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Over the past few weeks, something has shifted. On 25 May, BOLDER will be officially launched at the Presidential Palace in Dili, hosted by His Excellency José Ramos-Horta. Even writing that still makes me pause. Because this wasn’t part of some grand master plan. It’s been one step, one conversation, one door opening after the other. And if I’m honest, this step feels like a new edge again: a bigger room, a different level of visibility, and that familiar question in the background: Are you ready for this?  Stepping into a new kind of room. What has become very clear to me over the past few weeks is this: None of this would be happening if I had kept things to myself. Momentum doesn’t build in isolation For a long time, I believed grit was enough: put your head down, do the work, deliver, keep going. And yes, that matters. But at some point, it stops being sufficient. Because momentum doesn’t build in isolation, it builds in connection. I learnt this in a very real way when I first considered doing the Marathon des Sables, the 250km self-sufficient ultramarathon across the Sahara. At the time, I had no plan, no experience running such distances over several days, and no real idea how to even begin getting used to carrying a heavy backpack while running. But I shared my commitment to give it a try anyway. Not fully thought through yet, just shared. That one act changed everything: a friend connected me to a coach. Training became real. A short video reached the Timorese military. A sponsor stepped in. None of that would have happened if I had kept the idea to myself.  This started with one shared idea. Visibility is not self-promotion — it’s leadership We often wait until things are “ready” before we speak about them, thinking that clarity must come first. But in reality, that delay is exactly what slows everything down. Support tends to show up after you share, not before. This is something I speak about in Shift L of the B.O.L.D.E.R.™ framework — Leverage Collective Power. It’s the shift from doing it alone to intentionally building the ecosystem around your vision. And a big part of that is choosing not to be the world’s best-kept secret. Building the room I’m seeing this play out again right now. As I prepare for the launch at the Presidential Palace, I’m not just organising an event; I’m building the room. Reaching out to people I respect, putting leaders, partners, thinkers, challengers, and connectors across sectors on the guest list I will provide to the presidential office. And yes, there are moments of hesitation. Moments where I wonder if I’m aiming too high, or stepping too far. But more often than not, those are exactly the moments that matter. Because this is the work: stepping forward before everything feels fully certain, and trusting that the right people will meet you there. Your leadership is an ecosystem  This is where most of it actually happens. The bigger the vision, the more intentional your support system needs to be. Strong ecosystems don’t happen by accident; they are built through small, deliberate actions over time. Sharing an idea early, making an introduction, reaching out without a clear outcome, or simply acknowledging someone’s contribution: these are the moves that quietly build momentum. It’s less like a corporate ladder and more like a coral reef. Everything is connected. Everything supports everything else. And over time, that’s what creates resilience, adaptability, and real impact. A simple check for you Take five minutes and map your ecosystem. Not perfectly, just honestly.
One more thing Over the past weeks, I’ve started bringing BOLDER into rooms through keynote conversations and leadership sessions. And what I’m noticing is this: Many leaders are doing powerful, meaningful work… but quietly. Holding back just enough that the idea never fully lands. If there’s one shift that keeps coming up again and again, it’s this one. Not doing more. But being seen more clearly. Keep the conversation going If this resonates, I’d love to hear your reflections. And if you’d like more insights like this, you can join BOLDER Reflections here: Or explore the B.O.L.D.E.R.™ Edge Lever, a short tool designed to help you identify which shift will have the biggest impact on your leadership right now: [link]
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I Barely Slept… And It Worked The first weeks after launching BOLDER felt like stepping into a current that was moving faster than I could think. I barely slept. Most days started at 5am, posting across time zones, replying to messages, asking for book reviews (something I hadn’t fully appreciated until I was in it), resharing content, figuring out logistics, and working out how to get paperback copies to Timor-Leste. It was messy. A bit intense. Running on adrenaline. And somehow… it worked. I came out of those first days with a big smile, and a sense that something had started to move. Then the first batch of paperback books arrived in Dili, and it was gone faster than I could have imagined. I’m still wrapping my head around that one. At the same time, I found myself in conversations with the Presidential Office about hosting an in-person launch here in Dili: again, completely new territory, and not something I had planned for. And then things kept unfolding.
Somewhere along the way, I also became a slightly unconventional mobile bookshop. I now carry copies of BOLDER in my bag wherever I go.  Carrying it with me. Literally. Books have been sold in cafés, in spontaneous conversations across town… signed over coffee… and yes, even in a nightclub.  Signed over coffee.  This is what matters. Turns out bold leadership conversations can start in the most unexpected places.
What has meant the most, though, is seeing so many Timorese women pick up the book and start engaging with it. That, more than anything, tells me this work is landing where it matters. Alongside all of this, I’ve had the chance to speak on podcasts, including the Tough Girl Podcast and 68 Cups of Blueberry Tea, sharing more about the endurance experiences, the ocean, and the leadership lessons that shaped the BOLDER framework. In its first days, BOLDER quietly climbed into the Top 5 on Amazon Australia in Motivational Business Management, and into the Top 50 across leadership categories in the US and the Netherlands. And still… part of me is catching up with all of this. Because alongside the momentum, something else showed up too. That quiet voice: Are you really up for this? I’ve started to see it differently. Not as something to get rid of, but as a signal. A signal that I’ve stepped into something that matters and that I’m at my edge… not behind it. It’s something I see again and again in my work with leaders. The moment they step into something bigger, more visible, more meaningful, that voice shows up. And instead of taking it as a reason to step back, what if we took it as a reason to lean in? In the B.O.L.D.E.R.™ framework, this sits in Shift O of owning your identity: learning to lead before you feel fully ready. A simple check for you:
If you’re curious to go deeper into this, I spoke about imposter syndrome as a growth signal in a recent podcast conversation on the Modern Humanitarian and Development Leader Podcast. If this resonates, take a moment with that question. Or pass it on to someone who’s currently stretching into something bigger. Birgit P.S. If you’ve read BOLDER and it stayed with you, a short review on Amazon goes a long way. It helps the book find the people it’s meant for. 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗱, 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘀. Three years after stepping down as Country Director, I found myself back in the room. This time on the other side of the stage, celebrating ten years of Blue Ventures Timor-Leste. I attended as a guest (as I should). But if I’m honest? It’s hard not to feel something when you once helped build the foundations.  When I stepped into the role in 2018, the organisation was just 2.5 years old — still shaping systems, still testing whether community-led marine conservation could truly take root. Four and a half years later, we had moved from set-up to structure. From proactive to strategic. We documented facilitation processes so they could be replicated. We strengthened partnerships with government and coastal leaders. We embedded coaching and local leadership into the culture. And as I handed over to a Timorese successor, we had secured three multi-year grants, creating stability for delivery instead of survival. That mattered to me. Foundations matter. Driving along the coast now, I see beaches dotted with Blue Ventures explanation boards — locally managed marine areas shaped and stewarded by communities over the past years. Quiet evidence that real impact is built collectively, through trust, partnership, and long-term commitment, not individual heroics. The event blended policy dialogue, community voices, traditional dance, and a powerful photo exhibition — a reminder that conservation here is as much about culture as it is about coastlines. What stayed with me most was the quiet authority of the team. Many are still there. Watching them host donors and lead conversations with calm confidence didn’t spark nostalgia, it sparked respect. For the strength of the foundations. For the leadership that has carried it forward and elevated it further. That’s what good succession looks like. To my former colleagues in Timor-Leste and around the globe — you know who you are — thank you. For the late nights. The cancelled boats. The floods through our doors. The Covid pivots. The moments of sheer hysteria. And the stubborn belief that community-led conservation in Timor-Leste was worth fighting for.
It was. Sustainable impact doesn’t come from charisma. It comes from systems, trust, and investing in people long before results are visible. It’s the leadership philosophy behind my book BOLDER, launching next week — inspiring change, shifting culture, and building lasting impact without burnout. Bold leadership isn’t about holding on. It’s about building something strong enough to thrive long after you’ve stepped aside. Parabéns ekipa BV! Parabéns komunidade-sira! And to Bernardete Fonseca, Courtney Cox, Ebrima Saidy— thank you for stewarding this next chapter with strength and integrity. 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗗𝗶𝗹𝗶… No punchline. Just a very good evening. Last Friday, the German-speaking crowd in Timor-Leste gathered to welcome the new German Ambassador Ralf Beste (Jakarta-based), say goodbye to the Austrian Ambassador Thomas Loidl, and catch up with the EU Ambassador Thorsten Bargfrede (who also happens to be German). Total headcount: 25 people. In a country of 1.3 million. Living proof that the world is both big and oddly intimate. Diplomats. Development folks. Entrepreneurs. Volunteers. Long-term expats. Different roles. Different paths. 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲 — 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆. I don’t speak much German anymore. Life mostly happens in English, Tetun, Bahasa; context-switching on repeat. But every now and then, wine in hand, slipping back into my mother tongue feels different. Familiar. Grounding. A soft landing.
After 25 years abroad, I don’t confuse home with geography. Home is something else. It's portable. It's language. Laughter. Shared context...And the ability to feel connected anywhere on the planet. In a fractured world, these small, human moments of connection matter more than we think. 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗹𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗜’𝗺 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 — 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿. And a big shoutout to Lena Lenzen, our Honorary Consul for Germany for organising the gathering.  I read today that we need more optimistic leadership. Absolutely! I couldn’t agree more. So hold tight for some of that optimistic leadership in practice. Today, we celebrate three years of Underwater Cinema: a Timorese-led, volunteer youth movement born from love for the ocean and a deep desire to protect it. What began as a small group of passionate volunteers has grown into a community that inspires, educates, and takes action for our seas. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing this journey up close and of continuing to support it as a mentor, guide, and freediving instructor.  Over these three years, Underwater Cinema has: • brought thousands of people closer to the ocean through snorkeling experiences, exhibitions, film, and creative advocacy • connected communities in Atauro and Ilimano more deeply to the sea • supported young Timorese freedivers from non-divers to advanced levels • and marked historic moments — including when one member became the first Timorese woman to freedive to 25 metres Last year alone, more than 10,000 people visited their multimedia exhibition (a format that was a first for Timor) celebrating the movement’s second anniversary — a powerful reminder of how far youth-led, community-rooted action can reach. If you’re looking for hope, don’t look to headlines. Look to communities like this, quietly doing the work, dive by dive, breath by breath. That’s where the future is being shaped. 🌊💙   Find out more about their work by following them on social media:
@underwater_cinema  In a moment when headlines are dominated by international laws being ignored, multilateralism questioned, and global cooperation under strain, this feels worth pausing for:
Since Saturday, the 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗦𝗲𝗮𝘀 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘆 is officially in force. After more than 𝟮𝟬 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗻𝗲𝗴𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, the open ocean — nearly two thirds of the ocean — finally has a legal framework for protection. This news landed for me at a surprisingly personal moment: Over the weekend, I also became — for the first time — a motorised boat owner. A humble dinghy with a 2-stroke engine, shared with a few fellow ocean lovers. The freediving opportunities are now endless. Captain Birgit released into the high seas, so to speak 😉 Being on the water is a privilege — and 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆. I live and work in a bubble of ocean people. For us, this treaty feels obvious. Necessary. Long overdue. But outside that bubble, the significance of the High Seas Treaty (BBNJ) is still barely known. Let me try to explain. For decades, the high seas were a legal grey zone: biologically rich, politically neglected. This treaty finally creates the conditions to:
But let’s be clear. A treaty entering into force is not the finish line. 𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁. Its real impact depends on what happens next:
That remains to be seen. Which is why Timor-Leste’s ratification genuinely matters. For a young island nation with deep cultural, economic, and spiritual ties to the ocean, this isn’t abstract diplomacy. It’s a signal of intent: to help shape how the global commons are governed, not just live with the consequences. Healthy high seas underpin migratory fish stocks, food security, and coastal livelihoods. What happens beyond national borders shows up very close to home. So yes — this moment deserves celebration. But not a victory lap. This is a 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽. The real work now is turning global promises into local reality, from policy to practice. One treaty. One boat. One choice at a time. A snapshot of my first decade in Timor-LesteTen years ago today, I stepped off a tiny plane onto a stretch of tarmac in Timor-Leste, unaware that this country — and one remote island in particular — would fundamentally reshape both my life and my leadership. I came to contribute. I came to serve. I didn’t expect to be rebuilt.  The Year That Tested Every Assumption I Had My first posting took me to Atauro Island, a remote, mountainous dot in the ocean surrounded by world-class coral reefs and some of the warmest communities I’ve ever met. From the outside, it could have passed as a travel-magazine paradise. From the inside, it demanded everything of me.
I arrived during the hunger season — when the ocean is too rough to fish and the soil yields very little. At the weekly market, I remember vegetables so wilted no Western supermarket would ever stock them. When they didn’t sell, women carried them back to their villages on foot, returning the following week with the rotten ends cut off. Isolation hits differently when you know every conversation can travel through a 1,000-person village by sunset. When tensions rose within the organisation I was supporting, there was no anonymity. No off-switch. No escape. I didn’t know it then, but this was the beginning of my real education in regeneration.  Movement Became My Medicine Every day, I ran. I swam. I snorkelled the reef. I cycled the hills until my legs burned. These weren’t hobbies. They were lifelines — the only thing keeping my mind from spiraling. It was also that first year that my freediving journey began. I heard a small school had opened in Dili and thought it might be a natural extension of my snorkelling. I had no idea then how deeply learning to slow down, trust my body, and stay calm under pressure would later mirror my leadership path. Then dengue hit. Hard. Suddenly, all my usual coping strategies were gone. Running was impossible. Snorkelling was out of the question. Even sitting upright was an effort. So I turned inward toward breath, stillness, and yoga. What started as survival became a doorway into presence, reflection, and leadership from a grounded place. A few months later, I travelled to India to study with teachers whose traditions stretch far beyond anything in the West. That training became a foundational layer of how I lead today. Life at the Coast Changed My Trajectory Living on Atauro, working with coastal communities and observing the opening of the first locally managed marine area, didn’t just shape my days; it shaped my direction. I saw firsthand how climate change shows up early and unevenly: in food security, in shifting fish stocks, in communities forced to adapt long before global policy catches up. That proximity to the ocean, to livelihoods, to fragility and resilience is what turned my work toward climate, marine conservation, and the blue economy. Not as abstract ideas, but as lived realities.  Dili, Containers, and the Things You Learn to Live Without My early days in Dili had their own rhythm. The expat Facebook group wasn’t debating geopolitics, it was tracking a tonic-water shortage. Butter arrivals sparked supermarket sprints. Yoghurt was so rare I started making my own. Ten years later, I still make my own yoghurt — now less from necessity and more from a desire to reduce plastic. Supermarkets are better stocked. Life is easier. We still don’t have a functional postal system but we do have road names, office addresses, and everyone knows how to drop a Google Pin. Progress isn’t linear. But it’s real. Reverse Culture Shock and the Flamingo After that intense first year, I flew to Auckland (New Zealand) and went straight to a beach music festival. Culture shock doesn’t even begin to describe it: people dancing in swimwear, while I felt overdressed in the shortest Atauro dress I had dared wear once. Then I saw them: massive blow-up flamingos floating in the water. Pink plastic symbols of excess. They felt worlds away from Atauro — from families carrying unsold vegetables home, from communities navigating scarcity with dignity. Fast forward to today, and Timor-Leste looks different:
And the flamingo? It no longer stands out.  Crisis, Leadership, and Learning Under Pressure Over the past decade, I’ve also navigated:
 Visibility, Leadership, and the Flamingo Revisited In these ten years, I grew too. I moved from supporting a grassroots NGO to becoming Country Director of an international one. I braved the unknown and launched my own business. For a long time, my work focused on empowering local leaders, which often meant stepping into the background. That still matters deeply. But this morning, as I played with bold yellow-and-pink designs for my new business cards, something clicked: Being visible and empowering others go hand in hand. When the world shifts, the way you stand in it has to shift too. And when a pink flamingo no longer stands out, sometimes the answer isn’t to shrink ; it’s to be even bolder — not for ego, but so the work, the mission, and the voices you stand beside are impossible to ignore.  Full Circle — And What I Now Teach Others When I arrived, Timor-Leste was thirteen years into its independence — a teenager finding its voice. Today, it stands taller. More confident. Newly ascended to ASEAN. Clearer in its place in the region. I’ve grown alongside it. And the core lesson from Atauro still anchors me: Regeneration is not a nice-to-have. It is a leadership responsibility. You can’t lead boldly if you’re permanently depleted. You can’t hold others through uncertainty if you’ve lost access to yourself. That insight now sits at the heart of my upcoming book, BOLDER: A Leadership Mindset and Framework Forged at the Edge — built around six leadership shifts, including braving the unknown and regenerating for sustained impact. A full-circle moment: the foreword is written by Timor-Leste’s President, José Ramos-Horta, someone I met in my very first week in the country, long before I understood how deeply this place would shape me.  If You’re Building or Funding Work That Truly Matters
If you’re building or funding work that truly matters — in climate, oceans, community resilience, or systems change — and you’re looking for experienced support that understands both the human edge and the operational reality, let’s talk. I work with organisations and leaders at the frontline through advisory partnerships, interim leadership roles, and executive coaching — supporting moments of growth, transition, and pressure where leadership capacity makes or breaks impact. This is especially relevant when the stakes are high: during scale-up, crisis, restructuring, or when complexity outpaces old leadership models. If partnership, trust, and long-term impact matter to you, I’d welcome a conversation about how we could work together. |
AuthorBirgit Hermann is a global coach, speaker, executive leader, ocean advocate, and extreme endurance athlete. For 20+ years she has guided leaders and teams in over 20 countries through transformation, crisis and culture change. 
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