Imagine being twenty-four.

You are working hard, doing what is expected of you and trying to find your place in the world. But when you look ahead, you see no clear pathway and little evidence that anyone is thinking about who you could become.

Leaving may not feel like disloyalty, and it may feel like the only available way for you to keep moving.

A recent survey found that 70% of younger healthcare workers in the United States expect to explore another job within the next year. Yet 65% said they would prefer to remain with one employer for at least five years.

At first, those figures appear contradictory. But perhaps younger people are not rejecting loyalty. Maybe they are searching for somewhere they can still imagine themselves growing.

People are often accused of lacking loyalty when what they actually lack is a believable future.

This is not only true for younger workers. All of us need to believe there is still something ahead of us. Something to learn. Something to contribute. Someone we are still becoming.

Leaders often talk about the future as though it will begin when the strategy is finished. But people are already imagining their futures, and deciding whether to stay, withdraw, learn or begin again somewhere else.

The question is not whether people are adapting; it is whether they are adapting with us.

Perhaps one of the most important questions a leader can ask is:

Can you still see a future for yourself here?

Then listen, not to defend the organisation or offer an immediate solution, but to become curious about what the other person can see and what has disappeared from view.

We cannot promise people certainty.

But we can create places where they are seen, where trust can grow and where new possibilities can be imagined together.

Sometimes people do not need us to predict the future.

They simply need to know we are willing to imagine it with them.

Accountability born of affection is far stronger than accountability born of obligation. It’s almost impossible to build lasting culture change in a community where people don’t care for one another. Coaching cultures thrive because they transform responsibility from instruction into ownership.

I often explain it like this.

Imagine you tell Simon, “Go and get some milk from the shop down the street.” He goes, finds no milk, and comes back. Task complete.

Now imagine instead you ask, “Could someone get us some milk?” Simon volunteers. He checks the first shop. There’s no milk. So he tries another and brings it back.

The difference?

In the first story, Simon completed a task.

In the second, Simon owned the outcome.

That’s what coaching does. It doesn’t simply give people responsibility; it invites them into ownership. And when people own something together, accountability becomes something they want to live out rather than something imposed upon them.

I’ve been reflecting on why we avoid the cocoon.

We claim to want change, growth, and transformation. But when life invites us to slow down, to stop striving, and to face what is really going on inside us, many of us resist.

I think I know why.

The cocoon feels uncomfortable because it asks something profound of us.

It asks us to let go. For the caterpillar, the cocoon is not a minor adjustment.

It is surrender. Something old has to dissolve before something new can emerge.

In The Imaginal Coach, I write about this process because I see it in leaders all the time. So many of us remain in caterpillar mode because, if we are honest, the world rewards it.

Keep moving. Keep producing. Keep achieving. The message is relentless: You are not enough, you do not have enough, you are not doing enough.
Keep producing.
Keep achieving.

The message is relentless.

You are not enough.
You do not have enough.
You are not doing enough.

And if we believe that story, we spend our lives chasing the next thing, hoping it will finally satisfy the deeper ache within.

But what if the world has it backwards?

What if freedom begins the moment we realize we have enough, we are enough, and we are doing enough for this season?

By ‘enough,’ I mean a sense of sufficiency that comes from self-acceptance, from knowing that our worth does not depend on constant achievement or comparison to others.

In leadership, this can look like giving ourselves permission to pause and recognizing that who we are and what we offer right now already matter. That changes everything. When we stop trying to prove our worth, something begins to shift inside us.

We breathe differently.

We hold life differently.

We lead differently.

And perhaps that is where transformation really begins: when we embrace the discomfort of the cocoon, let go of old stories, and recognize we are already enough.

Not by adding more. But by letting go of what was never ours to carry.

This week, sit with this question:

What am I chasing that I secretly hope will make me feel enough?

Then ask yourself:

What might become possible if I truly believed I already am enough?

Many of us still approach growth as if there’s one correct path—one calling, one destiny, one right next step.

You may have noticed how previous generations often stayed in the same job for most of their lives. Those patterns are becoming rare.

We’re now living in a period of continual change, where it’s hard to be certain what work we might be doing even a few years from now.

This reality is raising more questions than it is answering. It’s also why coaching is becoming less of a luxury and more of a companion on a career path that is no longer straightforward.

Identity rarely unfolds neatly. It’s shaped by relationships, context, meaning, imagination, and lived experience.

Care shifts with seasons.
It deepens through relationships.
It grows as we grow.

So instead of asking, “What is my one true calling?”
Try asking, “What do I care about enough to keep showing up for?”

Let that care guide your everyday choices—quietly stitching together purpose and action.

You might ask yourself: where is my care pulling me right now?

There are two kinds of power shaping the world right now, and as leaders, you are uniquely positioned to navigate between them with awareness and intention.

Old power is what many of us were shaped by. It sits securely in hierarchy, is concentrated among a few, and moves through defined lines of authority where decisions originate at the top and trickle down, bringing order and clarity but often at the expense of genuine ownership, causing people to comply outwardly without fully engaging their strengths.

New power feels distinct. It doesn’t rest, but flows quietly at first, influenced by many, open, relational, and more like a current you learn to recognize and cooperate with than something to possess or control. Like water or electricity, it is most forceful when it flows.

I increasingly observe this shift among the leaders I work with. Those who navigate change well are not simply improving at decision-making or tightening structures, but are more attentive to how people engage, making space for contributions, allowing ideas to develop rather than enforcing them, and gradually loosening their hold on responsibilities they once carried alone.

This is where coaching cultures have real influence. Structure and clarity remain important, but alone rarely enable meaningful change; the difference comes when people believe they have a genuine role, when their voices matter, and when leadership becomes shared and enacted together, rather than performed or managed remotely.

With new power, you don’t control it; you learn to work with it.

So the question I encourage you to sit with this week is this: 

Where are you holding things too tightly when you need courage to open your hand and let others step in?