A few months ago, I received an unexpected email.
The sender was a colleague celebrating her birthday. She thanked me for the message she had received earlier that day and wrote something that stopped me in my tracks.
She had worked in our Organization for decades and told me that the note had arrived at a meaningful moment. Her response made me pause. Other colleagues would later share reactions of their own, some warm and some unexpected.
Their responses made me reflect.
Not about birthday messages. About leadership.
Every day, somewhere in the Americas, a colleague receives a birthday message from me through our internal systems. Although the delivery is automated, I write the messages personally and revisit them regularly. They draw on ideas, conversations, books, and experiences that are shaping my own reflections. Technology provides the reach; the intention remains personal.
At first glance, this may seem insignificant. Organizations exist to deliver results, not birthday greetings.
Over time, I have come to see these messages as more than a birthday ritual. They are a modest way to recognize colleagues as people, not only for the work they do.
What People Told Me
The responses varied.
One colleague wrote that, after more than thirty years at PAHO, the message reached her on the last day of her career before retirement. She saw it as a fitting conclusion to her journey with the Organization.
Another said she would save the message coming from the Director of HR… I felt important for a second, and humbled until today.
One colleague called to explain that, because of her religious beliefs, she did not celebrate birthdays. She nevertheless appreciated the goodwill behind the message. She took the time to explain her perspective, invited me to a service at her church, and opened my eyes to a very different way of thinking about birthdays.
These reactions brought to mind a familiar saying, often associated with Maya Angelou and traced in its earliest documented form to Carl W. Buehner:
“They may forget what you said—but they will never forget how you made them feel.”
—Carl W. Buehner, as attributed in Richard Evans’ Quote Book (1971)
In organizational life, people may forget a policy, a process, or a meeting, but they rarely forget how an organization made them feel.
Beyond What Can Be Counted
The responses were varied and sometimes unexpected. The conversation with the colleague who invited me to her church, in particular, challenged my assumptions and opened a door to a perspective I had not considered.
Leadership often falls into the trap of measuring only what can be counted. Yet some of the most important human interactions resist measurement.
This does not mean evidence is unimportant. It means that leadership also requires judgment: the ability to recognize value in conversations, gestures, and moments of connection that no metric can fully capture.
Trust. – Respect. – Belonging. – Care.
These rarely fit neatly into a dashboard.
A Leadership Journal Disguised as Birthday Greetings
Looking back, I think of these messages as a leadership journal disguised as birthday greetings.
The messages evolved over time. Some reflected on uncertainty and resilience. Others explored friendship, purpose, renewal, gratitude, or hope. They drew inspiration from people whose ideas had recently challenged or inspired me, from economists and philosophers to public servants and political leaders.
What changed from month to month was not a communication strategy, but my own understanding.
Many of the ideas I shared were lessons I was trying to understand myself. They emerged from conversations I was having, books I was reading, speeches I had heard, or challenges I was navigating as a leader, a professional, a father, and simply as a person.
When something resonated with me, I often found myself wondering whether it might also be useful to someone else.
So I shared it.
In that sense, the birthday messages became miniature versions of the articles I write on this website, guided by the same motivation.
I write because I am still learning—about people, leadership, organizations, purpose, happiness, service, and myself. When an idea helps me see something differently, I want to share it, not as an answer but as part of that learning.
Can Something Automated Still Be Authentic?
Many recipients know the messages are part of a broader initiative. Some almost certainly assume they are automated. And they are right. So does that make them less meaningful? I do not think so.
The technology delivers the message. But technology did not create the intention.
The process reflects a simple leadership choice: to use an existing system to recognize colleagues not only for what they contribute, but also as people.
Authenticity is not determined by whether something is manual or automated. Authenticity comes from whether the intention is genuine. A greeting generated by a system can still carry human warmth.
A formal process can still reflect care. A large institution can still create moments of connection.
Leadership is expressed through major decisions and organizational change, but it is also present in ordinary moments of attention.
A thank you. – A note. – A call. – A conversation. – A birthday message.
Humanity in an Age of AI
The larger lesson I got reaches beyond one organization or one initiative. Automation can extend human connection, but only if we design and use it with intention, judgment, and care.
This is a question for every workplace adopting new technologies: how can greater reach and efficiency strengthen, rather than weaken, the human experience of work?
The opportunity before leaders in every sector is not to resist technology or romanticize the past, but to ensure that as our systems become smarter, our organizations remain human.
Whatever the institution, behind every employee number, position title, contract type, organizational chart, or workforce strategy is a person living a life as complex as our own.
As artificial intelligence becomes increasingly present in our work, this experience has reinforced a simple conviction: technology can extend human capacity, but it cannot replace our humanity—our ability to feel, dream, fear, care, and strive for a better life.
For me, that conviction returns to a simple practice: every morning, somewhere in the Americas, a colleague receives a birthday message.
Most will read the message and continue with their day. Some may reply, smile, or save it. I may never know what it meant to each person—and that is all right.
At its heart, each message says something simple:
I learned something that helped me make sense of the world I live in. I thought it might be useful to you. Happy birthday.