A great friend and fine chef first introduced me to this paradoxical idea when we were making pizzas in his brick oven.

Instead of piling toppings on an inch thick as was my habit, he suggested using less and even leaving spaces where the crust was exposed, so the whole pizza would bake crisper and taste better.

Of course he was proved right, as evidenced by my soggy pizza.

I noticed this ‘less is more’ philosophy infused more than just his cooking. Whether in selecting ingredients for simplicity and quality over quantity; the manner in which he used a light touch with his staff; or in serving smaller portions leaving guests slightly hungry but with an enhanced appreciation of the meal.

Over the years I’ve experimented with ‘less is more’ as a leadership principle.

Some of what I noticed … scarcity can draw out creativity and ingenuity; reduced busyness returns the invaluable commodity of time; less force and pressure allows natural self responsibility to develop.

And crucially, less verbiage in a blog offers more clarity!

It’s often said that leadership is lonely.

And I’ve said as much myself, but now I wonder if this maxim is true.

Or whether loneliness is a misnomer of the essential aloneness we inevitably feel as we each find our way in life?

This question came to me after spending the evening with two friends … though calling them ‘friends’ hardly does justice to the depth of relationship, experiences and worldviews we share.

We did not talk about sport or politics or weather!

We are mentors to each other, good enemies, agents in each others growth. We talk about the blessings and the difficulties and the insolubles in each others lives. We listen and encourage. We care and disagree and digress. We are irritated and refreshed.

And then we part ways and may not meet again for weeks or months. We are on our own, yet we carry the relationships within.

I think of these as proximal relationships.

And they are arguably the most vital element in our development as humans and as leaders, of at least ourselves.

A friend asked, “How do I know if I’m really following my bliss. Perhaps there is an even less travelled road which I somehow missed?”

Albert Einstein at the age of 70 wrote in a letter to a friend: “You imagine that I look back on my life’s work with calm satisfaction. But from nearby it looks quite different. There is not a single concept of which I am convinced that it will stand firm, and I feel uncertain whether I am in general on the right track.”

I relate this to Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, from quantum mechanics.

There are fundamental limits to the precision with which certain properties of atomic particles can be known. For example, the more precisely the position of a particle is determined, the less precisely its momentum can be known, and vice versa.

At the most essential level, uncertainty and doubt are implicit in Nature.

So in our lives, certainty about our choices and beliefs can hardly be expected. Even Einstein wonders about his life’s work. Given that, then the best we can do is make well considered choices, adapt and learn as we go, and enjoy the sun when it’s shining.

Too much doubt weakens us toward immobility; too little doubt and we harden in self righteousness.

A dash of doubt gifts us humility and openness … and odd moments of bliss.

My father died one month ago.

No doubt there are greater self-leadership challenges in life, but the loss of my dad tested my ability to navigate the emotional and logistical ripples caused by close, sudden death.

Fortunately I received good counsel early and whilst by no means perfect, largely managed to act upon it.

Slow down. The collective emotion and whirlwind of activity tended to press me into a sense of urgency. Tempering this was a good friends voice saying ‘slow down’, speaking from experience. Allowing three weeks for the funeral enabled various family and friends to alter plans and be present. And slowing down remains ever pertinent as our family resolves longer term matters.

Say ‘yes’ to all help. Immediately I realised I needed help and literally told myself ‘accept all offers’. I was surprised how quickly assistance materialised right across the spectrum of need. Close friends helped secure properties; my brother and two aunts arrived to pack and clear house; the assumptive sale by the funeral director was double fine; and help flowed from local police and neighbours, the Mens Shed, dads artist friends, an aunt who acted as funeral celebrant, an old boys school network. Phone calls, photographs and stories poured in.

Take reflective time. A mentor told me to make room for reflective time. That the loss of a parent prompts inner shifts in being and consciousness that are inexplicable and deeply personal. Obvious reflections on mortality and the choices and sacrifices my dad made to live an artists life are underway. I also notice myself now more curious and empathetic towards others whose parents have died. Still, lurking deeper I’m sure, are feelings and moods and realisations barely formed.

Clearly she meant take reflective Time, with a capital T …

Alongside goodwill and warmth, healthy friction is one of the vital ingredients for human growth.

Overwhelming antagonism defeats us before we even get started. ‘Nice and polite’ leaves us in an uninspired vacuum. Between the extremes there exists a sweet spot where opposition, conflict, challenge and obstacles become the material of self development.

A good enemy respects their opponent, focuses attacks on concrete issues, has clear intentions and seeks resolution for mutual benefit. A good enemy engages in education combat, tests our limits and motivates us to stretch into our potential.

Whether setting boundaries with our children, giving critical feedback to a colleague, or demanding accountability from a supplier, approached with sincerity each of us can be a good enemy.

Celebrate whenever you encounter a good enemy, you are on the cusp of new growth.

[For further inspiration read ‘The Way of the Owl’, by Frank Rivers]

A few days into the new year my family hiked to the summit of Mt Kosciuszko.

The 13km round trip sets out from the Eagles Nest above Thredbo, accessed by a thrilling chair lift ride. In Summer the high granite country is dotted with wild flowers, small streams, and patches of residual snow in shadowed pockets. Very beautiful surrounds.

Weather conditions turned misty and cold at the outset, which tested our commitment. Light plastic ponchos were soon tattered yet we kept walking. When we finally reached the summit, a quick family photo was all we could endure, before being driven off by wind blown rain and chill.

Our children (12 and 10) managed surprisingly well over the four hour walk. In fact the adverse conditions turned the hike into an epic expedition, a tale already retold a good number of times. I suspect this adventure will prove a memorable childhood experience!

Which makes me reflect on the nature of adversity.

If the walk to the summit and return had been easy, would the experience embed as a lasting memory and would it feel like such an accomplishment?

Adversity tests us. Trials require us to discover and draw upon resources we perhaps ignore in the every day. And significant adversity strips away comfortable illusions, bringing reality into sharp focus.

As a leader, how you respond in the face of adversity, will reveal all about your true character. The superficial will not withstand the blast, only words and deeds of substance and quality will suffice. Even as fear and doubt wells upward, we cling to an inner truth or a higher vision. Fortitude is the strength to persevere in the face of adversity.

Neither incessant troubles nor endless sunny days make for a rounded life. Peaks, troughs and plateaus all play their role. Well worth remembering, especially when unexpected turbulence appears from a clear sky.

After the difficult hike we took a table at the snug Eagles Nest Cafe and ordered the children hot chocolate drinks. As we looked out over the misty valley and enjoyed the warmth, with the adventure behind us, I felt a tinge of loss. The harsh conditions had drawn us closer together in our care and mindfulness of each other.

And already this sense had begun to fade …