After a year of navigating major transformations — new roles, complex projects, and ambitious goals — I reached a point where I felt both accomplished and restless. The contradiction was screaming inside my head. The work was fulfilling on paper, yet something deeper inside me craved for fresh ideas and more creativity.

In the heart of a dry canyon on Tenerife, I stood before a sight of true endurance. The Balo tree (Plocama pendula) had driven its courageous roots deep into the stone seeking for nutrients. It was a striking reminder that even in the most harsh conditions, life finds a way to thrive.

One sunny day, sitting at a small café surrounded by joyful people, rich colours, and the smell of fresh food, I felt a wave of contentment. Not because I had achieved something remarkable, but because I had stopped chasing the next thing long enough to notice this moment.

Traveling with food allergies has taught me to look at dining differently. I often have to explain and trust that the kitchen truly understands.

Every leader I’ve had genuine conversations with — and every evolving version of myself I’ve been so far — has faced this truth: trying to lead like someone else is exhausting. It's like wearing shoes two sizes too small; you can walk in them for a while, but the pain and discomfort eventually compromise your entire posture. We spend so much energy imitating perceived 'greatness' that we have nothing left for creating our own.