As we get towards the end of 2025, I keep coming back to the same thought: most of the changes that have really mattered this year haven’t been driven by technology itself. They’ve come through people, through conversations that took longer than expected, through trust that had to be built carefully, and through a growing willingness to revisit decisions that once felt obvious and settled, but no longer quite fit the reality we’re working in.
I’ve found that work far harder than learning any new tool or platform.
There’s no question that the pace of innovation continues to accelerate, and AI in particular has a way of creating a constant sense of urgency. It creates an atmosphere where acting quickly can feel like a virtue in its own right, and where hesitation is easily mistaken for indecision or a lack of ambition. I’ve felt that tension repeatedly this year, especially in moments where it seemed that standing still, even briefly, risked falling behind a moving horizon.
Yet when I look back with a bit of distance, the progress that genuinely stuck didn’t arrive through big announcements or neatly packaged initiatives. It emerged slowly, often awkwardly, in the space between familiar habits and the uncomfortable recognition that the way things have always been done might not be the way they should continue. The moments that mattered most were rarely dramatic; they were quieter shifts in understanding, alignment, and confidence.
Much of this year has been spent navigating that grey space. Having conversations without a clear outcome at the outset. Sitting with uncertainty for longer than is comfortable. Trying to move forward without mistaking speed for progress, while also resisting the temptation to act simply to relieve the pressure of not knowing what the right answer is yet.
That kind of work doesn’t always feel productive while you’re in it, and it rarely lends itself to clean narratives after the fact. It’s slower, messier, and often invisible from the outside. But it’s also where the conditions for meaningful change are created, long before anything is formally delivered or announced.
As I look ahead to 2026, I’m less interested in the accumulation of new tools and far more interested in whether change actually takes hold. Not because it has been mandated or rolled out at pace, but because it makes sense to the people involved, fits the context they’re operating in, and feels worth the effort of adapting to. Without that, even the most well-designed systems struggle to make a lasting difference.
I’ve become increasingly convinced that transformation isn’t something you complete and move on from. It’s a posture you adopt. A way of holding plans lightly, staying open to challenge, and being prepared to move forward without having every answer neatly lined up in advance. It requires enough conviction to act, but also enough humility to recognise when adjustment is needed.
If we wait for certainty, we often find ourselves responding to a world that has already shifted. But moving forward without certainty doesn’t mean acting blindly. It means paying close attention, listening carefully, and being willing to adjust course as reality unfolds.
That balance, between conviction and humility, is where the real work sits. It’s slower than we might like, and harder to explain, but it’s also the work that lasts, and it’s the work I want to keep leaning into.