Radio Future Skills Academy – Détails, épisodes et analyse

We often meet people through their professional surface.

The roles they've held. The companies they've built. The neat story their CV tells. It's efficient. It helps us place each other quickly. But it also skips a more interesting question.

Who are you when the career story goes quiet?

That question sits at the heart of a this conversation Morgan Duta had with Jakob Knutzen. Not as a quote machine or a success case, but as a mirror for something many of us recognize, often uncomfortably.

Because Jakob talks very openly about a moment that I've seen again and again in leaders, founders, and senior professionals. The moment where you suddenly realize you can see your entire future.

And it scares you.

Jakob describes leaving a consulting path not because it was failing, but because it was too clear. The promotions, the rhythm, the outcomes. Everything made sense. And that was precisely the problem.

It wasn't risk that pushed him away. It was boredom disguised as safety.

That resonates deeply. Not because everyone should leave their job or move across the world, but because that moment of clarity is information. When the future becomes entirely predictable, the question is no longer "is this good enough?" but "is this alive enough for me?"

Many people misread that feeling as restlessness or lack of gratitude. Jakob frames it differently. He treats it as a signal that experience, challenge, and growth matter more to him than optimizing for certainty.

One of Jakob's sharper observations is how badly we assess risk, especially in hindsight.

From the outside, his choices look dramatic. Moving countries. Switching domains. Building companies without ticking all the expected boxes first. But from the inside, the downside was limited. He knew he had a safety net. He knew what "failure" would actually look like in concrete terms.

And this is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable in a useful way.

Jakob is explicit about privilege. If you come from stability, if you have a solid base, some financial or social safety, then constantly holding yourself back "just to be safe" can become a form of self-deception.

Not everyone has that room to move. But if you do, maybe the question isn't whether you're allowed to take risks. Maybe it's why you're not using the space you've been given.

That's not a moral judgement. It's an invitation to be honest.

Another thing Jakob reframes beautifully is the idea of adventure.

It's easy to confuse adventure with travel. With geography. With movement on a map. But for him, adventure is much broader. It's about experience. Attention. Staying open to being changed by what you're doing.

Interestingly, becoming a father didn't reduce that sense of adventure. It deepened it. He talks about experiencing the world through the eyes of his son, about how everyday life suddenly becomes intense, surprising, and meaningful in new ways.

That matters, because it expands how we think about ambition.

Ambition doesn't have to mean more scale, more speed, more visibility. It can also mean more presence. More learning. More lived experience. A bigger internal life, not just a bigger external footprint.

Jakob doesn't describe himself as a "creative genius". In fact, he's quite explicit that creativity isn't central to his identity.

What he is good at is something else. Channeling creative energy. Removing obstacles. Creating the conditions in which others can do the best work of their lives.

That's a subtle but important shift in how we think about leadership.

In his work with facilitation, product building, and teams, leadership isn't about having the best ideas. It's about helping a group move from point A to point B without collapsing into noise, politics, or safe mediocrity.

That's facilitation in its purest form. And it's increasingly relevant in a world where tools, processes, and AI can easily overwhelm human attention.

One of Jakob's strongest points is also one of the most confronting.

Most teams don't fail because they lack talent. They fail because they converge. They aim for what everyone can agree on. They smooth out edges. They optimize for comfort.

And that's how generic work gets made.

He's blunt about it. Convergence to the mean is how bland products, forgettable strategies, and soulless experiences are created. Especially now, when AI makes it easier than ever to generate "acceptable" output.

What cuts through that isn't more ideas. It's taste.

Jakob talks about taste as the ability to say what is good and what is not, and to stand behind that judgement. Taste is opinion. Opinion requires courage. And courage only matters if you can communicate it clearly.

This is where his thinking becomes particularly relevant in the age of AI.

As generating content becomes easier, expressing meaning becomes rarer. Writing, speaking, and structuring thought clearly are no longer "nice to have" skills. They are differentiators.

You can feel how much Jakob values this. He prefers writing over slides. He cares about structure. About first principles. About meeting people where they are and choosing the right medium, not just the right message.

It's not about sounding smart. It's about making thinking visible.

What I appreciate most about Jakob's reflections is that they don't push a lifestyle. They push awareness.

Where in your own life are you staying safe out of habit, not necessity? And if you're honest with yourself, does predictability currently feel like comfort, or like a warning sign?

You don't need to blow up your life to answer that. But you do need to stop ignoring the signal.

That, to me, is where creative leadership actually starts.

Every now and then you meet someone who comes from a world so far from your own that you expect the conversation to be polite, distant, and maybe a bit abstract. That's what I thought when Warren Yu joined us for Creative Leaders Unplugged. He carries decades of experience inside one of the most rigid and hierarchical systems imaginable, the U.S. military and government. I come from design, creativity, messy entrepreneurship. Two planets, right?

But from the very first minute, something unexpected happened. We didn't meet as a military officer and a designer. We met as humans. He told stories about family, heritage, loss, identity, the same stories we all carry whether we come from Shanghai, Hungary, New York or Haarlem.

That's when I realised: the starting point for creative leadership is always the same. Strip away the titles, the roles, the armour. Ask someone who they are. And then simply listen.

What unfolded after that was like watching a movie. Warren is one of those natural storytellers who pulls you straight into the world he's lived in, from his grandfather's assassination to CIA front companies to being accused of "witchcraft and black magic" on a Navy ship because he dared to bring a new idea into a rigid system.

And still, somehow, everything he said resonated deeply with what we talk about in design thinking. The power of culture over technology. The need to make it safe to fail. The importance of "yes, and…". The courage to hold space for others. The leader's job of clearing obstacles so people can run freely.

At one point he describes his design studio, a simple conference room he quietly transformed into a kind of pirate ship inside the system. A place where people could bring fragile ideas, experiment, fail, recover, collaborate across ranks and cultures. A NICU for innovation, he called it. And I thought: yes, this is creative leadership in its purest form.

Not the shiny version. The subversive version. The courageous, slightly rebellious, meaningful version.

What struck me most is how his whole journey mirrors something many creative leaders recognise:

being an outsider, navigating contradictions, learning to adapt, holding multiple perspectives, and seeing what others miss. The pirate who doesn't disrupt for ego, but for the greater good.

We ended our conversation with one simple question:

What are you looking forward to?

His answer was surprisingly soft and human, to help people, to create meaning, to help organisations rediscover their purpose when they've drifted away from it.

That's the thing about pirates.

They're not trying to burn the ship.

They're trying to remind everyone why they're sailing in the first place.

This episode is full of stories, insights, emotion, humour and hard-earned wisdom. Honestly, we could have talked for hours. But I hope the part we captured inspires anyone who feels stuck in a system, anyone wondering how to make change from the inside.

Maybe the answer isn't to break the system.

Maybe it's to create a small space where new possibilities can breathe.

A place where people feel safe to bring their ideas, their doubts, their scars.

A place where stories can be told.

A place where pirates are welcome.

Enjoy the episode.

And Warren, go write that book. The world needs it.

Hey everyone, welcome to another episode of Future Skills Academy Podcast with a Column by Arne van oosterom:

I'm really excited to share something that's been on my mind for a while. We've all heard how technology—and more specifically AI—seems to be creeping into every corner of our lives. I mean, it's not just about writing blog posts or crunching numbers anymore. AI is creating art, music, film scripts, and sometimes it's even doing it better or faster than humans can. Which is both amazing and, let's be honest, a little unsettling.

Now, of course, there's a lot of worry out there: "Are we losing our jobs to robots?" "Will we still need human writers, painters, directors, or composers?" And I totally get it. There's a sense that we're on the brink of something major, something that might leave a lot of us feeling redundant. But here's the twist: I actually think this shift is going to make real human creativity even more precious.

Why? Because, at the end of the day, it's our lived experiences that make what we create truly meaningful. Look, if one day we were to find out that Van Gogh, for instance, was never a real person—that all the stories about his struggles and triumphs were just some elaborate AI fabrication—do you think his paintings would still hold the same weight? Probably not. The beauty of Van Gogh's art isn't just in the swirls of paint on the canvas. It's in knowing he was this real, troubled, passionate individual who poured his heart out in every brushstroke.

That's the kind of depth that comes from having a mother you've loved and lost, or from breaking your leg and spending a miserable six weeks on crutches. It's from the late-night talks with friends that shift your perspective on the world, and from growing up in a certain neighborhood at a certain time. All of that seeps into your art—your words, your melodies, your films, your sculptures—and it resonates with people, because they can sense the realness.

AI, for all its brilliance, doesn't have that. It doesn't have a mother. It doesn't know grief, or heartbreak, or the joy you feel when a friend drops by unexpectedly. AI might emulate these feelings, but that's all it is—an emulation. It can piece together a scene of heartbreak, add some atmospheric music, and calculate the perfect angle for a shot in a film, but it's doing that from data points and patterns, not from actual tears or heartbreak.

This is why I believe the stories and creations that come from human hands—from the sweat and tears, the late nights and the real mistakes—are only going to become more valuable. When everything around us is generated by a machine, we'll crave the tangible evidence of a human life lived and poured into art. It will stand out. People will look for that spark that says, "Someone was actually here. They felt this. They went through something and this is what came out."

Yes, AI can replace many tasks that human beings do. It can do so quickly, often efficiently. And I don't doubt we'll see entire films or albums generated by code. Some might be popular or go viral. But at the same time, the more AI can do, the more we'll care about the things it can't. The more we'll want to see that authentic brushstroke or hear the raw crack in a singer's voice that came from a real heartbreak.

So am I worried? Not really. I think it's going to force us to be clearer and more deliberate about what we bring to the table. We'll need to dig deeper into our experiences—our pains, our joys, our perspectives—and figure out how to translate them into something that matters to other people. That's the true essence of creativity, isn't it? You live, you learn, and you turn that into something that might resonate with someone else down the road. AI can do a lot, but it simply can't live.

That's it from me for today. Thanks for tuning in to Creative Leaders Unplugged. Remember, the real magic isn't just in the final painting or the perfectly crafted track—it's in who we are and what we've gone through to make it. And that's something no robot will ever replicate.

Wired Differently: A Conversation with Annika Madejska on AI, Neurodiversity, and Ethical Debt

When we spoke with Annika Madejska for our podcast, it was one of those conversations that lingered long after we hit stop on the recording. Thoughtful, sharp, and honest—Annika shared stories and insights that connected the personal and the professional in a way that just made sense. Especially when it comes to living with ADHD, and how that overlaps with creativity, identity, and our evolving relationship with technology and AI.

Neuro-spicy and Never Quite Fitting In
Annika calls herself "neuro-spicy." It's her way of naming something many of us feel but don't always know how to explain: the constant dance of fitting in and not fitting in. She's been successful—really successful—but says she's always felt like an outsider. A misfit who learned to mask her differences, play the game, and still quietly question the rules… well, maybe not so quietly.

For Annika, growing up meant constantly sensing that something was "off"—not in a bad way, but in a way that made her feel slightly outside the group. She talks about being deeply insecure, a people pleaser, even while coming across as strong and fearless. It wasn't until later in life that she was diagnosed with ADHD, and suddenly all those quirks, all those intensities and obsessions, started to make more sense.

And maybe that's the paradox. You can be thriving in a system and still not feel like you belong in it. You can be high-functioning, even exceptional, and still feel like you're not doing things the "right" way.

Wired for Justice
One of the things that stood out in our talk was Annika's deep sense of justice—a drive she now knows is common in people with ADHD. That strong inner compass, that feeling of "this isn't right," has shaped her entire career. From journalism to design to her current focus on AI ethics, Annika has always followed the impulse to fix, to understand, to make things better. Even when it wasn't easy. Even when it got her into trouble.

She's the kind of person who raises her hand and says, "Sure, I'll do it," and then figures it out along the way. That mix of impulsiveness and hyper-focus, as she describes it, has helped her jump into the deep end again and again—especially in chaotic, high-stakes environments. Where most people panic, she's calm. It's not that she's fearless. It's that she's used to navigating the unknown.

The Ethical Debt of AI
And that brings us to AI. Anika has spent the last few years knee-deep in conversations about ethics and technology. She coined the term "ethical debt," and it's brilliant. Just like technical debt in software—where shortcuts come back to bite you—ethical debt builds up when we ignore the long-term moral consequences of what we build.

She points out that the data we use to train AI is full of bias, because history is full of bias. And when we build systems on top of that data, without thinking critically about what we're amplifying, we're creating technology that might work—technically—but could be harming people in real ways.

And we don't see it. That's the problem. The harm is often invisible. It's like climate change or depression: easy to ignore until it hits close to home.

So… What Do We Do?
Annika doesn't claim to have all the answers, but she does have a wish. She wants us to teach people—especially the next generation—critical thinking. She wants us to stop taking convenience for granted. To understand the cost of the tech we use, not just in money or energy or data, but in values. In choices. In trade-offs.

She reminds us that technology isn't neutral. It's always designed by someone, for someone, with certain outcomes in mind. So we have to ask: Who gets to decide? What are we optimizing for? And who benefits?

The Bigger Picture
What I appreciated most about our conversation is how personal it was. Annika isn't talking about ethics in some abstract, academic way. She's lived it. Her work is shaped by her experiences as someone who feels deeply, thinks fast, and questions everything.

She's someone who has learned to stop hiding parts of herself. To show up fully, neuro-spicy and all. And in doing so, she gives others permission to do the same.

So yeah, this episode is about AI. It's about bias, and regulation, and privacy, and the need to rethink our systems. But it's also about being human in a world that often asks us to be machines.

It's about creativity, empathy, identity, and the power of asking better questions.

Welcome to this week's Editorial. I'm thrilled you're joining me today. I want to dive into a topic that's central to how we innovate, lead, and navigate our constantly changing world. And the metaphor I love using for this is the image of a tightrope walker.

So, picture yourself on a tightrope, arms stretched out, wobbling just enough to keep your balance. It's a little scary, but it's also exhilarating, right? Because you're not frozen in place—you're in motion, you're making micro-adjustments, constantly shifting between the pull of order on one side and the lure of chaos on the other. That's the sweet spot where the magic happens. Today, we're going to explore why it's so powerful to hang out at this "edge of chaos", what change blindness is and how it can trip us up if we're not careful, and how all of this helps us become better leaders and innovators.

Balancing on the Edge of Chaos

Let's start with this idea of the edge of chaos. I love how complexity science describes it as a sweet spot between rigid order and total mayhem. On one side, if things are too structured—like an organization with layers upon layers of bureaucracy—creativity gets stifled. People get stuck following the same old processes, or they're terrified of breaking the rules. On the other side, if there's too much chaos, everything becomes so scattered that no real progress is made. It's like everyone's running around in different directions without a shared purpose.

But right at the edge? That's where we get both innovation and stability. There's enough structure to keep us moving together, but enough freedom to experiment and try bold ideas. Nature offers plenty of examples: there's a well-known concept called the intermediate disturbance hypothesis, which basically shows that ecosystems hit peak biodiversity—peak life—when there's a moderate amount of disruption. Too little disturbance, and the system gets stale. Too much, and it collapses.

The same logic applies to businesses and teams. Think of a company like Google. They famously gave employees "20% time" to explore big, wild ideas. That was a bit of chaos sprinkled into their daily work. But they also had a framework in place—enough organization to decide which of these ideas would move forward. It wasn't anarchy, but it wasn't stifling order, either. It was a dynamic balance, right on that edge.

When Order Becomes a Straightjacket

Now, I want to be clear: order by itself isn't a bad thing. We need some structure to keep us grounded and consistent. The problem is when order turns into a straightjacket, when people say, "We've always done it this way," and shut down new ideas.

In some organizations, there's a heavy reliance on rules, processes, and top-down directives. That can create efficiency in the short run, but it can also kill spontaneity and discourage experimentation. Leaders who micromanage end up with teams that follow the script but don't bother to innovate. Everyone's so busy coloring inside the lines that no one asks, "Hey, can we draw something completely different?"

I'm guessing you've seen this or felt this before—times when rigid policies or endless approvals made it feel impossible to introduce new thinking. So yes, order is useful—until it drains our ability to adapt.

When Chaos Becomes… Well, Chaos

On the flip side, we have chaos. In small doses, chaos is amazing for creativity because it lets us wander off the beaten path. But when everything is "anything goes," we can get stuck spinning our wheels.

For example, you might have a startup where there are zero rules—everyone's always prototyping the next big thing, but no one's thinking about actually implementing. That's fun for a while, but eventually, the team burns out or runs out of cash because there's no strategy. I like to remind people: Innovation without a framework can lead to a lack of follow-through. You need some structure to ensure your brilliant ideas don't end up collecting dust.

Nature also shows us this danger. If storms or fires are too frequent, even the hardiest species can't survive. There has to be enough calm between disruptions to stabilize and grow.

Understanding Change Blindness

So, we know we need to walk that tightrope, balancing between too much structure and too much chaos. But here's a twist: what if we don't even see the rope changing beneath our feet? That's where a concept called change blindness comes in.

Change blindness is this fascinating phenomenon where we fail to notice slow, subtle shifts happening right in front of us. If something changes slowly or in small increments, it can sneak by us undetected. Psychologists have run experiments showing that people can miss huge alterations in a scene if those alterations happen gradually.

Translate that to the business or leadership world: you might be so focused on day-to-day tasks that you miss a major shift in customer behavior, technology, or even in your own team's morale. Think about Kodak: they invented the first digital camera but didn't quite act on that technology. By the time they realized how big digital would become, other players had seized the opportunity. Or Blockbuster—yes, they saw Netflix coming, but they didn't move quickly enough to adapt because the change felt gradual… until it wasn't.

We often say, "In hindsight, it was so obvious." But it's only obvious later. In the moment, we're often blind to the slow creep of change—like the proverbial frog in slowly heating water.

Leading on the Tightrope

So how do we get better at walking the tightrope, staying on that edge of chaos while also combating change blindness? Here are a few practices that come to mind:

1. Stay Curious and Keep Scanning the Horizon

Make it a habit to look beyond immediate tasks. Ask yourself and your team, "What's changing around us, even if it's subtle? Is there a shift in customer tastes? Is there a new technology lurking in the background?" The more we train ourselves to notice small shifts, the more likely we'll adapt before a crisis hits.

2. Create a Culture of Experimentation

Give people space to try new things—but put some parameters in place. Let's say you have a monthly "innovation sprint" where teams can tackle any challenge they want. At the end of the sprint, they share results. That's enough structure to keep it focused, but enough freedom that people can run wild with ideas.

3. Beware of Red Tape

If you find yourself or your organization saying, "This is how we do it, period," that's a red flag. Question whether certain processes might be outdated. Does every little decision really need six levels of approval?

4. Don't Fear Course Corrections

A tightrope walker is constantly shifting. Likewise, leaders should be comfortable saying, "We tried it; it didn't work. Let's adjust." Admitting mistakes or pivoting isn't a sign of weakness; it's how you avoid the extremes of order or chaos.

5. Invite Diverse Perspectives

One of the best ways to beat change blindness is to surround yourself with people who see things differently. Encourage your teams—and even your customers or external partners—to challenge your assumptions. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes can catch that slow-moving shift you've overlooked.

Why This Matters for Your Future

We're in a period where massive shifts are happening globally—technology, climate change, social values, you name it. Traditional hierarchies that we inherited from the Industrial Revolution are slowly fading. We're seeing more small, interconnected teams and ecosystems of small companies working together, rather than one big monolith controlling everything. Technology now allows even a tiny startup to have a global impact.

In this world, being flexible, perceptive, and collaborative isn't just nice—it's non-negotiable.

Thanks so much for tuning in. I hope this editorial has sparked some new ideas or at least given you a fresh perspective on how to navigate our crazy, ever-evolving world. Next time you feel the wobble under your feet, remind yourself: it's not about standing still—it's about making those micro-adjustments, staying curious, and leaning just enough into both order and chaos to keep moving forward.

Until next week, remember to keep that creative energy flowing—and I'll catch you on the next episode of the Creative Leadership Podcast.

Take care, everyone!

In this episode, we explore the concept of "conceptual dyslexia" with Samuel West, the founder of the Museum of Failure. We discuss how this term illuminates the cognitive processes of creative thinkers who connect diverse concepts, enhancing our understanding of the world. Samuel shares insights on navigating creativity amidst uncertainty, emphasizing the delicate balance between comfort and critical thinking. Our conversation delves into the influence of context on identity and behavior, revealing how we adapt in different environments. One standout moment is Samuel's introduction of "Failure No. 5," a perfume that embodies failure, celebrating the creative potential found in setbacks. We also challenge contemporary marketing norms, contemplating the possibility of launching products without social media's influence. This episode invites listeners to embrace resilience and curiosity, inspiring a deeper appreciation for the intricacies of creativity and personal growth.

Jim Kalbach is the Chief Evangelist at Mural

00:00:08 Intro / Chatting / Holiday Reflections
00:02:40 Introducing Jim Kalbach
00:04:20 The Influence of Jazz 
00:04:25 Comfort with Uncertainty
00:07:26 The Role of Language
00:09:48 The Nature of Truth
00:10:20 The Importance of Art
00:13:42 Jim's Journey to Mural
00:14:43 Defining Creativity
00:18:28 Music as a Creative Process
00:21:13 Embracing Nonlinearity
00:22:50 The Future of Organizations
00:26:54 Managing Uncertainty in Business
00:33:11 Neurodiversity in the Workplace
00:36:31 The Shift Towards Imagination
00:42:04 The Impact of AI
00:50:38 The Need for Balance
00:57:49 Navigating Change
01:01:57 Personal Growth and Change
01:17:44 Rethinking Business Structures
01:23:26 Closing Thoughts and Reflections

With Duncan Wardle, the former head of innovation and creativity at Disney, we delve into the essence of creative leadership. Duncan shares insights on unlocking creativity in everyone, emphasizing the importance of playfulness and personal narratives.

We explore interactive exercises that highlight the relationship between lived experiences and creativity, while discussing his newly published book that offers practical tools for nurturing creative potential.

Duncan challenges traditional education paradigms and advocates for a mindset that embraces empathy, curiosity, and intuition. This engaging discussion promises inspiration for anyone eager to enhance their creative abilities and rethink leadership in today's evolving landscape.

The Flower Analogy: Lessons in Leadership and Design from Anderson Gomes da Silva

In the recent episode of Creative Leaders Unplugged, Anderson Gomes da Silva, Head of Product Design at Bol.com, shared his thoughts on leadership, design, and innovation. Among the many insights he offered, one stood out as a profound metaphor for organizations and systems: the "Flower Analogy."

Anderson described how managers often strive to organize their teams or systems into neat, labeled categories. He likened this to taking a flower and meticulously separating its petals, stems, and leaves into individual boxes, labeling and arranging them perfectly. The result? While the parts are now cataloged and visually satisfying, the flower itself is no longer alive.

This analogy captures a fundamental tension in leadership: the urge to impose structure and control versus the need to nurture living, interconnected systems that thrive on complexity and adaptability.

The Dangers of Over-Organization

Anderson's flower analogy is a reminder of the risks associated with over-managing or siloing teams within an organization. While structure and order are essential for clarity and efficiency, excessive compartmentalization can kill the very creativity and dynamism that make teams effective. A company isn't a collection of isolated parts—it's a living organism. When we forget this, we risk stifling growth and innovation.

This challenge is especially relevant in today's fast-changing world, where agility and collaboration are key to staying competitive. As Anderson pointed out, many organizations are tempted to box their teams into rigid roles or processes to create a sense of predictability. But true innovation happens when teams interact across boundaries, share ideas, and tackle problems together.

Design Thinking as a Holistic Practice

In the interview, Anderson emphasized the value of seeing problems systemically—a key tenet of design thinking. Just as a designer must consider multiple perspectives (user experience, market viability, technical feasibility), leaders must take a holistic view of their organizations. By rotating the "flower" and examining it from different angles, leaders can understand how various parts contribute to the whole.

Anderson's leadership philosophy extends beyond design. He applies design principles to his own role, mapping stakeholders, visualizing team dynamics, and prototyping better systems. This iterative and exploratory approach ensures that the "flower" of his organization remains vibrant and alive.

Balancing Chaos and Order

Anderson also spoke about the delicate balance between chaos and order. He acknowledged the need for systems and tools to bring stability to repetitive tasks—an area where he excels through automation. However, he stressed the importance of leaving room for creative exploration and serendipitous connections.

Creativity thrives at the intersection of chaos and order. Leaders who can navigate this space—like a gardener tending to a living, growing flower—foster teams that adapt, innovate, and flourish.

A Call to Leaders: Keep the Flower Alive

The flower analogy is a poignant reminder for leaders: don't let the need for control suffocate the life out of your organization. Instead, focus on nurturing connections, embracing complexity, and fostering a culture where creativity and collaboration can thrive.

As Anderson said, "Organized things are chaos; natural things are prosperity." The best leaders understand that their role is not to impose rigidity but to cultivate a dynamic ecosystem where innovation blooms.

Curiosity and Authenticity: Foundations of Modern Leadership

leaders are increasingly challenged to balance innovation with empathy. Ewelina Polińska Nadra, an innovation manager and mother, exemplifies how curiosity and authenticity can serve as the cornerstones of effective leadership. Her journey offers valuable insights into integrating personal values with professional practices.

Curiosity: The Catalyst for Growth

Ewelina's life is a testament to the transformative power of curiosity. From exploring the depths of marketing to spontaneously diving into triathlons, her inquisitive nature propels her forward. For leaders, this relentless drive to ask questions, explore new avenues, and embrace the unknown fosters creativity and adaptability—qualities essential in industries undergoing constant change.

Authenticity in Leadership

Equally central to Ewelina's philosophy is authenticity. She believes in bringing her whole self to work, acknowledging the inseparable link between personal and professional lives. By sharing her vulnerabilities—whether admitting to a bad day or drawing parallels between parenting and management—she creates an environment where others feel safe to be themselves. This approach humanizes leadership and fosters trust and openness among team members.

Lessons from Parenting

Ewelina's experiences as a mother deeply influence her leadership style. She has learned to adapt her communication, offer tailored support, and respect individual differences—skills directly transferable to managing a diverse team. Her emphasis on creating a "brave space" encourages team members to take risks, voice dissenting opinions, and grow.

The Future of Leadership

As workplaces evolve, leaders must embrace a more holistic approach. Curiosity drives innovation, while authenticity builds connection and trust. Together, they form a powerful combination that enables leaders to navigate complexity while empowering their teams.

Ewelina's story reminds us that leadership is not about perfection but about presence, curiosity, and a commitment to continuous learning—both about the world and oneself. As she succinctly puts it, "You can't be authentic if you don't know yourself." In a world that demands both innovation and empathy, her insights offer a roadmap for leaders seeking to inspire and lead with integrity.