My Views

At over 4,000 meters altitude, the only thing that reverberates in your mind is your own breath. Forget about overthinking, the higher you go, the more costly each thought becomes. Up there, every step is in sync with your breath, and the pace is slow. Every time you have to lift your body over a steeper rock step, you'd better have budgeted two breaths. As oxygen thins, your body instinctively seals off every unnecessary energy leak, without you even noticing. Your body aches, and you wish your mind could override your senses, only to realize that the higher you climb, the thinner the air, the fewer the thoughts.

When my stomach began to ache somewhere between 4,400 meters and the summit, I tried to play in my head the song I'd been practicing for weeks on the guitar. But my brain refused, recalling lyrics cost more energy than it was worth, energy needed just to breathe and keep moving.

At 5,000 meters, the moment the sun greeted me in its splendor, tears burst out only for the brain to repress them, urging me to concentrate on breathing and walking, I couldn't afford sobbing and failing to conquer the final 137 meters of ascent. When I looked back at the sun, I knew it was dignity I would carry back home.

This was not my first encounter with dignity. Back in November 2024, dignity wrecked my brain during a tantra workshop in Goa too, where it was within my power to set boundaries and within my choice on how to respond to them, gaining an inherent sense of my own worth and respect.

Up in the mountain or in an Indian shala, dignity came at the same intensity, leaving a stamp on my view of myself.

You might be wondering what dignity has to do with leadership coaching, wouldn't you? I will leave that question with you to reflect upon and respond, as I drop below a couple of notes, which go beyond dignity to intellectual humility, and to humility.

Dignity gives us the intrinsic value of being human, honoring the inherent worth of ourselves and others, as human beings, and keeping us still on the summit of a mountain or in a tantric practice.

Intellectual humility comes with a more epistemic approach, granting us the awareness of our knowledge limitations and of our curiosity to nurture growth. In one of his Neuroscience News articles, Daryl Van Tongeren talks about intellectual humility's four markers: curiosity, open-mindedness, realism, and learning agility.

Humility then becomes a grounding virtue that balances our self, neither inflated, nor diminished. In his book, "Humble: Free Yourself from the Traps of a Narcissistic World," the same Daryl Van Tongeren describes humility as "a way of approaching ourselves, other people, and the world around us with a sense of enoughness, an unconditional worth and value, that opens us to the world as it is."

The etymology of the Romanian word for humility, smerenie, goes back to the concept of "peace" (mir), or "to change, to move gently, to exchange, and to bind together" (mei). Just look at how beautifully these tie up with the self-leadership practice: to bind together your self. Dignity. Intellectual humility. Humility.

So, last time you checked, how humbly were you looking up to the world?

I often refer to self-leadership as the "hygiene factor" of leadership: without a clear understanding of oneself, leadership risks being reduced to mere management.

We may be born with a certain degree of charisma, or our leading tendencies might be shaped by underlying personal needs. For instance, the need for significance may drive us to take charge of our high school group; the need for variety may push us to engage across disciplines and communities, becoming widely recognized; the need for certainty might lead us to gather information, plan meticulously, and seek control to create stability for ourselves and others.

Similarly, the need for contribution can inspire us to give back, motivated by a desire to leave a lasting legacy. The need for growth might compel us to pioneer in our fields, diving deeply into emerging technologies. And the need for connection may lead us to seek approval, form close bonds, or even create dependencies.

These innate drives can make us appear as leaders, but true leadership doesn't begin until we recognize these needs for what they are and learn to manage them consciously.

Self-leadership serves as the foundation of all effective leadership: a discipline of self-awareness, integrity, and intentional action. It requires a clear understanding of who we are, what drives us, and what we aim to create through our actions and presence. At its core, self-leadership means discerning whether our choices stem from fear or purpose, from unconscious impulses or conscious alignment.

It is the difference between being led by our emotions and unmet needs, and being aware of them: pausing, observing, and choosing how to respond. Self-leadership is also the ability to recognize how we project ourselves onto others, and how we internalize others' reflections of us. While that may sound abstract or even philosophical, the practice is surprisingly simple: it begins with observing ourselves, daily, honestly, and without judgment.

Once this foundation is solid, our relationship with time and energy begins to shift. We no longer scatter our focus or react to circumstances, we act with clarity. And from this place of grounded self-leadership, we become capable of truly leading others.

Let me offer a recent, vivid example of what I consider true leadership, drawn from my ascent of Mount Ararat. Our local mountain guide, a seasoned mountaineer and university professor, embodied leadership not through status or title, but through presence and perceptiveness.

It wasn't his technical expertise, the knowledge of terrain, geology, or trekking logistics, that stood out. What truly defined his leadership was his deep attunement to people. Over three days of climbing, he paid close attention to each of us, our level of fitness, our breathing, our energy, even our emotional states. He knew when to slow the pace or push forward, when to lend a hand, when to listen, and when to make firm decisions.

At 5,000 meters above sea level, far from comfort and ego, I found myself grateful for his quiet, grounded leadership. It was a reminder that leadership isn't about headlines or job titles: it's about understanding people deeply and guiding them with empathy, clarity, and wisdom.

So, if you're wondering where true leadership begins, don't look to prestige. Start by looking inward. Self-awareness is the summit worth climbing, though often more challenging than the highest mountain peak.

If we accept that in a hundred years, nothing we hold onto today will truly matter, not titles, achievements, or even opinions, then what remains? Most of us spend our lives identifying with temporary roles and external validations, ignoring their transient nature. But when we pause and look beyond the noise, two things often remain within reach: self-awareness and gratitude.

In leadership, these two inner resources are more than abstract ideals, they are tools for grounded action. Self-awareness anchors us in reality; it allows us to respond rather than react, to lead from a place of clarity rather than ego. Gratitude, on the other hand, shifts our focus from scarcity to potential. It reminds us that what we have, right now, is enough to start building, connecting, or creating. Together, they form a mindset that is resilient, not rigid.

When leaders lead from presence rather than pressure, from appreciation rather than accumulation, they become relevant, not because they control outcomes, but because they bring meaning to the moment. And in a world where permanence is an illusion, relevance in the present is perhaps the only kind that truly matters.

Discontent and suffering are not only natural, they're often necessary to ensure a real return on investment in coaching. Why? Because if you look at any model of change, the beginning includes a downward curve: shock, denial, anger, or even sadness. Whether triggered by an external event or an internal realization, transformation tends to start when things no longer feel right.

But discomfort alone doesn't spark growth. What follows matters most: the choice to engage, reflect, and act. Coaching is not simply a conversation or a series of insights. It's structured work that requires emotional presence, courage, and effort. Without that, progress plateaus and potential remains untapped.

The good news? That energy, when met with intention, always leads to movement, and almost always to a better version of where you started. Coaching adds value precisely because it meets people in that vulnerable, powerful in-between: no longer where they were, and not yet where they're going.

Working with business professionals, leaders, and entrepreneurial minds is an intentional, present, and pragmatic endeavor. It's not about teaching concepts or offering frameworks on leadership or human behavior. Coaching is a trigger: a timely disruption that shifts the dynamic of how someone sees their situation, their decisions, and their path forward. My role is not to educate, but to enable transformation.

There's an important distinction here: if you look at the difference between coaching interventions and learning and development (L&D), you'll find that interventions are situational and responsive. They emerge in moments of discontent, when someone knows something has to shift. In contrast, L&D is proactive, structured, and often designed to build skills over time. Both are valuable, but they serve different purposes.

So next time you contract a coach, don't expect to sit back and absorb content. Expect to reflect, decide, and act. One of those actions may very well lead you to a meaningful L&D path, supported by professionals who specialize in it. But coaching? That's the moment the ground starts to move.