Trust is the Strategy

In IT projects, we talk endlessly about tools, frameworks, timelines, and efficiency. But the more I’ve seen, the clearer it becomes that none of it really works without trust. Trust is the strategy that keeps a project moving. Without it, you can bring in senior managers, even C-level executives, and still nothing changes; the cracks remain.

With juniors, it’s natural to expect some inefficiency. They’re learning, they’ll stumble, and with guidance, they grow. That’s manageable. But when trust starts slipping with seniors, it’s a different story. At that point, the issue isn’t efficiency anymore; it’s belief. If you’re questioning the intent, competence, or commitment of people who’ve been in the trenches for years, you’re essentially shaking the foundation of the team. Oversight doesn’t solve that. In fact, it often makes things worse.

I’ve seen how this plays out when the people dealing directly with the customer start to feel “we can push more.” Customers will always want more; that’s expected. The real challenge begins when internal teams lose faith in their own delivery colleagues. Instead of managing expectations, they push harder. Suddenly, the delivery team is stuck in defense mode, spending more energy proving they’re working hard than actually moving the project forward. That’s when progress stalls, not because of a lack of skill, but because trust has broken down.

So how do you build it back? It’s not through tighter control or more escalations. Trust is built when leaders choose to assume competence first, instead of assuming failure. It grows when effort is recognized and not brushed aside, even in difficult times. It strengthens when people can speak openly about blockers without fear of being blamed. It shows up when leaders protect their teams from unrealistic demands and educate customers about what’s truly possible. And it’s reinforced in the small things, celebrating small wins, being consistent, and standing by each other when things get tough.

It’s also a two-way street. Teams need to be transparent and accountable so customer-facing colleagues know they can rely on them. Managers need to communicate honestly with both sides, bridging the gap instead of widening it. And customers, too, will trust more when they feel they’re being dealt with honestly and consistently, even if the answer is sometimes “not now.”

In the end, project management is less about timelines and reports and more about creating an environment where people genuinely believe in each other. When trust is strong, juniors learn faster, seniors deliver better, and customers respect boundaries. When trust is weak, no amount of oversight or process will hold the project together.

I know I might sound like an optimist, maybe even like I’m romanticizing something soft and abstract, but after a long career, this is what I’ve come to believe. I used to be a pretty shrewd project manager, convinced that tighter control, sharper processes, and constant follow-up were the only way to get things done. My seniors would talk about trust, and I’d shrug it off. Now, 22 years later, I catch myself saying the exact same thing they once told me. And if a lesson stays with you that long, passed down through experience, then there must be truth in it, don't you think?

Rethinking Fast-Tracked Leadership

Let’s be honest, the world has a shortage of leaders. These days, the moment a company spots someone who looks smart, confident, or even a bit cocky, the reflex is the same: “Make him a leader.” If a young employee starts asking for a raise, the easiest way to justify it is to hand them a title, pile on additional responsibilities, and hope for the best. It feels like a shortcut - fill the leadership gap, keep them motivated, and move on. That’s not leadership development, that’s gambling.

Confidence is not equal to capability. Being confident or outspoken is not the same as being capable of leading people. Leadership requires emotional intelligence, patience, and the ability to lift others up. A three or four-year career professional rarely has the maturity to carry that weight.

Leadership isn’t a salary band. One of the worst habits is using leadership titles to justify higher pay. The signal this sends is toxic. Leadership equals money, not responsibility. People start chasing roles for the wrong reasons, and teams end up reporting to “leaders” who lack the skills to lead.

Skipping the growth curve breaks people. There’s a natural order to things, to learn, to stumble, to grow, and eventually to lead. When we rush someone straight into leadership, we deny them the space to make mistakes and build resilience. Suddenly, they’re responsible for others when they’re still figuring out how to manage themselves. That’s not development, that’s sabotage.

Experience still matters. In our rush, we’ve started undervaluing it. Yes, newer leaders today grow fast, faster than ever before. With endless information at their fingertips, constant content to learn from, and the acceleration of AI, they can pick up frameworks, strategies, and skills in months that used to take years. But there’s a difference between knowledge and wisdom. Experience is where judgment, perspective, and empathy are born. A leader who has experienced both failure and success develops a steadiness that no amount of early confidence or quick learning can replace. It’s the scar tissue of real-world decisions, the resilience built under pressure, and the humility gained from mistakes that truly shape leadership. We forget this at our own risk.

True leadership isn’t about being the smartest person in the room. It’s about making everyone else better. And that can’t be hacked or rushed. It takes time, humility, and experience. If we really want better leaders, we need to stop looking for shortcuts and start respecting the journey.

The Struggle Within

I’m 44, and most days, I feel old, tired, like I’m stuck somewhere between holding it all together and wondering what the hell the point of it even is anymore. Music has always been part of my life, and over time, it changed as I changed. Once, it was pure fire, anger, adrenaline. Metallica blasting in my ears while I stood with my school garage band, convinced we were untouchable. That sound made me feel infinite. Then life hit, responsibilities, family, work, the heavy weight of being the guy people count on. The fire dimmed. My playlists shifted to Pink Floyd. Their sound wasn’t anger, it was thought. It matched the questions in my head. Heavy, slow, searching. Staring at the sky, wondering if there was any meaning at all, it fit. But lately, without even meaning to, I’ve gone back to Metallica. And I keep asking myself, why? At this age, when I should be craving peace, why am I reaching for chaos again?

Because music isn’t just sound. It’s a mirror.

When I crank up Metallica now, I don’t just hear riffs, I hear ghosts. I hear the 14-year-old me still screaming, refusing to be buried under years of fatigue and responsibility. I hear the garage band that thought the world was theirs. I hear freedom in every distorted note. Pink Floyd feels like lying on your back staring at the stars, trying to figure out what it all means. Metallica feels like grabbing the wheel before you crash and screaming into the storm. One makes me think. The other makes me move. And I realize I need both. But here’s the thing, Metallica doesn’t sound the same at 44 as it did at 14. Back then, it was rebellion for rebellion’s sake. Now it’s therapy. Every riff pulls out the things I don’t say, the burnout, the depression, the frustration, the exhaustion of being the guy who always has to have the answers. It’s not noise anymore. It’s medicine.

This isn’t only nostalgia. This is survival.

Because deep down, my soul refuses to just grow quiet and fade into routine. Metallica wakes up the fighter in me, the one who still wants to kick down walls, scream at the sky, and live. And maybe that’s the meaning I’ve been searching for. Not to choose calm over chaos. Not to bury one version of me for the other. Maybe that’s what 44 really is. Not settling into one self, but to carry them both, the kid with the guitar, and the man with the scars.

Wishful Thinking with a Deadline

In over 20 years of building software, I’ve seen a wide range of project styles. Some projects are well-planned, some are chaotic, and then there’s the most common style of all, wishful thinking with a deadline. It usually goes like this:

• Start with vague requirements. The initial brief is so high-level that it could describe ten different products. Details? “We’ll figure them out later.”
• Discover the product while building it. As development progresses, new “must-have” ideas keep popping up. Scope changes aren’t an occasional thing; they’re a way of life.
• Hold developers to an impossible standard. They’re told to fully understand the business domain, fair enough, except the people giving the requirements often don’t understand the full picture themselves.
• Lecture about quality. In the final stretch, after the requirements have shape-shifted a dozen times, we suddenly talk about “quality” like it’s been our north star all along. As if you can throw darts at a moving target and still hit the bullseye.
• Blame the builders. When the product feels rushed or messy, the finger points at the development team. The process that created the chaos? Rarely questioned.

It’s a strange paradox; we demand precision from the people developing, yet we tolerate uncertainty from the people defining the requirements. We expect quality, stability, and polish from a process that is anything but stable.

I’ve always believed great software comes from clarity, stability, and disciplined execution. Without those, it’s not really software development; it’s just wishful thinking with a deadline. A product born from improvisation, released on schedule because the calendar says so, not because it’s ready.

So here’s a thought: stop pretending quality can magically appear at the end. Quality starts where the conversation starts. If the vision is clear, the requirements are solid, and changes are intentional rather than chaotic, the development team can actually deliver something great.

To all, my intention isn’t about assigning fault. It’s about getting everyone in software development to face the same truth. Otherwise, we’ll keep adding chaos to a scrum board, calling it “agile”, and pretending velocity equals progress.

The Airbag Generation

Back in the 80s, a car was basically a metal box with an engine. If you hit something, you knew you hit it. There was no gentle poof of an airbag to catch you, no computer telling you to brake, no beep-beep warning because you were drifting out of your lane. You paid attention because you had no choice. Mistakes hurt, literally.

Now, a modern car can survive a crash better than most people can survive criticism. There’s an airbag for your knees, your head, your side, maybe even one for your self-esteem. The whole thing is designed to make you feel invincible. And we’ve done the exact same thing to life.

We’ve padded the world from every angle. Schools redesign tests so nobody “fails,” because apparently the word failure is offensive. Sports days have no winners and losers, just “participants,” because losing might dent little Timmy’s self-esteem. Workplaces replace honest feedback with “positive framing” so no one feels bad about doing a bad job. We’ve airbagged reality.

But here’s the cruel joke: the real world hasn’t changed. It’s still competitive. It’s still unfair. It still chews up people who think life owes them a soft landing. In the 80s, you knew you were in a dangerous machine, and you acted accordingly. Now, people think they can slam headfirst into the wall and walk away without a scratch, because so far, they’ve never been allowed to crash for real.

And while we’re at it, can we stop telling everyone they’re destined for greatness? They’re not. Not everyone will be a leader, a billionaire, or someone history will remember. Some will live small, quiet lives, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But selling the fantasy of inevitable greatness only makes the crash harder when reality kicks in. You don’t need to be extraordinary to live a good, meaningful life. You just need to be ready for the bumps in the road.

Look around. The moment someone faces real rejection, they collapse. The first setback? Total meltdown. No resilience, no grit, just outrage that the world didn’t deploy the airbag on time. We’ve traded strength for comfort, and comfort for fragility.

I’m not saying we should go back to when seatbelts were optional and life was a demolition derby. But maybe, just maybe, we could stop wrapping everyone in bubble wrap and start teaching them to actually drive. Because in life, just like in the 80s, you don’t get infinite airbags. Sometimes you crash. Sometimes it hurts. And that’s the point.

And honestly, did you ever hear your father or grandfather complain about life being hard? They didn’t have the luxury. Life was the road, full of potholes and blind turns, and you drove it as best you could. No one promised a smooth ride. They kept going, not because it was comfortable, but because quitting wasn’t an option.

Work-Life Balance vs Growth

You want to grow? Then get ready to work. There’s no shortcut, no “hack,” no perfect work-life balance that magically leads to success. Growth, real growth, comes from pushing yourself beyond the usual, beyond what’s comfortable. These days, I hear a lot of noise about work-life balance. Don't get me wrong, rest matters, and burnout is real, but if you’re constantly treating “work-life balance” like a human right rather than a privilege you earn, then maybe it's not growth you're after, maybe it’s comfort, and comfort rarely leads to greatness.

We’ve romanticized the idea of balance so much that now, the moment work gets a little hard, people throw their hands up like, “This is toxic!” No, it’s not toxic. It’s effort, and effort is uncomfortable. Growth is not convenient. Think about athletes. The ones who win, do they train only when they feel like it? Do they work only 9 to 5? They wake up early, eat with discipline, train hard, and sleep like it’s their job. They structure their entire lives around improvement, and that’s just for a chance at a medal.

In our world, business, tech, entrepreneurship, whatever, it’s no different. If you want to grow, you have to push your limits. That means long nights, uncomfortable meetings, taking responsibility when things go south, and learning on the fly. Every single minute counts. Every distraction you entertain is a minute lost.

Let me give you an example. I’ve seen senior developers who clock in at 10:30, leave by 6, and spend more time checking notifications than checking their own code quality. On the flip side, I’ve seen juniors who stayed back to watch seniors debug, asked questions, picked up extra reading, and practiced on weekends. Fast forward a year, guess who’s leading a team and who’s still "waiting to be recognized"? Success doesn’t chase anyone. It shows up for those who show up first and leave last, who make themselves useful, who don’t see extra work as a burden but as an opportunity.

Work-life balance isn’t the enemy, but it's not the goal either. Balance is not about working less. It's about being in control. If you're in your 30s and trying to “balance” like someone in their 50s, you're robbing your future self. Get uncomfortable now, use this time to build, to hustle, to learn like crazy. Yes, take care of your health. Spend time with loved ones. But don’t confuse balance with laziness, or boundaries with avoidance. If you're not where you want to be, then more balance isn’t the answer; more effort is.

Use your 20s to build, your 30s to scale, your 40s to lead, your 50s to breathe, and your 60s to enjoy what you’ve built. But if you're already prioritizing breathing before building or scaling, you’re just exhaling your potential.

Balance is earned after you've built something worth balancing.