I took this picture while waiting to check in to return from Hong Kong. Standing in line, I found myself reflecting on some of the coaching conversations I had during my time in the city. A couple of them centred around tough transitions into new roles: smart, seasoned leaders grappling with what it means to start over, again.

 

Whether you’re stepping into a new role, returning from a sabbatical, or switching industries altogether, every career transition is a kind of journey. And like any journey, we pack a bag.

 

But not everything we bring with us helps us travel well. The past roles. The labels. The patterns. The grudges. The imposter feelings. The stories we keep telling ourselves about what we can or can’t do.

 

In transitions, we often obsess over what we should bring with us: skills, networks, experiences. But the harder, more transformative question is: What should we leave behind?

 

What if the greatest untapped resource in your organisation is not capital, tech or talent but your leadership team?

 

Two weeks ago in Hong Kong, the view from the window was heavy. Rain clung to the glass, clouds pressed down over the harbour, and everything felt dim, muted. That morning, as we began our team coaching journey, we said:

 

Look at the view two days later. The water is the same; the city skyline hasn’t changed, but the light has shifted. And with it, the feeling.

We haven’t rebuilt the city. We haven’t solved every problem.
We haven’t turned into the best of friends or banished all our challenges.
But something important has happened. This brighter, clearer image represents what team coaching can do:

 

Reveal what was already there. The colours, the depth, the contours. They were hidden, not absent.

Restore perspective. When storms roll in, it’s easy to forget the bigger picture. Coaching helps us zoom out and reconnect to what matters most.

Bring light to patterns. Like sunlight piercing through cloud, the coaching process helps us notice our habits, our dynamics, and the unspoken tensions we live with.

Face the mountain, together. The challenges haven’t disappeared. But now we can see them and each other with more clarity and coherence.

 

So what did those two days achieve?

Not perfection. Not resolution. But perspective and possibility. A shared starting point that’s just a little clearer, a little lighter.

 

Most people I start to coach treat the hiring process like a stage play: memorize your lines, deliver them with just the right pause and emphasis, then exit stage left, job offer (hopefully) in hand. But this mindset sells you short and it sets a trap.

 

What would change if we treated the interview room not as a performance, but as a natural extension of how we already lead?

 

One of my executive coaching clients had a powerful realization this week: the hiring process isn’t some separate domain requiring special tricks. It’s a test of the very same leadership muscles we use every day. Your ability to influence, to speak with clarity under pressure, to project confidence without arrogance, and to build rapport with senior stakeholders—that’s not interview preparation. That’s executive presence in action.

 

In fact, the interview setting simply magnifies what’s already there:

So instead of scrambling to “prepare” for interviews with ad hoc polishing, we should be building those leadership muscles consistently before we're on the market. 

 

How do we move forward when the road ahead is unclear, when the challenge we face is not just technical but existential?

 

That is the work of leadership. Not merely solving problems, but staying present with complexity, ambiguity, and emotion long enough to allow something new to emerge.

 

It was this kind of work that led me to develop Rapid Peer Coaching. Over the past 13 years, I’ve watched this method become a sanctuary for thoughtful leaders: those who know that insight doesn’t always arrive through expertise, and that wisdom often comes dressed as a question, not an answer.

 

The problems we bring into leadership spaces, the real ones, are rarely tidy. They’re not about KPIs or dashboards. They’re about people. About us. The things we feel but don’t say. The things we see but struggle to name. The tensions we carry between who we are and who we are expected to be.

 

In such moments, our well-worn problem-solving tools falter. Because they’re built for mechanics, not meaning.

 

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