Richard Blake sat in his parked car outside the office, engine still running. The windshield wipers dragged slowly across the glass, fighting a losing battle against the icy winter rain.
He could’ve been inside ten minutes ago.
The board pack was printed. His shirt was crisp, his jacket open — dressed not just for the meeting, but for the expectations that came with it.
Everything looked fine on the surface.
And yet… something in him resisted. Not out of fear or fatigue, but something subtler — a knowing. As if stepping inside without pause would mean pretending he hadn’t noticed. That would be easier, maybe. But it wouldn’t be honest.
It wasn’t fear, exactly. Richard wasn’t prone to dramatic panic. He was 45, after all — not a kid, and not new to this game. He’d built ThriveWorks Solutions from a laptop in his spare bedroom to a company of nearly 40 people. Solid revenue. Loyal clients. An industry reputation that still meant something.
But lately, something had shifted.
The momentum was … sluggish.
The energy in the team — off.
And in the quiet moments between meetings, a question had started to take root:
“We’re doing fine… but for how long?”
It had started six months ago with a senior resignation. One of his earliest hires — someone who used to bring new ideas to breakfast meetings — handed in their notice with nothing but a polite smile and a vague mention of “needing something else.”
At first, Richard brushed it off.
People move on. It happens.
But then came the cultural survey — nothing drastic, but a noticeable drop in engagement. More people “coasting.” Fewer ideas. The metrics said fine. But the heartbeat? Off rhythm.
And the truth he didn’t want to admit — not even to his wife, Marisa — was that he wasn’t sure what to do next. The strategies that once worked no longer felt sharp. The meetings were happening, but the traction was gone.
It wasn’t crisis.
That might’ve been easier to solve.
This was something worse: quiet stagnation.
The previous afternoon, Richard had clicked on a PwC article a colleague had shared. The headline grabbed him immediately:
“Almost half (45%) of CEOs say they do not believe their current business will be viable in a decade if it continues on its current path.”
Up from 39% the year before.
He read it twice.
“If it continues on its current path…”
That was the part that stuck. Because ThriveWorks was very much on its current path. And it wasn’t a bad one. But it also wasn’t an evolving one.
And that’s what worried him.
Richard wasn’t short on ideas.
He’d spent hours thinking about strategy shifts, new hires, and better ways to structure the next offsite.
But if he was honest, he’d been tinkering around the edges.
Trying to fix disconnection with another playbook.
Trying to spark alignment without really confronting the drift.
And part of the reason?
He was in it too deep.
He wasn’t just leading the business — he was embedded in the habits, the rhythms, the very culture that now felt misaligned. And you can’t read the label from inside the jar.
It wasn’t about capability.
It was about perspective.
What he needed — and what he was finally open to — was an outside voice.
Not to take over.
Not to consult from a distance.
But to come alongside the team and help them see themselves clearly again.
Because what was breaking wasn’t the business model.
It was the team’s ability to talk honestly.
To align fully.
To reconnect to something deeper than KPIs.
Richard realised something critical:
He couldn’t drive that from his seat.
He was the founder, the MD, the decision-maker.
And in this season, that made him part of the stuckness — not the solution.
He needed someone who could:
Hold up a mirror without judgment
Create space for voices that had gone quiet
Help the team revisit purpose and patterns with fresh eyes
Rebuild trust and traction — not through pep talks, but through process
This wasn’t about crisis management.
It was about future-proofing a team that had lost its internal compass.
And Richard knew: if they didn’t do that work now, “fine” would soon become fragile.
What Richard was sensing — and what many leaders ignore until it’s too late — is that teams don’t break with a bang.
They fade.
They drift.
They stop asking bold questions.
They get busy, but not brave.
And while the numbers might stay green for a while, the rot sets in underneath — in the culture, in the conversations, in the clarity that once made them dangerous in the best way.
Team coaching isn’t about tuning up what’s already working.
It’s about reawakening and reinventing what’s been dulled by routine.
It’s about restoring shared language, mutual accountability, and deep ownership of the future.
And yes — it’s also about the leader being willing to say:
“I can’t steer this ship alone anymore — not if we want to go somewhere new.”
The rain was still falling when Richard finally stepped out of the car.
He walked slowly, hands in pockets, thoughts still circling.
His team wasn’t failing.
But they weren’t stretching either.
And he couldn’t shake the question:
“If things stay as they are… are we still relevant in five years?”
That question might be uncomfortable.
But it’s also a gift.
Because it pushes leaders out of autopilot and back into alignment.
And for Richard — and the nearly half of CEOs who quietly share his doubt — that’s where the real work begins.
Is your team still aligned for the future you’re building?
If Richard’s story feels uncomfortably familiar, it might be time to start a different kind of conversation.
Feel free to reply or reach out — I work with leadership teams who want to grow without losing what matters most.
