Before I turned eight I spoke three languages fluently. Our family had moved from Stockholm to San Marino, California and I had just finished three months of learning English.

One day, I played at recess with a new friend and felt elated that I could speak the same language as her. Now we can finally speak English together here at school! I said. To which she chuckled and replied, Of course we can, what else would we be speaking?

This was the moment I realized she did not speak Swedish and Korean at home like I did.

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At home, our family was navigating life through three cultures – three value systems, three languages, three ways of seeing the world. By the time we had lived in California for about a year, we moved to New York for an extended period.

When I was in the fourth grade we lived in Queens. I was new to the school, which was a norm for me, and we took a practice standardized test. The teacher read a passage in English and we had to answer a set of multiple choice questions that would follow.

For some reason the teacher asked us to share our notes aloud. After most of the class had shared their notes, it was time for me to share mine. After I presented my notes, the teacher looked very surprised. Why did you choose to write those words?

The rest of the class had written a chronological set of sentences repeating as much of what they heard as they could. I had simply written down singular words that I thought were important, words that captured the essence of the story.

I chose these words because they would help me remember what happened.

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At home, I had become an expert at listening. Not the kind where you stay silent and take in every word. The kind where you ask questions to understand and allow your perspective to change when you receive what is being shared. The kind where you stay with a question, stay with a person, until you feel you understand the situation and the person differently.

My mother, a Korean artist from a big city, often felt misunderstood by my father, a Swedish computer engineer from the woods. And he often felt the same. One phrase I heard all the time from both of them was “… isn’t it obvious?”

Partly out of love for my parents and partly out of a need for peace, I learned what ‘obvious’ meant to each of them. And because I knew the three cultures so well, I could often translate ‘the obvious’ between them. This became my super power.

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As a young adult entering the professional world, this ability to listen, to understand, and to communicate that understanding effectively to those who felt differently proved to be highly useful. I was entrusted with confidential information when perhaps I wasn’t the most logical choice. I was invited into meetings where I ostensibly didn’t belong. But I helped to connect dots, relieve tensions, and drive progress on key areas of work. And I did so consistently.

In the beginning, applying this skill of understanding was an act of love. I loved my parents equally. I understood their differences and I respected them. Seeing them embrace each other after I helped resolve an issue filled me with joy and purpose.

As I grew older, I honed this skill in new contexts and I received similar rewards: I could connect dots at a pace that most couldn’t, and I experienced joy as others seemed relieved, excited and motivated by my contributions.

But because this way of listening was often silent work that I did behind the scenes, very few people understood my value. I was navigating a situation where I cared so deeply about those around me and understood the organizational challenges so well that I began to confuse the organization’s mission and the praise of my superiors with my own worth.

Over time, my unique gifts became something I used without discernment, employing them for the sake of others’ agendas, mistaking them as my own.

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This way of behaving in organizational life was something that felt ‘obvious’ to me: If I could be helpful, if I could make something better, why wouldn’t I?

Over time, as I took on more responsibility, these questions became truths that seemed equally ‘obvious’: They need me, only I can help, it is my responsibility…

The ‘obvious’ became my own blind spot and it took many years of behaving in this way, and being praised as a leader, for me to finally love myself enough to start questioning.

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Years ago I met with a burnout specialist. After what felt like an easeful yet extensive conversation about my life, she looked at me with surprise. It reminded me of the look my teacher had when I was in the fourth grade.

According to her assessment, I had a rare empathic ability. She said that in all her years of doing this work she had never met someone like me. Someone who can understand complexity, navigate subsequent choice points quickly and with the common good in mind – consistently suspending judgment and remaining open, even in the most difficult situations. She educated me on the different types of empathy and revealed that I broke the scales in all areas.

This, much like the realization that my classmate didn’t speak Korean and Swedish at home, became a significant a-ha moment in my life.

What if what I notice and how I respond is actually unique to me?

This moment started a journey of learning to love myself enough to question my values, my motivators and my behaviors. Daring to truly rediscover who I am and who I am becoming.

What once felt obvious – stepping into an urgent challenge and doing everything I can to fix it – became a point of curiosity: what if I slow down in this urgent moment and get clear on what the work is, whose work it is, and for what purpose? What if, in this moment, my work is simply to be still?

This series of questions and experiments over time fundamentally shifted my understanding of true leadership – sparking a rediscovery that has completely changed my life.

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Deepening attention is about questioning what seems obvious. Perhaps even questioning the idea that something can be obvious at all. This deeper inquiry starts from a place of love – not judgment or control. It’s saying ‘I love the thing I’m questioning enough to let go of what I think I know so that I might see more of its true essence.’

Deepening attention goes beyond questioning. It’s doing the work to understand, listening for what wants to emerge, and allowing it to move you – even when you don’t know the destination.

In the Adaptive Leadership™ Coaching Certification Course we will begin by questioning the obvious and practice deepening our attention. What is leadership really for? And why are we coaching those who lead?

The worst that can happen is that everything is exactly as we thought it would be. The best is that we discover new possibilities within and beyond ourselves, give rise to clear intention, and step into our shared call to lead.

Our next cohort runs from 30 January – 6 March 2025. Seats are limited.