Radio Future Skills Academy

In this episode, we chat with Creativity Strategist Natalie Nixon about the connections between dance, creativity, and personal growth. She shares transformative insights from her experiences in ballet, modern dance, and open water swimming, emphasizing the importance of embracing vulnerability and imperfection. We discuss her upcoming book, "Move, Think, Rest," which advocates for a cyclical approach to productivity and the value of daydreaming in fostering innovation. Natalie also explores how organizations can cultivate curiosity and well-being, envisioning workplaces as collaborative ecosystems. This conversation highlights the need to merge personal experiences with professional pursuits, celebrating the richness of human experience.

This episode centers around the concept of "the hook," a transformative idea that has the potential to enhance participant engagement and foster meaningful connections during workshops and meetings.

The Power of Human Creativity in a Time of AI Reflections from a conversation with Leo Chan In a rich and personal conversation on the Radio Future Skills Academy podcast, Leo Chan joined Arne van Oosterom and Morgan Duta to talk about creativity, imposter syndrome, the importance of psychological safety, and the impact of AI. What unfolded was more than a talk about innovation, it became a shared reflection on what it means to be human, and how creativity is a deeply personal, vulnerable, and social act. Leo spoke openly about growing up feeling like he didn’t belong in the world of “real” artists,  a narrative that followed him well into design school. His story of having his work literally torn up by a professor during a critique was painful to hear, but it was also the moment he decided he would never do that to anyone else. That moment shaped his mission: to create environments where people feel safe to be creative, to fail, and to try again. This, he argues, is the foundation of innovation, not perfection, but safety. The conversation also explored how many people don’t see themselves as creative because their job or background doesn’t fit traditional definitions of creativity. Leo challenged this idea: creativity is everywhere, in parenting, in finance, in solving everyday problems. Innovation, he said, is often about associative thinking: seeing connections where others don’t. And that kind of thinking often comes from those who feel like outsiders. AI, of course, came up. Rather than fearing it, Leo suggested we see AI as a tool, one that can support the creative process without replacing it. What AI lacks, and will always lack, is lived experience. It doesn’t feel fear, joy, heartbreak, or purpose. And it’s these human experiences that make creativity powerful and meaningful. Leo put it simply: “If the story of my professor ripping up my work was made up by AI, no one would care. What makes it matter is that it happened to me.” At the heart of the episode is a belief that everyone has something to offer — but that this can only grow in environments where people feel seen, heard, and safe. Leo’s message is clear: innovation is not just about new ideas, it’s about creating spaces where people can be brave enough to share them. And maybe that’s the future of work: not more technology, but more humanity.

In this episode of The Naked Facilitator, we talk with Annika Madejska about her provocative workshop “Facilitating Evil.” What happens when we flip the script and explore how technology can be misused with good intentions gone wrong? Anika shares how speculative design, worldbuilding, and playful discomfort can trigger deep ethical reflection—and why sometimes, pretending to be “evil” for a day can lead to better choices in the real world.

Behind the Glass Wall “Sometimes, I feel like I’m behind a glass wall.” Morgan described this feeling during our conversation with Jesse Poe. She spoke about observing the world, people, conversations, systems, all unfolding just beyond an invisible barrier. You’re present, yet not truly part of it. That image resonated deeply with me. It brought to mind the times I’ve felt out of sync with the world around me. When societal structures and expectations don’t align with my way of thinking or being. It’s not about unwillingness; it’s about a fundamental disconnect that leads to exhaustion and frustration. In our discussion, Jesse, Morgan and I delved into neurodivergence—ADHD, dyslexia, sensitivity, creativity, and the myriad ways our brains can function differently. But beyond the labels, it’s about the pervasive sense of isolation that can accompany feeling out of place. The internal question arises: “Is it just me?” Then, a moment of connection occurs. You meet someone, hear a story, or listen to a podcast, and suddenly, there’s recognition. Someone else understands. The glass wall doesn’t shatter, but it cracks, becoming less opaque. These moments remind us we’re not alone. This experience isn’t exclusive to those with specific diagnoses. Many of us wear masks, play roles, and strive to appear “normal,” often at the expense of our well-being. The act of pretending can be draining, leading to anxiety and disconnection. What if we stopped pretending? What if, instead of conforming, we sought out those who resonate with our authentic selves? In the podcast, Jesse emphasized the importance of community and understanding. He spoke about creating spaces where individuals can express themselves without fear of judgment. It’s about fostering environments where differences are acknowledged and valued. This isn’t solely about neurodivergence; it’s about humanity. We all have facets of ourselves that don’t fit neatly into societal molds. Embracing these aspects can lead to richer, more meaningful connections. So, let’s strive to create spaces where authenticity is celebrated. Where the glass walls become windows, allowing us to see and be seen.  

The Hidden Life of a Facilitator By Arne van Oosterom Facilitation often looks easy from the outside. A room full of people, energy, sticky notes, good vibes, some structure, and someone calmly guiding the process. But what most people don’t see is the part that happens afterwards. When the room is empty again. When you’re back in the car. Or alone in a hotel room. We recently had Alwin Put on the podcast, a great facilitator and writer. One of the first things he said stuck with me. He described how much he loves working with groups—and then immediately admitted how exhausted he feels after a session. Like, completely drained. I know exactly what he means. It’s something we rarely talk about, but I think many facilitators feel it. That strange combination of being completely present all day, and then just… done. Not tired like you’ve had a long day at the office. But tired in a way that goes deeper. It’s emotional. It’s physical. Sometimes even spiritual. And it’s not because we don’t like people. We love people. It’s literally our job. We spend the whole day holding space, guiding energy, helping people connect, think, decide, and move. That takes something out of you. For me, it sometimes gets a bit absurd. I’ll be with groups of people all day, talking, laughing, facilitating like it’s nothing. But then I get home, and the doorbell rings. My wife will look at me and say, “You’ve been with people all day, and now you don’t want to answer the door?” And she’s right. I don’t. I’ll freeze. I’ll whisper, “Who is it?” and hope they go away. Not because I don’t like them. But because I just can’t be “on” anymore. It’s a strange paradox. Many facilitators are introverts. We’re tuned into group dynamics. We read the room. We sense when someone’s holding back. That sensitivity is our strength—but it’s also what makes it so exhausting. It’s the hidden part of the work. Alwin called it the facilitator’s hangover. It made us laugh, but it’s real. And it’s something we should talk about more. Because if we don’t, people will think something’s wrong with them when they feel this way. It’s not. It’s part of the job. And yes, there’s joy in it too. When it works—when the group clicks, when something shifts, when someone finds the words they didn’t know they had—it’s beautiful. It’s what keeps us doing it. But here’s the thing: the work doesn’t end when the session ends. The silent part—the recovery, the walk, the quiet meal, the time alone—is part of the work too. So if you’re a facilitator reading this and you’ve ever avoided the doorbell, or skipped dinner, or just needed a day to stare at the wall… you’re not alone. It’s not a weakness. It’s part of the craft. Let’s just be honest about that.

Hey everyone, welcome to another episode of Future Skills Academy Podcast with a Column by Arne van oosterom: I’m really excited to share something that’s been on my mind for a while. We’ve all heard how technology—and more specifically AI—seems to be creeping into every corner of our lives. I mean, it’s not just about writing blog posts or crunching numbers anymore. AI is creating art, music, film scripts, and sometimes it’s even doing it better or faster than humans can. Which is both amazing and, let’s be honest, a little unsettling. Now, of course, there’s a lot of worry out there: “Are we losing our jobs to robots?” “Will we still need human writers, painters, directors, or composers?” And I totally get it. There’s a sense that we’re on the brink of something major, something that might leave a lot of us feeling redundant. But here’s the twist: I actually think this shift is going to make real human creativity even more precious. Why? Because, at the end of the day, it’s our lived experiences that make what we create truly meaningful. Look, if one day we were to find out that Van Gogh, for instance, was never a real person—that all the stories about his struggles and triumphs were just some elaborate AI fabrication—do you think his paintings would still hold the same weight? Probably not. The beauty of Van Gogh’s art isn’t just in the swirls of paint on the canvas. It’s in knowing he was this real, troubled, passionate individual who poured his heart out in every brushstroke. That’s the kind of depth that comes from having a mother you’ve loved and lost, or from breaking your leg and spending a miserable six weeks on crutches. It’s from the late-night talks with friends that shift your perspective on the world, and from growing up in a certain neighborhood at a certain time. All of that seeps into your art—your words, your melodies, your films, your sculptures—and it resonates with people, because they can sense the realness. AI, for all its brilliance, doesn’t have that. It doesn’t have a mother. It doesn’t know grief, or heartbreak, or the joy you feel when a friend drops by unexpectedly. AI might emulate these feelings, but that’s all it is—an emulation. It can piece together a scene of heartbreak, add some atmospheric music, and calculate the perfect angle for a shot in a film, but it’s doing that from data points and patterns, not from actual tears or heartbreak. This is why I believe the stories and creations that come from human hands—from the sweat and tears, the late nights and the real mistakes—are only going to become more valuable. When everything around us is generated by a machine, we’ll crave the tangible evidence of a human life lived and poured into art. It will stand out. People will look for that spark that says, “Someone was actually here. They felt this. They went through something and this is what came out.” Yes, AI can replace many tasks that human beings do. It can do so quickly, often efficiently. And I don’t doubt we’ll see entire films or albums generated by code. Some might be popular or go viral. But at the same time, the more AI can do, the more we’ll care about the things it can’t. The more we’ll want to see that authentic brushstroke or hear the raw crack in a singer’s voice that came from a real heartbreak. So am I worried? Not really. I think it’s going to force us to be clearer and more deliberate about what we bring to the table. We’ll need to dig deeper into our experiences—our pains, our joys, our perspectives—and figure out how to translate them into something that matters to other people. That’s the true essence of creativity, isn’t it? You live, you learn, and you turn that into something that might resonate with someone else down the road. AI can do a lot, but it simply can’t live. That’s it from me for today. Thanks for tuning in to Creative Leaders Unplugged. Remember, the real magic isn’t just in the final painting or the perfectly crafted track—it’s in who we are and what we’ve gone through to make it. And that’s something no robot will ever replicate.

Annika Madejska, a designer focusing on ethical technology and AI, shares her insights on living with ADHD and the meaning of 'ethical debt.' She discusses the challenges of feeling like a misfit while thriving in a system, emphasizing the connection between neurodiversity and creativity. Annika highlights the moral implications of technology and advocates for a shift towards ethical practices in AI development. Her personal journey reveals how embracing one’s unique identity can lead to innovation and deeper understanding in a rapidly evolving tech landscape.

Welcome to this week’s Editorial. I’m thrilled you’re joining me today. I want to dive into a topic that’s central to how we innovate, lead, and navigate our constantly changing world. And the metaphor I love using for this is the image of a tightrope walker. So, picture yourself on a tightrope, arms stretched out, wobbling just enough to keep your balance. It’s a little scary, but it’s also exhilarating, right? Because you’re not frozen in place—you’re in motion, you’re making micro-adjustments, constantly shifting between the pull of order on one side and the lure of chaos on the other. That’s the sweet spot where the magic happens. Today, we’re going to explore why it’s so powerful to hang out at this “edge of chaos”, what change blindness is and how it can trip us up if we’re not careful, and how all of this helps us become better leaders and innovators. Balancing on the Edge of Chaos Let’s start with this idea of the edge of chaos. I love how complexity science describes it as a sweet spot between rigid order and total mayhem. On one side, if things are too structured—like an organization with layers upon layers of bureaucracy—creativity gets stifled. People get stuck following the same old processes, or they’re terrified of breaking the rules. On the other side, if there’s too much chaos, everything becomes so scattered that no real progress is made. It’s like everyone’s running around in different directions without a shared purpose.   But right at the edge? That’s where we get both innovation and stability. There’s enough structure to keep us moving together, but enough freedom to experiment and try bold ideas. Nature offers plenty of examples: there’s a well-known concept called the intermediate disturbance hypothesis, which basically shows that ecosystems hit peak biodiversity—peak life—when there’s a moderate amount of disruption. Too little disturbance, and the system gets stale. Too much, and it collapses.   The same logic applies to businesses and teams. Think of a company like Google. They famously gave employees “20% time” to explore big, wild ideas. That was a bit of chaos sprinkled into their daily work. But they also had a framework in place—enough organization to decide which of these ideas would move forward. It wasn’t anarchy, but it wasn’t stifling order, either. It was a dynamic balance, right on that edge. When Order Becomes a Straightjacket   Now, I want to be clear: order by itself isn’t a bad thing. We need some structure to keep us grounded and consistent. The problem is when order turns into a straightjacket, when people say, “We’ve always done it this way,” and shut down new ideas.   In some organizations, there’s a heavy reliance on rules, processes, and top-down directives. That can create efficiency in the short run, but it can also kill spontaneity and discourage experimentation. Leaders who micromanage end up with teams that follow the script but don’t bother to innovate. Everyone’s so busy coloring inside the lines that no one asks, “Hey, can we draw something completely different?”   I’m guessing you’ve seen this or felt this before—times when rigid policies or endless approvals made it feel impossible to introduce new thinking. So yes, order is useful—until it drains our ability to adapt. When Chaos Becomes… Well, Chaos On the flip side, we have chaos. In small doses, chaos is amazing for creativity because it lets us wander off the beaten path. But when everything is “anything goes,” we can get stuck spinning our wheels.   For example, you might have a startup where there are zero rules—everyone’s always prototyping the next big thing, but no one’s thinking about actually implementing. That’s fun for a while, but eventually, the team burns out or runs out of cash because there’s no strategy. I like to remind people: Innovation without a framework can lead to a lack of follow-through. You need some structure to ensure your brilliant ideas don’t end up collecting dust.   Nature also shows us this danger. If storms or fires are too frequent, even the hardiest species can’t survive. There has to be enough calm between disruptions to stabilize and grow. Understanding Change Blindness So, we know we need to walk that tightrope, balancing between too much structure and too much chaos. But here’s a twist: what if we don’t even see the rope changing beneath our feet? That’s where a concept called change blindness comes in.   Change blindness is this fascinating phenomenon where we fail to notice slow, subtle shifts happening right in front of us. If something changes slowly or in small increments, it can sneak by us undetected. Psychologists have run experiments showing that people can miss huge alterations in a scene if those alterations happen gradually. Translate that to the business or leadership world: you might be so focused on day-to-day tasks that you miss a major shift in customer behavior, technology, or even in your own team’s morale. Think about Kodak: they invented the first digital camera but didn’t quite act on that technology. By the time they realized how big digital would become, other players had seized the opportunity. Or Blockbuster—yes, they saw Netflix coming, but they didn’t move quickly enough to adapt because the change felt gradual… until it wasn’t. We often say, “In hindsight, it was so obvious.” But it’s only obvious later. In the moment, we’re often blind to the slow creep of change—like the proverbial frog in slowly heating water. Leading on the Tightrope So how do we get better at walking the tightrope, staying on that edge of chaos while also combating change blindness? Here are a few practices that come to mind: 1. Stay Curious and Keep Scanning the Horizon Make it a habit to look beyond immediate tasks. Ask yourself and your team, “What’s changing around us, even if it’s subtle? Is there a shift in customer tastes? Is there a new technology lurking in the background?” The more we train ourselves to notice small shifts, the more likely we’ll adapt before a crisis hits. 2. Create a Culture of Experimentation Give people space to try new things—but put some parameters in place. Let’s say you have a monthly “innovation sprint” where teams can tackle any challenge they want. At the end of the sprint, they share results. That’s enough structure to keep it focused, but enough freedom that people can run wild with ideas. 3. Beware of Red Tape If you find yourself or your organization saying, “This is how we do it, period,” that’s a red flag. Question whether certain processes might be outdated. Does every little decision really need six levels of approval? 4. Don’t Fear Course Corrections A tightrope walker is constantly shifting. Likewise, leaders should be comfortable saying, “We tried it; it didn’t work. Let’s adjust.” Admitting mistakes or pivoting isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s how you avoid the extremes of order or chaos. 5. Invite Diverse Perspectives One of the best ways to beat change blindness is to surround yourself with people who see things differently. Encourage your teams—and even your customers or external partners—to challenge your assumptions. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes can catch that slow-moving shift you’ve overlooked. Why This Matters for Your Future We’re in a period where massive shifts are happening globally—technology, climate change, social values, you name it. Traditional hierarchies that we inherited from the Industrial Revolution are slowly fading. We’re seeing more small, interconnected teams and ecosystems of small companies working together, rather than one big monolith controlling everything. Technology now allows even a tiny startup to have a global impact. In this world, being flexible, perceptive, and collaborative isn’t just nice—it’s non-negotiable. Thanks so much for tuning in. I hope this editorial has sparked some new ideas or at least given you a fresh perspective on how to navigate our crazy, ever-evolving world. Next time you feel the wobble under your feet, remind yourself: it’s not about standing still—it’s about making those micro-adjustments, staying curious, and leaning just enough into both order and chaos to keep moving forward. Until next week, remember to keep that creative energy flowing—and I’ll catch you on the next episode of the Creative Leadership Podcast. Take care, everyone!  

In this episode, we explore the concept of "conceptual dyslexia" with Samuel West, the founder of the Museum of Failure. We discuss how this term illuminates the cognitive processes of creative thinkers who connect diverse concepts, enhancing our understanding of the world. Samuel shares insights on navigating creativity amidst uncertainty, emphasizing the delicate balance between comfort and critical thinking. Our conversation delves into the influence of context on identity and behavior, revealing how we adapt in different environments. One standout moment is Samuel's introduction of "Failure No. 5," a perfume that embodies failure, celebrating the creative potential found in setbacks. We also challenge contemporary marketing norms, contemplating the possibility of launching products without social media's influence. This episode invites listeners to embrace resilience and curiosity, inspiring a deeper appreciation for the intricacies of creativity and personal growth.