Connection, Completion and Cognac

Reflecting on values upon finishing my book

Three days ago, I finished my first book.

I told no one.

I didn't run and tell my husband. Didn't call a friend. Didn't post on social media.

Instead, I closed my laptop, took a breath—and made myself a brandy. Not just any brandy: Courvoisier Cognac. After a year of working tirelessly on this book, I gave myself space to walk around, breathe deeply, and savor this accomplishment alone.

You better believe I savored that Courvoisier, too.

Connecting is a big part of who I am and where I gain meaning. True value is created where meaning is felt—in the human experience, shaped by the rich interplay of culture, context, and connection. This is one of the cornerstones of Brand Global, Adapt Local, due out next year.

Writing this book was all consuming. Lest you think I’ve been gallivanting around the globe in my black velvet Louis Vuitton skirt, let me assure you: as my deadline loomed ever closer, my author “couture” looked a bit different. I swathed myself in my coziest robe and cashmere slouch pants until noon . . . and I stayed that way for days. Weeks. Months.

I wrote chapters, rewrote chapters, interviewed friends and colleagues, and catalyzed dozens of conversations with professional marketers all over the world. Connection was the name of the game—how they connect with, and create meaning for, customers across cultures through products, service and marketing—and I brought my A game to the process. And somehow, every Thursday, I still found my way out of the cocoon to teach my global marketing class at Berkeley Haas.

The best part was how the two intertwined to the betterment of both! Ideas from the book helped me clarify takeaways in class—which students love. That, in turn, helped me be more direct in the book. My teaching method is fluid as I share relevant anecdotes from my experiences. When I retold stories in class, I gained additional insights for framing them more effectively. Sometimes my students would say, “You need to put that in the book!” And I did.

So then why, when this book has been a conduit to connection from start to finish, did I choose to first connect with myself?

Perhaps because I’m older and wiser and want to relish that satisfaction solo.

Perhaps because this book was my own endeavor. It was not a group project (though of course there are dozens of people involved). Being a CMO is like being the chef d‘orchestre; now I'm a solo performer, and I've had to develop skill and comfort in that.

Sharing these stories requires me to be vulnerable. I often feel like I am revealing my eyes and my soul. And I didn’t always get it right on the first go. Even in the eleventh hour, the book was writing me as much as I was writing it.

Take, for example, the section where I talk about living and working abroad with my family in tow. For eight years, my husband and I raised our children across borders; together, the four of us learned to navigate cultural nuances—sometimes clumsily, but always with an open mind. As I wrote this part of the book, the memories came flooding back: a vivid panoply of funny, awkward, poignant, true. (It reminded me that connecting people across cultures and geography isn’t just a career priority—it extends into every aspect of my personal life.)

My editor loved this section. But she felt it was out of sequence. “Why are these stories hiding at the very end of the book?” she asked. “We want more Katherine!”

Her words echoed feedback from my students: they want to know more about me. That always catches me by surprise. I think of myself as transparent to the core; I do my best to show up fully and authentically in every interaction.

And yet not putting myself front and center has been pivotal to my career. So much of my work is about shucking off a myopic, ethnocentric perspective where I center my culture, my language, my beliefs. It’s one of the central themes in BGAL. But it hadn’t really occurred to me that by shucking off a Katherine-first perspective—in my own book, no less—I was actually withholding something essential.

In the words of my editor: “We want to feel like we know the human who is taking our hand and leading us on this journey.”

It was a great note, except for one little detail.

I had only one day left to revise.

This final edit sent me into a deeper, faster spiral, knowing I had no more time. A deadline is a deadline is a deadline. Having worked for three of the world's richest men—Bernard Arnault at LVMH, Tadashi Yanai at Uniqlo, and Tom Pritzker at Hyatt—I know that, like Olympians, I have to land that jump!

Happily, I landed it without a wobble. I moved up the section on raising my family of global citizens, sharing with readers what my life was like not just as a marketing executive, but a mom. You might say I put myself back into the narrative, the older, wiser, across-brands-and-borders me who’s always peeling back layers of learning chapter by chapter, class by class. And I hope the book is more vibrant, more alive, more connecting as a result.

After my solo celebration of a completed manuscript, I took my brandy downstairs and joined my husband, who was watching Netflix. I sat there quietly, basking in the warm glow of the television and a job well done.

A few minutes later, he turned to me. “Did you finish your book?”

“Yes,” I said.

He smiled.

“I think you’ll sleep better now!”

I have no clue what comes next in the book publishing flow. And I don’t want to! I need a break—time with family and friends, planning our next six months in France. But I do know we’ll be kicking off Brand Global, Adapt Local with a foreign launch: perfect for a book on international marketing. Save the date for a June multi-city book tour.

For now, I’ll reconnect with myself, and with the people I love. I’m moving from a season of solitude into a season of connection—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.