Acts, not careers
Scenes, not scripts.
This letter is unexpected. I rarely write when burdens weigh me down; I write more when life whispers for me to begin again. This ebb and flow, intimate yet universal, reveals the fragile balance that, I believe, connects us all.
Writing, perhaps, is just that: letting the fire within us speak, no matter the hour. Even in the coldness of the digital world, carefully chosen words retain their warmth. Don’t you think?
Today, the profile of Philippe Daga, founder of Third Act, caught my attention: “From living at work, to working at living.” A simple yet powerful phrase. It brought to mind my friend Patrick Kervern, ex-Google, who founded Second Act, the first firm dedicated to life transitions. And between these two visions lies perhaps a third: Elan, or Momentum—a concept championed by Laurent Thillaye du Boullay (an ex-Google as well, though I'll let you draw your own conclusions). He describes his company as the mental equivalent of physical training for a race.
What does this spark in me? A sharp contrast to the traditional notion of a career.
Car-eer: a "vehicle" moving on a fixed route, from point A to point B, with stops and goals. But life isn’t linear. It defies plans, and this word reassures as much as it deceives.
Speaking of a second or third act, or even momentum, we move away from linearity toward a living, breathing stage, where each act becomes an opportunity for reinvention.
In this liminal moment where generative AI is redrawing the boundaries of possibility, distinguishing between efficiency and effectiveness becomes crucial. Automation, no matter how efficient, solves nothing on its own. For if we overuse machines, will we not end up creating other machines just to read the first? The machine mimics intelligence, but humanity, in its rebellion, always finds a way to outwit with intuition.
If anything can be automated, then everything must be humanized.
Tomorrow, we will have not just consulting firms, but also spaces for self-transcendence, architects of time, dream coaches, resilience mentors, curators of life's meaning, neuro-architects, ecosystem regenerators, and so much more.
For a stage, unlike a career, breathes with a unique vitality. It comes alive with silences, tensions, and free characters unbound by stereotypes. What matters is not speed but momentum—the fragile precision that gives soul to actions and depth to words. A sensitivity.
The word sensitive traces its origins to the Latin sensibilis, rooted in sensus—the capacity to feel—and sentire, meaning "to perceive or experience." To be sensitive is to remain open to feeling and to being felt, embracing the vulnerability of connection. This openness invites the possibility of being affected and moved, and it is in this delicate space that authenticity resides. Only what touches us deeply can carry the weight of true conviction.
In a world shaped by technology, it is sense that provides direction, but sensitivity that breathes life and meaning into it. True wealth lies not in fleeting gains, but in what lingers—in the impressions we leave on others and the profound ways we allow ourselves to be touched.
As Seth Godin aptly says, "The thing is, we’re not running out of noise, but we can always use more beauty."
Because it is more than time to reinvent the way we tell ourselves.
MD