The habits that quietly determine how we show up when it matters most.The quality of our leadership isn't determined by how much we carry. It's determined by the capacity we build to carry it well. Ten years ago, I first thought about climbing Mt Kablaki, Timor-Leste's fourth-highest mountain. A few weekends ago, I finally did it.  Photo caption: The summit came the next day. The lesson began here. At the time, I thought I had come for the climb. I didn't yet realise the mountain had something else to teach me. My partner and I drove to the small village at the foot of the mountain the afternoon before our climb. We hadn't booked a guide or arranged accommodation. Instead, we simply asked around until someone pointed us towards a local guide, and then asked whether there was somewhere we could pitch our little orange tent for the night. What happened next was completely unexpected. We were invited to camp beside the Uma Lulik, the village's sacred traditional house. Beautifully crafted and rich in cultural significance, it was one of the most special places we could have imagined spending the night. As temperatures dropped after sunset, our hosts even offered for us to sleep inside the Uma Lulik itself. We politely declined because we had been looking forward to a simple night under canvas, surrounded by the mountains we had come to explore. Here we were, welcomed by people we had only just met, trusted with space beside one of the most meaningful places in their community, sharing stories as darkness settled over the mountains. The next morning we climbed Mt Kablaki. The views were spectacular. But what I remember most wasn't standing on the summit. It was everything that happened before it. Driving home, I realised the weekend hadn't really been about climbing the mountain at all. We often admire leaders for everything they carry: the responsibilities, the projects, the people who depend on them and the causes they champion. But perhaps we've been measuring the wrong thing. The quality of our leadership isn't determined by how much we carry. It's determined by the capacity we build to carry it well. That thought stayed with me long after the mountain disappeared in the rear-view mirror.  Over the past few weeks, life has been wonderfully full. From the outside, it may have looked like one exciting announcement after another. BOLDER found its way into three shops across Dili, including the international airport. I joined the Advisory Board of AVM Timor-Leste. Exciting conversations began about bringing a Climate Leadership Certificate to Timor-Leste. I helped CARE in Timor-Leste develop its advocacy strategy, and I've been speaking with policymakers about Timor-Leste's whale-swimming guidelines. I also had the privilege of contributing an article to the Swiss leadership magazine Persönlichkeit!. Behind the scenes, however, life looked rather different. I spent countless hours refining my website, one page at a time, with plenty more still to come. I followed up proposals, responded to emails, prepared new programmes and quietly laid the foundations for what's next. At the same time, I made a deliberate effort to return to the habits that help me lead well: eating nourishing food, prioritising strength training, spending time outdoors and making space for weekends in nature. None of those things are particularly newsworthy. Yet I've become increasingly convinced that they are the work that makes everything else possible. The R in B.O.L.D.E.R. stands for Regenerate.  While revisiting the Regenerate chapter of BOLDER recently, one sentence caught my attention again: Purpose without energy is not sustainable. When I wrote those words, I was thinking about burnout. Today, they remind me of something slightly different. Capacity. Purpose gives us direction. Capacity determines how well, and how consistently, we can show up. Every meaningful opportunity that has emerged over the past few months has arrived alongside everything else life was already asking of me. None of those opportunities replaced the ordinary work. They were added to it. That is why I have become increasingly protective of the habits that quietly expand my capacity rather than drain it. Earlier this month, I also shared the story behind my article "Stärke entsteht unterwegs" (Mental Strength Develops Along the Way) in the Swiss professional magazine Persönlichkeit!, published by WEKA Business Media AG, for a special edition on Frauenpower (Women’s Power). The piece explores why we don't need to wait for more courage before taking the first step. Courage grows because we take it. The editors challenged my first draft with refreshingly honest feedback. It felt polished, but it no longer sounded like me. They were right. Rewriting it reminded me that maintaining quality, whether in our writing, our leadership or our wellbeing, is rarely about dramatic change. More often, it's about paying attention before something quietly drifts off course. (If you missed the story, you can read it here.)  Photo caption: Featured in the Swiss professional magazine Persönlichkeit! with my article “Stärke entsteht unterwegs”, a reflection on how courage grows through action. One of the reasons I return to nature so often is because it constantly reminds me that capacity is created through cycles. Forests regenerate. Coral reefs recover. Muscles become stronger only after they repair. Nothing in nature grows continuously. Leadership shouldn't expect to either. There is often more recognition for recovering from burnout than for quietly preventing it in the first place. Yet maintaining our health, relationships and energy before they begin to suffer is one of the most important leadership practices we have. Capacity isn't built during the keynote, the board meeting or the strategy workshop. It's built beforehand … in the workout you almost skipped, the meal you took time to prepare, the weekend spent outdoors instead of in front of another screen, the conversation that grounds you and the boundaries that protect what matters most. These moments rarely appear on a résumé, yet they shape every decision we make.  Photo caption: One conversation can open a door you didn’t know existed. What comes nextCapacity isn't something we build once and then forget. It's created every day through the choices we make about how we work, recover, connect and grow. Whether I'm facilitating leadership workshops, supporting organisations through strategy and change, speaking at conferences, coaching leaders, or designing future BOLDER expeditions, this idea continues to shape the way I live and lead. The work may look different from one project to the next. The principle doesn't. Build capacity first. Everything else grows from there. If you're looking to strengthen leadership within your organisation, navigate change with greater confidence, or explore new ways of developing leaders through nature, adventure and lived experience, I'd love to start a conversation. I work with organisations and leadership teams through:
Questions for ReflectionAs you look towards the months ahead, I wonder:
Continue the conversationIf this reflection resonated with you, you might enjoy exploring some of the other ways we can work together:
Because in the end... The quality of our leadership isn't determined by how much we carry. It's determined by the capacity we build to carry it well.
0 Comments
Six weeks after Timor-Leste’s first community freediving festival, Topu Ramutu returned to Dili for two community ocean evenings, and showed that the conversations sparked on Ataúro Island were only just beginning. The documentary lasted just five minutes. The conversation afterwards lasted an hour and a half. That’s when I realised we’d created something much bigger than a film.
Six weeks after Topu Ramutu (“Dive Together”), Timor-Leste’s first community freediving festival on Ataúro Island, we brought the story back to Dili through two community screenings: one as part of Beachside Hotel & Café’s Movies at the Beach series and another at Kios Matenek as part of International Ocean Month. Topu Ramutu had brought 39 people — 26 Timorese and 13 international participants from six countries — together in Adara from 1–3 May 2026 for three days of freediving, learning, conservation, cultural exchange and plenty of fun. More than half of the participants received partial sponsorship support, helping young Timorese freedivers and ocean enthusiasts take part alongside experienced local and international freedivers. The programme ranged from line and fun diving, safety and equalisation training to yoga, breathwork, underwater photography, fish identification, conservation discussions, night diving and a rather entertaining underwater obstacle course. But maximum depth was never the point. Connection was ... Connection with the ocean, with each other, and with the people of Adara who welcomed us into their community. We heard about Adara’s locally managed Tara Bandu marine conservation system from Xefi Aldeia Sr. Joao da Costa and learnt from Wawata Topu, Adara’s internationally recognised women spearfishers, about their relationship with the ocean and their experience challenging traditional gender roles. The gathering also marked the launch of Freediving Timor-Leste, a collaborative community initiative created to connect the country’s growing freediving community and support future training, events and ocean awareness. The five-minute documentary captured just a little of those three days. Bringing it back to Dili was our chance to keep the conversation going When five minutes turns into 90At Kios Matenek, around 40 people, the majority Timorese, joined us for an evening of short films about freediving and ocean conservation. And then we started talking. The conversation flowed from freediving and ocean safety to conservation, tourism, education and community. People shared experiences, challenged ideas, asked questions and reflected on their own relationship with the sea. Ninety minutes later, we were still going. For me, that was one of the strongest indications that Topu Ramutu had achieved something beyond the three days we spent together on Ataúro. It had sparked curiosity. New relationships had formed. And people wanted to keep talking about what could happen next. That’s how movements grow.  From freediving to supporting Adara’s schoolThe evening also gave us the opportunity to close another important loop from Topu Ramutu. We formally presented US$710 raised through the festival to Maun Mario from Adara to support the village’s new primary school. Just days before Topu Ramutu, we weren’t even sure we could fund all the participant scholarships. Making the festival accessible to Timorese participants had been important to us from the beginning, and the majority of participants needed financial support to attend. Thanks to an overwhelming response from supporters, we exceeded our fundraising target and were able to invest the surplus back into the community that had welcomed us. Mario later shared that the US$710 would be used to paint the walls of the new school. There is another part of this story that I particularly love: the school itself has been built with funds raised through tourism. Visitors who came to experience Adara and Ataúro have collectively helped the community build something for the next generation. It’s a small but powerful example of what tourism can contribute when local communities are not simply the backdrop to an experience, but part of its purpose and benefit.  The ripple effects continueWhen we first imagined Topu Ramutu, we hoped people would leave feeling more connected to the ocean. What I didn’t expect was how quickly it would start connecting people with each other. Looking around the room at Kios Matenek put a huge smile on my face. We had created a space where people who care about Timor-Leste’s ocean could meet, exchange ideas, inspire one another and begin imagining what might be possible together. For me, that’s where conservation begins. And there is enormous potential here. Timor-Leste has warm tropical waters, extraordinary marine biodiversity, healthy coral reefs, deep drop-offs close to shore and a rich local ocean culture. Topu Ramutu gave us a glimpse of what could be possible if freediving and sustainable marine tourism continue to grow in ways that put safety, local participation, community benefit and ocean stewardship at their heart. Topu Ramutu may have lasted three days. The community and conversations it helped create are lasting considerably longer. And we’re only just getting started.  It took a community to make this happenTopu Ramutu was a collaborative, not-for-profit initiative organised by Freediving Timor-Leste, Inspired by Nature, RainbowFlow Yoga, Underwater Cinema, Lenuk Tasi and Mario’s Place Adara, with the support of volunteers, community members, individual donors and ocean advocates. A huge thank you to the organising team who gave their time, energy, expertise and enthusiasm to make it happen: Birgit Hermann, Jesse Harries, Rebecca Brown, Denilson Monteiro, Simão Do Santos C J Dos Reis, Eljovio Lopes Emilio Nai Bucar, Emanuel Rosario Nheu Brito, Joaozinho Dedito Martins, Jeovanio Dos Santos Ribeiro, Silvester Mahon Pereira de Oliveira, Profirio Jose da Costa, Frederico de F. P. Sobral, Robby Ornai, Andy Miller and Mario Gomez. And, of course, thank you to the people of Adara for welcoming us into their community and sharing their ocean, knowledge and home with us. Read more about Topu RamutuTopu Ramutu also received coverage in Timor-Leste’s media. If you’d like to explore more of the story:
A heartfelt thank you to everyone who participated in Topu Ramutu, attended the screenings, shared their ideas, donated, volunteered, sponsored or partnered with us to make it possible. Here’s to many more.  A few weeks ago, my Instagram account was hacked. Not a forgotten password or a temporary glitch. A full-blown takeover by professionals who used my account to advertise Bitcoin services and message people directly. Within hours, I had lost complete control. After a painfully long battle, Instagram eventually shut the account down permanently and, just like that, eight years of photos, videos, memories, and, hardest of all, more than 1,300 connections were gone. What made it even worse was the timing. I was only days away from launching my book, BOLDER: A Leadership Mindset and Framework Forged at the Edge, at the Presidential Palace in Timor-Leste. It was one of the biggest professional milestones of my life, and I wanted the people who had followed my journey over the years to be part of it. Instead, I found myself starting from zero. The Day Eight Years Disappeared  I was surprised by how emotional it felt. At first, I was frustrated. Then I was sad. Then came the strange feeling that a small part of my identity had somehow been stolen and discarded. If you've ever poured years into building a community, sharing stories, documenting experiences, and connecting with people around the world, you'll understand that social media accounts are more than just platforms. They become living archives of our journeys. I had shared adventures from Antarctica and the Sahara, stories from remote communities in Timor-Leste, moments beneath the ocean's surface, lessons from leadership work, and countless memories that can never truly be recreated. Losing it all felt surprisingly personal. Visibility Creates Possibility  Photo caption: Some of the bookmarks I created for the launch of BOLDER. "Visibility creates possibility" has taken on an entirely new meaning for me since then. I often say that visibility creates possibility.
I believe that deeply. Visibility can open doors, spark collaborations, create opportunities, and connect us with people we may never have met otherwise. But this experience made me realise something important. Our visibility does not live in an app. Not in Instagram, LinkedIn, Facebook nor anywhere online. Real visibility lives somewhere much deeper. It lives in:
The Things That Can't Be Hacked As the days passed, something unexpected happened. People began finding me again. Messages arrived, friends shared my new account, former colleagues reached out, and new connections started appearing. Within a month, hundreds of people had already found their way back. It reminded me of something I often see in leadership. Things change. Titles disappear, strategies fail, funding ends, organisations restructure, and entire careers can take unexpected turns. Sometimes, the things we have spent years building seem to unravel overnight. But the things that matter most cannot be taken away so easily. Our values, our experiences, our relationships, our reputation, the way we make people feel, and the impact we leave behind are much more enduring than any platform, role, or job title. Those are the things that stay with us and, ultimately, the things people remember. Sometimes Life Invites Us to Begin Again I certainly would not have chosen this experience. Rebuilding a community from scratch takes time, effort, and patience. But perhaps there is also something powerful in beginning again. Starting over has a way of forcing us to ask some important questions: What truly matters? What are we trying to build? And who are we building it for? In many ways, leadership asks exactly the same questions. Because leadership is not about clinging to certainty or controlling every outcome. It is about learning to adapt when things change unexpectedly and finding the courage to begin again. The truth is that none of us are immune to setbacks. Accounts get hacked, plans unravel, dreams take detours, and things we have worked hard to build can disappear overnight. Yet those moments often remind us where our real foundations lie. Not in followers, titles, or perfectly curated feeds, but in our ability to reconnect, rebuild, and start again. The things that matter most can't be hacked. And that is exactly where our real visibility lives. |
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. 
Archives
July 2026
Categories |
