I did the corporate thing.

I’ve sat in rooms where leadership is a diagram on a PowerPoint slide and resilience is measured by how well you survive a performance review.

But leadership doesn’t live in the boardroom.

It lives on the road. In the mess. In the uncertainty.

It’s what shows up when your balloon pilot doesn’t.

Let me explain.

When the Balloon Doesn’t Show Up

I’d woken my guests up at 4am. They were buzzing with excitement for a sunrise hot air balloon ride over Kenya. But as the sky lightened… no van. No call. No balloon. Just me and the creeping realisation that something had gone very, very wrong.

I had two choices: panic, or pivot. I could feel the panic rising, but I didn’t have time to indulge it.

Within 30 minutes, I’d found another company. Negotiated 12 free spaces (because asking my guests to pay again wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t exactly fork out $5,800). No one ever knew anything had gone wrong.

That moment taught me something I didn’t expect: how to stay calm when you don’t feel calm. How to make fast decisions with limited options. And how sometimes, leadership looks like keeping it together while your insides are doing cartwheels.

When You’re Stared Down for a Bribe

The seventeenth police officer we’d encountered in The Gambia was… theatrical. He screamed in my face. Demanded money. Tried every intimidation tactic he could think of.

I didn’t pay. I didn’t yell. I just stood there. Firm. Calm. Silent.

Later, I questioned if I’d handled it well. Should I have pushed back more? Said less? But that’s what leadership often looks like on the road—no playbook, no prep, just instinct and posture and a steady voice.

I walked away shaken but proud of how I held myself. That feeling stayed with me longer than the fear.

When Someone’s Potential Isn’t Polished Yet

Malaki in Tanzania. Dennis in Uganda. Pape in Senegal. None of them came with glowing resumes or slick branding. But they had heart. Hunger. Purpose.

It wasn’t always smooth. There were growing pains, awkward starts, moments where I wondered if I’d misjudged. But something told me to keep going. To invest. To guide.

Watching them grow into extraordinary guides has been one of the quietest joys of my life. It reminded me that leadership isn’t about commanding attention. Sometimes, it’s about offering belief—especially when someone isn’t yet ready to believe in themselves.

When Words Hit Differently Than You Meant

I once made a passing comment about corn syrup. To me, it was just a conversation about food labels. To one of my American guests, it felt like an attack on their culture.

I was surprised. A little defensive at first, if I’m honest. But the more I sat with it, the more I understood: even when your words are innocent, they can still hurt. It’s not always about intent—it’s about impact.

And when you’re in a position of influence, it’s on you to listen. To learn. To lead through care, not correction.

When a Guest Hates the Itinerary You Designed

It was an exploratory tour. I’d been upfront about that. But by day three, one guest made it clear: this was not what they’d signed up for.

My ego wanted to push back. I’d worked hard on that itinerary. But instead, I scrapped it and rebuilt the next five days around what they needed.

It wasn’t perfect, but it shows that customer I cared. Whether he appreciated it or not, I will never know. But I did learn that leadership isn’t about being right. It’s about being responsive. And that people remember how you made them feel far more than what was on the schedule.

When You Don’t Share a Language But Still Connect

I’ve had entire conversations—meaningful, emotional, complicated ones—with people I couldn’t verbally understand.

We’ve talked about war, about grief, about dreams. All through gestures, expressions, and shared humanity.

Those moments reminded me that communication isn’t always about fluency. It’s about presence. About the kind of listening that doesn’t wait to reply. About being quiet enough for someone else to feel seen.

When Everest Taught Me What Grit Really Means

I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t.

The altitude, the cold, the exhaustion—it stripped everything back. There’s nowhere to hide at 5,000 metres. I cried. I doubted myself. And I kept going anyway.

Not because I’m brave. But because something inside me whispered: You can.

That’s what real grit is. Not charging forward with confidence—but continuing despite the lack of it.

And the Wildest Part?

I developed more transferable skills for my corporate job after I left it, than I did while I was in it, despite all the self-development books and webinars I consumed.

If only I’d learned some of these lessons earlier—when I was still in my old role, pretending I knew what I was doing, wondering why the team dynamics were so hard, and why I felt so disconnected from myself.

But maybe that’s the point.

Leadership isn’t taught.

It’s lived.

Want to learn it the scenic way?

I lead small-group adventures designed for people who are ready for more.

More connection.

More meaning.

More perspective.

You won’t just see new places. You’ll meet new parts of yourself.

Come travel with me »