There’s a feeling I’ve been hearing for a while now.
Not panic.
Not fear.
More a kind of cognitive heaviness.
It shows up in briefing rooms.
In quiet conversations after keynotes.
On radio segments that were meant to be light but drift somewhere more reflective.
People aren’t struggling because they can’t keep up.
They’re struggling because the weight of decisions has changed.
We are making more decisions, with more consequences, from less stable ground, at a speed our thinking models were never designed for. That’s not a capability problem. It’s a clarity problem.
I was reminded of this again during a recent on-air conversation with Todd Johnson on Perth’s 6PR. What began as a broad chat about the year ahead quickly became something more human. Less about forecasts. More about how people are actually experiencing the world right now.
And one phrase stayed with me.
A “good enough” year.
Not as resignation.
Not as settling.
But as a recalibration.
2025 wasn’t just hard. It was heavy.
When people say 2025 was tough, they’re not just talking about economics, politics or technology.
They’re talking about volume.
Every week seemed to bring something that tilted the world slightly off centre. A global event. A market shift. A social rupture. Another AI announcement that sounded important but arrived without instructions.
Even people who objectively had a good year often describe it as exhausting.
Why?
Because every new piece of information now demands interpretation, judgement and a decision. And that adds up.
On air, I said it plainly. Even for those who did well, 2025 asked a lot of us. There was very little space between one adjustment and the next.
That constant cognitive load is not something humans evolved for. We adapted to seasons, not scrolls.
So when people ask whether 2026 will be “better”, I pause.
Better compared to what?
Better for whom?
Better by which measure?
“Better” sounds hopeful, but it’s also vague. And it quietly invites pressure.
Why “better” is often the wrong question
During the interview, I said something that tends to land differently depending on where people are sitting.
“Better is a pejorative to me.”
What I meant is this.
When we frame a year as needing to be better, we’re often setting ourselves up to feel behind before we’ve even begun. We imagine some version of control, clarity or calm that probably never existed in the first place.
Perfection becomes the benchmark. And perfection is exhausting.
Instead, I find myself talking more about the idea of a good enough year.
A year where we stop pretending we can master everything.
A year where we acknowledge the world is noisy, complex and often contradictory.
A year where decisions are made consciously, not reactively.
Good enough is not mediocrity.
Good enough is realism with intent.
It’s recognising that in a non-linear world, progress often looks like movement, not mastery.
Life was never linear. We just had time to pretend it was.
One of the biggest shifts leaders are still adjusting to is the collapse of linear thinking.
For a long time, we could make a decision and reasonably expect it to hold. A strategy would last a quarter. A plan would last a year. Sometimes longer.
That gave us breathing space.
Today, that space has gone.
I said on air, only half-jokingly, that you can make a very good decision in the morning and by tonight it’s worthless. Something changes. New information appears. Context shifts.
That doesn’t mean the decision was wrong.
It means the environment moved.
The mistake many organisations are still making is treating this as a failure of planning, rather than a change in reality.
The future didn’t become uncertain.
It became alive.
And living systems don’t move in straight lines.
The idea of an inhabitable future
When things feel volatile, most people instinctively zoom in. Shorter timeframes. Smaller decisions. Tactical survival.
That’s understandable. But it’s also dangerous if it becomes permanent.
One of the concepts I work with is what I call an inhabitable future.
It’s a simple idea.
An inhabitable future is the story you tell yourself about where you’re headed that is emotionally believable and practically motivating.
Not perfect.
Not utopian.
Just inhabitable.
It applies equally to businesses and lives.
Where do we want this organisation to be?
What kind of work do we want to be doing?
Who do we want to be serving?
How do we want people to feel when they deal with us?
On a personal level, the questions are the same.
Who do I want to be?
What matters now?
What does a life that feels worth living actually look like in this season?
Once you have that direction, even loosely, decisions become easier. Not easy. Easier.
You’re no longer reacting to everything. You’re navigating.
The ripple effects most people underestimate
From there, the work becomes about understanding ripple effects.
Political shifts.
Economic pressures.
Social mood changes.
Technological acceleration, particularly AI.
None of these exist in isolation. They interact, amplify, cancel each other out and create second and third order consequences.
Most people look at the first ripple and stop.
Experienced leaders learn to ask, “And then what?”
What does this mean for customers?
For staff?
For trust?
For timing?
This is not about prediction. I’ve never believed in predicting the future. If I could do that, I wouldn’t be doing radio interviews.
It’s about preparation.
Seeing what’s emerging early enough to adjust before you’re forced to.
PTFA. The quiet force shaping decisions
There’s another layer that rarely gets talked about openly, but it sits underneath almost every conversation I have with leaders.
PTFA.
Past Trauma, Future Anxiety.
Past trauma shows up as hesitation.
“I tried this before and it didn’t work.”
“We’ve been burned.”
“That change cost us.”
Future anxiety shows up as overwhelm.
“I don’t understand this technology.”
“I’m worried we’ll get it wrong.”
“What if we’re left behind?”
Both are deeply human responses. And both quietly shape decision-making far more than spreadsheets ever will.
You cannot strategy your way out of PTFA.
You have to acknowledge it, normalise it, and work with it.
When leaders do that, something interesting happens. People stop pretending. And when people stop pretending, clarity improves.
Immediate futures. What matters now.
This is where many frameworks fall apart. They stay theoretical.
For me, everything eventually comes back to what I call the immediate future.
What do we do now?
With what we have.
Knowing what we know.
Not what should we do in an ideal world.
Not what would be perfect if conditions aligned.
Right now.
Immediate futures are about momentum, not certainty.
They recognise that adjustment is constant, not occasional. And that progress often comes from a series of small, conscious moves rather than one grand decision.
This is how organisations stay human while operating at speed.
Listen to the conversation
At this point in the article, it’s worth hearing the conversation itself. Not because it’s polished, but because it’s real.
The interview with Todd Johnson on 6PR captures the tone and texture of the thinking far better than any summary can (12 minutes 51 seconds).
The humour.
The shared recognition that none of us have a crystal ball, but all of us still have choice.
So what does this mean for 2026?
I don’t think 2026 will be quieter.
But I do think it can be more grounded.
A year where leaders stop chasing certainty and start building decision confidence.
A year where organisations choose direction over perfection.
A year where being human is no longer treated as a liability in strategy conversations.
A good enough year is not a lowering of ambition.
It’s a re-anchoring of it.
If this is the conversation you need to be having
This is the work I do with boards, executive teams and leadership groups across industries.
Not futurism as theatre.
Not AI hype.
Not generic trend decks.
But real conversations about:
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how decisions are actually being made
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what’s weighing leaders down
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and how to navigate forward without burning out people or purpose
If this piece resonates, and you recognise these conversations inside your organisation, let’s talk. I work with leaders through keynotes, briefings and advisory work as Morris Misel.
Keynotes, briefings and advisory work are all about helping leaders prepare, not predict.
You can’t control the future.
But you can choose how you meet it.
Choose Forward.
