Every year, we reset with lofty goals: hit targets, get promoted, improve ourselves. But what if the real breakthrough comes not from inward goals, but outward transformation? This year, let’s become the catalyst for others. Let’s become the light on the hill that lifts the whole team. Rather than finding faults bosses, let's become serial encouragers. We can choose to see others not through their failures, but through their struggles—and their strengths.

Workplaces should not be rife with politics, blame games, or backstabbing. They should be zones of mutual respect, support, and growth. That starts with how we, as leaders, see others. If we approach them with criticism as our default, we kill trust. But if we become “good finders,” we elevate the whole environment. Everyone is carrying invisible burdens—personal, financial, emotional. Leaders must remember that they, too, are imperfect and benefit from leniency. So why deny that understanding to others? Always see staff through the prism of how you were at their age and stage.

Japan’s surface calm hides tremendous internal pressure. Its culture of modesty and conformity can suppress people’s potential. Many live lives of quiet desperation. This year, let’s get off our high horse. Let’s guide people, not grade them. Let’s praise the small steps. Encourage risk. Celebrate growth. Stretch their Comfort Zones without punishing the stumbles.

Drop the complaints. Replace them with gratitude, recognition, and positivity. Shift your language to uplift rather than critique. Be the beacon others can look to—not for perfection—but for permission to grow. As leaders, we are often waiting for others to improve. We stand in front of the empty fireplace and complain its cold. But how’s that working out? Instead, let’s become the spark. Decide to be the world you want to see, then lead from that space.

Being “the light” is not about ego—it’s about service. It is about helping others find their strength, purpose, and potential. That’s the real leadership revolution. Let’s make this year different, not just for ourselves—but for everyone around us.

If this too fluffy for you, then good luck with recruiting and retaining staff in a rapidly diminishing supply employment market. It is only going to get more desperate and so retaining people is the key.

In this Age of Distraction, we’ve got seconds to win our audience’s attention—or lose it. When we’re unclear, rambling, blathering or long-winded, the audience bolts for their phones. If we’re not concise and clear, there’s zero chance of being persuasive, because no one is listening. That’s why structure and delivery matter more than ever.

We often dive too deep into our subject and forget the audience hasn’t followed the same path. That’s where the trouble starts. We confuse them, and they mentally check out. We need to set the topic clearly and grab their attention fast. The opening must be dynamite—wake them up, spark interest, and demand attention.

Then we break the content into five-minute chunks. Each block needs a switch—a story, visual, quote, or killer question—to re-engage. Every point we make must come with proof: data, examples, evidence. Don’t just say it—back it up. Data needs stories and stories need data.

The structure must flow logically. Choose a formula—chronological, thematic, problem-solution-result—and stick to it. Use verbal bridges between sections to guide the audience. “We’ve looked at X, now let’s move to Y.” Without these guideposts, listeners can get lost and mentally leave you.

Timing is our best friend. Rehearsing with a stopwatch forces us to refine our message. We learn to trim fat, sharpen our language, and focus only on what matters. That’s how we avoid running over and skipping key points. We all hate the presenter who rushes through thirty slides in two minutes because they have lost control of the time.

We end powerfully—with two closes. One before the Q&A to hammer home our message, and a final close that leaves them with a resonant takeaway. If we want to be persuasive, we must be sharp, structured, and intentional.

Let’s drop the fluff, build flow, and craft messages people actually remember and can act on

The distance between wanting to buy and actually buying is often vast. Business leaders all have goals, but constraints around money, people, and bandwidth hold them back. The higher up we go, the more strategic the thinking. The CEO is concerned with the future. The CFO focuses on cash this quarter. Line managers just want to hit their numbers and hold on to their team. HR? In Japan, they’re often passive—gatekeepers and internal rule police, not champions of change.

If a buyer feels their current situation and their desired future aren’t too far apart, urgency disappears. No pressure on them so no decision. And doing nothing is always the easiest option. It’s not just about money—it’s also about fear. A purchase can trigger more work, risk, or reveal gaps in capacity. In sales, we need to draw attention to the cost of inaction.

But it doesn’t work if we just tell them. We’re salespeople. They’ll doubt our motives. From their side, they have to tell usthe gap is real—and unacceptable to them. That’s why we ask smart, reflective questions. “What happens if you can’t get there fast enough?” We bring speed into focus because nobody gets there as fast as they want. “What happens if you can’t clear that obstacle?” That’s where we come in with our solution lineup. We speed things up and make success smoother.

We also bring it to the personal level. “If this fails, what does it mean for your team?” Buyers in Japan often avoid talking about personal risk, so we need to connect it to group outcomes.

Our goal isn’t to push—it’s to guide them to the realization that they need help to bridge the gap. Once they see that, they’re open. Now we’re not just selling—they’re buying. The shift is subtle, but it changes everything. Ask the right questions, and the urgency to act starts to belong to them.

Stupid people in organizations aren’t always easy to spot. They can appear confident, energetic, and articulate in interviews, fooling even the most seasoned managers. But over time, their lack of insight and poor judgment start surfacing. These individuals often speak before they think, overwhelming those around them with bluster and assertiveness instead of substance. Their loudness masks a lack of critical thinking, and in brainstorming sessions, they dominate through sheer brute volume rather than value. This becomes toxic when the time comes to sift, weigh and refine ideas. They insist on pushing their opinions forward, not because they are better, but because they are louder. Smart, reflective, deep thinker team members get drowned out. This is where you need a neutral facilitator who can help ensure all voices are heard.

A more insidious version of stupid is the person who seems smart. They’re articulate, appear capable, and are often trusted. But they lack analytical depth. They don’t seize opportunities, fail to offer key insights, or leave critical value failure unnoted. Clients eventually notice what was missing. They realize too late they didn’t receive full value. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” becomes the damning question.

This damages brand credibility, kills trust, and alienates clients. These brand assassins persist because of poor leadership—bosses too busy, too trusting, or too unaware to course-correct. In some cases, the boss is also underqualified. Add a weak internal system for developing analytical and decision-making skills, and mediocrity becomes embedded.

Worst of all, stupid people rarely know they’re the problem. That factor is a big one and it makes them especially dangerous. And unfortunately, you may already be working with one. Or worse—reporting to one.

We watched a big-name company blow a golden opportunity. The speaker was the President, and he had a dramatic story to tell—corporate crisis, media attacks, public apologies, and a redemption arc. Yet his presentation landed like a lead balloon. Why? Because he delivered it in a lifeless monotone, with no energy, emotion, or storytelling. It was a flat narrative built around a dull slide deck that never got lift off.

This wasn’t just a bad speech—it was a brand-damaging catastrophe of a speech. And it reminds of David Ogilvy’s tomato soup story: when asked why he didn’t promote Campbell’s tomato soup, he replied, “Because it’s orange and not very good. If we promote it, more people will try it and be disappointed.” The same applies to presentations. If your delivery is a joke, the more people see it, the more damage you do—to yourself and to your company.

Presenting isn’t just about dumping data. Data needs stories, and stories need data. When the audience doesn’t feel the highs and lows, they switch off. What could’ve been a high-impact brand moment became a forgettable, torturous monologue.

Imagine telling that company’s comeback like a Disney rollercoaster—diving into abject failure, hurtling through the black hole of public scrutiny, then soaring high into the heavens with recovery and growth. That’s how you win hearts, minds, and loyalty.

Treat every talk as a critical branding moment. Speak with conviction, inject passion, and embody your message with voice and body language. Be the story, not just the storyteller. Because audiences remember stories, not stats. They remember nothing other than how you made them feel.

Make sure your message—and its delivery—are irresistible, because you’re building your brand every time you speak.

Things go wrong. That’s life in business. Mistakes, delays, accidents — they’re inevitable. But the real difference is how we handle them when they occur. In Japan, people expect you to own the mistake, not hide from it. Silence, excuses, or blaming the customer won’t work. In fact, they can do invisible, long-term damage to your reputation — the kind you won’t see on a balance sheet, but it’s there, quietly draining future revenue.

We’ve seen projects nine months late, completely off the mark, and somehow the provider still tried to flip the blame onto the client. That’s not just bad service — that’s selfish. And selfish service providers don’t last long in Japan.

Make yourself easy to contact. So many online services are terrible for this. If you have a problem, trying to find what you can do about it on their website is a nightmare. Don’t be like that and hide behind generic emails or faceless websites. Put your name out there and be reachable. Your team will often try to shield you from problems — don’t let them. Get close to the issues.

And don’t be mealy-mouthed about it. If the customer says the service failed, admit it — because their perception is your reality. Trust is far more valuable than the money involved.

Every staff member, even part-time workers or foreign trainees, must be trained to handle mistakes. Not just what to do, but why we do it. Without that clarity, you’re relying on “common sense,” and we all know how “uncommon” and unreliable that can be.

We need to build systems, language, and culture around recovery. Let’s train our people, get them to buy in to our values, and keep repeating it until it sinks in. When things go wrong — and they will — let’s make sure we respond in a way that earns loyalty, not regret.

The Japanese saying "mikka bozu," or "three-day priest," perfectly captures the common experience of initial enthusiasm quickly fading. People sign up for the priesthood, find it tough and promptly give up. We often begin new endeavours with resolute resolve, but daily challenges diminish our commitment. If you feel yourself teetering on the brink, don't be discouraged. Instead, reassess your goals and focus on what's achievable to build momentum.

It's easy to fall into an all-or-nothing mindset with resolutions, leading to complete collapse and abandonment when reality sets in. We should adopt a more realistic approach by breaking down larger goals into smaller, manageable steps with clear milestones.

Prioritize achievable goals to create early wins, as success often fuels further success. Avoid being swayed by the ambitions of others and concentrate on your own pace and methods.

Focus on the fundamentals, the "blocking and tackling" of your field. Take ten minutes to identify and prioritize the basics of your work. This simple exercise can provide a practical roadmap for progress.

Don't give in to the "three-day priest" mentality. We can recover from setbacks by regrouping, recalibrating, and recommitting to our starting point. Remember, as Yogi Berra said, "it ain't over till it's over"

Team presentations differ significantly from solo presentations, where you have complete control. A common mistake is inadequate rehearsal, which can damage personal and organizational reputations. Thorough preparation with multiple rehearsal sessions is crucial.

The order of speakers matters too. The strongest presenters should lead to create a positive first impression, while technical, nerdy experts can present in the middle. Be careful to not allow mechanical slide creation consume all the preparation time; practicing soft skills are also super important. Schedule strict deadlines for early slide completion to allow for plenty of team practice.

During rehearsals, practice transitions like handoffs between speakers to demonstrate unity. Ensure every team member can deliver each section in case someone on the team gets ill and you have to cover for them.

Assign a "navigator" to manage the question-and-answer session. The navigator directs who answers which questions. When encountering nasty, mean or complex ones they can provide some margin to allow the designated expert time to formulate the best response. They might also ask for a question to be repeated to provide the expert with some thinking time, but this should be used only once.

Ultimately, successful team presentations require expert preparation, a clear strategy, and tons of rehearsals.