Executives who sit across from me invest out of their own pocket. Not the company's.
A company that pays needs to know what it's paying for. Someone signs off, someone books the invoice, and the invoice needs a line describing what we do. From that moment on, nothing is off the record – and you've become a case with a cost centre.
No files on you, and your story won't turn up in some leadership guide. We meet incognito – and that runs both ways.
For a while, we're accomplices, and what we talk about is our secret. Not because a code of confidentiality demands it, the way it does for lawyers and doctors. We choose it – a clever choice for your freedom and mine. Pass my name on, by all means. The rest stays ours.
In our encounters, you venture something wild with your energy: you unsettle your own position of power, on your own terms – away from posing, from chasing status symbols, from being run by the fear of losing influence.
I owe no one a deliverable: no roadmap, no checklist, no progress chart to justify the spend.
What I bring is Dada's practice of not being cornered.
It protects us both: you from turning into a case, a patient or a pose; me from the pull of your power. My Dada visits, and then it leaves again. That's what keeps us both clear.
What you discover is self-unsettling – the art of unruly maturing, in good company.