When I crossed the Severn Bridge into Wales, my shoulders dropped.
The landscape really does that to you.
Miles upon miles of greens upon greens.
Moss thick and bright on grey stone.
Waterfalls tumbling into hidden lagoons straight out of a Tolkien novel.
Jagged slate cliffs cut into diagonal lines by millions of years of Atlantic waves.
Something that stayed with me even after I’d returned: It was all so textured.
The rough rock against the soft moss. The icy slap of cold water as I leapt from a rock into the lagoon. Honest rough and jaggedy coastlines refusing to be tamed.
And it struck me: leadership is textured too.
We’re taught to smooth things out and to polish our communication. We are told to iron out the creases, and present the most flawless version of ourselves to lead from the front.
But smooth leadership isn’t memorable. It isn’t trustworthy and it isn’t human.
Textured leadership looks like this:
- Rough edges: saying the thing that needs to be said, even if it’s uncomfortable.
- Soft moss: balancing firmness with empathy, knowing when to offer support.
- Jagged cliffs: owning your imperfections instead of hiding them.
- Shocks of cold water: being willing to disrupt, to refresh, to challenge others.
- Patchwork fields: bringing together different perspectives, strengths and voices into something stronger than a single crop.
The coastline doesn’t apologise for its scars or try to be smooth. It stands as it is, and that’s why it takes your breath away.
The same is true of leaders.
The best leaders I’ve worked with don’t pretend to be perfect. They’re clear, honest, and present. They let people see their edges, and in doing so, they create trust.
Being so immersed in nature’s textures reminded me that smoothness isn’t always best. Texture is what makes a place unforgettable. And it’s what makes a leader worth following.
Where are you sanding yourself down? And what would happen if you showed the honest coastline instead?
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