I still find myself sitting in that tent.
Not physically. Mentally. Years later.
Back then, I was part of an Arctic expedition. Along the way, we met three young Dutchmen. They were bright, enthusiastic and full of confidence. The kind of confidence that belongs to youth and adventure.
We shared stories, compared plans and talked about where we were heading.
Looking back, I remember noticing things.
- Their equipment.
- Their preparation.
- Their understanding of the conditions ahead.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious. Just a growing feeling in the back of my mind that said:
"I'm not sure these lads understand what they're walking into."
I wish I could tell you I sat them down and shared every concern.
I didn't.
Perhaps I didn't want to sound arrogant. Perhaps I thought they wouldn't listen. Perhaps I convinced myself that everything would be fine.
The truth is, I don't know.
What I do know is that we eventually parted ways.
And months later, I learned that those three young men never came home.
Eight people went into that wilderness. Only five came out.
I've replayed that meeting in my mind more times than I care to admit. Not because I know I could have changed the outcome. Nobody can know that.
What haunts me is something else.
Sometimes I find myself sitting in their tent. Not as myself. As them.
Imagining what it must have felt like as conditions worsened. Wondering if there was a moment when one of them thought:
"I wish we'd listened."
That thought has stayed with me for decades. Not because it's about the Arctic. Because it's about life.
The older I get, the more I realise that experience is not knowing the answer. Experience is seeing a consequence before it arrives.
The difficult part is helping somebody else see it too.
I've spent much of my career working with founders, boards, clinicians, leaders and teams.
Again and again I've seen the same pattern. Different people looking at the same situation and seeing completely different futures.
Nobody being dishonest. Nobody being foolish. Just standing in different places.
The challenge isn't proving you're right. The challenge is helping somebody else understand what you're seeing. Because the consequences we remember most are often not the ones we caused.
They're the ones we saw coming and failed to communicate.
Sometimes the most important question isn't:
"What do I think?"
It's:
"What might somebody else be seeing that I'm not?"
Or perhaps even harder:
"What am I seeing that I haven't yet found a way to explain?"