Open Sesame!

A Serendipitous Encounter in Berlin Creates Connection

BOOK NEWS:
Brand Global, Adapt Local: How to Create Brand Value Across Cultures (Kogan Page, June 2025) written with Nataly Kelly, is coming in June. It’s full of stories—like the one below—about how people and brands create meaning across borders.

Follow all the global book launch events on my website.

• A pre-launch event takes place at EDHEC in Paris May 14 (bien sûr, where else?!) Register here.

• The European reveal is at Cannes Lions from June 16~20.

• The US book launch is in New York June 26.

• Join our launch squad here to help us promote the book. We’re raffling off 20 FREE copies.

• Preorder here, using code KOGANPAGE25 for 25% off.

---

My husband and I returned to Berlin for the first time since leaving suddenly at the height of Covid— this time, magic struck in an unexpected place.

An outdoor gym, where people from all backgrounds jump, push and pull to build core strength.

First, some context: in December 2020, David and I had lived and worked in Berlin for two years—he at a MedTech startup and me as CMO at Babbel, leading a team of 150 people from 20 different nationalities through the sudden shift to remote work.

Every Monday morning, I’d open our virtual all-hands with a story, an insight, or a spark of inspiration to get us through the week. That rhythm gave our team a sense of unity during a fractured time. Managing their emotional and professional journeys, I felt not only like their CMO, but their MOM.

Then it all came to a crashing halt. I was fired—illegally, it turns out—as the company tried to avoid my contractual compensation. Despite having moved my family to Berlin, leading growth during Covid, and uplifting a depressed and dispersed team, I was let go in what felt both cruel and cowardly. I was the adult in the room with a young, international team—and I was cut loose.

This time, returning to Berlin felt different. Yet my nurturing instinct remained.

We stayed with someone who had entered my life at the end of that painful chapter—my labor lawyer. A brilliant and tireless advocate, she had spotted the company’s ploy, stopped it cold, and gave me back the dignity I had nearly lost. She said I could even get my job back. But I knew: once trust is broken, it’s hard—if not impossible—to rebuild.

For me, trust is everything. Integrity is one of my core values, not only the integrity of my work, but of my word and my relationships, whether they’re professional, personal or serendipitous.

An unexpected encounter in Berlin reminded me that we can connect meaningfully with others before even exchanging names. In that space of quiet recognition, finding the courage to share our own lessons sometimes helps someone else navigate theirs.

Here’s what happened:

My husband and I returned to his favorite outdoor gym in Berlin—pull-up bars and elevated steps on the banks of the Spree river. This time, we brought along my attorney’s 17-year-old son, who was eager to get stronger.

As I returned from a jog beneath blooming willow trees, I saw David chatting with a young Japanese man in a black tank top with orange hair and a goatee.

"Heyyyyy, sugoi!" the young man exclaimed, impressed by David’s Japanese.

"You should talk to my wife,” David replied, calling me over. “Her Japanese is really good."

I smiled. "Hajimemashite, watakushi wa Kyasarin desu."

As always, when you speak someone’s language—not just grammatically, but authentically—a new world opens up.

He told me he lived in London but was visiting Berlin with his father from Tokyo, who was sitting quietly on the steps.

"My Dad’s a Buddhist monk," the young man said.

I felt a magnetic pull. I walked over, leaving David with our new friend.

"Hajimemashite," I said to his father. "Watakushi wa Kyasarin desu."

Open Sesame.

We spoke about Buddhism, which I had discovered as a teenager at the Zen Center in Northern California. I told him about my three chapters working in Japan decades apart—for Fuji Television, Louis Vuitton, and Shiseido. I explained I was American, though my father had been born here in Germany and fled the Nazis—so I felt a strange, almost ancestral dissonance returning to Berlin.

The monk nodded. "My son just lost his job," he said quietly. "He’s struggling."

I froze. How can this man I just met, from a culture that prides itself on formality and respectful distance, confide in me? Why is he sharing this, I wondered to myself.

His son came over, excited that I had worked at Fuji TV. “We remember Deta Mono Shoubu,” the #1 TV game show I’d once reported on.

We smiled. We connected.

I looked at the young man and said gently, "Your father told me in confidence that you're going through a tough time. I’m sorry.”

Propelled by instinct and adrenalin, I confided, “I’ve lost my job more than once. It hurts."

He held my gaze. In his eyes, I saw that familiar storm—conflicted, embarrassed, uncertain. I knew that feeling well.

So, I continued. "It hurts because it touches something deep. Something you value—something that wasn’t respected. That’s why it stings. But that pain? It’s also your path forward. If you let it, it will teach you."

He nodded slowly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his dad nodding, as if he sensed this whole scene before it happened.

"Lay the blame and the shame to the side, and with empathy toward yourself, ask: Why does this hurt so much? What did I need that I didn’t get? What is important to me moving forward? That’s how you grow stronger—not in spite of the hurt, but because of it."

In that moment, I wasn’t the executive, the strategist, or the fired employee. I was just a human being, reaching out to another.

Before they left the park, the young man came over to me where I was stretching and said, “I have work to do now. I will do this. Hontou ni arigatou!” He bowed deeply.

As I watched them leave, I wondered who the spiritual leader was in this group. Maybe all of us were.

That’s the magic of travel, of serendipity, of connection. Cultural differences don’t have to separate us, they can be invitations to lean into our shared humanity, where ideas and emotions transcend languages, borders, and backgrounds.

For me, an American, a German-Jewish refugee’s daughter living in France, standing beside a Japanese monk and his son in Berlin—it was a moment I’ll never forget.

Some lessons can’t be learned in a classroom. You have to live them.

I’ve lived in multiple countries. I’ve worked across many cultures. I’ve learned multiple languages. And I can tell you this: nothing expands your perspective like immersing yourself in another way of life.

You learn that business isn’t the same everywhere. You stop assuming your way is the only way. You realize that communication is more than words.

A global mindset doesn't grow just by boarding a plane—it requires curiosity and empathy. It’s about seeing differences not as threats, but as invitations.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear: Have you ever connected with a stranger in an unfamiliar place—and walked away changed?

I encourage you to share in the comments so we can all appreciate the learnings of our vast world.

If you like you this, you may like my book—filled with stories about how brands and people create value across cultures, one interaction, one connection, at a time.

Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for being you.

Katherine