The more useful question — the one that actually determines whether any training investment lands — is this: how well does this team learn? Not what have they learned. How well do they learn, when conditions change, when the map no longer matches the territory, when the thing they knew for certain last year turns out to be the thing holding them back this year?
That capacity is what researchers call learning agility. And in a world where the terrain keeps shifting under people’s feet, it may be the most consequential capability a team can develop.
Learning agility is not the same as intelligence. It is not the same as training completion rates, or knowledge test scores, or the ability to absorb new information quickly. These things are real, but they are not it.
Learning agility is the willingness and ability to learn from experience and apply that learning to perform successfully in new, first-time, or tough situations. The operative word is “new.” Anyone can perform well in conditions they have mastered. The question learning agility asks is: what happens when the conditions change? What happens when the playbook runs out?
The concept was developed in depth by researchers at Korn Ferry, building on decades of longitudinal research into what separates high-potential leaders from everyone else. What they found was striking: technical competence, past performance, even raw intelligence were relatively poor predictors of who would succeed in genuinely new situations. The better predictor was how people handled experiences they had never faced before — and what they did with those experiences afterward.
That is learning agility. It is less about what you know and more about how you relate to not knowing.
Learning agility is not a single quality. It has structure. Researchers have mapped it across five distinct dimensions, each of which contributes something different to a person’s — or a team’s — capacity to navigate complexity.
Mental agility is the appetite for complexity. People high in mental agility are comfortable sitting with ambiguous, multi-layered problems. They examine things from multiple angles. They make connections across domains that others treat as separate. They find comfort in nuance rather than running toward premature conclusions. In a team context, this is the dimension that keeps groups from oversimplifying difficult decisions.
People agility is the capacity to learn from others. This goes beyond being a good listener. People with high people agility are genuinely curious about perspectives that differ from their own. They adapt their communication style. They work effectively with a wide range of personalities. And they understand that every interaction is a learning opportunity if they approach it that way. Teams with high people agility tend to surface better information, because they create conditions where different perspectives can actually enter the room.
Change agility is comfort with experimentation and uncertainty. Change-agile people enjoy tinkering. They initiate new ideas, take calculated risks, and tolerate the discomfort of not yet knowing whether something will work. They do not need certainty before they act. For teams navigating constant market and technological change, this dimension is what allows them to move before everything is figured out — which is the only speed that actually keeps pace with change.
Results agility is the ability to deliver under pressure in novel circumstances. Not just when the conditions are familiar, but when the brief changes, when resources shrink, when the original plan collapses. Results-agile people inspire confidence not because they have all the answers but because they resourcefully find them. They are the people a team unconsciously turns to when something unexpected happens.
Self-awareness is the foundation all four of the above rest on. Without it, the other dimensions are unreliable. Self-aware people know what they are good at and what they are not. They actively seek feedback. They can name their own assumptions and examine them. Crucially, they understand how their behaviour affects others — which is the kind of knowledge that allows genuine development rather than the performance of it.
These five dimensions are not evenly distributed. Most people are strong in some and underdeveloped in others. Most teams are too. The point is not to have everything maxed out — it is to know where the gaps are and to build intentionally from there.
There is a temptation to treat learning agility as just another leadership competency — something useful, worth developing, maybe worth including in a performance framework somewhere. That framing undersells it significantly.
The conditions that previously made a workforce reliable are the conditions that are actively changing. Processes that have not changed in a decade are changing. Skills that were durable are losing their shelf life. Technologies that required specialists a year ago can be accessed by anyone today. The rate of change is not a temporary disruption that will eventually stabilise into a new normal. It is the new normal.
What this means for teams is that the capacity to absorb new requirements, shed outdated approaches, and adapt under pressure is no longer a nice-to-have. It is a baseline operational requirement. A team that can only perform well in the conditions it was originally built for is a team with a shrinking useful lifespan.
There is a useful distinction from cybernetics that applies here: a system needs to have at least as much variety in its responses as there is variety in its environment. An organisation that can only respond in the ways it has always responded is systemically brittle. Learning agility is how organisations build variety into their response repertoire — not through more training on more content, but through developing the underlying capacity to keep learning.
The honest answer is that learning agility is not something you deliver in a workshop and then check off. It develops through a particular kind of experience, combined with a particular kind of reflection. The research on this is consistent: stretch assignments, roles that push people into genuinely unfamiliar territory, are the single biggest driver of learning agility development. Not simulated unfamiliarity. Real unfamiliarity.
But experience alone is not enough. Unexamined experience does not automatically produce learning — people can go through the same situation repeatedly and extract very little from it. What converts experience into capability is structured reflection. What happened? What did I assume? What did I miss? What would I do differently? These questions, taken seriously and revisited regularly, are how learning agility compounds over time.
At the team level, the conditions that support learning agility are not complicated — but they are easy to undermine without noticing. Psychological safety matters enormously. If people do not feel safe to surface uncertainty, to flag when something is not working, to try something that might fail, then the ingredients for learning agility are absent. The most technically capable team in the world will be brittle if the culture punishes visible uncertainty.
Feedback quality matters too. Not feedback as a performance management ritual, but feedback as real-time, honest information about how things are going — including the difficult stuff. Self-awareness, the foundation dimension, cannot develop in a feedback desert.
And the way learning programmes are designed sends a signal. A training culture that treats people as receivers of content — heads to be filled — produces a very different capability than one that treats people as meaning-makers, as active learners who are developing something durable and transferable rather than checking off a compliance requirement.
Learning agility asks something uncomfortable of organisations. It asks whether you are building your teams’ capacity to handle what you cannot predict, or whether you are simply keeping them current with what you already know is coming.
Both matter. But only one of them future-proofs you.
The organisations that thrive in genuinely uncertain conditions are not necessarily the ones with the most skilled people. They are the ones where learning is not a periodic intervention but an operating mode — where the ability to adapt, experiment, reflect, and move is embedded in how people actually work, not bolted on from the outside.
That is the thing worth building. And it starts with asking better questions about what learning is actually for.
]]>That is a meaningful distinction, because the fix is different. If it were a tool problem, the answer would be: switch tools, find a better one, wait for the technology to improve. If it is an interaction problem, the answer is closer at hand than that.
These three principles are not about prompt engineering in the technical sense. They go deeper, to the shape of how you engage. Change that shape, and the tools you probably already have start producing results that are genuinely different.
Every time you open a fresh conversation with an LLM, you are talking to something that has never met you before. It has no memory of the conversation you had last week. It does not know what you do for a living, what you are building, who your audience is, what constraints you are working under, or what a useful answer would actually look like for your specific situation.
If you do not tell it, it will produce something generically useful for a generic person.
For some things, that is fine. If you want to know how photosynthesis works or how long to cook a leg of lamb, generic is entirely adequate. But if you are using an LLM for anything that requires judgment — anything where your specific circumstances matter, where the difference between a decent answer and a genuinely useful one is that the useful one is built around your actual situation — generic is the ceiling.
The fix is not complicated. Before you ask the question you actually want answered, spend thirty seconds telling it who you are and what you are trying to do. Not in exhaustive detail. Enough that it stops responding to a generic version of your problem and starts responding to the real one.
I run a consulting and training practice. When I am working through something practice-related, I tell the model that. I tell it who the client is. I tell it what I am trying to achieve. I tell it what would make a response genuinely useful as opposed to merely accurate. That context produces dramatically different output — not because of a trick, but because I stopped asking generic questions.
Most people interact with LLMs the same way they interact with a search engine. They type a query, read the result, and decide whether it is good enough. The interaction ends there, and they either use it or start again from scratch.
That is the least valuable way to use a conversational tool.
The model does not know what it missed. It cannot adjust unless you tell it to. When you read a response, decide it is not quite right, and silently start a new query, you throw away the entire context of that exchange and begin again — which means the next response has no more to work with than the first one did.
The shape that produces real value is iterative. You read the response and you react to it. That second point — go deeper on that. The first section missed something; here is what I actually needed. The last suggestion is the one that landed; build from there.
The first response is a draft. The draft opens a conversation. The conversation is where the work gets done.
This is less comfortable than one-shot use because it requires active engagement rather than passive evaluation. You are not sitting back and judging whether the output is good enough. You are in it, shaping it, directing it. That shift is where the value is.
If you ask a vague question, you get a useful answer to a vague question. If you ask a specific one, you get something specific and actionable. That sounds obvious. It is, until you notice how rarely people actually ask specific questions.
“Help me write a better email” produces generic email-writing advice. “I am following up with a client who went quiet after I sent a proposal three weeks ago. I want to reopen the conversation without sounding desperate and without putting pressure on them. Help me write a short, confident message that does that” produces something you could actually send.
But the more interesting point is not about output quality. It is about what happens when you try to formulate the specific question.
To ask a specific question, you have to know what you actually want. That sounds trivially obvious. It is surprisingly uncommon. Most people have a vague sense of the problem they are trying to solve, a vague idea of what help might look like, and a vague expectation of what good output would be. The act of writing a precise question forces clarity that was not there before. Frequently, the most valuable thing that happens in a conversation with an LLM is what you figure out on the way to asking it a good question.
That is not a limitation of the tool. It is what happens when any thinking tool is used well.
These three things are not difficult. They do not require technical knowledge or any fluency with how these systems work under the hood. They require a different posture toward the interaction — not passive consumer waiting to see if the output is good enough, but someone who shows up with real context, engages with what comes back, and thinks clearly about what they actually need.
The interesting question, once you have these three in place, is what you actually want to do with the access they open up. That is a different question entirely. And it is worth asking.
]]>I’ve been setting up a publishing workflow that runs through Claude Cowork. The idea is simple: originate a post inside the Cowork session, have Claude write it directly into my Obsidian vault, and then publish from there using the OMG.lol Publisher plugin.
This post is the first test of that pipeline.
We confirmed the folder structure — narrative alchemy/Blog Drafts/Drafts/ — and Claude dropped this file straight into it. No copy-paste. No intermediate step. If you’re reading this on the weblog, it worked.
The broader point is this: the writing environment, the vault, and the publishing layer are now one connected thing. I can think out loud with Claude, shape something worth saying, and push it out without leaving the flow.
That’s what integration actually looks like. A shorter distance between the idea and the page.
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It’s Monday morning, and you’re sitting in a high-production corporate training session. The slides are polished, the speaker is charismatic, and the coffee is expensive. You nod along, feeling like you’re absorbing every word. But by Thursday, if someone asked you to explain the three core pillars of the strategy presented, you’d likely offer a blank stare.
This is the “Forgetting Curve” in action, and in our hyper-distracted 2026 landscape, it has become a cliff.
For decades, we approached learning as a delivery problem: If we provide the right content, they will learn. But in an era of infinite information and AI-curated feeds, content is no longer the bottleneck. The bottleneck is human biology. To create learning experiences that people truly remember, we have to stop being “content providers” and start being Experience Architects. We must move beyond the transmission of facts and begin engineering moments of insight. Here is the blueprint for designing learning that defies the forgetting curve.

If you want someone to remember a statistic, tell them a story. It sounds like a cliché, but the science of 2026 backs this up with startling clarity. When we hear a dry presentation, the language-processing parts of our brain (Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas) light up. We understand the words, but we don’t feel them.
However, when we are told a story, the entire brain joins the party. Our sensory cortex mimics the experiences described. If the protagonist is running, our motor cortex fires. If they are smelling a rose, our olfactory cortex activates. This interaction is called neural coupling.
A well-told story releases a specific sequence of neurotransmitters that act as “emotional glue” for the brain:
The Architect’s Move: Don’t start with “Today we are learning about X.” Start with a protagonist, a high-stakes conflict, and a failed attempt. Force the learner to care about the outcome before you give them the tools to achieve it.
One of the biggest myths in education is that “easy” learning is “good” learning. When a student breezes through a module, they often experience a “fluency illusion”—the mistaken belief that because the material is easy to read, it has been learned.
The reality? Long-term memory is built through desirable difficulties.
Most training is a “push” system—we push information into the learner’s brain. Memorable learning is a “pull” system. It requires Retrieval Practice. Instead of asking a learner to review their notes, we must ask them to produce the answer from scratch. Every time a learner struggles to recall a piece of information, they are thickening the neural pathway to that memory. In 2026, we utilise “low-stakes” friction—quizzes that don’t grade you but challenge you; “brain dumps” where you write everything you remember on a blank screen; and “peer-teaching” simulations.
The brain is not a bucket you can fill in one go; it’s more like a muscle that needs recovery time to grow. This is why “cramming” fails. To make learning stick, we use Spaced Repetition.
The mathematical formula for retrievability ($R = e^{-t/S}$) tells us that we need to hit the brain with a concept just as it’s about to forget it. By spreading learning over days or weeks—rather than one four-hour “PowerPoint marathon”—we allow the brain to engage in Long-Term Potentiation (LTP) during sleep, physically weaving the new knowledge into the existing neural web.
In 2026, the most effective learning experiences leverage technology not just for “wow factor”, but for hyper-personalisation.
Using AI-driven tutors, we can now keep every learner in the “Goldilocks Zone” (formally known as the Zone of Proximal Development). If a task is too easy, the learner disengages; if it’s too hard, they experience “cognitive shutdown” and anxiety.
AI now monitors biometric feedback—heart rate variability and even gaze tracking—to adjust the difficulty of a simulation in real time. If the system detects frustration, it provides a “scaffold” or a hint. If it detects boredom, it injects a new challenge. This ensures the learner is always operating at the edge of their ability—the precise place where the most durable memories are formed.
Virtual and augmented reality have moved from novelty to necessity. Why? Because the brain struggles to distinguish between a vivid simulation and reality. When you practise a difficult conversation with an AI-driven avatar in VR, your brain records it as a “lived experience” rather than a “theoretical lesson.” This builds muscle memory and “affective memory,” which are far harder to lose than “declarative memory” (facts).
The most memorable things we learn are the things we needed to know ten seconds ago. Traditional learning is “Just-in-Case”—we learn things we might need one day. This is a recipe for forgetting. The future of learning is “Just-in-Time.”
The brain is an energy-saving organ. It is constantly looking for reasons to delete information to save calories. If you learn a software shortcut and then don’t use it for three weeks, your brain deletes it as “noise.”
However, if you are in the middle of a high-pressure project and a “smart nudge” (via Slack, Teams, or an AR overlay) shows you that exact shortcut, the brain tags it as a survival tool. It is immediately integrated into your workflow.
To make learning stick, we must shrink the gap between learning and doing to zero. We call this “contextual relevance.” If the learner can’t use the information within 24 hours, the experience architect has failed.
Finally, we must recognize that humans are inherently social animals. Our memories are deeply tied to our status and relationships within a group.
One of the most effective ways to solidify a memory is the Protege Effect: the phenomenon where people learn better when they know they have to teach the material to someone else. When we prepare to teach, our brains organize information more logically and identify gaps in our own understanding.
In the most memorable modern learning experiences, “students” are quickly transitioned into “mentors.” By creating social loops where learners must explain, defend, and debate their insights with peers, we move the knowledge from a passive state to an active, social state.
Creating a memorable learning experience in 2026 isn’t about the size of your budget; it’s about the depth of your empathy for the learner’s biological constraints.
To build an experience that lasts, you must:
We are no longer in the business of information transfer. We are in the business of transformation. When we design with the brain in mind, we don’t just help people remember—we help them evolve.

For decades, we’ve been told to follow the Golden Rule: “Treat others as you would like to be treated.”
In our personal lives, this is a beautiful sentiment. But in the high-stakes environment of modern leadership, the Golden Rule is actually a trap. It assumes that everyone on your team shares your motivations, your communication style, and your pace.
The reality is, they don’t!
If you are a high-energy, results-driven leader who loves directness, you likely want to be managed with brevity and “the bottom line.” But if you apply that same style to a team member who values harmony, consensus, and deep reflection, they won’t feel “empowered”—they will feel steamrolled.
Most managers lead from their Default Setting. This is the “Color Energy” they feel most comfortable in.
When we lead according to our preferences, we create what we at Abuzz Training call the “Friction Gap.” This is the space where intentions get lost in translation, morale dips, and productivity slows down.
The most effective leaders—the ones who build “buzzing,” high-performing teams—don’t wait for their employees to adapt to them. They use Adaptive Leadership.
Adaptive leadership is the ability to recognize the unique “frequency” of each team member and dial your own energy up or down to meet them there. It isn’t about being “fake”; it’s about being effective.
To master this, you first need a map. That is where the Clarity4D framework becomes your most valuable leadership tool. It provides a simple, universal language of color that allows you to see your team—and yourself—with total clarity.

In the Clarity4D framework, we use the language of “Colour Energies” to describe our psychological preferences. As a leader, your dominant energy creates your Leadership Identity.
Understanding these identities allows you to spot where you are naturally gifted—and where you might be hitting a “blind spot.”

Most psychometric profiles are static. They tell you who you are on a Tuesday afternoon in a controlled environment. But leadership doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and it certainly doesn’t stay the same over a 30-year career.
This is the “4D” in Clarity4D. While other tools focus on the first three dimensions, we focus heavily on the fourth: Time.
The 4th Dimension is about potential. In our Abuzz Training workshops, we teach leaders that their “profile” is not a life sentence. It is a starting point.
A leader’s energy requirements change as their career evolves:
If your personality is a “snapshot,” you are brittle. If your leadership is “4D,” you are flexible.
When a company goes through a merger, a “Red” leader who cannot access their “Green” empathy will see a mass exodus of talent. Conversely, a “Green” leader who cannot access their “Red” energy during a market downturn will struggle to make the hard decisions necessary for survival.
The 4th Dimension is your growth roadmap. It asks: “What energy does my team need from me today that I didn’t have yesterday?”
Every leader has a “Shadow Side.”
In the Clarity4D framework, Shadow Energy is what happens when we over-extend our natural strengths. It usually surfaces when we are tired, stressed, frustrated, or feeling out of control.
A strength used to excess becomes a weakness. For a leader, “going into shadow” can break trust that took months to build.
How to “Step Out” of the Shadow
At Abuzz Training, we don’t teach you to suppress your shadow—we teach you to recognise it. The goal of our Clarity4D workshops is to give you and your team a “Code Word.” When a leader sees they are going into their Red Shadow, they can name it: “I realize I’m being a bit ‘Red Shadow’ right now because of this deadline. Let’s reset.” This level of vulnerability and self-awareness is the hallmark of a truly great leader. It turns a potential conflict into a moment of connection
Investing in leadership development isn’t just a “nice-to-have” culture initiative; it is a strategic business decision. At Abuzz Training, we track the impact of the Clarity4D framework, and the results consistently show up in the Profit & Loss statement.
When a leadership team masters the “Language of Colour,” the organization realizes a return on investment (ROI) in three critical areas:
We previously discussed how miscommunication acts as a hidden tax on your business. By providing a universal language, Clarity4D helps teams skip the “What did they mean by that?” phase.
The old saying is true: People don’t quit jobs; they quit managers. Specifically, they quit managers who don’t “get” them.
A “Monochrome Team” (where everyone shares the same colour energy) might be harmonious, but it is rarely innovative. High-performing teams need “Creative Friction”—the spark that happens when Blue logic meets Yellow vision, or Red drive meets Green compassion.
Leadership is not a destination you reach; it is a capability you cultivate. By understanding the four colour energies—and learning how to stretch into your “non-natural” zones—you become a leader who can thrive in any environment, with any team, under any level of pressure.
At Abuzz Training, we don’t just hand you a profile and walk away. we help you build a 4D Roadmap for your leadership journey.
Are you ready to stop paying the “Miscommunication Tax” and start leading with total clarity?
Ready to see the “Language of Colour” in action?
For decades, we’ve operated on a specific formula: High IQ + specialised knowledge + perfect test scores = secure future. We hired the smartest people in the room. We obsessed over credentials. We treated intelligence as the gold standard, the scarce resource that separated winners from everyone else.
But Huang is telling us that era is over. AI can now score 100% on tests faster than you can pick up a pencil. It can write cleaner code, diagnose diseases, and summarise complex legal briefs in seconds. Raw intelligence, he argues, is becoming as abundant and accessible as tap water or electricity. Vital, yes. But no longer scarce.
This isn’t a story about AI replacing humans. It’s a story about what AI is making raw intelligence cheap. The new competitive edge is direction, discernment, and knowing what to do with infinite intelligence. Here’s what that shift means for work, learning, and leadership.happens when the bottleneck shifts.
For most of human history, intelligence was the constraint. The person who could compute faster, remember more, analyze deeper, synthesize broader had the advantage. The scarce resource was cognitive capacity itself.
But what happens when that capacity becomes infinite and on-demand?
The bottleneck moves. The new scarcity isn’t processing power. It’s knowing what to process. The meta-skill that matters is knowing what to do with infinite intelligence at your fingertips.
Think of it this way: we’re moving from a world where being a calculator was valuable to a world where being a composer is valuable. The notes are infinite now. The intelligence is abundant. But what do you make with it?
Most people don’t know what they don’t know. The ability to formulate the right query, to sense what’s missing, to ask the question that unlocks the next level of understanding, this becomes exponentially more valuable.
AI will give you answers. But it can’t tell you which questions are worth asking. That requires intuition, experience, and a sense of what matters that transcends any dataset.
When you have infinite outputs at your disposal, you need exceptional judgment. What’s actually good versus what’s merely plausible-sounding? What’s true versus what’s technically accurate but contextually misleading? What resonates versus what’s just clever?
This is pattern recognition at a different level. Not computational, but aesthetic. Not algorithmic, but intuitive.
AI can optimize brilliantly for any goal you give it. But it can’t tell you which goals are worth pursuing in the first place. It can’t sense the zeitgeist, read the room, understand what matters now in a way that transcends historical data.
That requires something closer to wisdom. The ability to see around corners. To understand second and third-order effects. To know what’s important before it becomes obvious.
AI might be brilliant in silos, but the person who can see connections between disparate fields, who can bring together insights from neuroscience, ancient philosophy, and organizational behavior into something coherent and actionable, that’s still deeply human territory.
The breakthrough insights rarely come from going deeper into a single domain. They come from unexpected collisions between domains. That kind of synthesis requires a type of pattern recognition that AI doesn’t yet possess.
What story needs to be told? What will people actually care about? What has soul? AI can generate content endlessly, but knowing what has weight, what carries meaning, what transforms rather than merely informs, that’s entirely different.
People don’t change because of information. They change because of meaning. And meaning-making remains human work.
Here’s what I’ve discovered working extensively with AI tools: you don’t compete with AI. You conduct it.
Think of AI as a cognitive exoskeleton. It handles the heavy lifting, the research, the first drafts, the iterations, the formatting, the grunt work of synthesis. This frees you up to operate at the level of vision and direction.
I use AI to explore “what if” scenarios I wouldn’t have time to investigate manually. To test ideas quickly. To iterate on concepts. To handle the mechanical aspects of content creation so I can focus on what actually matters: the insight, the angle, the question worth asking.
This isn’t about protecting my craft from AI contamination. It’s about amplifying what I do best by letting AI handle what it does best.
We’re watching a stratification happen in real-time:
Tier 1: People who resist AI will be outpaced by people who embrace it. This is already happening.
Tier 2: People who use AI competently will become the new baseline. This is table stakes, not competitive advantage.
Tier 3: People who orchestrate AI toward compelling visions, who know what to build and why, who can direct infinite intelligence toward meaningful ends, these are the people who will create disproportionate value.
The economic reality is stark: if you’re in Tier 1, you’re falling behind. If you’re in Tier 2, you’re keeping pace. If you’re in Tier 3, you’re creating the future.
Here’s where things get interesting: AI and human imagination seem to work differently, but we’re still figuring out exactly how.
AI is exceptional at “what is” and “what has been.” It can extrapolate, recombine, and optimize within known parameters with stunning speed and creativity. But when it comes to imagining genuinely new possibilities, the picture gets murkier.
AI can make novel connections, even surprising ones. It can propose solutions that don’t follow established patterns. But its imagination seems constrained by different limits than human imagination. We don’t fully understand where those boundaries are yet, or how permanent they might be.
What humans still bring distinctively to the table is embodied context. We know what it’s like to be mortal, to be hungry, to fear and desire in ways that shape what possibilities even occur to us. We have skin in the game. We live in bodies in the world, and that generates intuitions that don’t exist in any dataset.
Whether this remains a durable human advantage or just a temporary gap is an open question. But right now, in this moment, the space where humans add the most value isn’t in executing known patterns faster. It’s in identifying which new patterns are worth exploring, and doing so from a place of lived experience and genuine stake in the outcomes.
If you’re in the L&D space, this shift changes everything about how we think about training and development.
We can’t keep designing programs that focus primarily on information transfer. Information is abundant. What people need now is discernment development. They need to learn how to work with AI, not compete against it or pretend it doesn’t exist.
This means teaching people to:
The future of workplace learning isn’t about filling knowledge gaps. It’s about developing the meta-skill of knowing what to do with infinite knowledge.
Jensen Huang was right about one thing, even if his framing was provocative: you won’t lose your job to AI.
You’ll lose it to someone who knows what to do with AI.
The future belongs to the conductors, not the calculators. To the people who can hold vision while AI handles execution. To those who know which questions matter and which answers are worth pursuing.
Raw intelligence is becoming cheap. Direction and discernment are becoming priceless.
The question isn’t whether you’re smart enough for the AI era.
The question is: do you know what to do with infinite intelligence at your fingertips?
What meta-skills are you developing in your organization? How are you preparing your teams for a world where intelligence is abundant but direction is scarce?
]]>The dance between I and Me lives right at the heart of selfhood, it’s the movement between the actor and the mask, the subject and the object, and the experiencer and the experienced.
William James started the split: I as the knower, the pure subject of consciousness; Me as the known, the self that can be observed—my body, my history, my reputation, my roles. George Herbert Mead later turned this into a dance floor: I is spontaneous, unpredictable, creative response; Me is the social mirror, the internalised chorus of others telling us who we are supposed to be.
So what’s the space between them? It’s not a gap you could drop a coin through. It’s more like the tension in a bowstring. On one side, I pulls toward raw immediacy: breath, impulse, spark. On the other, Me holds the shape, keeps the pattern recognisable. Together they generate the music of identity. Too much Me and you ossify into a statue of expectations. Too much I and you’re pure chaos, a fire with no hearth.
The space itself is liminal, a threshold, rehearsal hall, dream corridor. It’s where improvisation happens. Imagine jazz: the Me is the chord progression, the agreed key; the I is the solo riffing over the structure. The in-between is the groove where they entwine.
In coaching or soulcrafting terms, that space is fertile. It’s where someone can step back, see the “Me” they’ve been living as a script, and then let the “I” improvise a new line. Presence lives there. Choice lives there. The mythic imagination wakes up there because you are no longer fully trapped in the character nor dissolved into pure subject, but able to author between them.
Exploring that space is like learning to lucid dream while awake, when you realise you are both the dreamer and the dreamed, the actor and the playwright, always in motion.
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Straight images work. It doesn't look like you can do featured images or tags yet. But i guess this is all in keeping with the minimalist text editor which is designed for writers specifically. I can see me using it as part of my knowledge garden workflow.
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