40 Years. 7 Lessons. Zero B.S.

Turning 40 is a weird milestone. On one hand, you are still young—75% of your career is still ahead of you, according to "The 100-Year Life" book by my LBS professors. On the other, you feel you should be accomplished, as our parents were by this age.

So, you're stuck in the middle. A lot left to deliver, but enough road behind you to have something to say.

No mid-life crisis confetti here. Just a reflection on a journey through the trenches of scaling global companies, based on countless journals I've kept along the way. Below are the 7 lessons I've learned the hard way.

You might not agree with them. But they are the raw truths that got me here. They aren't polished headlines; they are stories of pain, angst, and ultimately, success.

Let me know in the comments what I'm missing. I'm as keen to learn from your experience as I am from my own.

Lesson 1: Energy, not time, is your gold. Do less, but crush it.

I love checklists. Gantt charts. Project plans. Any tool that promises to optimize every second for the best possible ROI.

On the back of those plans, we push for 10-hour days. Then 12. Then we throw in a weekend. We counter the grind with a bit of meditation or a new toy as a reward.

It works. But not for long.

Motivation and energy aren't linear. They come in waves. The real game isn't managing your time; it's managing your cycles.

Your engine can't redline 24/7 without breaking. An athlete cannot run all-out all the time, otherwise an injury is guaranteed. It is not the quantity but the quality that matters. The impact you make, not the amount of boxes you check or hours you clock in.

So the bottom line for me now is to ask: Where can I make the most impact? Where can the company make the most progress? And focus on that. Do it well. Give it all. Then take a break and move to the next point, instead of trying to do everything, everywhere, all at once.

Lesson 2: Subtract and simplify first—don't stack complexity on shaky ground. 

You've heard the pitch: "We're building a class-leading, AI-powered predictive analytics engine..." while the customer data pipeline is a mess. Or building a slick front-end while the back-end is a manual, error-prone process held together by spreadsheets.

As we used to say in my banking days, "garbage in, garbage out."

Complexity is the enemy of speed and quality. Before building something new, you must first fix the foundation or remove what's broken.

I have a dozen more examples. You have your own list. We all do. Addition feels productive but breeds fragility. Start by stripping things to their core and build only on solid bedrock.

On the cover of the article you can see a 1976 Lada 2101 which I embarked on restoring at some point. I could’ve put a new leather interior, fancy wheels, sound system and called it a day. Yet I went through the pain of doing a nut and bolt disassembly which is, literally, painful. But in the process I discovered and fixed so many problems I would have not know about otherwise and some of which were outright dangerous.

Getting the basics right isn't sexy. No one gets a bonus for fixing technical debt. Everyone wants to build the shiny new thing. But without a solid foundation, it will all collapse sooner rather than later. Set aside enough time and resources to regularly review the basics and ensure they are still up to scratch. It saved projects from imploding, time and again.

Lesson 3: Be weird. Be genuine. Be yourself.

The corporate world wants to put you in a box. It has a template for every role, and it encourages you to fit in. Don't. It's a trap. What is your biggest asset is your unique perspective, your quirks, your "weirdness"—that's your superpower. It's what allows you to see things others don't.

If I hire a clone of my best salesperson, I get 1x more of the same. If I hire someone with a completely different perspective, I get 10x the possibilities. In a world of generative AI, the generic is being automated. Your weirdness is your only defensible moat.

Yes, not everyone will like you the way you are or every single one of your quirks. But that's a good thing. I grew up being a geeky kid, who went into law, then investment banking and ended up being a tech executive. Yet, you still can find nearly every gaming console somewhere in my flat and I am always happy to chat JRPG.

So the question isn't whether you should hide your quirks. It's whether you're in the wrong room.

Lesson 4: Fail fearlessly, but own it with grace.

Let's talk about my biggest pet peeve: people who don't take responsibility. Early in my career I've dodged ownership more times than I'd admit—until the crashes forced my hand.

It is okay to fail. In fact, it's the fastest way to learn. It means you tried to solve the issue, to move forward instead of giving up. But for that to happen, you need a culture that encourages growth, not blame.

Blame is a poison. It corrodes the person giving it, the person receiving it, and everyone watching. Nothing good ever comes from it.

The only antidote is ownership. Brutal, uncomfortable, C-suite-level ownership. Let your ego go, get uncomfortable, and accept it. Be honest about the failure and what you learned. Unless a meteor struck the office, own it. Especially as a leader.

Company not doing well? Own it.

Employees are unhappy? Own it.

Stop blaming HR, the political situation, or market dynamics. As the leader, you are responsible. When things aren't working, the first question must always be: "What can I do better?"

Lesson 5: Credentials are the enemy of curiosity.

This one feels like a paradox. Founders and executives hunt for the best credentials, expecting a new hire will come in, axe swinging, and fix everything overnight. I’ve also interviewed countless candidates who believe it's beneath them to get into the nitty-gritty because their credentials "speak for themselves."

They don't.

I once interviewed several candidates for a VP role. Their only metrics for success were the size of their previous budget and the number of people who reported to them. They couldn't articulate a strategic vision for our company. When I pushed for specifics, the subtext was, “My resume is the strategy. It’s obvious.”

Formal education and fancy titles can become a straitjacket, making you the "expert" who is expected to have answers, not questions. The most dangerous leaders are those who stop learning.

There is nothing more useful than a genuine sense of curiosity. Stop rinsing and repeating the script that worked for you five years ago. Stay hungry by asking "dumb" questions and prioritizing wonder over status. Every situation is unique, and your job isn't to have the old map; it's to draw the new one.

Lesson 6: A team, not a family.

"We are a family, loyalty is what matters." We've all seen some version of this in a company's mission statement.

In high school, we read Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, which opens with the line: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Calling your company a "family" is a toxic trap. It creates a dynamic where difficult conversations are avoided and mediocrity is tolerated in the name of unconditional loyalty.

I’ve spent a lot of my life in sports. A high-performing team can feel like family, but it isn't. A great team is built to win. When you do something wrong, you get direct feedback to help you improve, not a pat on the back. The goal is to get the best player in every position and coach them to win a championship together.

This is a more honest and respectful contract that drives excellence and clarity. The goal is reaching new heights, not being "happy" at any cost.

Lesson 7: Fire fast—even if it's you.

This is a direct continuation of the last point. If someone is in the wrong job or no longer performing, give them genuine support and a clear chance to improve. But if it doesn't work, be honest.

Letting them go is the kindest thing you can do. It frees them from an environment where they can't succeed. The team is only as strong as its weakest link, so dragging it out hurts everyone.

The short-term pain of making the cut is a fraction of the long-term agony of avoiding it.

That standard goes for you, too. If you don't feel you're the right fit for the task, be honest.

Find someone better within the company to do it—that's a win for everyone.

No such areas within the organisation? Not the right cultural fit? Unreconcilable differences?

Fire yourself.

Give the company the same gift of honesty you would give anyone else. The organization will get over it quickly. And they'll respect you for having the courage to do it.

Conclusion

At 40, these aren't ultimate truths or endpoints. They are principles forged from scars. They are not a roadmap for how to overachieve, but a personal blueprint for doing better than I did.

What's the one raw lesson that has reshaped your path?