Anyone speaking boldly and certainly about how AI will change our lives, for good or bad, probably hasn’t thought deeply enough about it.

We might be living through the most dramatic shift in human history, and even the founders of today’s leading AI companies can’t say for sure where this is headed.

Reading Yuval Noah Harari’s Homo Deus left me with questions no one can answer with certainty. Even the author didn’t try to. Will AI make us superhuman or make us obsolete, then extinct? Or will it make a few superhuman while leaving the rest behind? Are we building a supermachine that makes us gods? Or breeding a new species that eventually supersedes us?

We really don’t know.

So how should we respond to not knowing, beyond being humble in our predictions?

By learning. By reflecting. By turning all the knowledge we can gather (now more accessible than ever, thanks to the same AI) into wisdom that can guide how we move through a world already being reshaped.

Our forefathers had time to think, to try things, to reflect. Without instant mass communication, they figured things out in isolation, across distant corners of the earth. Many became deep-thinking problem solvers. Not because they chose to. They had to.

Today, the world feels split: a small bloc of thinkers and makers on one side, a vast mass of consumers on the other. The former create and share instantly. The latter scroll, watch, and click. Endlessly.

With AI accelerating production, the distance between both groups is growing. A few can now produce far more, needing far fewer hands. Meanwhile, the rest consume what’s made — until they can’t.

Because you need to pay to consume.

And you only earn by helping producers produce. But as tech makes them need fewer people, more people may be left out.

It’s more complex than this, but one thing is clear: the world is changing fast, but we’re too distracted to notice.

We all need to forcefully create moments to step back from the flood of output and ask: What will I create? How will I use these new tools? What role will I play in the new world that’s forming super fast?

They say the best way to predict the future is to create it. We have heard that before. But it’s time to think about it like our lives depends on it. It does.

The deeper you think, the harder it becomes to speak in absolutes. Because the closer you look at anything, the more angles you begin to see.

Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that famous philosophers, people who spent their lives thinking, tend to hold fewer hard conclusions. Open-mindedness, it seems, is a philosophy of philosophy.

Strong-willed people with fixed views are often just defending an identity, not a conviction — clinging to opinions chosen early, hardly examined. That’s not wisdom. It’s ego.

Philosophy unfolds slowly. It’s shaped by reflection, challenged by new perspectives, and refined over time. The flexibility it requires isn’t about jumping on new ideas suggested by viral tweets and backed by quotes. It’s the humility to consider what you might still be missing, even in what you’ve long believed. Or what appears to be a mind-blowing revelation.

Socrates said, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” Not because he hadn’t thought deeply, but because he had.

Most things aren’t black or white. The truth usually lives in the grey, obscured by the noise of people who rushed to their side of the argument and stopped listening. Or thinking.

Philosophy can feel elusive. We think of Socrates, Marx, or the Mandelas and Awolowos—people who dared to see the world differently. So we disqualify ourselves. We’re not philosophers. We’re HR managers, startup founders, engineers, designers. But the truth is, we all have a philosophy.

We may have borrowed it. We may not have the words to describe it. But it’s there, quietly guiding how we live, lead, love, learn, and work. And if we say we don’t, that’s just a sign we haven’t taken time to examine it.

Where do we even begin?

By making time for reflection. Time to do nothing. To listen to our breath. To take long walks. To listen to the voice within, not only the voice of strangers on the internet (including this one).

Next, we expose ourselves to the thinking of others. Yes, people did take philosophy as full-time jobs. And we can get a head start by exploring what they’ve left behind: from ancient philosophers to modern-day thinkers with fresh views on life. As we consume a wide range of ideas, we start to shape our own convictions and see where we stand.

Finally, we remember it’s never finished. Philosophy is not fixed. We must keep examining our views and remain open to opposing ones. Like Seneca wrote, “For as long as we live, we must continue to learn how to live.”

Leadership is many things. On the surface, it looks like authority: delegating, instructing, guiding. But before all that comes vision. And before vision, philosophy.

Why do two people look at the same thing and see different futures? Yes, they’ve lived different lives. But more important is how they’ve processed those experiences — the story they tell themselves about the world.

Most people never pause to ask what they really think about how life works, from business to governance, friendships to partnerships. And when they do, it's often inherited thinking, rarely examined.

Great leaders seem to have looked and thought deeply. They propose, predict, and guide. And we follow them. Not because they ask for followers, but because their clarity draws us in.

Others rise through luck or charisma but lack substance. They say what sounds right in the moment, without any clear, rooted perspective. Not from open-mindedness, but because they’ve never really thought things through.

So again, what’s leadership without philosophy?

Just motion.

One of the reflections that has influenced me most is the concept of a family tree. Here I am, occupying about two feet of earth as a young adult making the most of what he’s been given. Gifted.

On the surface, I’m the product of two amazing humans: a warm, arms-wide-open father who led with respect, and a cautious, confidence-building mother who spoke only love and light.

Sometimes I do something and say, “that’s my mum.” Or someone compliments my leadership and I smile, thinking of my dad. Then there are influences from mentors and books. But I often forget the biggest part: centuries of hidden gifts passed down in DNA.

Do the math: 2 parents, 4 grandparents, 8 greats. Ten steps up, and you and I are shaped by at least 1,024 people.

There’s nothing I face that someone in my lineage hasn’t already overcome.

Cornered? My forefather in 1675 likely had ten arrows aimed at him. He survived. Dream crushed? A great-grandmother in 1215 might have fallen from a mountain in a storm and risen days later. Creative block? An ancestor probably had 24 hours to write Kábíyèsí’s anthem or be hanged. He found it at the last minute.

I don’t worship them (I worship the Creator who made them). But I remember them. And they remind me of the power I carry in my veins.

So, what’s my excuse? Or yours?

There are two ways to think about the vision of a business. One is popular: “To become the number 1 xyz,” “to be the most sought-after xyz,” and so on. I used to lean this way.

The other focuses on the world you want to help create: “A world where…”, “a time when…”, “to build a new reality for Africa where…” It’s about the impact of your actions.

When your vision is about what to become, fulfillment sits far away, and you may feel more impatient than inspired. But if it’s about the world you want to shape, each day becomes a step toward it. You control more, and you can build that world one bit at a time.

At FourthCanvas, our vision was once “to become one of the top 10 agencies in the world by 2025.” Looking back, we didn’t even know what that truly meant. More importantly, it never fueled us like the mission: “to partner with good businesses to build great brands.”

That mission was really a merge of both — the action and the outcome.

With experience, our focus has shifted. Not on some global ranking, but on the kind of world our work can help create.

And besides, the top 10 agencies in the world most likely didn’t set out to become top 10. They just kept showing up, doing the kind of work that could actualize the kind of impact they wanted to have, and the recognition followed.

It’s not AI you should be afraid of. It’s your peers who are already using it, unknown to you. And ‘fear’ is not the word really. I just needed to begin by flipping the emotion many already attach to AI itself.

The real threat isn’t the tool — it’s the person beside you who’s learning how to make the most of it. It’s the ones designing faster, thinking deeper, writing better and building smarter, not because they’ve become robots, but because they’re working with them.

AI may not replace you. But someone who uses it well absolutely can.

So, while the world debates whether this is all good or bad, the real question is: are you playing?

No one knows for sure where this ends — net positive or net negative. And it’s fair to be cautious. But in a time when the world is changing at its fastest speed ever, one thing is clear: the worst response is to stand still.

You don’t have to lose yourself to it. But you should at least learn how to work with it. Adapt, before you’re forced to.

Because the future won’t be led by AI. It will be led by people who use it.

When you’ve defended a point of view for a long time and built an identity around it, new information feels more than an intellectual shift to consider. It becomes an emotional blow to avoid.

It bruises the ego, and potentially makes you feel stupid.

Nobody wants that.

So instead of turning around, many of us double down. We rationalize, defend, reinterpret. Not because the logic holds, but because admitting we were wrong feels worse than being wrong.

And sometimes, the fear of looking stupid doesn’t just affect what we say, it rewires what we see. Our brains assess the threat to our pride and quietly protect us from evidence that contradicts us. Not because we’re dishonest, but because we’re scared. Of looking stupid.

Keeping an open mind sounds easy. But it often demands that we wound our ego.

And that’s why not so many people do it.

“Design is about the mind, not the software”. That’s one thing I said very often earlier on my journey as a design leader.

While that remains true, it is dangerously incomplete. What I often left out, mostly out of my limited experience, was how much the mind benefits from the tool.

However, over the years, I’ve observed that the designers with more depth and range with the software also turned out to be more creative and boundless with their expressions.

The correlation? Possibilities. The more you can make happen, the more possibilities you can imagine and attempt.

A possible takeaway is to go beyond the ‘brilliant mind’ comfort zone of your field and get proficient with the technical tools. An even smarter approach might be to spend that time getting familiar with the emerging tools powered by AI, which promise to make more happen, potentially stretching our minds endlessly.

Creativity is, after all, about data points colliding in our brains. The more we have seen, and can try, the more new combinations we can come up with, and try out.

Everyone agrees we need to find uninterrupted hours of focus for work that matters, but we keep spending our days distracted.

It’s not entirely our fault. Everything is built to pull our attention. Phones feel like a part of us, ads retarget us, and notifications remind us we’re missing out on something.

Our brains have adjusted to expect distraction. Try eating a full meal without watching something, scrolling your phone, or playing Netflix in the background. You might be surprised by how hard it feels. It’s not that watching a movie while eating is wrong, but once in a while, choosing to do just one thing at a time, even if it feels uncomfortable, is how we begin to retrain our focus.

One hack I’ve been trying: keeping my phone away from the bed before I sleep. One benefit is I can’t snooze the morning alarm, but also so I don’t check my phone first thing. It’s one way to begin the day in charge.

Start your morning with prayer, reading, a walk, or anything that reminds you that you are in control. Scrolling through what strangers have to say on the internet first thing in bed is handing over your day to distraction, on a platter.

These days I am trying, once in a while, to treat my phone like a landline—away from my desk unless I really need it. It’s helping.

If you think of personal branding as showing the world who you are, what you know, and what you stand for, you have the right definition, and I’m not trying to change that. There’s just also another side to consider: the one where you become the audience.

We are aware that our actions shape how others perceive us. But an even stronger, less-talked-about effect is how they shape what we believe about ourselves.

We are many versions of ourselves—body, soul, spirit, ego, inner child and more. With every action, we build a reputation with these parts of us too.

And that’s harder, because while you can curate what others see, you can’t lie to yourself. You always see you.

Just as people’s perception of us shapes what they expect from us, our internal selves only begin to trust us when we consistently act in line with who we say we are. But if we consistently break that trust, even in private, the fraud that we become eventually finds it way out. When it hasn’t, we feel empty, knowing we are lying to everyone else.

For me, it’s been a game-changer to also define ‘personal branding’ in that literal form of ‘the brand I am building with my personal self’.

It’s hard but I am trying. That’s all I ask of you too.

I was setting up an office chair. The upper part just wouldn’t fit into the lower part. I had help from the guy who delivered it. We were both trying to figure it out.

I held it up while he tried to turn something, screw that. Then he held it, and I tried everything I could too. At some point, he picked up his phone to check if we could find a guide for this particular type of chair online.

I made a video and sent it to the vendor. He replied saying he would only be able to check it in 30 minutes. We continued.

We were both determined to find a solution. I was even impressed that the delivery guy cared as much as I did.

Then we realized: all the fit, turn, and twist we had done for over 30 minutes had been with the wrong joint. Staring at us, dumb and obvious, was the right point to join the parts. The chair was up in 5 seconds.

It reminded me of the stories of innovators who were trying to make horses run faster when the world needed cars, or those who toiled to improve bloodletting techniques when the real answer was to kill the germs. They didn’t even see the germs.

Sometimes, it’s not about more hard work or smarter effort. It’s about a new direction—one that might have been staring at you the whole time.

Did you ever fix a radio or TV by hitting it hard with your palm? It was one inexplicably effective (and therefore intriguing) solution I observed as a kid.

Till today, I can’t give a technical explanation. Maybe it was vibrations shaking things back into place. Loose batteries, misaligned wires? I can’t say for sure. But gbam! and it’s back to work like it never stopped.

These days, I’m realizing I’ve been a lot like those radios myself, shaking myself back into alignment by changing something suddenly.

Maybe I start a week super productive, lose my flow by Wednesday, spend Thursday feeling bad and wondering what’s wrong. Then Friday morning, I go on an unusually long run. And when I return, I’m back.

Gbam! Hard reset.

Every major movement comes with two extreme factions many think are doing too much. One is judged for being too harsh, risking the alienation of potential allies. The other is accused of being too soft, blurring lines and compromising the cause.

Nelson Mandela, especially later in life, was criticized for being too conciliatory—too willing to negotiate with the architects of apartheid. Others, like Chris Hani, pushed a more radical stance and were feared for it. Both were necessary. One to provoke, the other to reconcile.

Right now, while the biggest Christian song in Nigeria, “No turning back II” is widely loved and spreading like fire, it is also criticized by some for dominating not just altars but also nightclubs. “We should be worried if we are this accepted by the world!”

But the Christ in ‘Christian’ was also criticized for dining with tax collectors and prostitutes, a move of apparent compromise, but indeed effective for access and transformation.

What do movements need: fire brigaders, bridge-builders, or middlemen?

All of them.

Today, someone asked why I write daily.

I explained that I wanted to contribute a consistent stream of ideas and thoughts that provoke reflection, that help people look at things in new ways. I wanted to offer a kind of value that sits side by side with the endless entertainment we already enjoy online.

I referenced how, in my early days on Twitter, I always looked forward to tweets from Subomi Plumptre. While everybody else made you laugh or shared a new information, her tweets always made you think, a little more, a little deeper. After years of observing, reflecting, and creating, I wanted to do something like that: create a steady habit of nudging thought a little further, a little deeper.

Seth Godin was another inspiration, with those short, daily pieces on his blog that do the same — make you think a little more, a little deeper. I want to do the same. I want to have a similar impact on the quality of thought out there.

And all of that is true. But it’s not the main reason I write.

I write because it clears my head and helps me think better.

All the reasons above explain why I publish what I write.

Not why I write in the first place.

Every time someone asks me how to become creative, I start by rephrasing the question, and instead, give an answer to how I (continue to) hone my creativity.

That answer always begins with my first Fine Art class back in junior secondary school. Like many subjects then, the first lesson was about the significance of the subject. The Why. In hindsight, that was a brilliant idea from my school.

“To instill the deep appreciation of art” was point 5 or so on the list. I’ll never forget it—not in theory, not in practice.

If I had to point to one thing that has shaped the quality of my ideas and creations, it’s this: I deeply notice and appreciate quality ideas and creations from others.

Is creativity innate? Yes, but for all of us. Only a few people hone it. And one of the most powerful ways they do that is by pausing to notice and appreciate good things. Not just glossing over life.

After a recent experience I was clearly not pleased with, a friend of mine asked if I was pissed. “I was disappointed”, I responded. And I think there is a big difference.

I was disappointed because I was expecting better. But as I sat in the experience that was everything but what I imagined, I wasn’t hurt. I was calmly surprised they didn’t do better—but I also accepted that they were probably doing their best. It just wasn’t good enough (for me).

But why would I be pissed at people who were doing their best?

The Stoics would say to hold no expectations at all, especially of others, so you’re never disappointed in the first place, but I think where I am getting to on that journey is: “yes I am disappointed with this experience, but I am not pissed at you.”

When we get good and others beat loud drums to affirm it, everything feels right. The applause is earned. We worked hard to get here.

But then, many times, we get stuck, and tomorrow meets us in our celebration of today.

Hype is not bad. But one simple formula I’m trying to adopt is: do, show, next.

Do your work. Put it out. Move on.

If people celebrate what you put out, smile. Acknowledge it. But above all, stay focused on what you’re working on next. It’s great to continue to share from from your past, but not with not with more intensity than bringing the future closer.

There’s so much more greatness ahead of us that we’ve not even started to scratch. But when we linger too long in the celebration of today’s output, we risk getting stuck—while new knowledge, new inspiration, and new momentum quietly pass us by.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone lately, living out my true but long-ignored introverted self. And I’m realizing why introverts never really get bored: they’re not actually alone.

The more time you spend with yourself, the more you realize you are many people. Or that many people are you. “Me, myself, and I” becomes real. As you introspect more and have conversations with yourself, you begin to notice all sorts of personas within.

One guy is nudging you toward selflessness, while another is reminding you that life’s short. One guy is funny as hell; the other takes everything too seriously. In the morning, someone wakes up pumped. By evening, some other guy is wondering if it’s all worth it. There are so many of them, some from within, others from beyond. But you see and hear it all.

The more time you spend alone, the more you can hear and see what was always there—but you were too distracted to notice.

This is true for everyone but introverts watch it play out more consciously. What a drama to watch all of these characters live here rent-free!

Of course, if you never step out to meet actual people you can touch, you may get lost in the world of the ones you can’t see. I think they call it madness or something like that.

Yesterday, I tried to pay for something I had carefully decided to purchase. But my bank app didn’t work in that moment, so I moved on to other tasks at hand.

This morning, I woke up with new thoughts and opted for something better. In that little extra space, I remembered a factor I hadn’t considered, one I had missed all along but that suddenly crept in during those few extra hours I didn’t ask for.

Would I ever wish for my app to fail? No. Would I thank my bank for a broken service? Definitely not. But sometimes, a delay offers us just enough room to see more clearly, to choose more wisely.

It's one of those strange gifts you only recognize in hindsight. What felt like a glitch was quietly buying me time to gain clarity.

So no, I won’t start praying for delays. But I will hold space for the unexpected gifts that sometimes come with them—which often include better judgment.

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Like everyone else, I enjoy the limitless pleasure of entertainment that now fills our air and hangs at our fingertips. I scroll, binge, and giggle endlessly. “This is why I’m never leaving this app,” and all of that. We are together.

But once in a while, it dawns on me—while watching the greatest actors, the masters of the round-leather game, or the genius of skit-makers on Instagram—that I’m consuming the work of people who have given years to practice, craft, and focus.

And somehow, sometimes, that same greatness distracts me from the focus required to do the work that could one day carry the same weight.

It’s a strange irony. People built the biggest social platforms out of grit and innovation. Now, many of us are so consumed by them, we barely have time to commit grit to our own mission. Many similar parallels come to mind.

I still enjoy these things. And yes, some can be inspiring—even helpful to my own craft. But I try not to enjoy them at the cost of my own work. I try. I reflect on this often: I don’t want to consume greatness so much that it consumes me, and stops me from creating my greatness.

I’ve worked with bosses who literally install confidence in you. They throw you into things you’ve never done, tell you you can do it—and somehow, you figure it out. Errors and fixes along the way, but you get it done.

And I’ve been that boss too. ‘Belief in potential’ is a core value for me. But I’ve learned to refine it, thanks to conversations with my friend and co-director at FourthCanvas, Tunji Ogunoye.

Because there’s indeed a blind spot in that mindset: yes, you’ll grow the muscle of the inexperienced. But the output often suffers if all you do is believe in them.

While things improve over time, there’s a need to obsess today over pushing every output as far as it can go.

This brings balance. Believe in potential, yes, but combine it with structure: a conscious system of learning, an attached mentor with expertise, or collaboration with someone tested and proven.

If all you say is “yes you can,” results will suffer for too long before they get good. And that’s real people (clients, users) suffering avoidable gaps because of your exclusive belief in potential.

PS. This applies to self-belief too. Don’t just trust yourself. Doubt yourself a little, and involve experienced people to reduce gaps. That’s a truer commitment to excellence.

We are often told not to place too much value on what others think of us. “They don’t really know you,” we’re reminded. The idea is that only you can say what’s true about you.

But we don’t talk enough about the accuracy of that self-assessment.

Yes, people misjudge us—through the lens of their own bias, preconceptions, and history. But that’s also true about us. We misjudge ourselves too. We shape our memories to fit whatever narrative we’re currently clinging to. We inflate our good intentions and shrink our faults.

People lie to us, intentionally and unintentionally. But we do this same to ourselves too.

For me, what I try to do with this awareness is sit with myself a little longer, to peel back the layers of ego, pride, insecurity, and desire until I reach something closer to the truth—about past roles in fights, failed relationships, bad deals, and failed goals. Not to beat myself up, but so I can do better today and tomorrow. Not to rehearse what’s comfortable, but to confront what’s real.

Others will exaggerate our flaws, but we also tend to understate them. Sometimes the truth lives in the tension between both views.

So yes, stay guarded from bad energy. But don’t forget—some of that energy might be coming from within.

Most people struggle to pronounce my name.

It’s Ijesha—a dialect of Yoruba—but when pronounced with the default Yoruba intonation, it ends up meaning the opposite of what it should.

Native Yoruba speakers I’ve tried to teach rarely get it right. But one day, I demonstrated the right pronunciation to my colleague Wilfred, who’s Deltan—and he nailed it on the first try.

That moment reminded me of something I once read from Richard Branson: the power of being a novice.

Wilfred had no prior ‘rules’ about how Yoruba should sound. So he processed it with a blank mind. But the Yoruba speakers had subconscious biases they couldn’t easily unlearn.

And suddenly inexperience becomes an advantage. Because it’s not weighed down by assumptions.

Two notes I am taking from this reflection:

— Invite fresh eyes into what you're building.

— Don’t be afraid to step into fields where you’re the beginner.

Sometimes, the freedom of not knowing is exactly what helps you see clearly.

It’s hard to define what it means to do great things. What makes something significant enough to be called “great”? Who decides that—and when?

The questions are endless. And the answers, uncertain.

But there’s one thing easier to define: doing anything—no matter how small—in a great way.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said you can sweep the streets so well that all of heaven and earth pause to applaud. Sounds like something completely within the control of the sweeper. And maybe that applies to you right now, with that task at hand.

It doesn’t matter if your job feels small, if your boss is difficult, or if no one’s watching. It doesn’t even matter if you love it or not.

You can still choose to do it with care, intention, and focus.

That decision is yours. And that is how to do things great—even when you are unsure if you are doing great things.

Everyone wants to sell. But no one wants to be sold to.

The moment a salesperson shows up, smiling too hard, talking too fast, we tense up. We don’t trust it. Deep down, we assume we’re just another number in their pipeline. Another target they need to hit.

And yet, we try to sell too. We need to. Whether it’s a product, a service, or even ourselves—we all want others to say yes.

So maybe the least we can do (to make the world a better place) is not sell like the same people we try to avoid. Maybe we can offer what we believe in, the way we would want it offered to us: with care, not pressure. With the buyer’s good in mind. At a cost that’s smaller than the value they’ll walk away with.

Because if we must sell—and we must—let us do it with the kind of honesty that earns trust, not just conversion.

You probably think your only problem is distraction. That once you beat procrastination and enter deep focus, you’ll finally move faster on your goals.

But here’s the shocker: deep work doesn’t always make things faster. In fact, it often feels slower, as you begin to realize there’s far more to be done.

That’s because focus reveals the truth. The rushed, last-minute work you used to celebrate was only surface-level. But now, as you dig deeper, more layers appear and more nerves open. New questions emerge. More dots need connecting. You start to see how much more time it takes to do things properly. Your standard of excellence begins to rise, naturally, painfully.

Suddenly, your timeline feels naive. You thought you could finish today. Or this week. Or this month. You put in more and more deep hours. But what once felt close now reveals its true distance, and that can hurt.

You might also feel guilty—for all the years you never worked this way. Because while it’s taking longer now, you understand and appreciate why it should.

Now you know. And once you’ve tasted that depth, it’s hard to go back. Even if it takes longer, you won’t want to do shallow work again.

Because even though this way may be slower, it feels like the true application of yourself. It stretches you. And it feels like it leads somewhere worth going.

Sometimes when potential clients find out they can’t afford us yet (at FourthCanvas), they take our clarity-filled proposal, shaped by the deep strategic questions we asked, and hand it to someone else to execute. And guess what? We’re happy with that too.

It means a project somewhere will now be done a little better than it might have been—because we exist.

For us, that too is a fulfillment of our intention to help good businesses become great brands, even if indirectly.

And I believe this is the true mindset of a long-game salesperson: you’re not just trying to close deals; you’re trying to make people’s lives better. Yes, it’s great to get paid while at it—but that’s not the only point.

When you sell from that posture, you earn a reputation for influence, not manipulation. And you get to sleep better at night.

Malcolm X went to prison and devoted his newfound idle time to books. He left enlightened and unshakably committed to the fight for dignity and justice.

Charles Manson also went to prison. He emerged more manipulative, using his charisma to build a cult that would go on to commit horrific murders under his influence.

Oprah Winfrey was sexually abused at 9 by people close to her. She turned the unimaginable trauma into fuel, creating a platform that helped millions process their own pain.

Aileen Wuornos was raped, trafficked, and abused throughout her childhood. Bent on payback, she murdered seven men while working as a sex worker in the late ’80s.

Nelson Mandela converted 27 years of prison into a lifelong mission of reconciliation, while Adolf Hitler, after early-life rejection and prison time, wrote Mein Kampf and pursued one of history’s darkest visions.

Same kind of deep pain. Different paths to deeply motivated action.

The why—that core wound or fire inside—can be powerful. It gives us strength we didn’t know we had. But it doesn’t choose the direction we take. That part’s on us.

It started in one of those intense, unplanned conversations with other strategists at FourthCanvas. We were debating work-life balance—how everyone talks about it, yet the most inspired people still work through weekends and nights.

At first glance, it seems like overwork is always driven by demanding bosses. But often, people choose it. Why? Why do some of us voluntarily go beyond 9–5? What makes work so compelling that we don’t want to shut it off?

Then it hit us: in the past, people found deep pride in fighting for their countries or tribes. Now, in the absence of wars as a norm, we channel that same drive into companies—helping them win customers and market share. We battle for our teams while also outworking teammates on the way to big goals.

It appears we’ve replaced war with work. But no one can fight endlessly. Rest isn’t just good for people—it’s good for the mission, for this war towards meaning and fulfillment.

Also, like soldiers, we assess our leaders: do they act like they even believe in this mission? If not, we disengage. Slowly. But when a leader inspires like a wartime general, we go all in. (Not always by working late—but that’s one way it shows).

So here’s the question for leaders: are you worth following into battle?

Let’s be honest—it's impossible to truly do nothing. Only in deep sleep do we come close. And in death, well… we finally get there.

So this is more like: how to get as close to nothing as possible—for the sake of rest, clarity, and subconscious recalibration.

Here’s one way I’ve tried recently:

1. Sit or lie down—on a bed, floor, wherever. Just relax and observe your surroundings. No digital devices. Set a 
5-minute timer if you like.
2. If your mind starts racing (it will), begin naming, one by one:
   – everything you can see
   – everything you can hear
   – everything you can feel
   – and everything you can smell

That’s it. That’s one way to do (almost) nothing.

We roll our eyes when older folks say we spend too much time on our phones because we know we are also doing meaningful and valuable things, just our own way. And faster.

We’ve upgraded the medium of work and entertainment. While their access was time-bound, ours is always-on. When we’re not working round the clock, we’re enjoying endless comedy, football, or catching hot takes.

But guess what we’ve not replaced from their life? Sitting on the verandah, and doing nothing. They had hours after work and cinema time to just be. But our work, play, and everything in between follow us everywhere.

It appears that we’ve lost the art of doing nothing. I don’t mean thinking through a problem or wallowing in worry, although those would come and go when you do nothing. I mean just being present in a moment of no doing—not checking if there is a new notification, just counting the tiles, or noticing your breath, the sound in the room, the smell of your lunch, or the bird flying nowhere.

Toilet breaks used to offer this. Now we scroll. Mealtimes? Now we stream. In this device-heavy life, doing nothing is hard. It’s hard for me and you. But we must try to reclaim some of it. Today you can try to set a 5-minute timer to do nothing, and you will realize how long time is.

It is important that we try. Because from nothing flows what we truly need: gratitude, patience, empathy. And from those come wisdom, creativity, insight—and maybe, greatness.

I felt disrespected by the manager of a restaurant. Her tone, her handling of the situation—I found it rude, even belittling. And my ego kicked in. I lashed out.

I walked out angry. But once I caught my breath, I saw it all more clearly. Yes, she didn’t do well. But I could also see her side. And more importantly, I saw mine. I had responded poorly. I had been rude. That part was on me.

So I went back. She wasn’t around, but I told the junior staff—some of whom had witnessed it—that I came to apologize. Then I left a handwritten note for her and left.

Today, I find myself asking: how do I stop that from happening again? Why was I so caught off guard—so disappointed—that I reacted like that?

Then I remembered something I once read from Ryan Holiday. Paraphrased as I recall it:

Begin each day with this expectation: you will encounter rudeness, selfishness, even disrespect. Not because the world is out to get you, but because people are stressed, flawed, and human—just like you. Accept this in advance. Offer them your grace anyway. That way, when it happens, you're steady. Not shocked. Not pulled out of character. And if someone surprises you with kindness or great conduct? That’s a gift to be grateful for, not something you expect 'of course'.

I wish I remembered this yesterday.

Trust isn’t always logical. Sometimes we trust people because of what they’ve done. Other times, it just feels right.

There’s always a reason—but it’s often subtle.

Sometimes, it’s the little things at the earliest stages—the small cues that nudge people to trust us before there’s any real proof.

Take a business owner with a fresh deal. The real work hasn’t even started, but the way they’ve shown up—from thoughtful conversations to clean onboarding documents (scope, contracts, and invoices neatly linked through a tool like Fullgap), to well-written emails that anticipate next steps—begins to shape perception.

Before they’ve delivered anything, they’ve already raised the bar.

And once that expectation is set, it nudges our bias in their favor—making the good work that follows feel even better. (We like to think we evaluate things logically. But we rarely do so in full).

Trust starts before the facts line up—and that works in your favor if you obsess over the little details at every stage.

The intentional effort to make people feel a certain way about a person, product, or organization—also known as branding—often overlooks a crucial audience: the one within, unseen and alone.

In the past, people could fabricate a feeling far from the truth and get away with it. But it rarely lasted. And today, with more outlets for the truth to surface, it’s even harder.

The better approach has always been this: elevate the truth itself, not just the perception.

If you want to be perceived a certain way, invest in becoming that better version, and reinforce it by showing yourself, when no one else is watching, that you truly are, or are becoming, this person.

The habits you live out in the dark build the identity you’re claiming in the light—and when the identity is real, the claim becomes formidable and leak-proof, because there’s no lie to uncover.

For a business leader, the internal audience is first themselves, then their team. True branding works from the inside out.

When your internal reality is rock solid, the external branding becomes you shining light on a truly impressive core—not you wearing a mask. And that’s easier, more powerful, and it lasts longer.

Whatever ChatGPT was called, it was always going to blow up—because it got so much else right, including being the first to throw AI open.

Still, ChatGPT sounds like a placeholder name the engineers forgot to change before launch. It’s clunky, technical, and limits the product to being seen narrowly as a tool. Compare it to Claude or DeepMind and you may start to see the point.

Good names don’t have to describe the product. Sure, smooth descriptive names like Paystack can work well—especially for speeding up awareness early on. But names that evoke a feeling—like Revolut, Apple or Smileys—leave more room for your brand to mean more to people over time.

There are also the seemingly ‘mean-nothing’ names like Gala, Mono, and Nord, which hand you a blank canvas to infuse emotion and build meaning over time.

A good name won’t make your business succeed, but if you get everything else right, it can tilt the odds a little more in your favour.

PS. I asked ChatGPT what it thinks: “I actually agree with your reasons. ‘ChatGPT’ is a mouthful, feels technical/difficult, and suggests a utility tool, not something you might trust, identify with, or aspire to.”

Imagine someone walking up to you and saying, “I would like you to trust me.” Sounds weird, right?

Asking someone to be your friend isn’t as strange, but it also rarely works out. That’s because one-on-one relationships are best earned naturally. And mentorship is one of them.

So what do you do when you admire someone and hope they’ll become your mentor? You engage with their work. Show genuine interest. Then reach out with appreciation, and maybe share something you're working on, asking for their thoughts.

When they respond, you take the feedback seriously, return with updates, and repeat the cycle. Over time, they notice your consistency. They may even begin to check in, offer guidance, and invest in your growth.

Asking outright to be mentored can feel like assigning them a job. It’s a new layer of pressure—something they already have enough of.

But behaving like a mentee? That almost always works. It’s lower pressure, more natural, and it grows one step at a time.

The internet is awash with viral videos of Chinese factories offering apparently the same Chanel, Gucci, and YSL bags people pay so much for — for literal peanuts.

And it’s easy to think luxury brands were just ripping people off. But those bags aren’t quite the same. And soon, people posting receipts that theirs came from a “real, different” source may become the new thing.

Because the brand premium isn’t just a profit markup. It’s what helps the customer feel better about themselves.

Yes, it’s materialistic. Yes, it’s vain. But people want what they want. While some wear designer brands to feel they matter, others engage certain companies or communities to signal their values.

So yes, China may dent some brands. But not branding.

Yes to some dent because even emotional buyers (all of us, to different degrees) want a factual reason to justify our choices. It’s why Apple always say, “this is the best thing our engineers have ever built.” Great quality, yes, but not the only reason we pay so much.

No matter how much you 'reveal' that products cost far less than their price tag, many still pay more, to earn the feeling baked into the brand.

The real question: What does working with you or your company help your customers say about themselves?

For many, the answer is: nothing. And that’s the brand gap.

Before you reject it in the name of Jesus — remember, even 100 more years is still soon.

Mortality has been one of humanity’s greatest gifts. It sharpens our sense of meaning.

People plan for decades, but only pause to savour a day when someone their age passes. Parents scream at their children, then spoil children the same age — now as grandparents. Young capitalists chase every Dollar and Naira they can ‘maximize’, then spend their last decades trying to give it all away.

30-year-olds panic that they haven’t done enough. 40-year-olds feel left behind. 60-year-olds are just grateful to be alive.

We want the whole world, until the reality of death reminds us to just enjoy the breath of this minute.

And when you really ‘deep it’ — that we’re all going to die — you may finally start to live, do what matters, forgive faster, take more risks, breathe deeper, try, quit, restart, laugh, dance your ugly dance, say NO — and find out you didn’t die after all. At least, not yet…

And maybe you’ll stop trying to win at everything and just be in some things. Because how many things can you even truly be in — even if you’re allotted the full 100 years? And you know that friend or cousin who only got 15… right?

We are going to die soon. And what a beautiful, freeing perspective that is.

I wrote my thoughts today, as always, and that’s all I owe myself — to write them out and, in the process, clear my mind for more.

But sharing them? I owe it to you that it makes sense and is useful. So today, I’m leaving my piece in the drafts. The thought hasn’t quite added up yet.

I will rather share this — that I have nothing to share.

I don’t feel well today. I am not ‘sick sick’ but my body doesn’t just feel right. But the beautiful part? It sharply reminds me what feeling well—full energy—feels like.

And I’m grateful for that.

It reminds me of something my mentor Chude Jideonwo said the last time I was down—psychologically in that case:

“Sadness accentuates joy. Sadness is a good part of life, because it helps us recognize and appreciate joy.”

And like Michael Rosenberg (Passenger) sang:

🎵 “You only miss the sun when it starts to snow.”

We should all have our own opinions—and share them. But we must also remember: others might take us seriously. In fact, we often want to be taken seriously.

If our words can influence others, then we owe it to them—and to ourselves—to invest in how we form those opinions. That means paying deeper attention, seeking different perspectives, reading more widely, and observing more closely.

It also means reflecting after we speak. And being open to disagreement—not just to defend our view, but to refine it, where we find gaps in our opinions, as we listen to those of others.

We’ll never have perfect opinions. But caring about their impact should push us to think better. And that includes making space to actually think—so our minds can process what we’re constantly consuming.

As you read this, and anything else you read or hear, I invite you to do two things: on one hand, consider what might make sense in it, and on other, consider that the writer or speaker might have no idea what they’re saying.

No matter how well-meaning the advisor is… how many years they’ve put in, how much research backs their view, or how eloquently they deliver it—what they’re saying might not be right for you. It might even lead to a good outcome… that leads to a bad one… that leads to another. Life is funny like that.

Life is far too complex for us to sit permanently at anyone’s footstool and take everything they say as instruction.

No one should have that kind of hold on you—not out of pride, but because no one is wise enough to know what’s exactly right, true, or best for another.

What we do have are experienced minds and thoughtful voices. They are useful. But ultimately, our duty as individual humans is to gather these voices as inputs—not instructions—and think for ourselves.

PS. You may have just read the worst advice of your life.

Late last year, after many years of Bolaji (my co-founder) not taking leave, we booked him a 4-day resort vacation, before informing him. He resisted—it was a critical time in the business and not a time to rest. We didn’t listen. We kicked him off virtual meetings and forced him to rest.

One month after he returned, he shared a framework that shaped our defining business strategy for 2025. He later admitted the clarity came during those four days.

Most of us try to do the most, as fast as possible. But we would also admit that many times we are unsure we are doing the right thing, or doing it right.

Why do we do simply pack more on our desk though, especially when Vilfredo Pareto’s observation—that only 20% of our efforts generate 80% of our results—has been proven to be true?

Building a great business (or anything at all) requires pausing. Observing. Reflecting. Because you don’t see patterns when you’re nose-deep in to-dos.

Yes, you can book a vacation. But slowing down doesn’t need to cost a thing: a morning walk, dancing alone, reading a book, writing 5 things you're grateful for, calling someone just to say something kind. You are not even trying to strategize. But many times, clarity meets you in the middle of that road.

So yes—just do it, like Nike inspires us to. But also, sometimes, Adenike, just slow down.

One of the most thought-provoking things I ever read went something like this: we spend so much on the things we like that we never afford the things we love.

We spend so much on hotels (like) that we never make our home exquisite (love); so much on Uber that we never afford a car; so much on trips that we never gain the freedom to go anywhere, anytime. These are good things—but how much of them, and at what cost?

We chase short-term happiness so hard that we never build the equity for long-term freedom.

But you’re not alone. I do this too. And we often have good reasons. But still we need that small space to think: what can I delay now that I like, so I can have later what I love?

Maybe you live with your parents and could move out today. But maybe wait a year or two. Save on food, light… the cost of new curtains and pots! Contribute something to the bill so you’re taken seriously—but if you can, maybe stay? And double down on learning, building and earning way more than you spend?

It’s not that simple, I know. But neither is the rat race, or regret.

Here’s what my life has looked like over the past 15 years: I finally figure out “the truth,” then not long after, I discover the real truth. Then again. And again.

I reach the horizon at night, only to wake up in the morning and find the note it left behind.

In one moment, I believe I see the answer clearly—I’ve cracked the code, connected the dots. Finally. Victory at last! Then, two years later, I laugh at what I thought to be conquest.

Does it ever end? Will there ever be a time when I finally find the answer and nothing changes about it any longer? When do I finally become?

Or wait? This it? This is the becoming? This endless cycle of learning, iteration and hope? Which, let’s be honest, can sometimes be hard, boring, and grueling—especially when the disappointment hits that we were either far from it, or only close but not quite there.

Maybe one day I would have arrived at this elusive destination. But will that be still becoming? Or the end of it—and the beginning of death.

I wish I could say that I’m fully authentic. And grounded. That I wake up every morning driven purely from within, and guided by purpose. That I reflect only on what truly matters, untouched by ego or selfish desires.

I wish.

Yes, I’m driven by purpose—but also by more ego than I would admit.

Yes, I’m focused on my journey—but I compare myself with others more than I would acknowledge.

Yes, I care about others—but I care about my own interests more than it appears.

I wish I were truer. More stoic. More real.

But I’m grateful to know I’m not quite there—because somehow, knowing how far I am from the ground keeps me close to it.

You might’ve heard this story before—but it’s worth hearing again.

A man’s horse ran away. “What a tragedy,” his friends said.“Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see,” he replied.

Days later, the horse returned—with a rare wild horse.“Such good luck!” they said. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Then his son tried to ride the wild horse, was thrown off, and broke his leg.“How tragic!” they cried. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Soon, the army came, conscripting all the young men—except his son, whose leg was broken.“Such fortune!” they cheered. “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

This is not to say that the big break you missed was secretly a curse. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. You may never know. That crushing heartbreak might be a blessing—or not. You may never know.

What looks like a setback might lead somewhere good. And then bad. And then good. And bad?

All we get to do is appreciate and make the most of the temporary ‘positives’—and endure the apparent ‘negatives’.

…and not everything needs proof.

There were years I didn’t believe in God. Now I do. But the questions that once fueled my doubt haven’t disappeared. I’ve just stopped needing them to be answered.

Pastors sometimes try to explain God scientifically. I respect the effort—it can help some people. But I usually tune out. Because if we line up empirical facts alone, the unbelievers probably win. And that’s the point—faith is hope, not data. Not by sight.

Same goes for love. For meaning. For life itself.

Eight billion of us live on a flicker of a planet lost in a vast, silent universe. Still, we act like we matter. We create. We sacrifice. We seek justice. We raise children. We pursue truth and beauty. All for what?

There’s no logical necessity to even get out of bed—or make your bed. But we do. Because we believe our lives matter. That we matter.

Some root that in a Creator. (There’s no scientific proof of one—and in the instance that such a being existed, it wouldn’t make sense for our labs to be able to detect such a being). Others believe in humanity’s inherent worth. (Though from the cosmic zoom-out, it’s hard to see why).

Either way, you believe in something without proof. And that’s alright.

I believe the smallest measurable unit of greatness is a great day. Stack enough of those over the years, and you’ll become great. That’s my working theory, shaped by watching mentors, clients, and patterns in my own life.

A great day isn’t perfect, but it’s intentional. It hits the key areas—physical, mental, social, and spiritual. For me, it includes focused work, writing, prayer, meditation, movement, reading, purposeful connection, journaling, and sleep. I don’t do all that every single day, but more often than not.

You can begin with 1, 2 or 3 elements. Plan the next day before bed? Meditate in the morning? Write a gratitude journal?

Over time, these intentional days compound.

Want to be a great writer? Stack more days reading and writing. Great business leader? Stack more days thinking, building, and serving others.

You won’t always feel like it. You’ll need internal drive. This could come from a sense of purpose, faith in the divine, exposure to greatness, a near-death experience or maybe just a moment where you realize “enough is enough, I need to take my life seriously.”

But it starts today, with one great day. Then another.

Lying in bed this morning as I woke up, I thought about the day ahead and it dawned on me — “I have no clue what’s going to happen today!”

I’ve got meetings scheduled, an internal quarter review, a feature update test, 2 client calls, a stop-by at someone’s office, and a deadline to ensure we meet. Still, the truth is—I don’t actually know how the day will unfold.

I might meet someone who changes my life forever, in the direction I desire—or not. Something could happen before noon that wipes out the rest of my plans. I might learn a lesson I’ll never forget. I might eat the best roasted street food of my life. It might send my stomach running too. I might witness the most beautiful interaction between two strangers. I might see something that sparks something that births something incredible.

Or none of that.I might even die, or live to declare the works of the Lord.

I’ll never know for sure. And that—hope, faith, curiosity—is what gets me out of bed.

I don’t hear ‘imposter syndrome’ as often as I used to but every now and then someone still reaches out confiding in me that despite what people have said about their work, they just don’t think they are good enough.

“That can be a good thing”, I respond.

Maybe it is true that you are underrating your capabilities, but if you respond by doubling down on more structured learning and intentional practice, to finally ‘get good enough’, then you only get better for it.

So maybe you are truly a 7/10, but you don’t believe it. With the right response, the worst case scenario is you get closer to 10 in reality.

That might be a better place to be than the person (and there are many) who believes their own hype—and stops growing.

It was 2015, the year I should’ve graduated with my mates. I had chosen the rebellious ‘drop out to follow your dreams’ path, and I was concerned about my (former) classmates seeing me jump taxis across town. So, I bought a car that almost took my life — literally and figuratively.

I was also in a relationship. And without her asking, I stretched myself to impress her and her family — far beyond my actual means. I repeat, nobody asked. But I needed to make a statement.

It didn’t work out, of course.

You can’t be 21 with 31 years of experience. But if it were somehow possible to go back, I would strip down the urge to impress, and instead lock in to build an impressive life.

I would know that going out of my way to impress early on — with money I didn’t really have — only stands in the way of that. Or at the very least, slows it down.

And so I’d focus entirely on the seeds instead: knowledge, reputation, goodwill, experience — which I did plant, but not as much as I now wish I had.

The less people pause to observe, the more you should.
The less people serve genuinely, the more you should care.
The less people connect deeply with others, the more you should reach out.

As the world microwaves everything, spins fast around us, and puts everything at our fingertips—there’s growing value in doing what others wouldn’t, like slowing down.

On Sunday evening, at the home of Mohini and Chuba Ezekwesili, which is fittingly named a ‘sanctuary of nature’, I got a full appreciation of their ‘Framework of Intention’, especially the simplicity of it.

Time slowed down, as we listened—really listened—to each other, in an environment that made gratitude the default. We took responsibility for our own happiness.

“Slow down, be grateful and take responsibility” the 3-step framework guides. Stuff like that seem to be going out of trend, but as a result, increasing in value.

I’ve been thinking about a quote I read somewhere: “the way we do one thing is how we do all things.”

This morning, it struck me how deeply it applies to corporate culture.

The true culture of an organization isn’t just how people act at work—it’s also how they show up off the clock, with family, friends, and strangers. While many know how to ‘act right’ on a normal Monday morning, their real selves (most reliably evident off-work) emerge in pressure-filled, mission-critical situations. And the essence of culture is how they act in those situations.

Efforts to transform culture are more effective if they influence how people act both on and off work. So leaders must invest more thought and effort into making it real.

This matters for perception too. Most people experience a company’s culture not in team-building events, but from how an employee behaves on a queue or responds on a Twitter space about football. Or Beyoncé. This shapes how your culture is truly seen—and remembered (your brand).

So yes, it’s valid to not hire someone whose public behavior clashes with your values. And as leaders, we all need to reflect: if we preach punctuality or respect, for example, do we embody it everywhere? Maybe we arrive meetings on time, but what about speaking engagements or family dinners? Culture that doesn’t cut across dimensions won’t survive when tested.

Insisting on excellence can feel really good—mostly because it’s assumed we already embody what we’re asking for. And that’s fair… if we actually do.

But when our actions fall short of the very standards we’re demanding, our insistence quickly becomes ineffective, even hypocritical.

The most powerful way to insist on excellence is to quietly model it. It is even better when we hold ourselves to higher standards than the ones we ask of others.

If we’re all over the place, how can we ask others to plan carefully and not miss the details? If we don’t treat our team well, how can we expect them to treat our clients well? If we don’t put effort into crafting a clear brief, how can we expect execution to be intentional? If we don’t define and live out our values, how can we ask others to act in line with them?

Sure—we can ask.

But many times, they just won’t take us seriously.

Have you ever complained about something poorly done and the response was something like “it’s not that bad, it works”? Or maybe you were making a case for why something needed to be done in a certain way and you get the “I too know” label—a nickname intended to mock people for doing too much as if they are better than others.

First, you are probably better than them, to be honest—at least at caring more. And that counts for something.

That said, the world needs you to continue to insist on excellence, especially our side of it where mediocrity has become popular and without apparent consequences.

As long as your drive is not your ego but simply a desire to see things done well, it matters that you continue to be an example. And a voice.

First, they will mock you.
Then, they will tolerate you.
Then, they will respect you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll inspire someone who always wanted to be excellent, but never had an example.

Every January, I hope to achieve many of my big life goals by December. I don’t — and by the next January, I repeat the drill. Can you relate?

This year I started to think more in terms of what I could build over a decade, and it’s helping me become more patient to do each phase right, focus on daily habits I know will compound, and resist the pressure to impress in today’s rat race. I don’t need it done by December, tbh. I’d rather take 3, 7, or 10 years and do it excellently. I call this the decade’s view — a way of stretching time so execution becomes intentional and meaningful results actually happen.

Without a decade’s view, there are things you won’t even consider. For example, you can’t plan to write a book and expect it to shape your reputation, attract the right community, or contribute to a long-term vision — all by December. Unless you don’t care about writing a really good book. Which then defeats the point.

When we squeeze big goals into short timelines, it often hinders us from thinking properly, researching deeply, and obsessing over the tiny details. But precedence shows that masterpieces, breakthroughs, financial freedom and the big things we desire often take longer than a year.

This doesn’t mean we can’t have quick wins. But for our most ambitious goals — the ones that shape our life’s work — we might need to take the decade’s view.

I wrote about dealing with ‘beginner’s shame’ when learning something new, and someone asked, “How do you become shame-proof?”

I’m not shame-proof. Most of us aren’t. We still feel the sting of failure, and dread what others might think. But what helps me is remembering how vast the universe is—and how small I am, in comparison.

I’m one person out of 8 billion, standing on a fraction of a planet that wouldn’t even register as a pixel on the ‘map’ of the universe. What, really, is there to be ashamed of?

I try to live fully, to leave even the tiniest dent. But when I fail, I remind myself: I am nothing. And everyone laughing? They are nothing too.

Easier said than done, but that’s where I try to get to mentally.

Earlier today we stopped to check the car's tyre pressure with a road-side vulcanizer. As we slowed down, I noticed him tossing some garbage right in the middle of the road. “You don turn the road to your dustbin abi?” I said with a sarcastic smile. He mumbled some unclear response trying to explain his action away, while smiling back in a quiet admission of his wrong.

Five minutes later he was done inspecting and pumping the tyres that needed some air. We paid and just before we drove off, he appeared next to where I sat holding his trash in his hand—proudly confirming that he had gone back to pick it up. I didn’t ask him too.

When you're learning a technical skill like coding or design, people encourage you. But when you are trying to acquire performatory skills often perceived as innate, like me learning to dance ‘shaku-shaku’ in 2017, the response is ‘well-intentioned’ mockery.

This reaction comes from a deep-seated belief that some abilities simply can’t be learned. In recent Nigerian parlance, “if it didn’t dey, it didn’t dey”. So when you are trying, the observers, including your friends, rather feel embarrassed. They wouldn’t try to learn those things—like dancing, football, drawing, singing—and so why are you trying to force it?

But that leads us to the special, critical skill called shame, or being ‘shame-proof’. This is your ability to try to learn just anything—even when you’re ‘supposed’ to be born with it but you aren’t—while smiling through the mockery and forgiving them, for they know not what they do.

PS. Now I represent the groomsmen at wedding dance contests. But in 2017, you would have been embarrassed watching me try.

Many times the leader starts out as the first employee, brimming with passion and a love for getting the thing done — the core service itself. As the company grows, however, so do their responsibilities, forcing them to juggle their ‘true love’ with new demands. Eventually they start to use the assistance of other people, sometimes reluctantly. But what they must do is even harder — recognize the roles they can no longer excel at and fully replace themselves, no matter how painful.

What would make a leader evaluate themselves as not good enough for a role they established? Vision. When a leader becomes more consumed by the big vision and the excellence required to reach it, their ego shrinks. They become small, necessarily.

From that vantage point, clarity emerges: ‘I’m no longer focused enough to be great at this’ or ‘This person is sharper than me in this role; it’s time they take over while I focus on another component of the big picture.’

I am sure you have heard the saying, “there is no such thing as bad publicity.” But in a world where people no longer buy just because they know you exist, that popular quote may be due for a rethink.

As the internet, e-commerce, and social media gives people unlimited access to options, a bad reputation becomes a good enough reason to cut you off their consideration.

Popularity from negative controversy often grows due to curiosity, not admiration—people want to see ‘the bad thing’ this person allegedly did, the same way they watch a documentary about a criminal. Now we know to stay off!

Yes it is true that once you have the numbers, you can attempt to switch things up, but reputation is not a tap you just turn on and off. You will have to do so much, consistently, over time, to have any chance. And even then, the shadow of the original issue lingers, and comes back to mind anytime you slip.

Because we now know you, we may indeed buy from you in a moment of urgency, especially if you are the fastest or cheapest at that point, but we DO NOT trust you. And we won’t identify with you, let alone tell others. So, if there are any gains at all, it’s short-term and fleeting.

We all know it when we have met a person that seems driven by purpose, an experience that carries more meaning, or a business leader that seems to be chasing something bigger. And it is these ones who seem to care less about our money, that we are the most eager to give it to.

And so it can be tempting for us to want to ‘come up with something’ too, to be like them. But in the best examples, they didn’t just come up with something. They are being true to something.

Although simply wanting it is not enough, it is better than not caring. Those who don’t care, and simply want to focus on the obvious surface, miss out on the depths of human motivation.

The alternative to 'making something up' is discovering it—because it’s already there. You may just need to slow down, step away from your ‘workaholic factory,’ and take the time to finally SEE what you've only been looking at.

Inspiring people, conversations, books and retreats can help. For some, adversity, near-death experiences, or spiritual encounters have triggered the shift.

We create more impact when we go beyond the surface—when there’s a deeper motivation and a more compelling story. But the truth is, we don’t have to make this up.

As I sat on the thick wooden chairs inside the Christ Anglican Church at the end of the commercially active sawmill, I imagined the lives beneath the grey hairs and the bald heads that sprawled across my view. The creeds are followed by hymns that end with the long-drawn ‘Aamin…’ before a priest comes on the pulpit to reflect on the life of Coach Akinade, who was said to have accepted nonsense from no one!

We are at the funeral service held in the memory of my friend’s dad, officers of the Nigerian Army unmistakable in the car park and the light brown ‘Aso-ebi’ attires of the family unmissable. From his days in the military to becoming an athletics coach, so much was said about his integrity and insistence on high standards. Perhaps that explains why Mary finished with the first class she told me she would finish with on Day 1 in 100 level. At our off-campus Bible study with The Navigators, she would memorize the full list of verses that I still can’t fully recall ‘off-hand’ 10 years after.

I have always loved the Anglican Church and my boarding house school founded by the Ilesa Diocese gave me a closer view of the ordinances. Before I knew anything about graphic design or branding systems, I was always curious about the design of the cassocks — the coats the priests wore, and how they differed from Reverend, to Venerable, Very Reverend, Right Reverend, Most Reverend. Synod was a sight to behold, of beautiful order.

And there were the hymns. “Trust and obey… for there is no other way… to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey”, Reverend Fakankun would lead the student choristers as they slowly processed down the aisle while Soji and I did this thing called ‘parting’ with our voices. What a memory to recall as today’s closing procession held in the same slow, reflective motion. This time it included soldiers, with the casket wrapped in the National colors and a pair of military boots ‘hanged’ on top.

I remember the sermons back then were always a mix of everyday wisdom with some gospel to tie it up at the end. The priests who doubled as teachers took their opportunity to address our latest misdeeds from the classroom and dormitories, with warnings passed down this time from a holy place. It was still the same, but with the teenage dismeanors swapped with the adult ‘wickedness of the human heart’.

Stepping into an Anglican Church for the first time in many years, what touched me the most was neither a warning wrapped in the clothing of a life advice nor a headline from the good news that the gospel is. It also was not any of the reminders for us to imbibe the values Coach Akinade lived by.

It was something the priest said in passing — “Ojó á jìnà síra won”.

That was it for me. It’s not the first time I would hear that. Everyone says that when a Yoruba dies and I am sure he didn’t particularly write that as part of his sermon notes. In English, that translates to “may the days (of death) be far from one another”.

It struck me what that really meant, that all of us — the grey hairs and bald heads, the elegantly dressed ‘omo-olóòkús’ (children of the deceased), myself in the observation of events, as well as the baby whose mother just carried swiftly to the back of the auditorium as she cried for a pain she could not yet to put to words, the mother herself inclusive — have our dates of death right ahead of us at a time we have no idea of. All we could hope for, is that the next one doesn’t come tomorrow. Or even today.

Dead people attending a funeral. All of us.

Bye bye, Coach. You live on in our memories, till our own dates come.

We all agree that reality improves perception, but the reverse is just as true.

No one will argue that a product or person being good makes it easier to tell a compelling story about them. But if any of the world’s greatest things—including America as “the world’s greatest country”—serve as a valid reference, then we have seen, time and time again, that perception also improves reality.

While America factually boasts of the world’s largest military and leads on many other fronts, it is no coincidence that it is also the biggest storytelling machine, powered by Hollywood and some of the most influential media houses. The world doesn’t just witness America’s strength; it experiences it through movies, news, and cultural exports that reinforce its dominance.

Top Gun wasn’t just entertainment—it’s also an amplification of the legend of American military superiority. The Social Network isn’t just about Mark Zuckerberg—it fuels the perception of the U.S. as the place to be for any innovator watching from anywhere. The American Dream is a branding masterpiece, consistently attracting millions who believe in the idea that success is possible if they just make it to America.

While the examples reference recent history, this didn’t start in recent times. Long before America became a thing, let alone the leading superpower it is now, it was stories that first stoked the imagination of investors, inspiring them to commit resources to explorers ready to make the stories real. Marco Polo’s accounts of the East stirred European curiosity, and by the 15th century, myths of vast uncharted lands drove Christopher Columbus to set sail in 1492, backed by Spain’s Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand. These weren’t just stories about lands that already existed—they were narratives that created belief, mobilized resources, and ultimately brought entire new realities into existence.

Now, imagine if those stories had been completely made up with the sole intent of deceiving investors—only for the explorations to reveal the lie. The sailors would lose all credibility, causing more harm than good. So, for those who argue that doing the actual work should be the sole focus, they are almost correct—it remains critical. But consider the reverse: what if there was real potential ahead, yet no stories to inspire action? In most cases, the people we are trying to reach may never get the chance to experience our reality firsthand, making an objective judgment nearly impossible. We must be able to guide them to an assumption that something great lies ahead. And because we are committed to delivering on that promise, we can sustain and reinforce this perception over time.

Beyond validation, these stories also enhance the experience itself. A well-framed narrative sets expectations high, triggering a positive bias that makes people more receptive and more forgiving. They already expect greatness—so all that’s left is for confirmation bias to take over. Now, imagine telling great stories, and meeting it up with great work. Just imagine!

In the timeline of almost any great outcome, imagination comes first, then gives birth to real, tangible results, which are further refined and elevated through more storytelling. In other cases, it begins with action, as critics of ‘branding’ would prefer, but then gets fueled by stories and imagination which continue to combine with action to birth actual socio-economic greatness. A country, a company, or even a movement doesn’t just grow by working hard—it grows by crafting a compelling perception that inspires people to engage with it, demand more from it, and ultimately push it toward even greater heights.

Take NASA’s Apollo 11 moon landing in 1969 as another  example. President Kennedy’s 1962 speech, “We choose to go to the moon,” was more than a promise; it was an act of perception-building that rallied a nation and set expectations so high that reality had no choice but to catch up. The same principle applies to another defining moment in American history, just a year after—Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. At a time when racial inequality was deeply entrenched, King painted a picture of a future of justice and equality. His powerfully crafted words, substantiated with ‘real substance’ — from bus boycotts to marches, community mobilization and policy advocacy — shaped a perception so strong that it moved people to action, forcing institutions and society at large to shift toward making that vision real. Both moments prove the power of storytelling—not just to reflect reality, but to shape it.

The trend runs through every facet of American life, including the tech startup ecosystem, with Steve Jobs’ Apple and Phil Knight’s Nike being references of the power of storytelling we are all familiar with, among several others. These visionaries made strong examples of hardcore excellence and obsession, but also carefully crafted presentations of their products that aimed intently at influencing perception.

Strategically selected and crafted stories that highlight the best parts and potential futures of any reality often go on to inspire more of the same. Perhaps a city is only partly clean, but it chooses to portray itself as a clean city while also doing the work. It consistently shares images of a clean city, tells the story of it’s committed cleaners and highlights the behaviors of everyday people it desires to see more of. Then, anyone traveling in prepares to be clean, and people living in the dirtier parts start to think there is something they are doing wrongly. “This is not who we are”, the stories make them feel. And what is real begins to bend towards what is portrayed, one properly disposed can of Pepsi per time.

The idea is that actual work has always worked hand in hand with depiction (perhaps a simpler term for branding?)—which may not always tell the full, real picture of today, but often inspires the reality to catch up by tomorrow. This is where many African founders and business leaders fall short—by focusing entirely on the core work and looking down on the craft of shaping perception as a dispensable tertiary effort. Or something worth doing on a second thought, but not with that much intentionality and investment. One may also argue that this has limited our excellence even on the substantial part. No grand stories, no extra motivation? Perhaps.

When African businesses invest more in depiction and perception, we can set something for everyone to look up to—both internally, to inspire teams to push for better, and externally, to shape customer expectations thereby driving demand, improving experience and retaining loyalty.

In conclusion, the businesses that win are not just obsessed with the core work and the problem they are trying to solve but also with how they present their mission to the world.

America has mastered the art of not only doing the work but also shaping perception in a way that fuels its continued reality. It’s time for African business leaders and startup founders who clearly put in the work (not sure I can say the same for our political leaders) to borrow from this playbook.

One of the seemingly-obvious-but-not-obvious insights I gained early as an entrepreneur is that it is better to find people who are already like the type of people you need in a job than to bring people in and ask them to be the type of people you need in a job.

At first read, you may wonder “that’s already what we do… we need a good engineer, we find and hire a good engineer”. The less obvious but more critical application of the thought however is on the non-technical capacities, which are usually the hardest to grow in people.

While you surely need a certain quality of technical skill to begin with, it is also the component of talent that is easiest to grow over time, with systems for knowledge acquisition, knowledge exchange and the sheer role of experience on the job. What is harder however is to make someone who doesn’t smile smile.

From being open to new ideas, caring about others, being driven, leading self… to being timely, communicating effectively, being proactive and more, it is wiser, for two reasons, to identify people who already come with some of these than to relegate them to the things you will bring out in them with your ‘team-bonding’ talks.

1. You are not a life school. You are first a business and your primary priority will always be in delivering your service to your customers in exchange of value. This means that the most natural force of growth your employees will experience is in the core service itself — the technical. While you can be an inspiring leader and bring in great coaches, you will hardly be able to spend enough time to deliver those missing soft skills.
2. Some competencies are best developed on a personal level. These soft, human, non-technical capacities are best built based from personal reflection, reading, mentorship and an eagerness to improve. While you can try as a business to institutionalize these as part of your people development, and you should, the best environment for it is personal. It is best if you simply for the people who are already doing that work on a personal level, and you then bring them on board to apply this alongside the technical capacity that you are ever primed to help them hone.

But why does all of these matter, to begin with?

Well, we are human above all things. And the most enduring great organizations are built by humans who are great beyond just the core service. It takes more than just the ‘core thing’ to be great colleagues within and partners with the customer. And you will need all of these for sustained growth and eventual greatness. A badass guy at coding or say accounting on your team who talks trash on other people, is disrespectful of women and is unwilling to share or collaborate with others will do today’s job but ruin your company in the long term. I think we already agree on this but it’s important to touch on it for anyone still asking that question of why.

What happens to the technically gifted but otherwise lacking employees you have already hired before reflecting on a thought like this? I will propose a 3-part plan of action — Clarify, emphasize, and model. Yes, nothing will beat getting it right with a hire who is already on the desired path, but this can offer some course correction.

First, take time to reflect on the values and traits that matter the most and ensure this is clearly discussed and documented. Then take every opportunity, day to day or week to week, to refer to those things, from meetings to teachable moments and when you are commending someone. Finally and most importantly, be the embodiment of these values and reward others who are making great examples, which we can imagine as a final fourth part of the plan.

Above all, next time you are about to hire a receptionist who you expect to smile and welcome people with great, positive energy. Find someone who already smiles and engages people with great, positive energy.

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I have always been somewhat of a rebel. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ only gets me curious. And so when this conservative RCCG-born royal prince from a village in Osun became friends with my pan-African contrarian friend who hates fame and surely prefers not to be named, I was going to pick not only his admiration for African history which my school teachers forgot to tell me about (with Thomas Sankara easily becoming my own favourite), my response to his pan-African hairstyle was also going to be “why not?”.

Not that he ever asked though. Or cared.

Let me tell you one more thing about my friend before I continue — he will tear this article up with a long list of well articulated points of valid, constructive criticism. I write nonetheless.

Just before the COVID-19 lockdown, I began to keep my hair, which had always grown really fast as a kid but steadily truncated by my parents’ instruction whether in person or remotely. The lockdown made this easier and my locs (aka dreadlocks) journey began.

Apart from the core values of life, I have always contended with the endless list of what I consider surface-level norms I was taught directly and indirectly. I had dropped out of uni against popular wisdom, and now I was grooming what I knew might make my mother lose sleep. To me, she would be the one to blame for worrying about the minor instead of being grateful for a child who went on to become an employer of labour and not a ‘yahoo boy’.

‘Lol’.

To her, if it looks like a ‘yahoo boy’, like she believed it did, it’s as bad as being one.

Well, I didn’t care.

“I will be praying for you”

“Don’t waste your prayers, mum”

For 4 years and 10 months, I rocked my really beautiful locs, styled at different times in various forms to my confidence-boosting pleasure as well as the excitement and admiration of my growing fanbase of peers, clients and mentees. There was the signature Fá look with which I walked down aisles, climbed on stages and posed for endless selfies. It really did come together so well. My non-conformist self with this unapologetic look that I carried gallantly.

And those 5 years were so good! The pictures remain proof.

Then 2024 happened, with me failing in a major area of my personal life. When I got to the wall, I turned back and had to reprioritize everything, with two of my faith-based mentors having a significant impact on my life in my respective meetings with them in December. Two random meetings, no deep conversation per se, no ‘serious prayer’ but a transformation began in one and was clear in the other.

Now, I didn’t cut my hair because I suddenly became a ‘better person’ and let go of ‘bad things like the hair’. There was nothing wrong about the hair. It’s the most natural form of an African’s rich hair.

My mum will tell you a different version of the story but here’s what happened — I made so many drastic changes in my life in December 2024 that one midnight I woke up and looked at mirror, and the hair had become to me a symbol of the old version of me, which had now changed drastically. So while the hair itself was not one of the purpose-driven changes I was suddenly empowered to make, it had became a symbol of them. It became a victim of my change.

My change was not from bad to good per se. I believe I have always held onto a good number of good values. I simply raised my standards significantly, and the change (which still continues) was so drastic I needed a visual commemoration. Yeah… something like that.

Although I am a prince, the ‘Adé’ in my middle name has nothing to do with the crown. Adésóyè means “he who arrives to the chieftaincy”. The ‘A dé’ means ‘he who arrives’. On my journey, I continue to arrive. But for my locs, a journey was had.

“I will be praying for you”

“Don’t waste your prayers, mum”

“I told you I’ll be praying for you”.

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