The most valuable leadership lessons I have learned didn't come from business books or boardrooms. They emerged while listening to people, observing communities, and discovering that understanding, not urgency, is often the foundation of better decisions.
A Morning In Kyoto
Kyoto has a way of reminding you that a city doesn't exist for its visitors.
On one of my visits to Japan, I left my hotel before sunrise with no destination in mind. The streets were almost silent as shopkeepers swept the sidewalks outside family businesses, bakers prepared for the morning rush, and cyclists quietly made their way to work. No crowds were gathering outside temples, no cameras were pointed toward famous landmarks, and no one was rushing from one attraction to the next.
Without the distractions that accompany tourism, I found myself noticing details I would have otherwise walked past. Daily routines revealed more about the city's character than any itinerary could. It wasn't Kyoto's monuments that left the greatest impression on me that morning. It was the people who gave those monuments meaning.
Beyond The Itinerary
As Wanderers Compass evolved from an idea into an international travel media company, my reasons for traveling gradually changed. Destinations remained fascinating, but they were no longer my primary focus. I became more interested in the people who preserved them.
Similar mornings unfolded in Malta, where church bells echoed through limestone streets before cafés opened for the day, and in Cinque Terre, where fishermen prepared their boats beneath a quiet Ligurian sunrise. Although each destination possessed its own culture and history, they shared one important characteristic. Their personalities revealed themselves before anyone tried to explain them.
Instead of wondering what I should see, I began asking why a place mattered to the people who called it home. Why had a family remained in the same business for generations? How does a community balance welcoming visitors while protecting its identity? What traditions were residents most determined to preserve?
Those questions rarely appeared in guidebooks, yet they consistently led to the conversations I remembered long after returning home.
Leadership Isn't Always Loud
For much of my career, I accepted the same assumptions that shaped modern business. Success belonged to those who responded quickly, adapted quickly, and accomplished more before the day ended than anyone expected. Whether I was working as an oncology clinical research nurse or later building Wanderers Compass alongside Ryan, there always seemed to be another deadline, another project, or another opportunity waiting just ahead.
The journeys that stayed with me longest were rarely the busiest ones.
Likewise, the best business decisions we made rarely emerged during our busiest seasons. They came after conversations that continued beyond scheduled meetings, during quiet walks through unfamiliar cities, or while reflecting on experiences that initially seemed unrelated to business.
The Conversation Afterward
When Wanderers Compass was still in its early years, I believed my responsibility as a journalist was to gather information. Before every assignment, I researched the destination, studied its history, and arrived with a list of carefully prepared questions.
A tourism minister can discuss visitor numbers and economic priorities. A historian can recount centuries of events with remarkable precision. A hotel owner can describe architecture, renovations, and guest amenities. Every answer has value, yet I found myself remembering something else entirely. The stories that stayed with me usually emerged after the interview ended.
Like many visitors, we arrived captivated by the moai. Instead, conversations with local residents took us in a completely different direction.
As we spent time with guides and community members, the discussion gradually shifted away from the moai and toward the people who created them. We learned about the island's remarkable history, its oral traditions, the cultural significance of the statues, and the resilience of the Rapa Nui people. By the end of our visit, I realized the moai were only one chapter in a much larger story.
When we returned home to write about Easter Island, rather than focusing primarily on the statues, we wrote an article called "Beyond the Moai." The piece became less about what visitors come to see and more about the people, history, and culture that give those iconic figures their meaning.
That experience reinforced a lesson I continue to carry into every assignment. The landmark may capture our attention, but it is almost always the people behind it who reveal the story worth telling.
Listening Before Leading
Long before I interviewed tourism leaders around the world, I spent my career as an oncology clinical research nurse. Although healthcare and travel journalism appear to have little in common, both professions taught me the same lesson.
People rarely begin with what matters most.
Early in my nursing career, I noticed that some of the most important conversations happened just as an appointment seemed to be ending. A patient would stand, reach for the door, pause, and quietly say, "There's one more thing..."
The concern they had hesitated to mention often became the conversation that mattered most. It taught me that trust develops gradually and that listening is creating enough space for people to share what truly matters.
Years later, interviewing historians, artisans, hotel owners, and community leaders, I recognized the same pattern. Trust transformed conversations into something meaningful.
Leadership begins the same way. Before decisions are made, leaders must first understand the people they serve. That understanding comes from listening better.
Building a Business That Pays Attention
As Ryan and I grew Wanderers Compass, we made several decisions that ran against the prevailing trends in digital media. Rather than producing the greatest possible volume of content, we invested in stories that required time. We chose long-form journalism because history, culture, and community deserve context. We expanded into podcasting because some conversations lose their richness when reduced to a few quotations on a page. We returned to destinations because meaningful relationships and meaningful journalism are rarely built during a single visit.
Technology allows us to work faster than ever before, but it cannot replace genuine curiosity. It cannot recognize the emotion in someone's voice as they describe preserving a family business or protecting a centuries-old tradition. It doesn’t make sense that the most meaningful conversation is only beginning, even though the meeting has officially ended.
Those moments still belong to people.
And businesses that continue to value those moments will always stand apart.
Looking More Closely
Travel has introduced me to remarkable places, but its greatest gift has been the people willing to share their stories once they realize someone is genuinely interested in listening. Those conversations have shaped my writing, influenced the way Ryan and I have built Wanderers Compass, and changed the way I approach leadership far more than any business book ever has.
The older I become, the more convinced I am that paying attention is not simply a travel skill.
It is leadership skills.
The best decisions I've made rarely come from moving the fastest or speaking the loudest. More often, they have emerged from moments of observation, conversations that continued after the interview ended, and the willingness to look beyond what was immediately visible.
I traveled the world expecting to discover extraordinary places.
Instead, I discovered a different way of seeing them, and, in the process, a different way of leading.