Beyond Resilience: Adaptive Thinking for an Age of Uncertainty

How a Near-Death Experience in Iceland Led to the Birth of Agilism

SNOWSTORM

I'll never forget the crunching sound of the Land Cruiser as it ground to a halt in deep snow. We were stranded—miles away from anywhere—in the depths of the Icelandic winter.

Within minutes, Martin and I were freezing from the inside out, frantically shoveling the snow from underneath the wheels. We dug and rested in cycles, but the snow mocked our efforts. Our shirts soon became soaked with sweat, quickly becoming ice in the biting cold. Every time we pressed the accelerator to drive out of the snow, the deeper the Land Cruiser sank.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, a blizzard set in without warning. In an instant, the sky and ground fused into a disorientating sea of blinding whiteness. That's when things started to get scary. 

We could see the snow starting to settle quickly. We started digging faster. Exhaustion from the relentless shoveling overtook us, and panic began to creep in, threatening to overwhelm our fragile sense of control. 

Climbing back into the Land Cruiser, shivering, the short conversation with belied the gravity of the situation. We could feel the vehicle rocking in the howling wind, but we knew we couldn't afford to give into despair.

Me: We shouldn't have ignored that road closed sign.

Martin: Yeah.

Me: Do you have a signal?

Martin: No.

Me: Me neither. So what now?

Martin: Not sure. But we can't stay here. I just have my winter jacket and overtrousers. That's it. There's no telling how much snow could fall.

Me: What if we retrace the path the jeep made?

Martin: It's probably our best option, but we'll need to move quickly before the tracks are completely covered.

Me: OK, let's go. Let's just stay close and keep our eyes on the tracks.

We stepped out of the Land Cruiser into the howling blizzard, the cold biting into our skin like a thousand needles. Into the whiteness we went…

THE WINDOW

Three days later, as the plane ascended from Keflavik airport, I gazed silently through the window. The vast, icy wilderness below cast a spell over my thoughts, like staring into the jaws of some beast whose clutch I had just escaped. The warmth and safety of the cabin felt surreal after the bitter cold and ordeal we had just faced.

Martin and I hardly exchanged words on that three-hour flight back to Heathrow. We stared at each other's frostbitten faces and then down at our fingers. Thankfully, we hadn't lost any appendages, but the words bellowed by the truck driver who had miraculously rescued us echoed in my mind: 

"Guys, this time, you got lucky!"

Those words echoed silently through the cabin as the plane pierced the night sky, leaving the icy landscape below behind. My mind swirled with the gravity of what had just happened, realizing how close we had both come to losing it all.

Why did we ignore that road closed sign? How could we have been so reckless? As a seasoned mountaineer, I knew the fickleness of the weather and the unforgiving nature of the wintry landscape. Yet, why had we allowed the deceptive comfort of the Land Cruiser to lure us into a false sense of complacency?

As the icy landscape slid beneath us, the thrill of survival slowly ebbed away, leaving room for a creeping realization of our folly. This shift from the raw immediacy of battling the elements to contemplating our decisions made me ponder deeply our disregard for the road closed sign.

Turning to Martin for any inkling of an answer, I found him withdrawn, eyes shut, his face a mask of deceptive calm. As a close friend, I knew him well. Beneath that calm exterior, I sensed his turmoil. I closed my eyes, the haunting memory of our snowy trek replaying in my mind.

Each step through the knee-deep snow had been a battle against the howling wind. The overwhelming whiteness threatened to wipe out our very existence, swallowing the Land Cruiser's tracks under a cloak of snow. We trudged, slipped, fell, and got up over and over. I felt the winter mocking us as every part of my body became numb with the icy cold, our breath coming out in pained, ragged gasps. We knew time was running out.

Just then, the 'fasten seat belts' ping sign snapped me out of my reverie. The aircraft shuddered momentarily. I glanced at Martin, who hadn't moved since I last looked at him. Scanning the sea of heads in the cabin, I wondered what stories other passengers had to tell of their last three days. 

As I gazed through the window into the tranquil night sky, I contemplated the calm after the storm. My stare settled on two closely aligned stars shimmering with intensity. Suddenly, they morphed into the headlights of the passing truck that had miraculously saved us—an image that remains etched in my mind to the present day. 

We were fortunate to be alive.

THE INTERLUDE

The calmness of the cabin that enveloped Martin and me on the flight back home stretched into the following weeks and months. This calm after the storm allowed a torrent of silent emotions and reflections to bubble up to the surface, weaving themselves into everyday life. The stark reality of my near-death experience had shaken me to the core, leaving me blindsided and vulnerable. While we often hear the stories of life-altering moments from people around us, they always seem distant—until we're confronted with our own.

My mind kept replaying every decision Martin and I had made that day. Quietly, I went about my life, holding the memories close, shielding them even from my family. I could not bring myself to admit the full extent of our recklessness that day. It seemed too heavy a burden to share with anybody that we had flirted with oblivion. How would I ever regain the trust of family and friends?

As I reflected on my life and career, the Icelandic ordeal jolted me into a state of deep reflection. I pondered the different paths my life might have taken had I made alternative choices at key moments. I thought about my teenage boys and wondered how differently things might have unfolded had I not met their mother at a dance in North Carolina all those years ago. This led me to become more present and attentive in my relationships, appreciating the fragility of life and the importance of making thoughtful life decisions.

The lessons learned in the harsh embrace of Iceland's wilderness began to echo in every aspect of my professional life. As I contemplated how swiftly an unforeseen event had descended upon Martin and me in the snow, I began to notice parallels everywhere in my work. These parallels compelled me to carefully observe the business decisions I and others were making. I realized that the forces of unpredictability were far greater than I had imagined.

Reflecting on my own career, I started to recognize a shift in my own thinking—from the pursuit of "achievement" in the traditional sense to the pursuit of deeper, more meaningful experiences in life.

Initially, I viewed this shift towards seeking more meaningful experiences as a typical consequence of aging—a natural evolution where one feels compelled to 'give back' to society. However, I soon recognized that such a view was too simplistic and restrictive. Personalities and motivations are fluid, not fixed, and it's natural for us to seek new aspirations at any stage of life. Challenging the conventional notion of a linear life path—where significant experiences are presumed to follow professional success—I embraced the freedom to pursue whatever I desired at any moment, rejecting the outdated script that confines our choices.

This reflection led me to ponder the randomness and unpredictability inherent in our lives. Yet, the irony wasn't lost on me: my career had begun in the field of strategic planning, in the search for certainty. However, it was the random and unpredictable events that had truly shaped me in my life.

As I explored this theme further, I reflected on my role as a technology executive living and working across 40 countries. If my Icelandic ordeal had taught me that life thrives on uncertainty and unpredictability, the ambiguity and unpredictability of the international arena seemed even more pronounced.

I started spending more time with my family, consciously setting aside my work to spend more time with my boys. I became more aware of my own mortality and prioritized experiences that fostered deeper connections with loved ones.

By this time, I was the CEO of a venture consulting practice, fully immersed in an international setting I had always cherished. I was working with some of the finest brains around the world, delivering innovative products and services to the airport industry—in technology, hospitality, security, and retail—and helping them secure millions of dollars in funding to scale their ventures.

I had also become friends with numerous startup CEOs worldwide, whose stories deepened my understanding of the inherent nature of unpredictability and randomness in the startup world. These insights led me to contemplate further whether any lessons learned in this volatile international environment could be applied to my personal life.

Being at the heart of the venture consulting industry, I had a unique vantage point to observe the full spectrum of business outcomes—from startups that had transformed into spectacular successes to those that had succumbed to failure. 

Each story offered invaluable lessons, prompting me to keep a journal to sift through the myriad of challenges and complexities and see if any recurring patterns emerged that could offer invaluable life lessons.

Driven by these leaders' tales of resilience, some common themes emerged: the importance of pivoting, adaptability, rapid experimentation, how people cope with failure and success, uncertainty, decision-making, and preparedness.

I began to apply the lessons learned from my Icelandic ordeal to our business strategies, advocating for more stress testing, contingency planning, less focus on business plans, more focus on rapid experimentation and prototyping, taking more small bets, and spending more time on probabilistic outcomes to gain real-time feedback.

For instance, instead of relying solely on detailed long-term business plans, we shifted towards developing multiple prototypes and testing them in small, controlled markets. This approach minimized risk and provided valuable insights that guided more informed decision-making. 

Additionally, I promoted the idea of developing portfolios of projects, encouraging entrepreneurs to diversify their efforts rather than relying on a single, risky venture. This strategy not only increased the likelihood of success but also built resilience within the teams.

We shifted away from writing long, detailed business plans to a "small bets" approach, advocating for more experimentation and rapid prototyping and paying more attention to probabilistic outcomes in an effort to gain real-time feedback and minimize risk. We reduced the emphasis on early-stage venture capital, as too much funding too early tended to make founders more complacent. Additionally, I promoted the idea of developing portfolios of projects, encouraging entrepreneurs to diversify their efforts rather than relying on a single risky venture, ensuring founders' odds of survival significantly.

This newfound perspective also influenced my decision to mentor startup professionals and take on more advisory roles with young startups, offering guidance and support in navigating their own unpredictable paths. I shared the importance of pivoting quickly when initial plans faltered and emphasized the value of learning from small-scale failures to achieve more significant successes. 

Little did I know that the world would undergo a seismic shift that would further test and solidify these ideas. This period of gathering insights and understanding would later explode into a more profound realization. 

Just as I was beginning to internalize these personal and professional lessons, the world was thrust into a crisis of unprecedented uncertainty. The onset of the COVID-19 pandemic served as a stark reminder that the unpredictabilities we face are not merely personal or isolated but are deeply interconnected globally.

THE SHIFT  

One morning, shortly after this realization, I was having breakfast with my boys, and our conversation naturally veered toward their careers and the uncertain future ahead. Both of them were just stepping into the professional world, a world far different from the one I had entered decades earlier.

As we talked, they shared their apprehensions and hopes about navigating their own nonlinear, multi-career life ahead of them that these days seems so much the norm rather than the exception.

As the morning sun cast its warm glow over the dining room table, it struck me how keenly they felt the pressures and possibilities of their generation. They discussed the challenges of remaining flexible, adaptable, resilient, and, most importantly, the need to maintain mental health.

It was during this heart-to-heart that they suggested I should try to distill everything I had learned into some simple guiding principles. "Dad, this is so important. You shouldn't underestimate how much this is really needed. This is not just about careers, but about life itself."

Inspired by their directness and insight, I realized this was a pivotal moment. It wasn't just about sharing my experiences but also offering tools and a mindset for an increasingly complex world. This was the moment when everything came together.

Energized by our discussion, I set out to articulate the principles of Agilism, aiming to create a framework that would not only support their generation but anyone facing the intricate dance of modern life. 

It has been quite a journey since my near-death experience in the icy grips of Iceland, which jolted me out of my complacency about life's unpredictability. This incident led to the journal entries about the randomness of life during my venture financing days in some far-off airport lounge while waiting for a delayed flight. In turn, this led to the realization during the pandemic that the predictable, linear three-stage life of education, career, and retirement is dead.

With each step, this gradual awakening prompted me to distill my scattered journal observations into rudimentary principles. What began as personal notes scribbled in the margins of work and life during countless airport delays slowly became a structured set of principles.

I shared these initial thoughts with friends and colleagues, seeking their insights to further refine and enhance the principles. Their feedback was crucial, helping to sharpen my ideas through several iterative rounds.

The encouragement I received was instrumental. It confirmed the relevance of these concepts, resonating deeply with others who were also navigating the complexities of modern life. Their own challenges and the shared need for a new approach to handling life's unpredictabilities spurred me on. With each iteration based on real-world feedback, the principles of Agilism began to take a more defined shape.

As these ideas matured, I was driven by the positive response to think more deeply and systematically about what I had learned. The concept of "Agilism" crystallized–a philosophy designed not just to cope with but to thrive in the fluidity and unpredictability of modern life.

This realization led me to commit fully to writing and speaking about Agilism, aiming to equip a broader audience with the tools necessary for adaptive living.

HOW AGILISM WILL BENEFIT YOU

I wrote the 21 principles of Agilism with my sons in mind, but you can embrace them at any age to dramatically transform both your personal and professional life, just as it has transformed mine.

It's a mindset anyone can adopt, regardless of age or profession. Whether you're a young professional just starting your career, a seasoned executive, a student, a retiree, an entrepreneur, or a CEO running a business, the principles of Agilism can help you thrive in an unpredictable world. 

The principles will help you see unpredictability as an opportunity for growth, allowing you to uncover possibilities that others will miss.

In my own journey, a heightened awareness of the principles has enabled me to seize opportunities that I would otherwise have missed. It has helped me navigate personal and professional setbacks with resilience and adaptability, proving that extraordinary outcomes are achievable with small, agile practices that can help transform your life.

If you're seeking to transform your approach to both personal and professional challenges, Agilism offers a different framework. By adopting these principles, you, too, can embrace the power of adaptability and open up a realm of possibilities for yourself.