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Hey Subscriber First Name Well here we are. We’ve stepped into 2026, which still sounds to me like the kind of year we once imagined would come with flying cars and silver jumpsuits! There’s definitely a lot happening around us. Conflicts rising, economies tightening and technologies accelerating. It can feel as though the ground keeps shifting before we’ve even found our footing. And yet, when I zoom out a little, I’m reminded that change has always been part of the rhythm of life. Nature moves in cycles (expansion, contraction, stillness, renewal) and we’re not separate from that, even if we sometimes forget. Over the New Year, I found myself thinking back to 31st December 1999. Everyone was talking about the millennium bug and what might happen when the clocks hit midnight. But for me, that year carries a very different kind of memory. I started it revising for my GCSEs, still very much a child. By the end of it, I had lost my mum unexpectedly, was living alone and had learned to drive. It was a year that changed the shape of me and made me learn how to cope in the adult world. What I understand now, with the benefit of time and a lot of reflection, is how that experience taught me to become incredibly quiet. Not outwardly as I could still function, still smile and still do well at work but internally. I learned to read every room before I ever listened to myself. I became hyper‑vigilant and sensitive to every shift in tone or expression. It was a way of staying safe but it also meant I lost touch with my own voice. I nodded along when something in me wanted to speak and I blended in when something in me wanted to stand out. And that’s why I share this here. Because the work I do now and the inspiration behind the name of my business (Daring Works), is in many ways the slow unwinding of that silence. It’s the return to something more instinctive and more like the way nature operates when it’s left to be itself. Nature doesn’t force itself into shape.
It doesn’t apologise for taking up space.
It doesn’t try to become a monocrop. A forest thrives because it’s diverse. A meadow is resilient because it’s full of different colours, textures, species and rhythms. Monocrop systems might look neat but they’re fragile. They depend on constant control and they collapse easily. I think many of us have been living like monocrops for far too long in the pursuit of feeling safe and fitting in. We become trimmed, tidied and shaped into something uniform. Whether through trauma, culture, workplaces or expectations, we’ve learned to quiet the parts of ourselves that don’t fit the mould. This shows up so clearly in the world of work. I lost count of the number of meetings where everyone looked around the table, waiting to see who will speak first and who will ‘lead the witness’. It’s the same dynamic behind The Emperor’s New Clothes, where everyone sees the truth but no one wants to be the first to name it. Psychologists call it pluralistic ignorance: the belief that everyone else thinks differently, so we stay quiet. And then there’s the HIPPO - the “Highest Paid Person’s Opinion”…
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