As an amateur mushroom gatherer, I’ve had years of wandering through London’s green spaces keeping one hopeful eye on the ground. Not for chanterelles—I wish! They’re not at all common here in Britain, even in the south. Instead, the treasures I usually come across are parasols, horse mushrooms, fairy rings, and, in a good cold snap, the most delicious bluets. Over time I’ve learned the joy of spotting these seasonal gifts and bringing a few home for supper. When you know what you’re doing, it’s a delicious pastime. When you don’t, it’s quite the opposite.
Still, much of my attention has always been on what appears above the soil—the fruiting bodies, the clues that something interesting is happening. This book opened my eyes to what I don’t see: the mycelial networks stretching across soil, roots, forests, parks and fields, silently stitching the world together.
Years ago, I remember noticing a group of people wandering around Tooting Bec Common, hunched over, scanning the grass. I wondered what on earth they were doing. It turned out they were foraging for magic mushrooms. Prepared properly, these fungi can take people to entirely different states of consciousness—one of the many ways fungi have influenced human experience. They feed us, heal us, delight us, and in some instances transform our minds.
But it’s what they do beneath the surface that captivated me. Fungi form vast webs of connection, threading through soil and roots, creating symbiotic relationships with plants and with each other. They transport nutrients, warn of danger, share resources, mediate growth. They are, quite literally, the reason plants ever managed to colonise dry land. Without them, the Earth as we know it would not exist. And yet, because we can’t see them, we dismiss them. We destroy their fruiting bodies. We underestimate their contribution.
And here’s the link to leadership that struck me so powerfully.
Most leaders operate as if the visible world is the only world. The meetings, the deadlines, the deliverables, the emails, the decisions. The things that “fruit,” that show up, that demand attention. But the real power of leadership—especially for senior executives operating in complex, ambiguous environments—lies in the unseen networks. The relationships you nurture quietly. The influence you build over time. The emotional tone you set without even knowing. The people you connect. The expectations you shape. The ideas you seed. The trust you cultivate in moments that nobody else witnesses.
Just like fungi, you are constantly entangling your world: through conversations, decisions, reactions, boundaries, opportunities created or overlooked. Your leadership is a web, not a straight line. And if you aren’t paying attention to what’s happening beneath the surface, you risk missing the most powerful forces available to you. You risk neglecting the soil in which your leadership actually grows.
My senior executive clients often come to me complaining about the visible parts of their role: the workload, the firefighting, the relentless demand on their time and energy. What they don’t realise, until we begin working together, is that the transformation they seek happens by shifting what lies underneath. When they learn to strengthen their internal grounding, clarify what matters, and reorient to strategic connection rather than operational chaos, their external world begins to change with surprising speed. They free up hours. They gain influence. They become recognised. They advance.
The fungi remind us that what we tend below the surface determines what grows above it. If you want more impact, more clarity, more recognition, more opportunity, tend to your roots. Your networks. Your energy. Your focus. Your purpose. The unseen work that underpins everything else.
That is where true leadership begins. And that’s where it becomes extraordinary.
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