Monday Momentum | Week 7, Q1
The weekend handed me exactly what I needed. Two days of ski touring in Valtellina — skins on, heads down through the climb, then that moment at the top where the whole valley opens up below you. No noise. Just direction.
Which is where my head is as we step into Week 7.
There’s a concept in innovation cycles that feels uncomfortably familiar right now — the Valley of Despair. That dip between early enthusiasm and real traction, where effort feels high and results feel thin. I’ve been in it. Most worthwhile ventures spend some time there.
But here’s what I saw from the ridge this weekend: the valley looks very different from above. Clear. Ordered. Even beautiful.
We’re through it. And the view from here is worth it.
Week 7 is the moment to lift every team’s eyes to the same horizon. Not to the individual tasks, the separate workstreams, the friction of day-to-day — but to the shared destination we’re all skinning toward. Our ventures aren’t separate climbs. They’re the same mountain, different faces — and this week is about making sure everyone feels that.
This week I’m focused on one thing above all others: bringing the teams into joint, valuable alignment. Shared vision isn’t a slide in a deck. It’s the conversation where someone from one part of the work genuinely sees how their effort makes another part stronger — and feels it.
There’s something else sitting with me as the new week begins. Alongside the ventures, I’ve been investing seriously in my own development as an advisor and non-executive director. It’s humbling work. The more I learn, the more I appreciate how different this role is from leading from the front — it’s about asking the right question at the right moment, holding space for others to find their best answers, and knowing when to step forward and when to step back.
And then this weekend, watching friends navigate steep snow and familiar trails, it clicked.
I’ve always given feedback this way — informally, in the moment, out on the hill. Whether it’s climbing, mountain biking, or skiing, I’m constantly noticing the small things. The way someone positions their knee on a technical corner. The subtle shift in weight that makes the difference between washing out and floating through. One tiny adjustment — just a slight turn of the knee — and suddenly you’re not falling, you’re sending the line. You’re not breaking into the turn, you’re completing it perfectly.
That’s the NED role. It’s not about taking over the descent. It’s about being alongside someone at the right moment and saying the one thing that changes everything. A question, an observation, a reframe — small in delivery, significant in effect. The craft isn’t in speaking more. It’s in seeing clearly, timing it right, and trusting that the person in front of you has everything they need to make the move.
There’s a craft to it, and I’m very much still learning the moves. But the next few months have some genuinely new lines to explore — opportunities, relationships, and challenges that will stretch that capability in directions I haven’t fully mapped yet. I’m here for it.
The ridge is clear. Let’s move together.
— Fab