A few weeks ago, I posted on LinkedIn that my current role is coming to an end and that I’m exploring what’s next. The response was generous. Messages. Comments. Encouragement. The kind of digital warmth that makes you believe platforms can still be relational spaces. And then, as always, the curve flattened. Which is normal. Attention spikes and fades. That’s how feeds work.
In three weeks, Germany will vote. When I decide where to place my vote, one thing matters most: Which party represents a vision of society that acknowledges a fundamental truth—who we become is largely shaped by circumstances beyond our control. Our intelligence, resilience, and talents may feel personal, but they are, to a significant extent, the result of factors we never chose: our genetics, the quality of our education, the financial security of our parents, the country we were born in. Even our ability to work hard and persevere is shaped by early childhood experiences and social conditioning.
In a 2015 survey, 72 percent of employees ranked «respectful treatment of all employees at all levels» as the top factor in job satisfaction. That’s no big surprise, but what exactly does it mean for organizations and managers? One simple answer could be: hire more employees with a high Emotional Intelligence Quotient (EQ), enabling them to understand and manage their own and others’ emotions. However, measuring EQ is not as straightforward as it may seem, and the concept of Emotional Intelligence itself has been subject to scientific scrutiny and criticism.
Once upon a time in the enchanting land of Statistica, there were two groups of animals: the Crows and the Foxes. The animals in this land were known for their exceptional skills in playing two very popular games: Featherball and Furball. The Crows and Foxes loved to compete against each other, and every year, they would gather to participate in the Grand Statistica Tournament.
Have you ever stopped to wonder just how many identities you’ve embraced throughout your life? Yesterday I found myself wandering through the aisles of my university’s library, a place I hadn’t visited in 17 years since the end of my first degree. As I strolled past the rows of books, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my past selves: the eager student, the bicycle courier, the budding journalist. Throughout my life, I have effortlessly shed and adopted new identities like a chameleon changing its colors. Sometimes without noticing, often without thinking about it. And at times, I may have left behind some identities too hastily, without fully appreciating the lessons and experiences they offered.