A creeping numbness. And it scares me more than anything.

It isn’t simply that the world feels frightening.

It is the way constant exposure to threatening narratives can slowly change the state of my nervous system.

The endless stream of conflict, cruelty, polarisation, authoritarian rhetoric, threats, uncertainty and apparent disregard for human life can begin to feel like an environment.

And when something becomes an environment, we adapt to it.

That is one of the extraordinary things about the human brain.

It is constantly asking:

• What kind of world am I in?

• What do I need to prepare for?

• What should I pay attention to?

• What is safe?

• What is dangerous?

Our brains and bodies are remarkably good at adapting to the environments we inhabit.

That is enormously useful when the environment is genuinely dangerous.

But what happens when the threat is continuous, ambiguous, social and mediated through information? What happens when the alarm never quite gets switched off? And what happens when powerful actors understand how human threat systems work?

This is where my neuroscience nerdiness has started connecting with something I have been observing for years.

The nervous system is always asking: “Am I safe?”

Our brains don’t wait for danger to physically arrive.

• They continuously predict.

• They scan.

• They interpret.

• They compare what is happening now with what we already know.

The amygdala is part of a larger network involved in detecting and responding to emotionally significant and potentially threatening information. The hippocampus helps place experiences in context and memory. The prefrontal cortex supports functions such as working memory, planning, inhibition, perspective-taking and flexible decision-making.

These systems don’t operate separately. They are constantly communicating with each other. And under manageable conditions, this is a beautiful system.

Something happens.

• We assess it.

• We feel something.

• We think.

• We decide.

• We act.

• We recover.

But under intense or persistent stress, the balance can change. High levels of stress can interfere with prefrontal functions such as working memory and cognitive flexibility, while strengthening more reflexive, threat-related responses.

In very simple terms: When threat goes up, our capacity for complexity can go down.

And that matters enormously in the world we are living in.

The first state: Alert

The first response is often alertness.

• We see something disturbing.

• We pay attention.

• We want to understand.

• We read more.

• We talk about it.

• We become activated.

The stress response exists to help us respond to challenges. Short-term stress can increase energy, attention and readiness to act.

The problem isn’t activation.

The problem is activation without sufficient recovery.

Imagine your phone constantly vibrating.

One message? Fine.

Twenty messages? Still manageable.

But imagine the phone never stops.

Eventually, you don’t just have a lot of messages.

The entire system starts operating differently.

The same can happen with us.

One crisis.

One frightening headline.

One political threat.

One piece of disturbing information.

We mobilise.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

The nervous system doesn’t necessarily get the opportunity to return fully to baseline.

Over time, repeated activation can contribute to what researchers describe as allostatic load - the cumulative physiological cost of repeatedly adapting to stress.

This is where “staying informed” can quietly become something else.

Staying activated.

The second state: Survival

When threat becomes sufficiently intense or persistent, our thinking can become more constrained.

Not because we suddenly become irrational.

Because the brain is prioritizing what seems most important for survival.

• Attention narrows.

• We scan for danger.

• Ambiguity becomes harder to tolerate.

• We may become more black-and-white.

• We may seek certainty.

• We may become more reactive.

We may become more “tribal”:

• us / them

• good / bad

• safe / dangerous

• with us / against us

This is one reason fear can be so politically powerful. A frightened nervous system is looking for certainty and protection. And there is an interesting political dynamic here.

When people are continuously exposed to narratives of uncertainty - threats, crises, enemies, instability, economic insecurity, social breakdown, “what might happen next” - the nervous system can become overloaded.

The uncertainty itself becomes exhausting. We start wanting the discomfort to stop. And this is where political power can step in and offer certainty.

• I know what is happening.

• I know who is responsible.

• I know who the enemy is.

• I know what we need to do.

• I can fix this.

• Trust me.

What happens when fear becomes the environment?

If you can shape what people fear, you can influence what they pay attention to.

If you can influence their attention, you can influence what feels urgent, important and possible.

And if you can keep people sufficiently threatened, divided or uncertain, more and more of their cognitive bandwidth can become occupied with managing the immediate threat rather than thinking about the longer-term picture.

This isn’t some magical mind-control mechanism. It is much more ordinary - and therefore, perhaps, more powerful.

Under sustained stress, our capacity for cognitive flexibility can be reduced. We may find it harder to hold complexity, tolerate ambiguity, shift perspective or think beyond the immediate situation. Chronic stress can affect brain systems involved in cognition, emotion, decision-making and social behaviour.

And so a toxic narrative doesn’t necessarily have to convince everyone. It may simply need to keep people sufficiently activated, uncertain and overloaded.

Because when the nervous system is carrying too much for too long, our capacity to pause, question and imagine alternatives can diminish.

We have less room to ask:

• What is actually happening here?

• What am I being invited to fear?

• What is missing from this story?

• Could there be another explanation?

• What else might be possible?

We can become easier to steer - not necessarily because we have been convinced, but because we are exhausted.

And when exhaustion meets uncertainty, certainty can feel like relief.

That may be one of the most important things to understand about the relationship between nervous systems and power.

The third state: Exhaustion

But the nervous system cannot remain in high alert forever.

This is where something fascinating - and uncomfortable - can happen.

We adapt.

The nervous system tries to find a way to function inside the environment. And sometimes that means becoming less reactive. Less surprised. Less emotionally available. Less hopeful.

We start thinking:

• This is just how things are.

• What can I do?

• I can’t take in any more.

• I suppose we just have to endure.

This can feel like calm. But sometimes it isn’t calm. It is exhaustion.

Research on chronic stress describes the concept of allostatic load: the cumulative physiological cost of repeatedly adapting to stress. The brain and body are designed to adapt, but when stress systems are repeatedly activated or poorly switched off, that adaptation can become costly.

And this is the part I have started noticing in myself.

The creeping reduction in hope. The feeling that I simply have to endure another story, another contradiction, another example of destructive power.

Still caring. Still being informed. Still being angry. But with less energy to imagine anything different. This insight is really scary.

And I’m realizing: Endurance is not the same as resilience. Numbness is not the same as peace. And adaptation is not freedom.

The fourth state: Numbness

Perhaps one of the most dangerous things about a toxic environment is that eventually it can become normal.

What would once have shocked us barely registers. What would once have felt unacceptable becomes another headline. Another image. Another statement. Another day.

Human beings habituate. We are not designed to experience the same level of emotional intensity forever.

But there is a difference between becoming regulated and becoming numb.

Regulation gives us flexibility.

Numbness reduces it.

One says:

“I can see this and choose how to respond.”

The other says:

“I don’t want to feel this anymore.”

And I think this is where we need to become very curious about ourselves.

Not:

Am I sufficiently outraged?

But:

What state is my nervous system actually in?

The ebb and flow

Perhaps what we need is to start noticing our own nervous system as a moving landscape.

Not:

Am I regulated or dysregulated?

But:

Where am I on the spectrum right now?

• Alert.

• Activated.

• Threatened.

• Overwhelmed.

• Exhausted.

• Numb.

• Connected.

• Curious.

• Engaged.

• Regulated.

• Agentic.

And importantly:

We move.

There is nothing wrong with becoming activated. Activation is part of being alive. It can sharpen our attention, mobilize energy and move us towards action when something matters.

The problem comes when activation becomes chronic, excessive or overwhelming - when the nervous system doesn’t get enough opportunity to recover.

Then alertness can become hyper-alertness.
Engagement can become exhaustion.
Concern can become overwhelm.
And eventually, overwhelm can become numbness.

The goal isn’t to stay calm.

The goal is to stay responsive without becoming overloaded.

To notice the ebb and flow of our nervous system, recognize when we are moving beyond what we can sustainably carry, and find our way back to enough regulation that we can think, connect, choose and act.

Because noticing creates choice.

And then comes agency

Agency is not the absence of fear.

It is the experience that something I do can matter.

This is profoundly different from control.

• I cannot control what a government does.

• I cannot control what a powerful leader says.

• I cannot control every war, election, algorithm or headline.

But I can ask:

• What is mine?

• What can I influence?

• Who can I connect with?

• What conversation can I have?

• What can I create?

• What can I refuse to normalise?

• Where can I contribute?

• Where can I rest so that I have the capacity to contribute again?

That shift - from everything is happening to me to there is something I can do - is enormous.

And this is where neuroscience gives us a reason for hope. The brain is plastic. Our responses are not fixed. Experiences, relationships and intentional practices can influence neural and behavioural patterns over time.

• We can practice returning.

• From threat to regulation.

• From reaction to reflection.

• From isolation to connection.

• From helplessness to agency.

What activists taught me about this

Long before I became a neuroscience nerd, I was fascinated by what happened inside people trying to change something outside themselves.

Since 2008, I have had the privilege of working with activists and changemakers across different parts of the world.

People in Eastern Europe, the Middle East and South Asia who have lived through things I cannot claim as my own experience:

• War.

• Repression.

• Displacement.

• Violence.

• Corruption.

• Loss.

• Threats to their own safety and the safety of people they love.

I want to be careful about how I write about this.

I don’t want to sit comfortably in the West and turn their realities into a metaphor for my own discomfort.

Quite the opposite.

These are some of the people who have taught me most about hope.

What has moved me again and again is what some of these extraordinary people have done with their experiences.

They have taken things that could understandably have made them victims - and turned them into agency.

I don’t want someone else to experience what I experienced.

And then they build something.

• A community.

• An organisation.

• A movement.

• A school.

• A safe space.

• A new way of doing things.

They have taken personal pain and turned it into service.

Not because what happened was necessary or good. It wasn’t. And not because they have magically transcended trauma. But because they have made a choice about what happens next. I have enormous admiration for that. They remind me that resilience isn’t simply the ability to endure more.

Sometimes resilience is the ability to say: Enough. This stops with me.

And then create something that makes it less likely that someone else will have to experience what you experienced.

That is agency at its most powerful.

And perhaps that is where neuroscience and lived experience meet.

Don’t become slowly cooked

We know the story of the frog in slowly heating water.

The story isn’t scientifically accurate as a description of frogs, but it is a useful metaphor for human adaptation.

We can become accustomed to things incrementally. One more alarming headline. One more unacceptable statement. One more erosion of a norm. One more act of cruelty. One more compromise. One more reason to be afraid.

And because each individual change is survivable, we adapt. Until one day we look around and realize:

When did this become normal?

That is why noticing matters. Noticing the external environment. But also noticing the internal one.

What is happening to me as I live inside this?

Am I becoming more fearful?

• More cynical?

• More numb?

• More tribal?

• More helpless?

• Or am I becoming more discerning?

• More connected?

• More capable of complexity?

• More agentic?

• More able to create?

That may be one of the most important questions we can ask in an age of increasingly authoritative and authoritarian narratives.

What can we actually do?

Some of this is what I have learned from the extraordinary leaders and activists I have had the privilege of working with - people who are actively navigating democratic backsliding, authoritarian pressure and shrinking civic space.

What strikes me is that their response is rarely about trying to control everything around them. It is about building the capacity to stay engaged without being consumed, to recover, reconnect and keep acting even when the environment is profoundly difficult.

Not everything requires a grand intervention.

Some of the most useful things are surprisingly “ordinary” - and often exactly the things that help our nervous systems come back into balance, recover and stay responsive rather than overloaded.

Notice the state before you consume more information

Before opening another article, ask: What state am I already in?

• Curious?

• Activated?

• Exhausted?

• Numb?

If you are already overloaded, more information may not create more understanding.

Create recovery between exposures

The nervous system needs periods in which the threat system isn’t being repeatedly recruited.

• Walk.

• Sleep.

• Move.

• Make something.

• Spend time in nature.

• Listen to music.

• Laugh.

Be with people who make your nervous system feel more spacious. This isn’t escaping reality. It is maintaining the capacity to engage with reality.

Seek complexity

When a narrative makes everything incredibly simple, become curious.

• Who benefits?

• What is missing?

• What evidence would change my mind?

• What else might be true?

Complexity isn’t weakness. Sometimes complexity is what becomes available when we are regulated enough to tolerate uncertainty.

Stay connected

Isolation makes threat larger. Connection can create perspective and regulation. Find people with whom you can think rather than simply react.

People with whom you can say:

• I don’t know.

• I’m worried.

• I see it differently.

• What do you see?

Turn concern into action

Do something small and real.

• Write.

• Organise.

• Teach.

• Vote.

• Create.

• Support someone.

• Have the conversation.

• Build something.

Action doesn’t need to solve the whole problem. Its significance may be much simpler: I am not completely powerless.

Protect your capacity for joy

This is one of the most profound things I have learned from the activists I have had the privilege of working with - and a lesson that feels more important than ever.

• Joy is not denial.

• Beauty is not betrayal.

• Laughter is not political apathy.

• Rest is not surrender.

The ability to experience pleasure, connection, curiosity and wonder is part of what keeps us human.

And perhaps more importantly:

It protects our capacity to imagine.

The goal isn’t to be unaffected

I don’t want to become someone who can look at terrible things and simply remain calm. That isn’t the goal.

I want to remain responsive without being consumed.

I want to be able to feel anger without becoming anger.

To feel fear without letting it take the wheel.

To stay informed without allowing the constant stream of information to overwhelm me.

To see power clearly without allowing it to consume my attention.

To recognize manipulation without becoming cynical about everything.

To remain open without becoming naïve.

And perhaps most importantly:

to protect my capacity to imagine something different.

Because that is where agency begins - and this is something I have learned again and again from the activists. Even in the midst of extraordinary circumstances, they have protected their capacity to imagine a different future - and then turned that imagination into action.

The nervous system of a different future

The people I have admired most in my work with activists and changemakers are not necessarily those who were never afraid.

They were the people who could experience fear, anger, grief and uncertainty - and somehow still create.

People who had lived through extraordinary circumstances and said:

I don’t want someone else to experience what I experienced.

And then built something.

• A community.

• An organisation.

• A movement.

• A conversation.

• A safe space.

• A different future.

They didn’t deny reality. They didn’t wait for the world to become safe before acting. They found ways to create agency inside reality.

That is something I want to learn from. And perhaps that is the real invitation of neuroscience. Not to become detached from the world.

But to understand ourselves well enough that the world does not automatically determine our state.

• To notice the ebb and flow.

• To recognize when we are moving into survival.

• To recognize when exhaustion is masquerading as acceptance.

• To recognize when numbness is masquerading as peace.

And then, gently, deliberately, together:

come back.

• Back to the body.

• Back to connection.

• Back to curiosity.

• Back to discernment.

• Back to agency.

• Back to imagination.

Because perhaps the most powerful thing we can do in an increasingly toxic environment is not to avoid activation. Activation is part of being alive, caring and taking action.

It is to learn to notice when activation is tipping into overload - and to give our nervous systems enough regulation and recovery that we don’t become stuck in exhaustion or numbness.

To stay responsive rather than overwhelmed.
To stay open rather than numb.
To stay connected rather than consumed.

Because we need our capacity to feel, think, connect, imagine and choose.

And perhaps that is what it means to remain human enough to create what comes next.

But so much more happened.

What happened was that I got to witness human beings slowly becoming more themselves.

Not because anyone taught them how.

But because the conditions were there.

It made me think about something I’ve been circling for years:

Human flourishing emerges when people experience enough inner safety to become fully themselves, enough presence to meet others with openness, and enough shared purpose to contribute to something larger than themselves.

For one week, I watched this unfold in real time.

It begins with safety

Not the absence of challenge.

Hyper Island has never been about making people comfortable.

The week asks people to step into uncertainty, collaborate with strangers, receive feedback, experiment, and sometimes fail publicly.

Yet something remarkable often happens during the Hyper Island Way Week.

When people feel enough psychologically safety - not judged, not measured, not expected to perform - they begin to lower the facade they carry.

The confident become more vulnerable.

The quiet begin to speak.

The people who thought they needed to have all the answers discover the freedom of saying, “I don’t know.”

And that may be one of the bravest sentences we ever learn to say. Love how my facilitation colleague, Michelle, noticed that and brought it up.

Then comes presence

Somewhere during the week, something shifts.

People don’t introduce themselves with their CV.

They are not trying to impress.

They are listening differently.

They are curious instead of certain.

They laugh more easily.

Silences become less uncomfortable.

Conversations become less about exchanging information and more about meeting another human being.

This is presence.

Not a mindfulness exercise.

Not a technique.

Just the simple act of being fully here with another person.

I sometimes think this is one of the rarest experiences in modern life.

To feel truly seen.

To feel that someone is listening not to reply, but to understand.

And perhaps even more importantly...

To discover that you are capable of offering that same gift to someone else.

Throughout the week, I witnessed moments of extraordinary listening.

The kind of listening that asks for nothing in return.

The kind that makes another person feel seen.

I was reminded of something the philosopher Simone Weil once wrote: “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.”

When we offer one another that quality of attention, something shifts.

Compassion begins to emerge.

Trust quietly follows.

And a room full of strangers slowly becomes a community.

Finally, purpose emerges

Purpose doesn’t arrive with a grand revelation.

It appears quietly.

People begin to realise that they aren’t here only for themselves.

Their courage gives someone else permission.

Their question unlocks another person’s insight.

Their vulnerability creates trust.

Their encouragement changes the atmosphere in the room.

Learning stops being an individual achievement.

It becomes a collective act.

A community begins to form.

And once you’ve experienced that, it’s difficult to go back to believing that learning is simply about acquiring knowledge.

Learning is also about becoming someone who helps others flourish.

What I am most grateful for

As facilitators, we often talk about designing learning experiences.

But our deepest work isn’t designing activities.

It’s holding spaces where people can safely become more fully themselves.

We cannot make transformation happen.

We cannot force trust.

We cannot manufacture belonging.

What we can do is create the conditions where these things become possible.

And then we get the extraordinary privilege of witnessing what unfolds.

I always leave a Hyper Island Way Week feeling profoundly hopeful.

Not because the world has become easier.

But because I have spent a week with people willing to practise curiosity over certainty, courage over perfection, and collaboration over competition.

In a world that often rewards performance, they chose presence.

In a culture that celebrates individual success, they chose community.

And in doing so, they reminded me of something I never want to forget.

Flourishing isn’t something we achieve. It’s something that naturally emerges when people feel safe enough to be authentic, present enough to truly meet one another, and connected enough to contribute to something larger than themselves.

Maybe our most important work - as leaders, facilitators, colleagues, parents, and friends - Is to create the conditions where people remember who they already are.

Thank you to every student who showed up with courage, curiosity, generosity, and an open heart!

You showed me why I believe that learning is transformative.

Not because it fills our minds.

But because, at its best, it opens our hearts.

For years, I described what we did.

• Experiential learning

• Learning by doing

• Team dynamics

• Reflection

• Facilitation

• Peer learning

• Feedback

• Workplace application

I could explain our methods in endless detail.

Looking back, I think I spent too little time explaining why those methods existed in the first place.

Because the methods were never the starting point.

They were the natural expression of what we believed about people.

The question we didn’t answer

During Hyper Island’s formative years, when I was leading Design & Facilitation, one question came up again and again:

“What’s the Hyper Island method?”

It was a reasonable question.

But today I think we answered the wrong one.

The better question would have been:

“What must you believe about people to design learning like this?”

Because every method we used grew from a handful of beliefs.

Not techniques.

Beliefs about people.

What we believed about people

One belief shaped almost everything we designed.

I believe that people are capable of developing far beyond their own imagination of what is possible.

Not because they need fixing.

Not because someone teaches them.

But because human potential is almost always larger than the stories we tell ourselves about who we are.

If I believe that…

I design differently.

Designing the conditions

Another belief was equally important.

I trust people to take far more responsibility for their own learning than most educational systems assume they can.

I have never believed it is my job to make people learn.

My job is to create the conditions where learning becomes difficult to avoid.

That changes everything.

It changes the role of the facilitator.

It changes the role of participants.

It changes responsibility.

We design the environment.

People do the learning.

Never stand in the way of brilliance

I used to tell new facilitators something that still feels true today.

Don’t stand in the way of people’s brilliance.

It sounds simple.

But it is surprisingly difficult.

Because facilitators often feel they need to demonstrate expertise.

To provide answers.

To control the room.

To fill the silence.

I have learned that many of the most important moments happen after we stop trying to be the smartest person in the room.

Trust before technique

Looking back, I don’t think Hyper Island became influential because we invented better workshops.

I think we simply trusted people more than many educational institutions did.

We trusted that adults could take responsibility.

That learning could emerge through experience.

That reflection creates understanding.

That peers are extraordinary teachers.

That uncertainty is not a problem to remove but a condition for growth.

The methods followed naturally.

Looking back, the methods answered the question how.

Beliefs answer the question why.

Where I would start today

Thirty years later, I find myself describing the work differently.

Less in terms of methods.

More in terms of beliefs.

Because methods change.

Technology changes.

Platforms change.

AI will undoubtedly change many of today’s learning practices.

But our beliefs about people matter for much longer.

Today, if someone asked me what shaped Hyper Island, I don’t think I would start with experiential learning.

I would simply say this:

We believed people were far more capable than they believed themselves to be.

Everything else grew from there.

For that, I will always be grateful to Hyper Island.

Not because it gave me a methodology.

But because it gave me a playground.

A place where a small group of curious people were trusted to question assumptions, experiment relentlessly and explore what becomes possible when you genuinely believe in people’s capacity to learn and grow.

Looking back, I realise I am still discovering everything those years taught me.

So perhaps the question isn’t:

“What methods do you use?”

Perhaps the better question is:

“What do your methods reveal about what you believe is true about people?”

I’ve been sitting with a question for years. Not as a researcher. Not as someone looking for the next leadership model. More as a designer of learning experiences.

What actually changes people?

Not what happens during the workshop. The workshop matters. The conversations matter. The experiments, the laughter, the discomfort, the moments of insight - they all matter.

But they’re not the destination. The real question is what remains when the workshop is over. When Monday arrives. When life gets busy. When pressure returns. When nobody is watching.

What makes a learning experience become part of who we are?

From learning to perception

For a long time, I thought I was designing learning. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve really been designing perception. Because when I look back at programmes, retreats and conversations that genuinely transformed people, something stands out.

People rarely leave saying, “I learned a new model.”

Instead they said things like, “I’ve never seen myself like that before.” “Something clicked.” “I can’t unsee it now.”

A new lens from neuroscience

Recent neuroscience has given me a richer language for what I see in transformative experiences.

Lisa Feldman Barrett’s research suggests that our brains aren’t simply reacting to the world. They’re predicting it. Our brains are constantly using previous experiences to answer questions like:

• What should I pay attention to?

• What does this mean?

• What is likely to happen next?

Those predictions don’t just influence how we behave. They shape the emotions we experience in the first place. Which made me wonder… Maybe we’ve been treating behaviour as the starting point, when it’s actually the result.

What If behaviour isn’t where change begins?

Many organisations ask HR and leadership development teams to help leaders:

• Communicate better.
• Listen more.
• Delegate.
• Coach.
• Give feedback.

Those behaviours matter. They matter a lot. But what if behaviour isn’t where change begins? What if behaviour is simply the visible expression of something much deeper?

Where behaviour begins

Lately I’ve been sketching this on the back of notebooks.

Experience > Attention > Perception > Meaning > Prediction > Emotion > Behaviour > Experience… Not a straight line. A living cycle.

I don’t see this as a model. I see it as an invitation. A different place to become curious.

Becoming curious

One of the biggest shifts this way of thinking has created in me is this:

I've become less interested in interpreting behaviour, and much more interested in becoming curious about it. Not because behaviour doesn’t matter. But because behaviour is often the last visible part of a much deeper process.

So instead of asking, “Why would they do that?” I find myself asking different questions.

When someone avoids a difficult conversation… Is it really about avoiding conflict? Or what prediction is their brain making about what might happen?

When I become defensive… What story have I already written before the other person has even finished speaking?

When someone stays silent in a meeting… Are they disengaged? Or have they learned that speaking up isn’t safe?

When someone reacts strongly to feedback… Are they rejecting the feedback? Or is the feedback threatening something important about how they see themselves?

When two people experience the same situation completely differently… Whose reality is “correct”? Or are they each making meaning through different histories, beliefs and predictions?

Perhaps curiosity is where transformation begins. Not because curiosity gives us the answers. But because it helps us ask better questions.

Seeing ourselves beyond behaviour

Behaviour is a bit like a shadow. You can spend all day trying to move the shadow. Or you can become curious about what is casting it.

There’s a beautiful Swedish expression that I keep coming back to - “Hur kan människor få syn på sig själva?” There isn’t a perfect English translation. It’s more than becoming self-aware. It’s the moment when you truly catch sight of yourself. Not your behaviour. Not your strengths and weaknesses. But the assumptions you’ve been living from. The beliefs you’ve mistaken for truth. The stories you’ve carried for so long that they’ve become invisible. The predictions your brain keeps making without you even noticing.

Because once something becomes visible, it becomes possible to choose differently. Not because someone told you to. Because you can finally see what was previously running the show.

Different design questions

When I design learning, I always think about knowledge, skills and behaviour.

• What do I want people to know?

• What skills do I hope they develop?

• What behaviours will help them thrive?

Those questions matter. They always have.

But over the years I’ve realised there’s another layer quietly guiding my work. Questions I’ve been asking long before I had the language to explain why.

• What might people discover about themselves?

• What assumptions have they stopped noticing because they’ve become so familiar?

• What beliefs are shaping their choices without them realising it?

• What predictions are they making automatically?

• What might become visible for the very first time?

Looking back, I think these have been the questions beneath my questions.

Recent neuroscience hasn’t changed how I design learning.

It has simply given me a richer language for understanding why these moments matter.

Knowledge gives us new ideas.

Practice turns ideas into capability.

Behaviour is where change becomes visible.

Perception is where change begins.

Beyond leadership

I think this is true far beyond leadership. In parenting. Relationships. Politics. Organisational change.

Even in the relationship we have with ourselves.

How often do we try to change what people do, without helping them see the beliefs that make those behaviours feel inevitable?

Becoming

My experience is that lasting change rarely comes from accumulating more knowledge.

It happens when experience changes what I notice.

What I notice changes what I perceive.

What I perceive changes the meaning I make.

The meaning I make changes what my brain predicts.

Those predictions shape how I experience the situation.

And that experience shapes my behaviour.

Slowly. Quietly. Almost without noticing.

Until one day… A new way of seeing becomes a new way of being.

It usually starts so quietly we almost don’t notice it.

Last week I caught myself thinking a familiar thought. “Once my work feels more stable again, I’ll be able to relax.” It slipped through so naturally that I almost missed it.

Almost.

Because lately I’ve become fascinated by the ways we quietly hand over parts of ourselves to things outside of us.

• Money.

• Work.

• Recognition.

• The perfect relationship.

• The next achievement.

We tell ourselves they’re simply important. But sometimes they’ve become something much bigger.

So I imagined a conversation. Not one that actually happened - but one I wish had.

An imagined conversation

Some conversations never happened. That doesn’t make them any less interesting.

Picture a quiet café in Zürich.

Peter Koenig (More about Peter) walks in, carrying decades of work with entrepreneurs and founders. A few minutes later, Carl Jung (More about Jung) arrives, curious as ever. They order coffee.

I sit nearby, pretending not to listen.

Peter looks at me first.

“So... what does money give you?”

“Freedom,” I answer immediately.

He smiles.

“Does it?”

Before I can reply, Jung leans forward.

“Or have you projected your freedom onto money?”

Silence.

Peter nods.

“Imagine your bank account disappeared tomorrow.”

“Where would your freedom go?”

I want to answer.

Instead, I notice my body. A tightening in my chest. A slight urge to defend myself.

Jung notices.

“The psyche,” he says gently, “has a remarkable habit.”

“It places parts of itself outside itself.”

• “In people.”

• “In objects.”

• “In symbols.”

• “In success.”

“We spend years trying to get those things, when what we’re really searching for is the part of ourselves we unknowingly left there.”

Peter takes another sip of coffee.

“Money is rarely just money.”

“It’s often carrying something much heavier.”

• Security.

• Freedom.

• Worth.

• Power.

• Belonging.

The room becomes quiet again.

Not because anyone has the answer.

But because the question suddenly feels more interesting.

What have I outsourced?

What we hand over

Sometimes what we’re chasing isn’t the thing itself - it’s the part of ourselves we’ve placed inside it.

This is where Peter Koenig and Carl Jung seem to meet. Jung gave us the language of projection. Peter Koenig brought that idea into the world of business, leadership and entrepreneurship.

His question isn’t: “How do you make more money?” It’s closer to:

“What have you asked money to do that only you can do?” It’s a subtle shift. And a profound one.

• Because if money has become the container for your freedom... No amount will ever feel like enough.

• If success has become the container for your worth... Every achievement will eventually fade.

• If recognition has become the container for your confidence... You’ll spend your life waiting for someone else to tell you who you are.

Hm. Perhaps money isn’t the issue. Perhaps I’ve simply asked it to carry far more than it was ever designed to hold.

The brain joins the conversation

The neuroscience nerd in me sparks when “listening to Peter and Carl”.

Neuroscience doesn’t replace the above ideas. It offers another lens through which to understand them. Here’s what I find fascinating.

Modern neuroscience suggests that our brains are constantly making predictions.

They’re always asking:

“Based on everything I’ve experienced before... what’s likely to happen next?” Over time, those predictions become shortcuts.

• If feeling safe repeatedly coincided with having money... Your brain begins to associate the two.

• If praise repeatedly came after performing well... Achievement starts to feel like belonging.

• If love was experienced when you were useful... Being needed begins to feel like being loved.

These predictions eventually stop feeling like predictions. They feel like reality.

Which means that changing isn’t simply about changing your mind. It’s about gently teaching your nervous system that freedom, worth or belonging were never actually living outside you.

They were only associated with something outside you. And associations can change. Not overnight. But through awareness. Through new experiences. Through practice.

An experiment

Don’t try to change your mind. Simply become curious about it.

This reflection is inspired by Peter Koenig’s MoneyWork. I’ve adapted it here as an invitation to explore your own experience, rather than as the full practice.

Start with a blank sheet of paper. Without overthinking, complete these sentences:

• Money gives me...

• Success gives me...

• Being productive gives me...

• Being needed gives me...

• Being right gives me...

Write the first answer that comes. Don’t aim for the “right” answer. Aim for the honest one.

Now choose one of your answers.

Perhaps you wrote:

Money gives me freedom.

Or:

Success gives me worth.

Or:

Being needed gives me love.

Now take the quality you identified and insert it into the two statements below.

For example, if your answer was freedom, you would read:

I am free with money.

Pause.

Don’t analyse.

Simply notice.

What happens in your body?

What emotions arise?

What story immediately appears?

Then read:

I am free without money.

Pause again.

Notice what changes.

If your answer was worth, you would instead read:

• I am worthy with success.

• I am worthy without success.

If your answer was love, you might read:

• I am loved when I am needed.

• I am loved without being needed.

The words themselves are not the point. Your reaction is. Don’t ask whether the statement is true. Ask what your reaction is trying to teach you. You’re not trying to convince yourself of anything. You’re becoming curious about the relationship you’ve built with the idea.

If one sentence feels spacious and the other creates tension, you’ve discovered something valuable. You may have found a quality you’ve quietly projected onto something outside yourself.

• Freedom.

• Worth.

• Security.

• Love.

• Belonging.

The invitation isn’t to force a new belief. It’s simply to become aware of what you’ve been asking the outside world to carry for you. Awareness is where change begins.

A heartfelt thank you to Tom Nixon and Deborah Henderson for introducing me to Peter Koenig’s work. We had so much fun exploring it together.

Bringing it home

The real work isn’t finding something new. It’s remembering what was never lost.

As I left my imaginary café, neither Peter nor Jung offered me a conclusion. I gained a new curiosity and more reflective questions.

Maybe freedom was never hiding inside a bank account.

Maybe confidence was never waiting inside another achievement.

Maybe belonging was never dependent on someone else’s approval.

Maybe the work isn’t becoming someone new.

Maybe it’s reclaiming the parts of ourselves we’ve slowly handed over to the outside world. One projection at a time.

Try

Now and again, pause before checking your inbox, looking for someone else’s response or opening your banking app.

Ask yourself:

What am I hoping this will give me that I already carry within me?

Sit with whatever arises. No fixing. Just noticing.

Another question to live with

What quality have I quietly outsourced to something - or someone - outside myself. And what might change if I began carrying it myself again?

In the quantum world, nothing exists alone

At the subatomic level, nothing stands in isolation.
Particles don’t have fixed states until they interact - until observation brings one possibility into being. Before that, they exist in shimmering fields of potential.

When two particles meet, they can become entangled - their states linked so deeply that a change in one instantly ripples through the other, no matter the distance.
Reality, it turns out, isn’t built from separate things. It’s built from relationships.

Everything exists in between

Just like in quantum systems, the state of a team doesn’t live inside one person - it lives in between them. The energy, tone, and direction of a group emerge from these invisible connections.

When one person shifts - calms down, opens up, gets curious - the “field” of the whole group shifts. That’s not metaphorical. Social neuroscience calls it co-regulation and emotional contagion.

Our nervous systems are constantly syncing beneath the surface. Micro-expressions, tone, breathing, heart rhythms - all transmit signals that other brains pick up in milliseconds. Mirror neurons fire. The vagus nerve adjusts. Cortisol or oxytocin floods the system. Without a word, everyone’s internal state starts to tilt in the same direction.

That’s why one anxious person can make a room buzz with tension - and one grounded presence can settle it in seconds. We literally catch each other’s emotions.

In physics terms: entanglement. Once we’ve interacted, we stay connected in invisible but measurable ways. Shift your internal state, and you subtly shift the system around you. That’s not magic - that’s resonance.

Attention shapes reality

At the smallest scale of existence, quarks - the tiny building blocks of matter - dance in constant relationship. They never exist alone; they’re bound by invisible fields of energy, exchanging force particles in an endless rhythm.

beautifully shared that when these interactions align, energy resonates in just the right way - and light is born. The first flicker of the universe wasn’t a solo act but a symphony of relationship - particles exchanging energy and rhythm until matter emerged from the dance.

Now zoom out to us: a group of humans sitting in a room, trying to create something that didn’t exist before. It’s not so different.

When we truly listen - with curiosity instead of judgment - we collapse a field of infinite possibilities into shared clarity. Our collective attention “observes” potential into form.

What we choose to notice becomes real. Focus on blame, and you entangle in defensiveness. Focus on potential, and you activate creativity.

Neuroscience agrees: attention is an energetic act. It literally sculpts the brain through neuroplasticity, wiring neurons into new patterns of thought and perception.
Over time, what we repeatedly pay attention to becomes not just habit - but structure - in the brain, in culture, in the system.

“Energy flows where attention goes” isn’t just a slogan. It’s applied quantum logic and embodied neuroscience. Every thought, every breath, every glance contributes to the invisible field we co-create.

In physics, coherent particles create light.
In teams, coherent attention creates insight.
Both are acts of emergence - energy finding harmony, chaos becoming pattern, potential becoming form (Think that’s what Otto Scharmer calls presencing - sensing into what wants to be born rather than forcing what already was.).

Coherence = collective power

In quantum systems, coherence arises when particles’ wave patterns align in phase - a state of resonance that amplifies order and stability. It’s not about sameness. Each particle keeps its own frequency, yet they interact so their energies reinforce rather than cancel. Coherence doesn’t erase individuality it organizes difference into harmony.

Human systems work the same way.
In teams, coherence emerges when people align around shared intention, trust, and presence - when everyone senses the same why, even if they express it differently.
It’s the sweet spot between alignment and autonomy: where each person keeps their own pulse but tunes into the collective rhythm.

Neuroscience mirrors this beautifully.
Research on interpersonal synchrony shows that when trust and psychological safety are high, people’s brains literally sync - heart rates, micro-movements, breathing patterns, even alpha and theta waves start to align.
This neural harmony boosts empathy, creativity, and problem-solving.
It’s not magic - it’s coherence at the social level - a biological dance of attunement.

That’s why great collaboration feels electric.
You can feel when a team hits resonance: ideas flow effortlessly, time expands, creativity surges. Everyone keeps their own voice (autonomy) yet they’re woven into a larger pattern (alignment).

In physics, coherence amplifies energy.
In human systems, coherence amplifies possibility.

Leadership, then, isn’t about control.
It’s about cultivating the conditions for coherence - shared intention, mutual trust, and enough space for every unique frequency to hum.

Because when alignment meets autonomy -
the whole system lights up.

Thank you for your inspiration!

Real collaboration? That’s a whole other beast. It asks more of us than shared calendars and sticky notes. It asks us to shift from positional power (“I have the title, the role, the decision”) to relational empowerment (“I see you, I need you, and together we can sense what none of us can see alone”).

Why this matters

The challenges we face - climate collapse, polarization, broken systems - aren’t solvable from one angle. They demand a systems view. And here’s the catch: no single person, no matter how smart, can see the whole.

To understand a system, we need all perspectives in the room. That means the voices you usually hear… and the ones you don’t. Without them, you’re just rearranging the furniture in the same room. With them, you start to glimpse the whole building.

Collaboration ≠ Just working together

Working together means aligning tasks. Collaboration means creating something none of us could have imagined alone. Neuroscience calls this collective intelligence - when diverse brains actually sync up, oscillating in rhythm, generating insight and creativity that outpaces individual capacity.

But that doesn’t happen automatically. It happens when people feel safe enough to bring their full selves in, when listening goes deeper than waiting to reply, and when power gets redistributed into the relational field, not held at the top.

Group dynamics are the hidden code

Ever been in a group where the ideas were great on paper but nothing moved? Or the energy collapsed without explanation? That’s group dynamics at play. Invisible but decisive.

Understanding group dynamics isn’t about becoming a psychologist. It’s about paying attention: noticing patterns, what gets silenced, who withdraws, what tensions spark. The science says groups move through predictable cycles of “forming, storming, norming, performing” (and back again) - but the art is in staying awake to those shifts, and using them as fuel rather than friction.

And it always starts with you

Here’s the paradox: to understand group dynamics, the entry point isn’t “them” - it’s you.

Self-awareness is the bedrock of collaboration. If you don’t know your own triggers, biases, and blind spots, you’ll project them onto others. If you can’t regulate your nervous system, the group inherits your reactivity.

Neuroscience calls this emotional contagion - moods spread through teams faster than facts. Which means your presence isn’t neutral. It’s contagious. The more aware you are of your own patterns, the more freedom you have to shape the collective.

From power over → Power with

This is what it boils down to:

• See and sense the whole system - get beyond silos.

• Include all perspectives - especially the inconvenient ones.

• Move from “working together” → true collaboration - where the sum is greater than the parts.

• Understand group dynamics - because they shape everything.

• Start with yourself - self-awareness as the ultimate collaboration skill.

Relational empowerment isn’t soft. It’s the only way we’ll survive complexity.

Let’s collectively move ourselves, and our systems, from positional power to relational empowerment.

Because the future won’t be led by the loudest voice in the room. It’ll be woven, relationally, by those willing to listen, stretch, and create together.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross gave us the five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Depression. Bargaining. Acceptance. They’ve been printed on posters, taught in classrooms, and turned into neat little charts. But if you’ve ever actually grieved, you know: it’s messier than that.

Grief doesn’t move in straight lines. It loops back, collides with your body, hijacks your nervous system, and sneaks up on you in the grocery store aisle. It’s not a tidy checklist. It’s a rebellion against the illusion that life can ever be controlled.

Here’s the science-y bit: grief literally reshapes your brain. fMRI studies show that the same neural circuits that light up for physical pain also fire when we experience deep loss. Stress hormones spike. The hippocampus (memory) and amygdala (emotion) get into a stormy dance. Even the prefrontal cortex - the part that helps us plan, regulate, “keep it together” - gets disrupted. That’s why you forget words, lose track of time, or feel like you’re walking through fog.

And then there’s neuroplasticity - the brain’s built-in ability to rewire. Over time, new pathways spark, new connections knit together. Not to erase what’s been lost, but to weave it into a new pattern of meaning. Healing isn’t about “moving on.” It’s about reshaping your inner landscape so the loss has a place - carried, honored, integrated - as you continue forward.

So maybe grief isn’t something to “get over.” Maybe it’s the most radical teacher we have. It strips away autopilot. It dares us to feel what’s unbearable. It forces us to reorganize life from the inside out.

That’s not weakness. That’s wild, human strength.

And here’s the rebel twist: what if we stopped treating grief as a private failure to “bounce back”? What if we saw it as proof of being profoundly alive? In a culture obsessed with productivity and positivity, grief is an act of resistance. It says: I loved. I cared. It mattered.

My pain and grief come in waves. I ride them, and in the rawness I feel alive. I don’t yet know what comes after this, but I do know this: grief isn’t here to break us. It’s here to break us open.

A few reflection questions:

• Where does grief live in your body right now? (Jaw, chest, gut, breath?)

• What part of what you’ve lost still feels woven into who you are?

• What, if anything, is being born in you because of this loss?

• What’s one small ritual you can create to give grief space? (Journaling, walking, silence, music...)

• Who in your life can hold your grief without trying to tidy it up?

Here’s the trouble: when you don’t pause to listen inward, your brain defaults to autopilot. Neuroscientists call this the default mode network - the set of brain regions that hums along when you’re not paying conscious attention. It’s brilliant for saving energy, but it’s also sneaky: it makes you replay the same old thought loops, habits, and stories.

Without reflection, you become a creature of prediction. Your brain is wired to anticipate the future based on the past, which means you literally recycle yesterday’s patterns.

Journaling interrupts that cycle. By moving thoughts from the swirl of the unconscious into the light of language, you shift activity from the automatic circuits of the default mode network into the prefrontal cortex - the part of your brain that plans, reimagines, and chooses differently.

In short: no pause, no growth. With pause, your brain gets a chance to rewire.

The neuroscience bit (this is biology, not woo)

Your brain is plastic - not like a bottle, but like clay. Neuroplasticity means every reflection, every scribble, reshapes your neural wiring. Thinking changes the brain. Writing turbocharges it, because you’re engaging multiple systems at once: language, emotion, memory, motor skills. That’s a full-brain workout.

• Labeling emotions: Matthew Lieberman’s research shows that when you put feelings into words, the amygdala (threat detector) calms down and the prefrontal cortex (planning and decision-making) comes online.

• Stress and immunity: James Pennebaker found that expressive writing strengthens the immune system and improves long-term mood - especially when writing about difficult experiences.

• Gratitude effect: Robert Emmons showed that people who wrote down what they were grateful for had healthier lifestyles, lower stress, and more optimism.

• Goal focus: Neuroscientist Tara Swart explains that when you write down desires or intentions, your brain’s reticular activating system (RAS) prioritizes them. Translation: your brain literally starts scanning for opportunities that match your goals.

So yeah - your notebook isn’t self-indulgence. It’s neuro-tech.

Why leaders should care

Great leaders don’t just make decisions. They notice how they make them. Journaling helps you:

• Catch blind spots in your thinking.

• Track how moods shape your choices.

• See patterns in what energizes (or drains) you.

• Clarify the gap between the leader you are and the leader you want to become.

Reflection isn’t “soft.” It’s evidence-based brain training. Ignore it, and you’re flying blind.

How to actually do it (without becoming that person with 37 untouched Moleskines)

• Keep it short. Two minutes scribbled between meetings beats a grand journaling plan you never use.

• Focus on truth, not pretty sentences. Nobody’s grading you.

• Anchor to questions. Try: What am I feeling right now? How did my mood shape my choices today? What am I grateful for?

• Review. Every week, glance back. Spot themes and patterns - that’s where your growth lives.

Continuity matters. One entry won’t rewire your brain. Regular practice will. Think of it as compound interest for your neural pathways.

The rebel twist

We live in a culture that worships constant doing and dismisses reflection as indulgent. But neuroscience says the opposite: if you want sharper decisions, stronger resilience, and actual wellbeing - you need time out.

Journaling isn’t navel-gazing. It’s nervous system training. It’s stepping off the hamster wheel long enough to ask: Am I actually going where I want to go?

In a world obsessed with outsourcing wisdom to apps, gurus, or AI, taking your pen back is a radical act of self-leadership.

Reflection prompts for you (today, not tomorrow):

• What did I ignore in myself this week that’s now louder?

• What am I carrying that isn’t mine anymore?

• What am I grateful for that I usually overlook?

Take a breath. Open the page. No pressure, no performance - just you meeting yourself in the quiet. Sometimes the smallest scribbles unlock the biggest truths. Let the pen wander; see what’s already waiting inside.

Her hybrid identity is her superpower: rooted in multiple contexts, she embodies the richness of many perspectives and creates understanding where others see division.

Listening to Najma speak about Hybrid Identity today was grounding and inspiring. Here are a few insights I carried with me.

What is a hybrid identity

Hybrid identity means you’re not locked into one role, culture, or definition. You move between worlds. You speak more than one “language” - maybe literally, maybe socially, maybe professionally. You’re fluent in the codes of here and there, this and that.

Neuroscience has a word for this: cognitive flexibility. Your brain gets sharper when it’s forced to switch perspectives, juggle frames, and make sense of contradictions. Translation? The friction of being “in-between” actually strengthens your neural wiring for empathy, adaptability, and creativity.

A superpower for complexity

We live in a society defined by complexity - climate change, polarized politics, AI ethics, global migration. None of these challenges can be solved with single-lens thinking. Hybrid identities are perfectly wired for this moment because they know how to hold paradox, see patterns, and bridge divides. What feels like a personal ache (“I don’t fully belong”) is also the exact muscle humanity needs right now: the ability to dance with complexity.

But here’s the catch: hybridity doesn’t develop by default. You have to lean into it. As Najma shared, it gets stronger when you practice shifting perspectives intentionally, when you expose yourself to different cultures and contexts, when you reflect on your own mix instead of hiding it. Ask yourself: What’s the recipe of me? Which ingredients (cultures, values, experiences) do I draw on? Which ones do I suppress? That kind of reflection turns hybridity from background noise into conscious strength.

And don’t forget the bias part

Societies still love neat boxes: old/young, local/global, rational/emotional. Hybrids disrupt that. Which means you might face misunderstanding or judgment. But the irony is, research shows hybrids are actually less biased - because they’ve trained their brains to see from multiple vantage points. Hybrids don’t just cross borders. They redraw them.

According to Najma Hybrid identity is the frontier

So the next time you feel caught in-between, remember: that space isn’t a weakness. It’s the frontier. And maybe - just maybe - the future belongs to those who can live there.

Reflection prompts:

• What’s the “mix” of you - which cultures, experiences, or roles make up your hybrid identity?

• When has being “in-between” given you an advantage?

• Where do you still feel the pull of bias - in yourself or from others - and how might your hybridity be the antidote?

Thank you Najma for your inspirational talk today at Vinnova!

No, Bengtsson didn’t just shoot himself in the foot. He exposed a systemic blind spot: ageism. And the real question is - why do we keep letting this slide?

Ageism at the top

Publicly using age as a reason to fire a CEO isn’t just clumsy. It’s discrimination. And the pattern is familiar: older women are suddenly deemed “used up,” while men get more time, more second chances, more “battery life.”

This isn’t an isolated blunder. It’s a mirror of a culture where experience is undervalued and “younger = better” has become the unspoken rule.

What science says

Neuroscience shows that when people are constantly exposed to stereotypes - like being “too old” - they begin to internalize them. This is called Stereotype Embodiment Theory (Becca Levy, Yale). The brain literally rewires itself according to the messages we absorb from society.

The result? Lower performance, worse health, and even shortened life expectancy.

Being dismissed as “too old” isn’t just socially insulting. It activates the brain’s threat circuitry, triggers stress responses, and over time, makes us physically and cognitively weaker. Ageism is biologically harmful.

Language shapes reality

Pay attention to the words. “She’s too old.” It’s the same mechanism behind elderspeak - that patronizing baby-talk often directed at older people. Research shows it actually reduces confidence and measurable cognitive capacity. It’s not harmless.

What happens when we flip the script?

Look at communities and teams that actively include older voices. The quality of decision-making goes up. Experience + intuition + emotional maturity leads to better results than raw calculation alone.

Brain science even shows that older brains are often better at big-picture integration and nuance, rather than getting stuck in black-and-white thinking. That’s not a weakness. It’s wisdom.

Our revolt against the bias filter

So why would we throw away decades of lived experience in our boardrooms and leadership teams? Because it doesn’t fit a youth-obsessed norm?

It’s time we swapped out bias for depth. To ask: what are we missing when we don’t make use of experience?

Every time we dismiss a leader for not being “young enough,” we don’t just hurt them - we make our organizations and societies dumber.

Bottom line

Ageism is the last socially acceptable form of discrimination. But it’s also the most self-destructive. Because sooner or later, we all end up in the very category that gets excluded and dismissed.

So no, Kenneth Bengtsson, this isn’t about one CEO. This is about all of us. About what kind of culture we’re creating. And about what kind of intelligence we allow into the room.

Collapse is not the end - it’s the opening

We hold on to a belief: that collapse is the worst-case scenario. That systems should be managed, controlled, kept upright at any cost. But this is where the data flips the story - biology, history, and even your own brain say otherwise.

Neuroscience shows your brain only grows when old pathways die off. History shows that out of plagues came Renaissances, out of wars came cooperation, and out of ruin came reinvention. Collapse isn’t the end - it’s the compost. The soil. The crack where new life gets in.

So maybe the real danger isn’t collapse at all. Maybe it’s clinging to control, refusing to let go, tightening our grip on structures that are already crumbling. Because when we stop fighting the fall, something wild happens: emergence. Renewal. Futures we couldn’t have planned, but can midwife into being.

Reading Otto’s articles is a joy and it gives me great hope. I’m connecting Otto’s ideas with some neuroscience perspectives below.

Four horizons of rupture

Otto describes four levels of breakdown:

• Systemic collapse - institutions breaking down.

• Societal collapse - trust in leaders and contracts crumbling.

• Paradigm collapse - when the very logic we’ve used (mechanistic, extractive, hyper-rational) no longer holds.

• Civilizational and inner-spiritual collapse - where we stand today, staring into the abyss of ecological destruction, disconnection, and despair.

Sounds grim? It could be. But collapse is also compost. Every breakdown in history - the fall of Rome, the Black Death, world wars - cracked open space for profound renewal: Renaissance. Democracy. New ethics. New consciousness.

So the question isn’t only what’s collapsing? The question is what’s trying to be born?

From camel to child: Nietzsche’s whisper

To frame this, Otto borrows Nietzsche’s three metamorphoses of spirit:

• Camel → carrying heavy loads, obeying “Thou shalt.”

• Lion → fierce rebellion, fighting the dragon of “Thou shalt,” declaring “I will.”

• Child → innocence, play, creation, the sacred Yes.

Most of us live as camels or lions. We carry expectations, or we fight them. But the child? The child creates. Plays. Says yes. Horizon 4 asks us to stop recycling collapse and instead midwife what wants to emerge.

Axial echoes

Otto points to the Axial Age (roughly 800–200 BCE). Across very different parts of the world — China, India, the Middle East, and Greece — there was a simultaneous eruption of new ways of thinking, spirituality, and ethics.

• In China, Confucius and Laozi were shaping ethics and Daoist philosophy.

• In India, the Upanishads, the Buddha, and Mahavira (Jainism) were redefining inner life and compassion.

• In Persia, Zoroaster introduced ideas of moral dualism and human agency.

• In Israel, prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah deepened justice, mercy, and covenant.

• In Greece, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle were inventing philosophy, logic, and systematic ethics.

Across cultures, people began asking new questions: Who am I? What is justice? What is the good life? What is our place in the cosmos?

That’s why Otto Scharmer points to it in his Fourth Horizon meditation: he’s suggesting we may now be entering an Axial Age 2.0 - another leap in human consciousness, but this time on a planetary, democratized scale (not mediated by kings, priests, or philosophers alone, but by each of us cultivating “vertical literacy” and whole-person awareness).

It was a civilizational upgrade of consciousness. And it came out of chaos. Sound familiar?

Otto’s provocation: maybe we’re standing at the threshold of Axial Age 2.0. Only this time, it’s decentralized. Democratized. Not mediated by priests or pharaohs, but by each of us cultivating our own vertical axis - tuning into higher horizons and grounding them in the mud of daily life.

Whole-person sensing = vertical literacy

Scharmer calls the capacity we need now vertical literacy - the ability to climb the mountain of perspective and see from different horizons.

That doesn’t just happen in your head. It requires whole-person sensing:

• Head → analysis and perspective. The prefrontal cortex helps us weigh options, plan, and imagine futures. But on its own, it’s like a pilot flying without radar.

• Heart → empathy and emotional intelligence. Your heart isn’t just a pump - it’s wired with something like 40,000 neurons that send more signals to the brain than they receive. Heart-rate variability research shows your emotional states literally tune your cognitive flexibility and resilience.

• Gut → intuition, courage, the lion’s “I will.” With millions of neurons (the enteric nervous system), your gut communicates with the limbic brain via the vagus nerve. That “gut feeling” is neurobiology, not poetry - a lightning-fast pattern recognition system.

• Body/Hands → embodiment, lived practice, grounded action. Movement, posture, and even gestures feed back into the brain through proprioception and interoception. Studies show your brain literally thinks differently when you stand, move, or use your hands - it sparks creativity, memory, and problem-solving.

• We, not just me → mirror neurons. Your brain is wired to resonate with others. When you see someone smile, wince, or cry, your neurons fire as if you were experiencing it yourself. This system is why emotions are contagious and why collaboration isn’t just about intellect - it’s nervous system to nervous system. In groups, this resonance can either amplify fear and division or co-create coherence and emergence.

Ignore one, and you cut off part of your guidance system. Integrate them, and you don’t just “think better” - you bring your whole nervous system (and your team’s) online. That’s when you become a channel for the emerging future, not just a prisoner of the past.

Collapse as practice field

Otto reminds us: “Where the danger is, the saving power also grows.” Collapse isn’t just tragedy. It’s training.

Every time you:

• Notice your emotions instead of numbing them.

• Listen to your gut even when your head protests.

• Pause logic autopilot and allow creativity in.

• Choose coherence (heart rhythm) over reactivity...

…you’re practicing Horizon 4 leadership. You’re rehearsing the future.

Practice: Camel → Lion → Child

Try this inner experiment next time you feel stuck:

• Camel (The Load): Notice what you’re carrying — the shoulds, the duties. Feel the weight. Name it.

• Lion (The Fight): Ask: what do I want to say No to? Feel the fire of “I will.” Clear space.

• Child (The Creation): Now soften. Look with fresh eyes. What playful Yes wants to come through you?

This isn’t philosophy homework. It’s rewiring your nervous system to sense, resist, and then create.

Why this matters

The world is wobbling between collapse and emergence. Otto calls it the polycrisis. Neuroscience calls it plasticity under pressure. Both point to the same truth: the future depends on how we align our attention, intention, and agency now.

This isn’t self-help. It’s planetary service. Every time you listen with your whole self, you become an island of coherence in a sea of chaos. And islands can shift oceans.

So: will you be the camel, the lion, or the child? Because the future doesn’t need more camels. It doesn’t even need more lions.

It needs children - builders of worlds, not prisoners of the past.

Source

Otto’s articles

Part I — Paradigm Collapse & Shift

• Otto guides us through four horizons: systemic ruptures, societal ruptures, paradigm ruptures, and the inner‑spiritual Horizon 4 - a shift from collapse into emergence through vertical literacy.

• He draws on Nietzsche’s camel → lion → child metamorphoses as a symbolic arc for moving from burden (camel), through rebellion (lion), to creative emergence (child).

Part II — Civilizational & Spiritual Collapse and Reemergence

• At the summit (Horizon 4), Otto invokes the Axial age-a time when deep inner inquiry ("Who am I?", "What is our place in the cosmos?") birthed ethics, spirituality, and new forms of societal organization across civilizations.

• He then invites us into co‑sensing, co‑creating, and regeneration—the work of the child spirit that doesn’t just reject the past, but co‑creates new futures, with humility, presence, and care.

We’ve been taught to lead with our heads. Plan, perform, perfect. But if you want to do work that’s truly resonant, or lead a life that actually feels like yours, you can’t just think your way there. You have to bring your whole self online: head, heart, gut, body, hands. All of it. Because that’s where the real intelligence lives.

Welcome to the (r)evolution of self-leadership — whole-person style.

Your brain is a shapeshifter. Good news.

Neuroscience keeps reminding us of something wild: your brain is constantly rewiring itself. That’s neuroplasticity in action. Every time you choose a new thought, try a new behavior, or respond to a challenge differently - your brain changes. Not metaphorically. Literally. Like new roads forming in your internal Google Maps.

Which means: the way you think, feel, and respond is not fixed. You can train yourself to be more emotionally attuned, more creative, more intuitive, more resilient. You’re not stuck with yesterday’s patterns. Unless you choose to be.

The trap of living in your head

We often confuse cleverness with wisdom. But here’s the catch: the more you rely on a single thought process (like logic), the more dominant it becomes. Your brain doubles down on those neural highways and stops paving new ones. You become brilliant at some things - and blind to others.

Real self-leadership is the art of switching gears. Listening inward. Choosing the channel that fits the moment: not just intellect, but also emotion, intuition, embodiment, creativity, and motivation.

Sound fluffy? It's not. It’s science - and it’s how we grow.

Start with emotion - the real boss

Emotions aren’t a problem to fix. They’re intel. Internal status updates. A real-time dashboard of what matters, what feels off, and what your system is reacting to - even before your thoughts can catch up.

Neuroscience shows that all incoming information takes an emotional detour: it passes through your limbic system before your cortex gets a say. So if you’re not tuning in to your feelings, you’re basically leading with half the data.

This isn’t about getting sentimental. It’s about getting smart. Emotions tell you what you care about, where your boundaries are, what gives you energy or drains it. They’re clues - not noise.

Want to make better decisions? Learn to read the emotional current beneath your thoughts. It’s where the real insight lives.

Your body is talking. Are you listening?

Ever powered through a day with a tight jaw and shallow breath, only to crash later in a fog of exhaustion? That’s your body waving a red flag.

The brain-body connection is real - and essential. High cognitive function depends on basic physical needs: hydration, sleep, nutrition, movement. But it also depends on interoception: your ability to sense what’s going on inside your body.

Start tuning in. Notice your energy dips, your hunger signals, your posture. Your body knows what your brain won’t admit: when it’s time to rest, move, breathe, or ask for help.

The more you listen, the louder and clearer those signals become. Ignore them, and they start whispering - or worse, they wait to scream. Learning to hear your body is a skill that sharpens with practice. Like any language, it rewards attention - and punishes neglect.

Gut feelings aren’t just poetic. They’re biological.

Your gut has neurons. Millions of them. They talk directly to your brain via the vagus nerve - and influence your mood, your decisions, even your confidence. This isn’t woo. This is microbiome science.

When you get that gut feeling? Listen. Your intuition isn’t guessing - it’s pattern recognition at the speed of instinct.

Want sharper instincts? Feed your gut. Literally. More fiber, less sugar, more fermented foods. (Also: more silence, less noise.)

Logic is only half the story

Logic is great. But overusing it? That’s like using a hammer for every single task. Especially when your emotions, values, and intuition are quietly offering you better tools.

What we often call “rational” thinking is actually a cocktail of biases and past beliefs dressed up in spreadsheets. True logic includes awareness of your emotional state and the humility to question your assumptions.

Use it — but don’t hide behind it.

Creativity is intelligence having fun

Self-leadership isn’t just about discipline. It’s also about permission - to experiment, to fail, to make new meaning.

Creative thinking lets you connect dots that don’t obviously go together. It lets you imagine a different way of doing things - at work, in life, in the systems we’re part of.

The best part? Creativity grows with use. Make time to play, make, move, dream, daydream. It’s not extra. It’s essential.

Whole-person learning (And leadership) starts inside

Here’s the invitation: start noticing. Where are you over-relying on one way of thinking? Where are you suppressing another? What would happen if you brought more of your whole self to the table - not just your head, but your feelings, body signals, gut instincts, creative sparks, and longings?

Self-awareness isn’t a luxury. It’s your neural toolkit for navigating change. And when you shift, you give others permission to shift too.

Welcome to the whole-self rebellion. Your brain (and body, and gut, and soul) will thank you.

Source

Tara Swart’s Brain Agility Model:

Tara Swart’s Brain Agility model invites us to break free from one-track thinking and build flexibility by developing six distinct but interconnected modes: emotional intelligence, motivation, physical awareness, intuition, logic, and creativity. The more we consciously switch between these modes, the more agile, adaptable, and resilient we become - in work, life, and leadership.

The six modes at a glance:

• Emotional Intelligence – Reading and managing your own and others’ emotions.

• Motivation – Having clear goals and internal drive.

• Physical Attunement – Listening to the body’s cues and signals.

• Intuition – Trusting gut instincts and pattern recognition.

• Logic – Applying structured, analytical reasoning.

• Creativity – Generating new ideas and seeing fresh possibilities.

Why It Matters:

• Flexibility: Move fluidly between thinking styles instead of defaulting to just one.

• Integration: Combine modes for smarter decisions and deeper insight.

• Resilience: A flexible brain handles pressure, change, and uncertainty better.

• Growth: By strengthening underused modes, you expand your cognitive range.

There’s no way around it: we are living through a leadership crisis. The social contract between citizens and politicians is cracked, if not broken. The gap between what’s promised and what’s delivered keeps widening. Inside organizations, the same dynamic plays out between leaders and co-workers.

Here’s the thing: humans do their best work - and their best changing - when they can show up as their whole selves: head, heart, and hands. Safety isn’t a “soft” perk; it’s what unlocks real trust and connection, and those are the true accelerators of collaboration. And the culture of any organization? It’s basically leadership reflected back. As Daniel Goleman’s research shows, the leaders who create thriving teams aren’t just sharp thinkers - they know how to engage the whole person, starting with emotional intelligence.

Vulnerability is an advantage

Leaders, and members, who dare to be vulnerable - who can talk about emotions without flinching - have an enormous advantage. Their emotional intelligence becomes a role model. It signals: “All of you is welcome here.” That creates psychological safety, trust, and a ripple effect of wellbeing and quality.

Which brings me to this: the (r)evolution starts from within. There’s no executive pass. There’s no back seat.

When we stop putting a lid on our emotions and let ourselves actually feel, we gain access to empathy, integration, and deeper connection.

And let’s be clear: emotional (r)evolution isn’t about dumping your feelings all over the room or acting like a two-year-old mid-tantrum. It’s not about being reactive. It’s about owning your emotions, naming them without blame, and using that awareness to create connection instead of chaos. True emotional intelligence isn’t performative catharsis - it’s the discipline of noticing what’s alive in you and choosing how to bring it into the space in a way that builds trust, not erodes it.

We’ve been trained to cut ourselves off

In school, we’re taught to intellectualize and suppress emotions. No wonder we lose creativity - or worse, end up with shame and guilt when who we are collides with who we think we’re supposed to be.

The more I’ve dared to feel the full spectrum of my emotions, the more access I have to the whole of me. And the more I integrate my own inner world, the less I project my unprocessed stuff onto others. Bonus: when I stop resisting emotions and actually let them move through me, they take less time and energy to process. Equilibrium comes back faster.

The science-y part

Balancing head and heart isn’t just a nice idea. It’s neural reality. The brain areas for strategic thinking and planning are inversely correlated with the ones for emotional and social understanding. When one is active, the other goes quiet. Spend too much time in your head, and you literally disconnect from emotional awareness - and vice versa.

And that old fear - “If I talk about my emotions, they’ll get worse”? Research shows the opposite. Naming emotions in simple language actually regulates them. Long-term suppression, on the other hand, decreases performance and wellbeing.

Here’s a wild one: when you suppress emotions, the blood pressure of people around you goes up. Suppression doesn’t just affect you; it creates a threat response in the whole group. An organization that only welcomes “intellect” and not emotion becomes less smart - and less human.

A personal (r)evolution

The beauty of my own emotional (r)evolution is that the more I let myself feel the whole spectrum, the more of myself I can access. And the more of myself I access, the more clearly I can see others for who they are - not who I want or need them to be.

There’s a moment that always comes when you stop resisting emotion and just let it move through you. It’s like a door unlocking. Suddenly, there’s more space - inside you and between you and others.

It reminds me of something the Dalai Lama said:

“We have failed in religion to create a really compassionate, empathic life for many, many people, and I hope science can go a little bit further into the ivory towers, perhaps to create mindfulness, and therefore greater empathy.”

Go Dalai Lama. Neuroscience is finally catching up, showing we are biologically wired for the golden rule: treat others the way you want to be treated.

Rational vs. emotional: The myth that broke us

Somewhere along the way, we bought into a myth: that being rational makes us strong and being emotional makes us weak. We inherited it from philosophy (“I think, therefore I am”), industrial-age efficiency, and a fear of vulnerability dressed up as professionalism. Feelings were framed as primitive - something to control - while reason was put on a pedestal.

But neuroscience is rewriting that story. Emotion isn’t the opposite of rational thought; it’s the foundation of it. Without emotional input, the brain literally can’t prioritize or decide. Emotional safety isn’t fluff - it’s what switches on the prefrontal cortex where complex thinking, innovation, and collaboration live.

And yes, there’s the amygdala hijack - when a threat spikes unregulated emotion, your brain literally cuts off access to its smartest parts. But that’s not proof emotions are “bad.” It’s proof that learning to work with them is the real strength. Emotional intelligence isn’t about being less emotional; it’s about knowing, regulating, and using emotion as data instead of letting it drive the car.

So the old idea that rational is stronger than emotional? That’s not strength. That’s disconnection - and sometimes, panic mode - disguised as control.

Why this matters in schools and organizations

Learning about emotional intelligence - in organizations, in schools, in relationships - gives us freedom. Freedom to understand, to choose differently, to catch things before they unfold. It makes us more reflective, empathic, and caring.

To the school leaders of the world: you hold a key societal role. Systems sometimes get in the way of letting kids be fully themselves and thrive. Transforming education to include the whole person - head, heart, and hands - is one of the most courageous things we can do.

(And courage, by the way, comes from the Latin cor, meaning “heart.”)

A Tool: Emotional Labeling

Sometimes the fastest way to calm an emotional storm isn’t to fix it - it’s to name it. Neuroscience research (including Matthew Lieberman’s work) shows that putting feelings into words dials down amygdala activity and helps the brain regulate itself.

Step 1: Pause and scan

When a strong reaction hits, give yourself a micro-pause. Notice your body: tight chest? shallow breath? clenched jaw? That’s your nervous system talking before your mind does.

Step 2: Name it, simply

Without judgment or explanation, name what’s there:

• “I feel frustrated.”

• “I feel anxious.”

• “I feel disappointed.”

• “I feel excited.”

Keep it short and clean. No story. No blame. Just a label.

Step 3: Notice the shift

That simple act of naming creates a sliver of space. Enough for your prefrontal cortex - the brain’s big-picture, rational hub - to come back online. It’s the difference between being in the feeling and working with the feeling.

💡 Pro tip: Try this as a group ritual. Start meetings with a one-word check-in where everyone names what they’re bringing into the room. It normalizes emotions and creates shared awareness without drama.

Another Tool: Reappraisal

Reappraisal is the brain’s way of reframing a situation to dial down its negative impact. Most emotional storms are internal - fears, anxieties, stories we spin. Reappraisal helps you take a step back, shift the lens, and sometimes even laugh at yourself instead of spiraling.

Research shows it boosts resilience and lowers negative emotion.

Step 1: Pick a scenario

Use one of these, or better yet, a real moment sparking emotion right now:

• My colleague gave me negative feedback - they must think I’m incompetent.

• I forgot my phone at home - I’m so careless.

• I missed a deadline - my team must think I’m irresponsible.

• A friend is disappointed - this might ruin our relationship.

• My workout got cancelled - I can’t do it without my instructor.

Step 2: Reframe it

Come up with as many alternate interpretations as possible. Less negative, more neutral, even slightly positive. This isn’t lying to yourself - it’s giving your brain options.

Step 3: Use a brain-friendly reminder

When triggered, try:
“Oh, that’s interesting - that’s just my reptile brain reacting.”

This simple line helps you shift from amygdala (threat mode) to prefrontal cortex (calm, perspective mode).

An emotional (r)evolution for teams

When practices like emotional labeling and reappraisal move beyond personal use and into team culture, the effect multiplies. Teams that can name what’s really happening in the room - without judgment or drama - lower the collective threat response and create a shared sense of safety. Over time, this builds a culture where people can bring their whole selves, make braver decisions, and recover from setbacks faster. Emotional regulation stops being a solo skill and becomes part of the group’s operating system.

What if the smartest, most scalable strategy you can deploy as a leader is love?

Not HR-slogan love. Not “we care about our people” as a line in a slide deck. I’m talking about the gritty, daily practice of showing people they matter - and letting that be the architecture everything else rests on.

The brain science of love

Love might sound abstract, but in the brain it’s chemistry: oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin. These chemicals signal safety, trust, and connection. When people feel genuinely cared for, the amygdala - the threat center - dials down. The prefrontal cortex - the part of the brain responsible for problem-solving, creativity, and long-term thinking - lights up.

Fear can get you short-term compliance. But it narrows the brain’s focus to survival mode. Love expands the brain’s capacity for innovation, risk-taking, and deep collaboration.

Neuroscience keeps pointing to the same truth: psychological safety and belonging aren’t fluffy extras - they are the fuel for performance and sustainable culture.

What love actually looks like in leadership

Love isn’t about being “nice.” It’s not avoiding hard conversations or plastering everything in positivity. It’s about how you hold people - in moments of ease and challenge.

When I once asked my dad what mattered most to him when he recruited leaders, he said something that stuck with me:

“Of course they need the knowledge and the experience. But first and foremost, they need to have a love for people.”

That line has lived in me ever since. Skills matter. Strategy matters. But without love for people, the rest collapses.

Love as a strategy isn’t about sentimentality. It’s about designing human systems that make people want to stay, contribute, and create together. It shows up in three layers:

• Micro-love: Everyday signals that people matter. Celebrating effort, not just outcomes. Tiny acts of attention showing “I see you.”

• Structural love: Building systems that protect dignity and belonging. Creating rituals where everyone’s voice has space. Designing processes that don’t burn people out but let them thrive.

• Tough love: Love doesn’t shy away from hard truths. It delivers them with care, stays connected through discomfort, and puts growth above ego.

Love as strategy isn’t about sentimentality. It’s about designing human systems that make people want to stay, contribute, and create together.

A practical question for every decision

Before you green-light a plan, restructure a team, or even send an email, try this:

“If love was my only strategy here, what would I do?”

Notice how it changes the tone. Notice how it changes you.

Love at scale

We often think love is too “soft” to scale. But look closer. Every business plan, campaign, or change initiative is just a container for human connection. Love is the thing that actually scales - because it’s the only thing that makes people want to build and stay.

Fear can create movement. Love creates momentum.

At the end of the day, KPIs and OKRs are footnotes. The real metric is this: do people feel seen, safe, and significant in the spaces you hold?

The courage to lead with love

Leading with love isn’t about perfection. Some days you’ll get it wrong. You’ll snap when you meant to soften. You’ll forget the micro-moments. Love as a strategy isn’t about never faltering - it’s about returning. About noticing when fear is steering the wheel and choosing, again and again, to shift back to care.

Reflection questions

• Where am I leading from fear, and where am I leading from love?

• What would my next strategy look like if love was the design principle?

• What systems could we build to make love not just a feeling, but a daily practice in this team?

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men (read people) are almost always bad men (read people), even when they exercise influence and not authority.”
- John Dalberg-Acton, 1887

John Dalberg-Acton - a British historian obsessed with the relationship between power and morality - wasn’t a neuroscientist, but the MRI scans would back him up. Modern research shows power doesn’t just shift politics or behavior; it literally rewires the brain.

That rewiring changes how we process information, weigh risk, and see other perspectives. It literally alters how your neural circuits process information, evaluate risk, and weigh other perspectives. In other words: the higher you sit in a hierarchy - or the more control you feel in a room - the more likely you are to miss blind spots at a strategic, tactical, and operational level.

This isn’t a moral failure. It’s biology. But that’s exactly why self-awareness isn’t a “nice-to-have” when you hold influence. It’s a survival mechanism for the system you lead.

The power effect: When the brain stops mirroring

Social neuroscientist Sukhvinder Obhi and colleagues found that people in positions of power show reduced mirror neuron activity. Mirror neurons are part of what lets you sense others’ emotions, intentions, and subtle cues - the micro-data that keeps decisions grounded in reality. When that circuitry dampens, it’s not just empathy that fades. It’s perspective-taking. And when perspective narrows, strategy narrows with it.

Add what we know about cognitive bias, and you get a potent cocktail:

• Power inflates similarity bias (you overvalue people who think like you).

• It feeds expedience bias (your gut call feels like gospel).

• It reinforces experience bias (you mistake your view for the view).

Unchecked, power doesn’t just shrink conversations — it shrinks the future. You’re not building strategy. You’re building a hall of mirrors and calling it vision.

A provocative thought: Power is a brain drug

Psychologist Dacher Keltner calls power a dopamine amplifier. It makes action feel urgent, your ideas feel brilliant, and risk feel smaller than it is. That’s intoxicating. But like any neurochemical rush, it comes with side effects: overconfidence, bias blindness, and a gradual erosion of connection to the system around you.

Translation? The more powerful you get, the more you need to design against your own brain.

Power hygiene: Practical antidotes

Reality checks built-in: Don’t rely on willpower. Use structures: red teams and devil’s advocates to force in challenging perspectives.

(And if you’re wondering what a “red team” is — it’s simply a group tasked with poking holes in your strategy. Their job is to spot blind spots before reality does. It’s a brain-friendly insurance.)

Bias audits: Before a big decision, ask: “Which of the SEEDS biases might be steering us right now?” (Similarity, Expedience, Experience, Distance, Safety.)

Strategic spacing: Power speeds you up. Build deliberate pauses between ideation and decision to let more perspectives filter in.

Mirror moments: When you feel most certain, pause and ask: “What would make me wrong?” That question alone can save a million-dollar mistake.

Teams that share power, share perspective

Teams can’t eliminate bias, but they can design for better defaults:

• Rotate agenda ownership so one voice doesn’t shape the narrative every time.

• Build decision “gates” where data and diverse input must be reviewed before sign-off.

• Establish cultural norms where questioning leaders isn’t rebellion — it’s responsibility.

• Separate brainstorming and decision-making phases to avoid expedience bias hijacking strategy.

These aren’t soft practices. They’re cognitive risk management.

Why this matters (and why it’s fun to say out loud)

We love to imagine power as neutral: just a tool, just leverage. But neuroscience says otherwise. Power reshapes the brain. It narrows the field of view. It makes you feel more right than you are.

Which means the most radical thing a powerful leader can do is laugh at their own certainty and build systems that keep them human.

So if power changes the brain, the real question becomes: how do you hold it without losing your perspective — or your people?

A quick power self-audit

(For leaders, facilitators, and anyone holding the mic)

When do I feel most “in control” in my work?
Notice what shifts in your tone, speed, and openness in those moments.

Whose perspective do I hear most often — and whose do I almost never hear?
Bias hides in the silence.

When was the last time I changed my mind because of someone else’s input?
If you can’t remember, your mirror neurons might be taking a nap.

Do I have structures (not just good intentions) that invite dissent and feedback?
Awareness is great. Design is better.

How do people feel after leaving a meeting I lead?
Energized? Heard? Or quietly holding their breath?

Team power self-audit

(For any group making decisions together)

Who shapes the agenda most often?
Is it always the same person? Do we rotate ownership to share perspective and influence?

Which perspectives are coming through clearly — and which might be missing?
Do we have rituals to surface quieter perspectives without putting people on the spot?

When was the last time we actively invited dissent?
Do we have a safe way for people to challenge ideas without fear of fallout?

Are we making decisions in a rush?
Do we separate brainstorming from decision-making to avoid expedience bias steering the ship?

How does power feel in this team?
Is it shared? Concentrated? Unspoken? Can we talk about it openly without the room getting tense?

References:

• Obhi, S. S., Hogeveen, J., & Pascual-Leone, A. (2014). Power changes how the brain responds to others. Journal of Experimental Psychology: General.

• Keltner, D. (2016). The Power Paradox: How We Gain and Lose Influence. Penguin.

• NeuroLeadership Institute. SEEDS Model of Bias.

• John Dalberg-Acton (1834–1902) was a British historian, writer, and politician best known for his studies on liberty and morality in history. Why he was remembered:

  • He was deeply concerned with the relationship between power and morality, which led to his famous quote:
    “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  • He believed that unchecked power inevitably led to moral compromise, and that history should judge leaders not by their success but by their adherence to moral integrity.

  • Acton was also a critic of authoritarianism and a defender of individual liberty.

  His quote resonates so strongly because, over a century later, neuroscience and behavioral science are confirming what he sensed intuitively: power changes people — not just ethically, but biologically.

Congratulations! That’s your neural efficiency system doing its thing.

But what’s efficient isn’t always fair. Or accurate. Or helpful.

That’s where bias comes in. And not just the "big bad prejudice" kind. We’re talking about everyday brain shortcuts that shape who we trust, how we decide, and what we prioritize - without us even noticing.

It’s not just you. It’s all of us. And it’s baked into team culture, too.

A neuroscience take on Bias

The SEEDS model from the NeuroLeadership Institute gives us five common categories of bias. Knowing them is the first step. Designing around them is the second.

SEEDS stands for:

• Similarity – We prefer people who feel like “us.”

• Expedience – We default to what’s fast and easy.

• Experience – We assume our version of reality is the reality.

• Distance – We focus more on what’s near and visible.

• Safety – We react stronger to loss than to potential gain.

Let’s break these down — with a little brain science, team perspective, and real-world tools.

Similarity Bias

"They just get it."

Individual pattern: We tend to hire, listen to, and champion people who remind us of ourselves. It feels safe and efficient - but it limits diversity of thought.

Team risk: Homogeneous thinking, echo chambers, exclusion of divergent voices.

Team practices to counteract:

• Rotate roles in meetings (e.g., facilitator, devil’s advocate, synthesizer) to amplify quieter voices.

• Use structured decision tools (e.g., blind review, scorecards) during hiring or idea selection.

• Create a “seat for the unknown” — a norm where teams ask, “Whose perspective might be missing?”

Neuroscience nugget: Familiarity activates reward circuitry — unfamiliarity feels like a mental obstacle course. Good design makes “difference” feel normal, not threatening.

Expedience Bias

"Let’s just go with this."

Individual pattern: We like shortcuts. We lean on first impressions. We trust speed.

Team risk: Rushed decisions, snap judgments, groupthink.

Team practices to counteract:

• Use pre-mortems: “If this fails in 6 months, why?”

• Add a sleep on it/cooling-off period for high-stakes decisions.

• Normalize second looks — build in check-back rounds before final calls.

Neuroscience nugget: The brain craves cognitive ease. Repetition and familiarity feel right — even when they’re wrong.

Experience Bias

"I’ve done this before, trust me."

Individual pattern: We assume our lived experience gives us the full picture.

Team risk: Leaders over-rely on personal logic. Others feel unseen or dismissed.

Team practices to counteract:

• Use multiple lenses: Ask 3 different team members to share how they see a challenge before jumping to conclusions.

• Practice assumption audits: List what you're assuming — and invite the team to challenge it.

• Build learning rituals like “What surprised you this week?” into team check-ins.

Neuroscience nugget: Our memories are reconstructions, not recordings. And our brain filters what confirms what we already believe. Welcome new data.

Distance Bias

"That’s next quarter’s problem."

Individual pattern: We undervalue what’s far away — whether in time, space, or people.

Team risk: Reactive behavior, short-termism, neglect of marginalized stakeholders.

Team practices to counteract:

• Map stakeholder distance: Who’s affected but not in the room?

• Use timeline visualizations to make long-term impact concrete.

• Design for asynchronous inclusion — allow remote/quiet voices to contribute before meetings.

Neuroscience nugget: Out of sight = out of signal. The brain assigns lower value to what’s distant — unless you make it feel close.

Safety Bias

"Better not risk it."

Individual pattern: We overreact to potential loss. Fear narrows our options.

Team risk: Risk aversion, fear-based decisions, innovation paralysis.

Team practices to counteract:

• Celebrate experiments — even failed ones. Make learning the win.

• Practice “braver than safe” check-outs after meetings.

• Make it normal to say: “I don’t know yet.”

Neuroscience nugget: The amygdala flags threat instantly. But the prefrontal cortex can reframe it. That’s what psychological safety is for — to buffer threat and keep us learning.

Design for better defaults

Here’s the big idea: awareness is not enough.

You need team scaffolding — structures, norms, and rhythms that help everyone do better by default, not just when they remember to.

Because in the heat of the moment? Your brain won’t always flag its own bias. But your calendar might. Your team check-in script might. Your hiring process might.

Build for brains — and the culture follows.

One last thought (Before the brain does its thing)

Bias doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human.

But good design — personal, structural, cultural — can help you lead from the best parts of that humanity. Not just from autopilot.

So… don’t just train people to “be less biased.”
Equip teams to operate with more intention.

Because when we shift the defaults? We shift what’s possible.

Let’s start there.

The truth is, most teams want to grow and evolve - but we often create environments that quietly sabotage real learning. We rush. We overload. We multitask ourselves into cognitive mental traffic jam - then wonder why nothing sticks. Or we pin all our hopes on a big, shiny workshop... and forget to follow through with rhythm and reinforcement.

That’s where the AGES model comes in - a brain-based framework developed by the NeuroLeadership Institute, a global research organization translating neuroscience into practical tools for leadership, learning, and change. AGES brings cutting-edge brain science to the heart of learning - not just what we learn, but how we make it stick.

• Attention – Focused presence. No multitasking, no half-listening — just here and now.

• Generation – Make it yours. Connect the dots, reflect, apply — that’s how memory gets sticky.

• Emotion – Spark meaningful emotion. It tells the brain: this matters, remember it.

• Spacing – Give learning room to breathe. Time between sessions helps the brain integrate, rewire, and make it last.

Want to future-proof your learning culture in your team, or organisation? Make these four rhythms your new learning OS.

Attention: The cost of multitasking is real

Learning starts with presence. Not “check-your-email-while-nodding” presence - but actual, focused attention.

Neuroscience shows that multitasking kills learning. It reduces hippocampal activity - the brain’s memory engine. Even seeing someone else multitask can mess with your focus.

Team practice:

• Start meetings with a check in.

  • E.g. “Let’s do a one-word check-in - what’s the energy you’re arriving with today?” (Great for naming presence and creating attention.)

  • “What’s one thing that’s been on your mind this week, work or otherwise?”
    (Invites emotional resonance and deeper connection.)

• Declare “cognitive sanctuaries” - time blocks with no notifications or Slack pings.

• Make learning relevant by anchoring it in real goals, missions, or challenges. Relevance spikes dopamine, which spikes attention.

Generation: Ownership makes it stick

We don’t learn by being told. We learn by doing, connecting, and reflecting.

When we generate our own understanding - through applying, contextualizing, visualizing - we activate a rich web of associations in the brain. That’s what makes learning accessible later.

Team practice:

• Swap telling (e.g. lectures) for asking (e.g. questions that supports exploring and connecting to what people already know). Instead of presenting conclusions, ask: “What do you make of this?”

• Use breakout groups to apply learning to real scenarios: “How would this work in your current project?”

• After sharing new information, prompt with: “Where does this connect to your experience?” and “What’s one way you could test this in the next few days?”

The brain is a pattern-seeking machine. Let it find and build the pattern.

Emotion: Feel it to remember it

Emotion is a highlighter for memory. It tells the brain: this matters.

But not all emotion is helpful. High stress or fear triggers the amygdala’s threat response, which blocks the hippocampus from forming new memories. In short: fear freezes learning.

Team practice:

• Celebrate micro-wins to build emotional resonance and status rewards.

• Foster psychological safety - people learn better when they feel safe.

• Use storytelling, real-life challenges, and humor to make the experience feel alive.

And yes, anticipation matters. Looking forward to learning creates a positive charge before the session even starts.

Spacing: The brain loves rhythm, not rush

Spacing allows the brain to consolidate, connect, and prune what it doesn't need. Even sleep strengthens learning — that’s when the brain rewires and cleans house.

Team practice:

• Break learning into spaced modules.

• Follow up workshops with reflection prompts after 24–72 hours.

• Revisit key ideas weekly with low-stakes reinforcement (like Slack nudges or peer chats).

Spacing isn’t delay - it’s design.

Everyday learning culture: Putting It all together

Now imagine weaving these AGES principles into your team’s daily rhythm - not just the formal training stuff.

• Start your week with a short learning prompt (Attention + Generation).

• Share a short story from the field at lunch (Emotion).

• Revisit a takeaway every Friday (Spacing).

Think of yourself as the DJ of the learning field. You’re not forcing the dance floor - you’re curating the vibe, setting the beat, and letting the groove carry people forward.

The science says: this works. The lived experience? Even better. People light up. Insights land. Teams remember. And - this is important - they apply. It is a great design tool for “on the job learning”.

One last neural spark

Don’t aim for perfection. This isn’t about flawless facilitation or perfectly-timed feedback.

It’s about intention. Awareness. Rhythm.

You don’t need a PhD in neuroscience to build a brilliant learning culture. But you do need to know the beat your brain loves. AGES gives you the cheat codes.

So - before your next team check-in or learning sprint - ask yourself:

• Have I made it easy to focus?

• Have I made it personal?

• Have I made it emotional (in a good way)?

• Have I let it breathe?

That’s how we move from learning events… to learning cultures.
From cognitive overload… to everyday evolution.

Fire up those neurons and lock in the learning!

Connect if you like to talk more about it. All the best, only the best/Åsa

Sound familiar?

That’s because we’re often doing everything at once. Dreaming and deciding. Exploring and executing. Converging before we’ve even diverged. It's like walking on stage and soloing without knowing the key.

But here’s the groove: new research confirms what many of us have felt intuitively: it’s not just what teams learn that matters — it’s when and in what order. Innovation isn't just a matter of effort or creativity. It’s a rhythm.

In a study of over 160 teams, researchers Jean-François Harvey, Johnathan R. Cromwell, Kevin J. Johnson, and Amy C. Edmondson (yes, that Amy Edmondson — of “psychological safety” fame) found that high-performing teams didn’t just mix learning styles. They sequenced them intentionally. Like a great jazz band, they didn’t try to solo all at once. They knew when to riff and when to pause.

The four learning modes

The researchers identified four types of learning behaviors that support innovation:

1. Experimental learning – Trying things, failing fast, prototyping, brainstorming.

2. Vicarious learning – Borrowing insights from others. Why reinvent the wheel?

3. Contextual learning – Scanning the environment for trends, shifts, and patterns.

4. Reflexive learning – Slowing down to reflect, digest, align, and reset.

Here’s the juicy part: when teams blurred the line between reflection and high-octane ideation, the process stalled. Without rhythm and sequencing, creativity risks turning into cognitive noise — stimulating, but not always productive.

But when teams gave each learning mode its own space, momentum built naturally. Confusion turned into clarity. Friction became flow. Team Alpha in the study looked like they were cruising on jazz-mode productivity. Team Omega? More like a Spotify playlist set on shuffle.

Why this matters for you — and your brain

From a neuroscience perspective, this makes perfect sense. The brain needs time to consolidate and integrate learning. Just like sleep helps us form long-term memories, reflection helps teams turn activity into insight. We can’t just inhale new information — we have to exhale.

If your meetings constantly shift between idea generation, critique, goal setting, and “quick wins,” you're likely exhausting your team’s prefrontal cortex. That’s where decision-making, planning, and working memory live. Overload it, and you’ll get surface-level thinking or group paralysis.

The Double Diamond: A map for innovation flow

One of my favorite tools for pacing innovation is the Double Diamond model. Originally developed by the British Design Council, it’s built on two natural creative rhythms: divergent and convergent thinking.

Here’s how it lines up beautifully with the research:

First Diamond: Explore the Problem

• Diverge: Contextual learning (What’s going on?) + Vicarious learning (What have others done?)

• Converge: Reflexive learning (What’s the real challenge here?)

Second Diamond: Develop the Solution

• Diverge: Experimental learning (How might we solve it?)

• Converge: Reflexive + Contextual learning again (What’s working? What do we commit to?)

This isn’t about rigid phases — it’s about being conscious of what mode you’re in, and not mixing too many at once. The Double Diamond helps teams pace their energy and attention so ideas can emerge, evolve, and land.

It’s basically conducting the learning rhythms instead of DJ-ing them on shuffle.

Three practical shifts to try

You don’t need to change your whole innovation process. Start here:

1. Name the phase
   Say it out loud: “We’re exploring right now.” Or “This is convergence mode — time to make decisions.” It sets the tone.

2. Use time as a boundary
   Don’t brainstorm and critique in the same session. Split them up. Let your team breathe between modes.

3. Add structured reflection points
   Before rushing to action, build in “sense-making” time. Ask: What are we learning? What feels aligned? What are we not seeing yet?

Lead like a conductor

Innovation is not a grind — it’s a groove.

From a neuroscience point of view, when you give the brain what it needs (clarity, pacing, pattern recognition, pause), you don’t just get better ideas. You get safer teams, better collaboration, and more meaningful impact.

So instead of throwing everyone into a whirlwind of sticky notes and sprints, set the tempo. Guide the shifts. Let each mode have its moment.

Because real innovation?
It doesn’t come from doing more.
It comes from sequencing better.

Thank you so much Jean-François Harvey, Johnathan R. Cromwell, Kevin J. Johnson, and Amy C. Edmondson for great insights!

Soundtrack for groovy collaboration
As you probably noticed by now, reading all the quirky jazz references above, I love jazz and I think music unlocks so much wonderful energy. So, want to get into the groove while working with innovation and rhythm? Tune into my Spotify playlist:

It’s a curated vibe for creative flow, deep work, reflection and good foot-tapping energy.

Self-leadership, collaboration, and leading others, begins before words.
Before decisions.
Before slide decks.

It begins with energy.

Let’s be honest: talking about energy can make some people squirm. It might sound too abstract, too “woo woo,” or not practical enough. But here’s the thing - energy is real. It’s your tone, your presence, your body language, your breathing. It’s what people feel when you walk into the room - whether they can name it or not. It’s about the science of human connection — a quiet skill we all feel, even if no one taught it.

Facilitation is energy work

People sometimes ask me what makes great facilitation. I used to list mindsets, tools and frameworks. Now I say this:

Facilitation is the art of reading and directing energy.

It’s noticing when the room contracts and when it opens.
It’s sensing the emotional undercurrents beneath the task at hand.
It’s feeling when alignment needs anchoring or when autonomy needs breathing room.
It’s knowing when silence speaks louder than instruction.

Great facilitation is a tuning fork. Present, attuned, and intentional.

Your energy is contagious

Science backs this up. Emotions are biologically contagious. The nervous system co-regulates. Mirror neurons fire. Cortisol spreads. So does oxytocin.

If you're anxious, others will tense.
If you're grounded, others exhale.
If you're spacious, others dare to expand.

Leadership, and membership, isn't about suppressing your emotions. It's about becoming aware of what you're transmitting - and choosing how to channel it.

The physiology of presence

There’s fascinating neuroscience behind this too. Studies show that when someone in a team withholds what they truly feel, blood pressure rises — not just in them, but in others too. The unspoken tension affects the whole system. But when people name what’s on their minds and in their hearts, the group’s physiology actually calms. Blood pressure drops. The body finds coherence. In other words: what’s real brings relief.

Three questions I ask myself

These are my daily compass points - whether I’m facilitating a group sessions, hosting a retreat, or having a conversation with a change-maker:

• What’s the energy I want to invite?
  Not the outcome. The tone. Is it curiosity? Courage? Calm clarity?

• Where is the group’s energy now?
  Is there tension? Fragmentation? Playfulness? Resistance? Read it like a map.

• What’s needed to shift the field?
  A pause? A reframing? Movement? Stillness? An honest question? A challenge? A moment of laughter?

✦ When I talk about "the field," I mean the invisible social and emotional atmosphere of a group - the shared energetic space shaped by presence, mood, and intention. It’s what we sense beneath the words, and what we co-create together.

You don’t need to control the group. But you can guide the current.

Practicing energy work: A field guide

Whether you’re a team member, a teacher, a facilitator, or a leader — your presence shapes the space. Here are some practical ways to tune your energy, build awareness, and collaborate with greater intentionality.

1. Start with self-attunement

You can’t influence the field if you can’t feel yourself.

• Do a body scan before a meeting. Where is your breath? Are you tense? Grounded?

• Notice your baseline energy and how it shifts throughout the day.

• Try the “two feet, one breath” practice before entering a room.

✦ Practice: Name your state. In one word, what energy are you bringing into the room right now?

2. Read the room (without rushing to fix it)

Part of energy leadership is reading the field - without jumping in to control it.

• Are people open or guarded? Energized or drained?

• Pay attention to tone, body language, timing of speech.

• Ask open questions like, “What’s present in the space right now?”

✦ Practice: Observe without assuming. Get curious before you intervene.

3. Hold space - don’t fill it

Energy work is often about doing less.

• Let silence stretch. Don’t rush it.

• Don’t over-explain. Trust the group’s intelligence.

• Breathe before you respond.

✦ Practice: Pause before taking the next step. Let your presence speak first.

4. Be intentional with transitions

Energy can scatter in transitions.

• Use “rituals” to mark shifts: a breath, a check-in, a grounding question.

• Acknowledge changes in tone or tension.

✦ Practice: Close one thing fully before opening the next.

5. Use your nervous system as a tool

You are the instrument.

• Your calm helps others settle. Your presence stabilizes.

• Stay embodied. Wiggle your toes. Loosen your jaw.

• If you feel off, name it with lightness. Modeling awareness builds trust.

✦ Practice: Co-regulate - without collapsing into the group’s emotion.

6. Reflect and reset

Energy leadership is a practice.

• After a session, ask: → What energy did I bring? → What did I notice in the group? → What would I shift next time?

• Build a post-session ritual: journaling, walking, deep rest.

✦ Practice: Debrief your energy, not just your agenda.

7. Name and invite energy explicitly

Bring your awareness into the space.

• As people “What gives you energy today?”. Learnt this question from . Creates such a great presence.

• Midway, ask: “What’s the energy in the room right now?”

• Close with a collective breath or one-word checkout.

✦ Practice: Make the invisible visible.

The invisible curriculum

There’s what we teach - and what we transmit.

• We may talk about creativity, but if our energy is tight, people won’t take risks.

• We may talk about collaboration, but if our presence is self-focused, the group won’t connect.

• We may preach inclusion, but if we don’t create a space where people listen to each other - people won’t feel seen.

People learn more from our state than from our content. That’s why energy work isn’t a soft skill - it’s the hidden syllabus of every leadership encounter.

Why this matters now

We’re living in an era of nervous systems in overdrive.
The social field is fractured. Attention is fragmented. Fear travels fast.

This is the moment for a new kind of leadership and collaboration.

Not performative.
Not reactive.
Not perform-at-all-costs.

But leadership - and membership - that stabilizes.
That resonates.
That remembers what matters.

If you’ve ever left a meeting with more energy than when you entered - you’ve felt this kind of collaboration.
If you’ve ever been in a room where people felt safe enough to speak from the heart - that didn’t happen by accident.

It happened because someone was holding the energy with intention.

One last thing

Practicing energy leadership — or mindful membership — isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about becoming more intentional, more aware, and more human.

You’ll have off days.
You’ll bring tension.
You’ll get swept up.

That’s okay.

What matters is the willingness to notice, to feel it, to name it, to reset, and to show up again with presence.

Let’s keep practicing presence.