Nov 13, 2025

Her venture, The Love Policy, helps families initiate the conversations and practical steps that make loss survivable. It's a striking paradox: a brand built on love that centers on death. “I grew up in life insurance,” Friedman told me. “In third grade, my dad walked into my class in a white suit and said, ‘Hi, my name is Sid and I'm so lucky because I get to go to work every day and I sell love.' That line never left me.” Years later, after a successful career, retirement, and a season of re-finding herself through service at a local high school, Friedman realized that most families are one unexpected event away from chaos. “GoFundMe is not a plan,” she said. “The most loving thing we can do is talk now. So our people can grieve later.” Why “Selling Love” Isn't Soft. It's Systems Leadership Conscious businesses already “sell love” in implicit ways: Patagonia sells stewardship for future generations; Seventh Generation sells fewer toxins under your sink. Friedman's twist is that her product is a catalyst for one of the toughest human realities. “There ain't nothing digital about death and grieving,” she says. “AI can't hug you.” The macro need is obvious and growing. Roughly half of American adults say they need (or need more) life insurance (about 102 million people) while ownership hovers around half, leaving a persistent coverage gap At the same time, funerals routinely cost $7,000–$10,000 in the U.S., pressure that often arrives before families have a plan And while end-of-life planning is commercializing – an estimated $45B global market by 2030 – the human behaviors lag: large shares of Americans still don't have a will or advance care plan The Love Policy: love, logistics, legacy Friedman's insight is simple and disarming: call life insurance what it really is – a “love policy” – and give people a tangible way to talk about it. What began as a free, demystifying education site has become a physical kit anchored by a keepsake box and a three-part “intentional blueprint”: Heart: prompts to define your legacy and write a handwritten love letter. Logistics: clear, non-salesy guidance on life insurance and wills. When I'm Gone: one-page checklists for week-one realities and key documents. “If I'd had a box from my dad with a note that said, ‘I'll love you from beyond,' I could have visited that love anytime,” she said. “This isn't a filing cabinet. It's a warm hug with instructions.” Her credibility is earned the hard way. She navigated both forms of loss, body-before-mind, and the reverse, and ran businesses where empathy was policy, not posture. “In any service business, all you have are your people,” she told me. “Lead with empathy and compassion. Culture doesn't happen by accident.” ME | WE | WORLD: what 3D leadership looks like when it comes to death ME (Wellbeing & Presence): For leaders, “selling love” starts with the courage to face mortality: your own and others'. It means initiating the talk you've been avoiding. “It's not a sexy conversation,” Friedman admits. “But it is one of the most loving.” WE (Team & Family Performance): Families and teams function better with psychological safety and clear roles, especially in grief. A plan converts fear into tasks and gives space to mourn. “Teach your people everything, including what to do if you're not here,” she says. WORLD (Broader Impact): Planning prevents preventable poverty. Two families with similar means can experience radically different futures after a death – one stabilizes, one spirals – based largely on whether they prepared. “You can change communities one family at a time,” Friedman told me. The equity lens matters. Data consistently show uneven rates of coverage and estate planning by race and income , widening vulnerability for underrepresented communities. That's why Friedman pilots talks and workshops in schools and community organizations: to normalize conversations where planning has historically felt out of reach. Tech is surging; touch still wins There's a fast-emerging “death-tech” sector, from tools that help families navigate probate and benefits to AI “griefbots” that let mourners “converse” with a simulation of the deceased. Empathy , a bereavement-support platform, has attracted substantial investment to streamline post-loss logistics and care. Meanwhile, ethicists warn that interactive “digital afterlife” services may complicate grieving and urgently need guardrails. Friedman's stance sits squarely in the human camp. “Our kit is intentionally analog,” she says. “Because when someone dies, what you crave is presence, clarity, and a way to feel their love. Not another login.” The Leadership Takeaway If your company claims to be purpose-driven, test it in the hardest domain. Would your brand still “sell love” when the customer is grieving, overwhelmed, and offline? The organizations that pass that test design for dignity: they educate simply, remove administrative friction, and center empathy over extraction. They also invest upstream – before the crisis – so families, employees, and communities can withstand the inevitable. “Stop tuning into WIIFM (‘What's in it for me?') and nurture your people,” Friedman told me. “When money isn't your god and the mission is the focus, 1+1 stops equaling 2. It can equal 5.” That math is love – compounded.