Light

Today I’ve chosen the word light from the small bowl of inspiring words that sits on my desk. This is a ritual I’ve come to rely on, especially during these dark December days in London when it feels as though the sun barely rises above the horizon, before it’s heading straight back down again. Indoors, the lights are switched on from morning until night. Outside, Christmas lights on Oxford Street and Regent Street shine across the city like a collective attempt to brighten the otherwise dull, damp greyness of winter. Even my own street feels transformed at this time of year: doorsteps framed with soft white fairy lights, windows lit with tiny stars and twinkling bright colours.

It feels intentional, almost primal. A reminder that the Winter Solstice is on its way: that moment when our ancestors gathered to honour the return of the light. They knew that even in the darkest weeks, the world was quietly turning back towards brightness. A promise built into the very architecture of nature: light always returns.

Perhaps that’s why I felt drawn to the word today. Not just because of the physical light we all crave in December, but because light shows up in our inner landscape too. In our leadership, in our thinking, in our ability to stay present under pressure.

Light can be brightness, clarity, illumination. But it can also be lightness. And that feels especially relevant for the senior executives I work with, many of whom carry a weight of responsibility that is both real and relentless. They move from meeting to meeting, inbox to inbox, decision to decision, accumulating burdens almost without noticing: expectations, strategic pressures, team challenges, the constant complexity that comes with senior roles. It gets heavy, fast.

Lightness, then, becomes a form of wisdom.

A lightness of touch when navigating sensitive conversations. A lightness of ego when collaborating with others. A lightness of mind when facing unexpected change. And perhaps most importantly, a lightness in the soul: that shift we feel when we put something down that we were never meant to carry in the first place.

I see it so often in my coaching conversations: the moment someone finally lets go of the internal pressure to control everything, or the story that says they must always be “on”, or the deeply ingrained habit of taking responsibility for everyone else’s emotional weather. There’s a physical drop in the shoulders, a softening in the breath. Their face changes. And in that moment, they become more strategic, not less. More present, not less. More powerful, not less.

That’s the paradox of lightness: it clarifies us. It frees the mind to notice opportunities that were previously hidden behind the fog of overwhelm. It makes space for insight. It invites creativity. It allows leaders to shift from firefighting to foresight, from reaction to wisdom.

And that’s what I want to offer you today. An invitation to bring a little more light, and a little more lightness, into your own leadership.

Notice the places where things feel heavy, draining or unnecessarily complicated. Ask yourself:

“What am I holding that I don’t need to hold? What can I soften? Where can I bring a lighter touch?”

It might be a decision you’re overworking, a relationship you’re over managing, a pressure you’ve internalised that doesn’t truly belong to you, or simply the belief that you must do it all alone.

Even the smallest shift can brighten everything around it,  like turning on one warm lamp in a darkened room.

As we move towards the Solstice, towards the symbolic return of the light, see if you can return some lightness to your own day-to-day. Not by doing more, but by releasing what no longer serves. By protecting your energy. By honouring your boundaries. By staying present to what’s here now, rather than trying to outpace the future.

Light reminds us that clarity is possible. Lightness reminds us that relief is possible. And together, they remind us that leadership is at its best when we stop forcing, pushing, or gripping so tightly. And instead allow ourselves to see, feel, and act from a place of grounded brightness.

May your December be filled with both.