scotland, Lucy Butters.

Lucy is the author of Cultural Intelligence in Practice. It's that book we spoke about in episode 67. Lucy was also a guest in episode 24. I recently reread the book before a, a somewhat challenging training course that I was going to be delivering. But to her voice note, it's, it's wonderful. It travels a long way from her granny's piano to bagpipes, to one of the most important and harrowing songs of the 20th century

Thanks for getting me to think about music, Trisha. Something that's been really important to me in different ways at different times. My granny was a piano teacher, and I loved, loved playing piano and processing my thoughts and emotions through it. But what I liked to play wasn't what I maybe liked to listen to.

and I think music's very contextual as well, that thing about where you are. And I speak as a Scottish person, and of course, bagpipes really, the context has to be outside is my thoughts on the music. also, I've bought music I've enjoyed listening to in Jordan and Mexico, and then not really enjoyed the CDs so much when I've brought them home.

So I think context is really important about what you're listening to and how it impacts. Something that's really had a-- really made me think about songs differently was the first time I heard Billie Holiday singing Strange Fruit, and it was a song that made you stop and listen, and the music was so beautifully crafted for it.

It really had such an impact. It's a song about lynching of Black men in South USA. It's a horrific topic, and it doesn't flinch from the horror, and yet it uses music beautifully to make people confront what was happening. Love that, and it really got me thinking about lyrics, how often I'm dancing to songs that have a good beat but a really sad lyric, for example.

So that really got me thinking about how powerful music can be and the lyrics can be, that can really just make you stop. When you ask the question about where you don't feel you belong with music, I instantly thought about sport and that bit about sometimes you can be in groups and think, "I'm in the wrong place by the songs they're singing."

But oh, what a great topic to explore.

I want to sit for a moment with Strange Fruit. Billie Holiday singing about the lynching of Black men in the American South. A song that doesn't flinch and that uses beauty to make people confront the horror. That is the testimony door at its most powerful and most costly, and I'm really grateful that Lucy named it and brought it to us.

And she also gave us something we didn't speak about last week, context. As she said, bagpipes need to be outside. And the music that she bought in Jordan and in Mexico didn't sound quite the same when she brought them home. So a song isn't only particular to a culture, it's particular to a place, a moment, a setting.

The meaning doesn't just live in the song, it lives in where the song is. And did you catch her brush with the other side of belonging? Being in a group at sport, hearing the songs they're singing and thinking, "I'm in the wrong place." Hold onto that thought too. We'll come back to it Our next voice comes from an intercultural storyteller and actor and performer, Lisa Liang.

I first saw Lisa perform her solo show, Alien Citizen, at the Families in Global Transition Conference in Washington, DC back in 2014. I can still remember exactly where I was sitting in that audience and the feeling that that performance engendered. Lisa sent me a story about a song from Guatemala, her country of birth, and about what it means to give an audience a moment of recognition

A song that makes me proud of Guatemala, my country of birth, where my father's side of the family lives, is Luna de Xelajú. It was the first Guatemalan love song that became a hit in the rest of Latin America in the 1940s.

It crossed over. Paco Pérez wrote it, and it's a beautiful, melancholy love song to the moon that hangs over the city of Quetzaltenango, which is called Xelajú by the K'iche' people, who are Maya. In the song, the moon offers solace and understanding to the singer whose heart has been broken by a morena, or a dark-featured woman.

Guatemalans are very proud of that song because it's so lovely, and it garnered us respect from the rest of Latin America for a time. Probably the most famous Guatemalan-American is film actor Oscar Isaac, and the most famous Guatemalan-American singer-songwriter is Gaby Moreno, and together they sang the song as a duet, which you can see and hear on YouTube.

It's so lovely. I used the song as a sound effect to open and close my last one-woman show, Homesick, which is about my relationship with Guate and my family, especially my elders there, and especially my grandmother when they were all alive. The melancholy nature of the song was perfect for the show because the story I was telling, even though it had loads of humor and joy, also explored grief and different kinds of loss.

I think many people can relate to moments when only nature or the constancy of the celestial heavens could give us solace, which is what makes Pérez's ode to the moon so popular. I'm like countless Guatemalans who are proud that that's our song. I was so pleased to introduce the song to anyone in my audience who was unfamiliar with it and to give Guatemalans in the audience that moment of recognition and pride when they heard it.

That song, "Luna de Xelajú," Paco Perez's love song to the moon, written in the 1940s. It is so beautiful. Notice the shape of Lisa's pride. The song matters because it's theirs, Guatemalan, particular, rooted in one city and one people. And it also matters because it crossed over, because the rest of Latin America embraced it both at once.

Now put Lisa's story next to Shirley's. Shirley says music collapses differences, the great equalizer. Lisa says, "This song is ours, and that's exactly why we love it." And here's the thing, dear listeners, they're both right. Just hold that. We'll come back to it. Our final note is from Dr. Angel Longino, who works in career design and cultural intelligence in higher education in the United States.

I haven't yet met Dr. Angel in person, but I hope we will one day. I've been following her work and appreciating her insight and wisdom for some time. Her story took me somewhere I've never been, inside the radio station of a historically Black university and into the world of the great HBCU marching bands

Hi, Trisha. This is Dr. Angel Longino. I just wanted to thank you again for creating space for such a meaningful conversation around music, culture, and connection. It truly resonated with me. One thing I didn't have room to share in the comments is how much my appreciation for music was shaped as a student worker at WJSU FM eighty-eight point five at Jackson State University.

That's where I really began learning the richness of jazz while being immersed in HBCU culture. I was surrounded by the incredible traditions of the Sonic Boom of the South, along with the Sounds of Dynamite, Human Jukebox, Marching one hundred, and several phenomenal bands across the SWAC and MEAC, including the Magnificent Marching Machine, Showtime Marching Band, and the Blue and Gold Marching Machine.

Those experiences taught me that music isn't simply something we hear. It's history, identity, community, and cultural storytelling. Today, my playlists are just as diverse. I listen to everything from jazz, hip-hop, R&B, and reggaeton to different expressions of gospel music. Whether I'm cooking, doing household chores, relaxing after a long day, or simply needing to reset before returning to work, music has a way of meeting me where I am.

What fascinates me the most is that music can be both therapeutic and triggering at the very same time. Through lived experiences, I've learned that a song can evoke joy, grief, hope, healing, nostalgia, or motivation all within a few minutes. That duality reminds me that music is deeply personal while also being profoundly universal.

As someone who advocates for cultural intelligence and AI enablement and ethical learning strategy, conversations like yours remind us that understanding people begins with understanding the experiences, cultures, and rhythms that shape them. Thank you again for the opportunity to reflect.

Music isn't simply something we hear.  It's history, identity, culture, community.

And a song can be both therapeutic and triggering at the same time.

But it was Dr. Angel's last observation that made me stop and take note, 'cause in one sentence she said the thing this whole episode has been circling.

"Music," she said, "is deeply personal, while also being profoundly universal."

Both at once. Shirley's equalizer and Lisa's Guatemalan pride. The impulse to sing together that shows up in nearly every society on earth, and the particular songs that belong to one people, one place, and sometimes just one moment. And dear listeners, if that tension feels familiar, it should, because we've been walking around it for some months now.

It was there when we talked about moon joy and the overview effect, the astronauts looking back at the borderless earth and being overwhelmed by our oneness. It was there when we turned that over and found its shadow, cultural blindness, the way we're all the same, and how that can erase difference and deny people their pride and identity.

And then Samkelo, Crystal, and Sarah, three voices from three continents telling us exactly what that well-intentioned sameness does to people and their hearts and souls We'll have those episodes listed for you in the show notes so you can go back and listen to them, Moon Joy, Cultural Blindness, and Three Voices, Three Continents, if you haven't heard them yet.

Last week, music walked us into the very same tension. If we only tell the uniting story, we're doing the minimization thing. We're calling music a universal language when it's really thousands of particular languages. And this week, just as your voice notes were arriving, I finally saw a piece of research, thanks to a LinkedIn post, and got my hand on the paper to dive into it further.

It's by a well-being researcher named Tim Lomas, and it gave me a name, not just for what you've all been describing, but effectively for what we've been circling around this whole season. He calls it universal pluralism, and this idea is beautifully simple. For as long as people have compared cultures, we've sort of been offered a false choice.

Either people everywhere are essentially the same, and the differences are just decoration, that's universalism. Or the differences go all the way down, and any talk of common humanity just papers over what actually matters. That's pluralism. Lomas' argument is that this is a false choice. Both are true at once, and those universals are expressed and experienced in meaningfully different ways depending on culture.

The mistake isn't picking the wrong side. The mistake is thinking that we have to pick a side at all And here's the part that I love, the part that makes this a real point for CQ strategy and not just a philosophical point. That either or reflex, the feeling that one of those options has to be right, that may itself be culturally shaped.

Researchers comparing thinking styles have suggested that Western reasoning lends towards resolving contradictions, deciding which side wins, while other traditions are much more comfortable holding a middle way, letting two opposing things be true at the same time. So when we feel that itch to settle the question, is music universal or is it particular?

That itch is our own culture talking, and noticing it and resisting it is a metacognitive move Dr. Tim Lomas even looked at how researchers themselves behave. When he surveyed 100 recent articles in one of psychology's flagship journals, hardly anyone turned out to be a pure universalist or a pure pluralist. Most scholars, whatever banner they fly, quietly hold both. The argument he suggests mostly dissolves once you name the middle ground, and what's left is then a much more interesting conversation about how the universal and the particular play together in any given case, as we have been having over the last numbers of episodes.

So is music a universal language, or is it thousands of particular ones? The answer, dear friends, is yes. The impulse is universal. The songs are particular. Kama muta is universal

Luna de Xelaju belongs to Guatemala. Entrainment is universal. The sonic boom of the south belongs to Jackson State. The astronauts, they were right about our oneness. And Samkelo, Crystal, and Sarah were right about what happens when oneness is used to erase them. Holding both without dropping either side, that's the practice.

It turns out it has a name, and it has research behind it. The link to the paper and to Dr. Tim's LinkedIn post is in the show notes.

Now, before I close, I have to tell you about something I noticed in your voice notes, or rather something I almost didn't find in them. Last week, we talked about four doorways that music can come through: the beat, the being moved, the story, and a fourth one, which is sort of like surprise, where you have an expectation, but maybe it doesn't quite happen the way you expect.

The little jolt when music from another culture lands a little bit differently, where your model of the world has to update in real-time. Your stories were full of the first three, but nobody sent me a story about a strange scale that turned out to be beautiful or a rhythm that landed where they didn't expect it.

Or almost nobody, because listen again to Lucy at the sports ground, surrounded by people singing songs that she doesn't want to join in with, thinking, "I'm in the wrong place." This is the fourth door, the prediction jolt, just wearing its other face. Whenever anyone around you is singing from a script your model of the world doesn't contain, your predictions are failing in exactly the same way.

Only this time, the jolt doesn't register as beauty. It registers as, "I don't belong here." It's like my Nutbush moment, but with a Scottish accent. And I think that completes something we said last week. Music unites and excludes through the same mechanism. So it turns out the surprise door works the same way.

The same jolt that can feel like wonder when we're leaning in can feel like exclusion when it marks us as outside the circle

I don't think that the beauty side of the door was missing from your stories because it never happens to us. I think it's the hardest door to catch yourself walking through. Doesn't necessarily announce itself with tears or goosebumps or a chorus you can quote. It's just a moment of confusion or a strange moment of beauty.

Even Mike just mentioned it in passing in episode 82. "Reggaeton," he said, "I don't always know what's being said, but I love the beat." So there's your practice for this week if you'd like one. Keep doing what we started last week. Stay with the song your thumbs want to skip. But this time, listen for the flicker, the moment the music does something you didn't quite predict.

And when it comes, notice which face it's wearing. Wonder or not belonging? And remember, they're the same door. The tiny jolt is your model of the world stretching. It's a shift, and I'd love to hear about it if you catch one. And then, dear listeners, just as I was preparing for this episode, I think it might have happened to me.

This week, Aotearoa, New Zealand celebrated Matariki, the Maori New Year. It's a public holiday now, quite a new one, marking the rising of the Matariki star cluster in the winter sky. It, it's felt a little bit like watching a whole country develop a cultural habit. People are now getting up in the dark to watch the stars rise on the horizon.

Part of the practice is remembering those who have passed in the year gone by and letting the year go and turning towards the new one. So this is what New Zealand has been doing in the past few days, acknowledging and shifting perspectives together A year or two ago when I was there at Matariki, one of my great nieces, Gracie, sang me a Matariki song that she'd learned at preschool with the names of the stars.

It was to the tunes of the Macarena. Waiti, Waita, Waipunarangi. So this week I went looking for it on YouTube because I was going to teach it to my granddaughter, and instead I found a different song that I hadn't heard before because remember, I no longer live in New Zealand, so I miss a whole lot of the modern culture.

But it was a waiata, a song called Matariki Hunga Nui, Calling Me Home by Rob Ruha, Troy Kingi, and Kaylee Bell, together with Professor Rangi Matamua, who is the astronomer who championed Matariki becoming a holiday for all of Aotearoa. And friends, my te reo, my Maori language, is not up to understanding all of it.

My doorkeeper, the one that checks, "Can I follow the words?" didn't get to open the door after the first line, which is in English. But the song got in anyway, and it's been echoing in my heart ever since. It came in through the voices. It came in through that being moved feeling. A song about remembering places and calling us home will do that.

And the beat, well, that door was already standing wide open because it is Maori country music, and as anyone who knows me knows I love country music. Maori musicians have loved country for generations, themes of longing and land and community. And I only just discovered apparently country music grew out of Black American traditions, the banjo, the spirituals, and the Hawaiian invention of the steel guitar.

So in one sense, the genres my thumb had been skipping weren't strangers knocking at my door. They'd been inside the music all the time. I just hadn't followed them back far enough to learn all the traditions So last week I left you with a question, what might be waiting for you in the songs you prefer to skip?

And I found one, and it was a homecoming. We'll put the link to that song in the playlist, along with the songs that everyone else mentioned, in their notes so that you can listen to the songs from around the world teaching us about both the universals and the particulars. Because music is universal, music is particular.

It carries us home, and it calls us somewhere new, sometimes if we let it in the very same song. Thank you so much to Lucy, Hanlie Greg, Lisa, Angel, and Shirley for lending this episode your voices and your stories. All the links to connect with them, the people, not the songs, are in the show notes, along with the playlist, which will have the songs.

Also, the Dr. Tim Lomas paper and, the YouTube video of the Matariki waiata. And if a song surprises you this week, you know where to find me. Thank you for being part of The Shift today. Cultural intelligence is something we develop together, and these conversations are part of our shared learning journey.

If this episode resonated with you, please share it with someone who might also be exploring cultural perspectives, and maybe even share it with a song. Please make sure that you've pushed follow or subscribe in the podcast app of your choice, and I look forward to meeting with you again on the next episode of The Shift