It was 2016. A glass-walled conference room, all clean lines and whiteboards and the faint smell of filtered air and corporate ambition. Perth spread out below through the window; the Swan River, the city, all of it arranged at a distance that felt, as it always does in these buildings, like a form of authority. Five of us around the table. And on the screen at the end of the room, live-streamed from Harvard Business School, Rosabeth Moss Kanter, one of the genuinely great mi

This is a question for anyone who has ever built something worth inheriting. What story are you keeping? What will die with you if you don't find a way to pass it forward? And who is sitting at your table right now, waiting for the version you haven't told them yet?

This is about what happened when my nine year old daughter touched the wall first, looked up, and showed a room full of adults something we've spent years convincing ourselves we don't need.

You can see it from the first three seconds. "Still or sparkling?" that small, unremarkable question the waiter asks before the menus are even open, and the person across from you has already told you everything about how they move through the world.

Everyone is carrying it. The fear of being seen and found wanting. Most people have been carrying it so long they've stopped noticing the weight. It just became the baseline, the hum underneath everything, the thing they stopped asking questions about because the questions were too uncomfortable and the days were too full.

It’s about the difference between scarcity and abundance as lived psychology. Why some environments train you to brace while others train you to build.

You are standing in the middle of a relay race you did not start and will not finish. This essay is about what you owe the people who ran before you and what you're building for the ones who come after.

This latest essay explores why the coming renaissance may be less technological and more human. Not about what machines can do, but about what remains uniquely human when knowledge is everywhere.

In my latest essay, I explore what leadership actually looks like. Whatever the sporting organisation, the same pressures play out, identity, expectation, fear, belonging, and the quiet weight of decisions that don’t always have perfect outcomes...

Something has shifted in childhood, and most parents and educators can feel it even if they struggle to name it.

Real eye contact feels rare now. Not absent, just quietly avoided. We still glance at each other, enough to register a face, not enough to stay. Long enough to be polite. Not long enough to be changed.

And in this pause, once the food is eaten, the drinks are finished, the conversations had, what’s real tends to hold its shape. And what was being held together by adrenaline, distraction, or sheer momentum starts to crack. That’s not failure. That is data to use. We tend to treat this moment as a time to set goals for the year to come. Outcomes. Targets. Resolutions. What do I want to achieve in 2026?

I’ve never written about my time in the church until now, and that was deliberate. Not because I was afraid of the story, and not because there was nothing to say, but because I didn’t want to write from inside the emotion of it.

There comes a moment in every life where the beast standing in front of you stops being poetic language and becomes painfully literal.

Something is breaking inside the modern man, and he knows it. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet.

It’s not effort that’s missing. It’s clarity. The system we’re operating in, the way funding, decisions, and influence actually move through towns like Albany and Denmark, is invisible to most of us.

There’s a pattern in every regional town. The ones who build the most, speak the least. And the ones who speak the most, often build nothing at all.

Think about the visuals of a team room at half-time. The scoreboard is close. The air is thick with sweat and adrenaline. The walls hum with tension. The captain stands, not to shout orders, but to remind the group: stay in your role, trust each other, keep the shape.

This week’s blog is different. It’s long. It’s specific. It’s written for a very particular audience, the presidents, COOs, and...

Let’s be honest: The world is drowning in gurus. Every second ad is some guy in a linen shirt, “living his best life,” flogging a...