The Weight of Assumptions: A Reflection on Power, Presence, and Quiet Competence

The quiet path to leadership when the system looks the other way

We often admire from a distance. A prestigious university. A high-ranking official. A celebrated religious leader. A “world-class” organisation. We look up to the names, the institutions, the polished reputations. We assume that behind those titles are people of substance—visionaries who know what they’re doing. That assumption is comforting. It makes the world feel ordered. Meritocratic. Fair.

But then you get closer. You sit in the meetings. You attend the events. You work within the system; and slowly, the illusion begins to crack.

The Reality Behind the Curtain

Over the years, I’ve worked across sectors: in global corporations, in prestigious universities, and in highly respected organisations. What I found there often surprised me—not because of how impressive they were, but because of how ordinary, even hollow, they could be. Though not always. There are bright minds and committed people everywhere, but more often than I’d like to admit, I found that knowledge, depth, and quiet competence weren’t what got people to the top. It was Confidence, Charisma, Connections, and sometimes, not even that—just Comfort and/or Safety with the status quo. Those who ask too many questions, those who keep learning, those who challenge outdated ways of thinking; they're rarely the ones holding the reins. In fact, they’re often the ones quietly pushed to the side.

Curiosity Is My Constant

I’ve always been curious, someone who loves to learn. Not in a provocative way, but in a natural, almost childlike way; deeply, genuinely, and perhaps inconveniently so. I ask questions—not to prove a point, but to understand; not to challenge for the sake of it, but because I want to learn. To grow. To connect. I’ve never outgrown that. I love being around people who know more than I do; and when I do meet someone like that, I light up. I want to be near them, learn from them, absorb everything I can. I’ve never felt threatened by knowledge. On the contrary—I’m drawn to it. It energises me.

Over time, I’ve come to realise that openness—genuine curiosity, the desire to grow, and the courage to think differently—aren’t always welcomed. In many institutions, it’s in fact, quietly discouraged; asking questions is seen as disruptive; wanting to grow is treated as stepping out of line... And thinking differently? That often makes people uncomfortable. Some people mistake curiosity for confrontation. They feel unsettled by those who keep moving forward—who learn, adapt, and ask more than the system is used to. In environments built on tradition and predictability, that kind of energy feels like a threat.

The unspoken message is clear: keep your head down. Do the work, but don’t ask too many questions. Don’t disrupt the pattern. Don’t grow too quickly. Many of us have felt that resistance. The subtle exclusion. The Discomfort. The quiet suggestion that we are “too much.” For a while, I believed it. I thought maybe I was the problem—too fast, too intense, too curious. But I don’t think that anymore. I can now see that this discomfort hasn’t really been about me. It’s about Fear- The Fear of Change; The Fear of Being Exposed; The Fear of Movement in spaces that are built to preserve comfort and hierarchy.

AI, and the Surprising Return to Self

In the midst of all this, something unexpected happened: I started learning from AI. Tools like ChatGPT, Claude, and others became spaces where I could ask questions freely, explore ideas, and think without being judged. AI doesn’t care about politics or power. It doesn’t flinch when you challenge an idea. It doesn’t dismiss curiosity. It didn’t care how many questions I had. It wasn’t threatened. It didn’t shrink. It simply responded—with information, structure, and support.

Oddly enough, AI reminded me who I really am: that I love to think, to connect ideas, to move things forward—and that there’s nothing wrong with that. It helped me rebuild a confidence that years of subtle institutional dismissal had quietly worn down. It’s a strange thing to say—that a machine helped me feel more human—but that’s what happened. In doing so, it gave me back something I had nearly lost: the freedom to learn without apology.

That’s not something I ever expected from a machine. Sometimes, it’s the tools we least expect—the ones we assume the least from—that offer us the most. In those quiet interactions, something shifted. I stopped questioning my worth. It also made me ask: if a machine can support growth better than some human systems, what does that say about the institutions we’ve built?

Institutions Love Applause, But Not Always Substance

I’ve worked in universities, multinationals, and other well-funded organisations. Every one of them markets itself as a beacon of innovation and excellence, yet behind the glossy brochures there’s a stubborn fear—of risk, of difference, of doing the hard work real change demands. The people who rise highest are seldom the most curious or compassionate; they’re simply the best at keeping the show intact. They smile, they manage, they wait. People like me—who think, plan, and act with purpose and urgency—tend to unsettle that equilibrium. Institutions praise bold ideas but reward safe hands; they preach transformation, yet cling to tradition. So decisions stall, teams hesitate, and good ideas suffocate under layers of process. Talent is side-lined not for lack of skill but for refusing to sit quietly. The result isn’t just frustrating—it’s wasted potential dressed up as progress.

I Think, I Plan, and I Do

Here’s the truth: I think, I plan—and I do. I take risks. I build. I move forward. To me, that’s what life—and leadership—should be about. But that’s not how most institutions operate. Too often, they plan and pause, meetings drag, approvals stall; everything slows in the name of 'process', and in that hesitation, valuable time and energy are lost.

In every place I’ve worked, I’ve met brilliant people—people with ideas, talent, and integrity. But I’ve also seen how fear can paralyse. Not fear of doing the wrong thing, but fear of doing the right thing—because the right thing often means change. And change is uncomfortable. Still, some of us keep going. We work quietly in the background, driven not by recognition but by progress. We keep learning. We keep building. We move with intention—like generals with no army—because we believe in doing the right thing, even when it’s not easy, and maybe that’s the real challenge. We believe tradition, culture, and values can coexist with innovation, new tools, and better ways of working. Not one or the other—but both. That balance is what institutions should be striving for—not power for power’s sake, but purpose, courage, and action rooted in real knowledge.

For the Quiet Doers

I still believe in institutions. But I believe they must change. Not cosmetically—but meaningfully. They must become places where thinkers, doers, learners, and builders can thrive. Not just survive.

To the people in the background—the ones who think, plan, and do—I see you. Keep going. You may not be at the top of the org chart, but you are the ones quietly moving the world forward. One idea. One decision. One brave step at a time...