Everything moves.
Moods Lift, Mountains Move.
Connected to wisdom, new possibilities emerge.
Every app promises frictionless experience. Every consultant promises painless change. Every framework guarantees smooth transformation.
They're all lying.
Not intentionally, maybe. But they're selling you something that doesn't exist. Because real growth—the kind that actually sticks—is uncomfortable by design.
I get why we want it. Friction feels like failure. Like something's broken that needs fixing. Like we're not smart enough to find the easier path.
So we design it out. Streamline the process. Remove the resistance. Make it smooth, simple, seamless.
And then we wonder why nothing really changes.
Here's what I've learned after two decades of watching teams transform (and fail to transform): friction isn't the enemy of progress. It's the engine.
Every meaningful change I've witnessed—in individuals, teams, and organisations—happened not despite discomfort, but because of it.
The friction forces you to be present. To pay attention. To make conscious choices instead of running on autopilot.
When things are too smooth, you can sleepwalk through the process. When there's resistance, you have to wake up.
This matters more now than ever. AI is brilliant at removing friction. It can automate decisions, optimise processes, and eliminate the messy human elements that slow things down.
But here's the paradox: the very friction that AI removes is often where the learning happens. Where the insight emerges. Where people develop the capacity to handle complexity instead of just avoiding it.
I've been working closely with AI for months now—in what I call "Chats with Chatty." It's an interesting partnership. AI can amplify my thinking, challenge my assumptions, help me see patterns I might miss.
But the real breakthroughs don't come from the smooth exchanges. They come from the moments when AI can't quite follow my logic, when I have to slow down and explain what I'm really thinking, when the friction between human insight and artificial intelligence creates something neither of us could have generated alone.
Most leadership teams spend enormous energy trying to eliminate friction from their organisations. Smoother communication. Clearer processes. Better alignment. Less conflict.
All reasonable goals. But they miss something crucial: the friction often contains the information you need most.
That difficult conversation everyone's been avoiding? It's probably pointing to the real issue.
That resistance to the new strategy? It might be revealing a blind spot you hadn't considered.
That tension between departments? It could be highlighting a fundamental misalignment that needs addressing.
When you smooth over these things too quickly, you lose the diagnostic value. You treat the symptoms instead of understanding the system.
This doesn't mean creating unnecessary drama or making things difficult for the sake of it. That's just chaos.
Productive friction is different. It's the resistance that emerges when you're pushing against real constraints, real assumptions, real patterns that need changing.
It's the discomfort of being honest about what's not working. The awkwardness of admitting you don't have all the answers. The tension of holding two competing priorities until a third option emerges.
How often do you avoid these conversations in your own leadership practice?
I know I used to. Early in my career at Westpac, I'd smooth over team tensions rather than explore what they were telling us. Felt easier in the moment. Cost us months of real progress.
Some of my best insights have come from working with teams that were initially resistant to my approach. They didn't want another consultant. They'd been through too many change programs. They were skeptical of anyone promising transformation.
That resistance was valuable information. It told me what hadn't worked before. It revealed their protective mechanisms. It showed me where the real wounds were.
Instead of trying to smooth it over, we leaned into it. We explored why they were skeptical. We examined their past experiences. We acknowledged the very real reasons to be cautious.
And that's where the breakthrough happened. Not despite their resistance, but because we took it seriously.
There's a concept I use with leaders: the growth edge. It's the place where comfort ends and development begins.
You can't find your growth edge by staying in familiar territory. You find it by moving toward what feels challenging, uncertain, a little bit scary.
That edge isn't comfortable. It's not supposed to be. Comfort is the enemy of growth.
But here's what I've noticed: when people learn to navigate friction skillfully, they become incredibly resilient. They stop avoiding difficult situations and start seeing them as opportunities.
They develop what I call "friction fitness"—the ability to lean into discomfort and find the insight hiding there.
As a leader, this changes how you approach pretty much everything.
Instead of trying to eliminate all conflict, you start paying attention to what the conflict is telling you.
Instead of smoothing over disagreements, you create space for productive tension.
Instead of making everything as easy as possible, you help people develop the capacity to handle complexity.
This isn't about being difficult or creating unnecessary hardship. It's about recognising that the path through problems is often through the problem itself, not around it.
Here's the paradox: when you stop trying to make everything frictionless, things actually become easier. Not because there's less resistance, but because you and your team get better at working with resistance.
You stop wasting energy trying to avoid the unavoidable. You start finding the insight that lives inside the friction.
Friction isn't a bug in the system. It's a feature.
Are you using it, or is it using you?