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Not because people would be lazy. But because there’d be nothing to run from. Most of today’s speed isn’t driven by ambition. It’s driven by internal pressure: – proving – performing – not falling behind When mental wellbeing becomes the baseline, that mode simply stops activating. If it’s good where you are, you don’t need to escape elsewhere. Travel stops being avoidance and becomes curiosity. Work stops being pressure and becomes creation. Performance stops being the goal and turns into a side effect. ...

Somehow, everything connected. I walked into a disagreement with a friend. He brought up the “witch-hunting” parallel. I didn’t react immediately. I just said that, to me, it looked like a classic pattern of enemy-making: “I’ll protect you from the enemy” — only back then, with far more brutal tools. Same mechanism as today. We paused. A shared silence. Then he explained the logic behind his view. I listened. He had to rush, so we didn’t close it — I just said: we’ll come back to this. And that felt right. ...

It doesn’t happen overnight. It starts with small frictions. With thoughts that feel familiar: “Why am I tired when, on paper, everything is fine?” “Why is it hard to ask for help, even when there is someone to ask?” “When did work turn into survival?” “Why do I constantly feel like I have to prove myself?” These are not personal failures. They are collisions. A collision between an old system of functioning and the human nervous system. ...

Lately, I’ve realised something. I’m not waiting for people to “wake up.” I’m waiting for their normal self to finally have room to breathe. I don’t believe people are inherently lazy, broken, or uninterested. I think they’re overwhelmed. Pulled apart. Disconnected from themselves. And when someone is finally given a bit of space — not pressure, not motivation, not expectations — but presence… something very different happens. The human shows up. Not aggressive. Not defensive. But curious. Connected. Alive. ...

There’s a sentence that keeps coming back to me. “I’ll handle it on my own.” For a long time, I thought this was strength. Independence. Maturity. Lately, I see it more as a learned pattern. As if somewhere early on we absorbed the idea that asking for help is awkward, leaning on others is uncomfortable, and a “proper” adult doesn’t bother people with their needs. But there’s a quiet twist in this story. ...

Today I found myself wondering why driving can’t be an experience. Not racing. Not speeding. But presence. Why do we design roads as if humans were a flaw in the system? As if joy were dangerous. As if attention could only be maintained through restriction. And yet, when a person enters flow — even while driving — they don’t fall apart. They come together. They don’t become aggressive. They become present. ...

…it even irritates me sometimes. And I don’t think that’s a bad sign. Motivation often exists where something is missing: energy, meaning, safety, direction. It tries to push people forward in systems that quietly drain them. But when people are mentally well, when they feel safe, connected and valued, they don’t need to be constantly motivated. They move naturally. They create. They take responsibility. They contribute — not because they’re pushed, but because it feels aligned. ...

A pattern I’ve been noticing more and more clearly. There are situations that just work. A conversation. A shared doing. A small project. And when that happens, what stays with us isn’t what we did. It’s that suddenly, time disappeared. “Wait… is it already this late?” This doesn’t happen when everyone is trying very hard. It happens when no one needs to prove anything. That’s when roles soften. Status fades into the background. Sometimes even the way we address each other shifts — not by decision, not by gesture, but simply because we grow closer. ...

From the perspective of the old system, HGM is not a revolution. It’s a logical optimisation we simply haven’t dared to think through until now. For a long time, the underlying assumption has been roughly this: People perform best under pressure. Safety makes people complacent. Fear keeps the system moving. So we build control. We measure, monitor, reward, and punish. And we accept that “this is just how it works.” ...

For a long time, something didn’t make sense to me. We constantly hear about organisations that don’t treat their people well. No real involvement. No trust. No genuine human attention. And yet — they don’t collapse. That bothered me. Over time, the picture started to clear. These companies do function. But mostly in survival mode. They deliver. But they don’t unfold. They remain stable. But they’re not alive. The potential is there — it just never gets released. ...