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Team Kibi Anderson, Los Angeles, CA (2026)

10/14/2026

If every important decision still needs you, what exactly are you selling?

I’ve been in a few conversations lately with leaders trying to hit really aggressive growth goals because there’s a potential liquidity event on the other side. And somewhere in the conversation, I usually hear some version of: We just need to get through the next 12 months.
I get it. There’s a number you need to hit, the stakes are high, and you’re trying to get there with the people, money and time you have right now.

But pressure can pull CEOs and senior leaders back into the very work they’ve spent years building a team to own. Suddenly more decisions need your eyes. You hired good people, but somehow you’re back in everything asking, Why am I still doing so much of this?

And if you’re building toward an exit, that matters. People are buying an asset. They’re not buying you.

If the business needs the CEO, COO, CMO or Chief Strategy Officer in every important decision for it to work, I’d get curious about that.
This is why I spend so much time talking about maintaining curiosity under pressure. High stakes have a way of making our learned behaviors feel necessary. I need to be in this decision. I need to make sure this gets done right. I don’t have time to let someone else figure this out.

Maybe. But have you actually questioned it?

Because the business you’re trying to sell has to be able to operate without you being the answer to everything.

If you’re curious about what you tend to default to when the pressure goes up, take my Curiosity Gap™ Scan. Find out whether you’re a Fast Fixer, Harmony Protector, Certainty Seeker or Over-Interpreter—and how that pattern may be showing up in the way you lead.

You’ll find the Curiosity Gap™ Scan in my Featured section.

10/13/2026

If you’re trying to do more with less, everything cannot suddenly become a priority.

I’ve been talking to leaders who have lost major clients, contracts or funding this year, and one of the things I’m paying attention to is what happens to priorities when resources get tight.

Cutting the budget is one decision. Deciding what you’re no longer going to do because you cut the budget is a much harder one.

And this is where teams get stuck. The resources change, but somehow the priority list doesn’t. The same projects are still important. The same goals are still on the table. The same meetings are still happening. Everybody starts looking for efficiencies because nobody wants to be the person who says, We can’t do all of this anymore.

If I were sitting with that leadership team, I’d start getting curious about the evidence underneath the priority list.

Pick one thing everyone agrees is “critical” and ask: What evidence do we have that this still needs to be a priority right now?

Then I’d keep going. What happens if we stop doing it? What happens if we delay it 90 days? Who actually needs this from us? Are we responding to something that is true now, or something that was true when we had more resources?

This is one way I use evidence with leadership teams to get underneath assumptions. Because sometimes the work survives long after the conditions that made the work necessary have changed.

This is part of what I mean by capacity management. If you have less money, fewer people or less time, prioritization cannot simply become an exercise in figuring out how to fit everything in. You need enough capacity to question what belongs there in the first place.

So if your team is heading into Q4 trying to do more with less, don’t start by asking how to get everything done. Pick one “critical” priority and examine the evidence for why it still belongs on the list.

I’d be curious what you discover.

10/08/2026

The highlight of my summer may have been my dad’s death. Which is a wild thing to say out loud.

I was talking to one of my best friends, Ife, recently and asked her a simple question: What was the highlight of your summer? She gave me her answer and then asked me mine.

I thought about it for a minute and said, “I think it was my dad’s death.”

I heard the irony as soon as I said it, but I was just being honest.

There was immense sadness when my dad died, and there is still a heaviness that comes with it. But there was also relief.

Relief from driving back and forth to Fresno, from the stress of getting a call that he’d been rushed to the hospital again, from watching him deteriorate and slowly die in the nursing home where he was living.

And there was relief for him. My dad was suffering. His body was failing him, and I’m grateful he’s out of that body now. I like thinking about him being in spiritual form and close to me in a different way.
My dad and I are moving in the right direction.

Grief has my body moving slowly right now. I’ve also been sick, and I cannot move at the pace I’m accustomed to moving. At the same time, my business is moving fast, and navigating those two speeds has created some anxiety.

I’m doing my best to meet that with curiosity instead of trying to outrun it, with empathy and love for myself, prayer, meditation and trust in the process.

At one point while talking to Ife, I noticed this small table across from my desk. There were flowers on it and an empty picture frame, and it hit me.

“Oh my God. That’s it. That’s where I’ll put him.” It’s like he’ll have his little desk across from mine.

There are seasons in leadership when s**t is hard and the work is still moving. Clients need answers, decisions have to be made, and sometimes your capacity simply isn’t what you’re accustomed to.

I’m living in one of those seasons now. I don’t have an answer for how to navigate it, but I’m paying attention to my body, giving myself some grace and trusting that slower doesn’t mean stopped.

It also means letting myself want some support. Apparently, some of that support looks like wanting my dad close.

So maybe Dad gets a desk.

10/07/2026

If you lost half your budget, something has to change besides the budget.

But I’m watching organizations try to keep operating as though nothing else has changed.

A major client disappears. A contract doesn’t renew. Funding gets cut. And suddenly the same team is trying to deliver against many of the same priorities with significantly fewer resources.

So people work harder. The CEO gets pulled back into decisions they thought they had delegated. Everything starts to feel urgent. Teams keep having conversations about things that, quite frankly, shouldn’t be that complicated. And eventually somebody says some version of: We have good people. Why is this so hard?

That’s when I start paying attention to capacity.

Because when the conditions inside the business change this dramatically, at some point you have to question the assumptions underneath how you’re operating. Does all of this still need to be done? Are these still the right priorities? What needs to stop? What are we continuing to do simply because that’s how we’ve always done it?

This is the part of capacity management I’m increasingly interested in. We spend a lot of time talking about how individuals manage their capacity, but organizations have to manage theirs too. If you’ve lost half your budget, a major client, or a critical contract, you cannot simply ask people to work harder and become more efficient while everything else stays the same.

You need enough capacity to actually ask: What does this moment require now?

Because the answer may be that you do less. It may be that you do something differently. It may be that something you’ve always done no longer makes sense. And you need enough room to actually discern that before urgency makes the decision for you.

So if you’re heading into Q4 with fewer resources than you expected, pay attention to what suddenly feels harder than it should.

If your resources have changed this year, what has your organization had to change with them? I’m curious what you’re seeing.

10/06/2026

A dear friend of mine has spent more than 30 years working in film and television. She's a freelancer with deep relationships in the industry who's done excellent, award-winning work.

And like a lot of people in entertainment right now, work has been slow.

We were talking about a job she'd applied for. She knew it was competitive, so not getting it wasn't necessarily the surprise.

But she didn't even make the shortlist.

"At this point in my career," she told me, "with the relationships I have and the quality of my work, I don't understand how I didn't at least get a conversation."

She was frustrated, and as we talked, I told her I thought I knew what was happening.

She'd been trying harder at the wrong problem.

The industry had changed dramatically, but she was still talking about her experience in many of the same ways she always had. I told her I needed to hear what 30 years in film and television had taught her about what was happening right now. What was she seeing that someone with five or ten years of experience couldn't see yet? What did she think about where the industry was going? How had she evolved along with it?

That's when things started unlocking. She had plenty to say. She just hadn't realized that this was the part of her experience she needed to make visible.

Because nobody is hiring your 30 years of experience simply because you have it. They want to know what those 30 years allow you to see, understand and do today.

Near the end of our conversation, she told me she'd gotten more useful direction from talking to me for 20 minutes than she'd gotten in the last year trying to figure this out.

You can lose a lot of time trying harder at the wrong problem, and being accomplished doesn't necessarily make that easier.

Sometimes it makes it harder because the things you're trying have worked before. You have evidence that they work. So when they stop producing the same result, of course your instinct is to do more of them.

Network harder. Send more emails. Apply for more jobs. Have more conversations.

Meanwhile, the actual problem remains untouched.

When you've been sitting inside your own experience for 20 or 30 years, it can be incredibly hard to see what changed around you, what needs to change in your approach, and where to put your energy next.

Sometimes getting unstuck starts with getting the right eyes on the problem.

If you're doing all the things you know how to do and still can't figure out why you're not getting traction, bring me the problem.

That's exactly what a Leadership Edit is for.

Sometimes you don't need another year to figure it out. You need 90 minutes and a different set of eyes.

Leadership Edit. Link in bio.

10/05/2026

You talked for 20 minutes. They barely got a word in. And now you’re frustrated because they’re not bought in?

Come on now. 😂

I see this all the time. People think they’re having a conversation when really they’re just speaking at somebody.

And then they’re surprised when the other person doesn’t buy into what they want them to do.

This is why I pay so much attention to trust when I’m working with leaders on communication. If the other person never really had an opportunity to engage with you, ask questions, push back or tell you what they’re thinking, how much trust did you actually build in that exchange?

Sometimes the first thing I want a leader to notice is simply how much they’re talking. Are you actually having a conversation with this person, or are you delivering a very long monologue and calling it communication?

Because if you want people to move with you, you need to give them some space to actually be in the conversation with you.

Know somebody who could stand to talk a little less and listen a little more? Send this to them. 👀

10/01/2026

Wait. I have to speak for the work now too?

I think that's one of the harder realizations for people who've spent 20 or 30 years building successful careers.

For a long time, the deal was pretty straightforward. Do excellent work. Build strong relationships. Develop a good reputation. Keep doing that long enough and people know who you are.

Good work speaks for itself.

Except increasingly, you have to speak for the work too.

I was talking recently with a dear friend who's spent more than 30 years working in film and television. She's done excellent, award-winning work and built deep relationships across the industry, but work has been slow.

A friend of hers who is working gave her the usual advice: Network. Research the companies you want to work for. Figure out who's working there. Find their email. Reach out before the job gets posted.

Her reaction was basically: Duh. I've been freelancing in this industry for decades. How do you think I've survived this long?

Exactly.

She knows how to network. Telling somebody with 30 years of relationships to "network more" isn't particularly useful when the market around her has changed.

What she hasn't had to build is the muscle of translating three decades of experience into a story that makes somebody understand why they should be curious about her now.

And that's bigger than LinkedIn. It's what happens when somebody at an event asks what you're working on and you have two minutes to make them think, "Ooh. Tell me more." It's explaining what you've learned without giving somebody your entire résumé.

A lot of experienced people haven't had to build that muscle. Their work, reputation and relationships have been doing a lot of that translation for them.

Near the end of our conversation, my friend told me she'd gotten more useful direction from talking to me for 20 minutes than she'd gotten in the last year trying to figure this out.

That matters because speed is one of the things I've become exceptionally good at. I spend hundreds of hours talking with leaders about problems like this. I've learned how to listen to their experience, what they're trying to do and where they're stuck, recognize the pattern underneath it, and get to the actual problem quickly.

My friend needed someone who could see in 20 minutes what had been difficult to see from inside 30 years of her own experience.

Once we could name the problem, she had somewhere to go.

That's what a Leadership Edit is for.

If you know you have the experience but you're struggling to articulate your value in a way that makes the right people want to keep talking to you, bring me the problem.

We'll spend 90 minutes figuring out what actually matters and translating it into something you can use when the next opportunity is sitting across from you.

Leadership Edit. Link in bio.

09/30/2026

“She’s a bad communicator.”

Okay but what does that actually mean, because calling someone a “bad communicator” has become one of those workplace labels we throw around when what we really mean is: I’m not getting what I need from this person.

Maybe they bury the point under six minutes of context. Maybe they’re so direct that people shut down. Maybe they leave out the context everyone else needs to make a decision. Or maybe they spend the whole conversation talking at people and then wonder why nobody is bought in.

Those are different problems. And they require different solutions.

So when somebody tells me a person is a “bad communicator,” I want to know what they’re actually doing. What happens when they communicate? Where does the breakdown occur? What result are you getting that you don’t want?

Get curious about the behavior before you slap a label on the person.

Because you can coach a behavior. “Bad communicator” doesn’t give anybody much to work with.

Know a leader who’s trying to figure out why communication keeps breaking down on their team? Send this their way.

09/29/2026

You can hate the attention economy. But living your life offline is no longer enough if you want to compete in this economy.

You have 20 or 30 years of experience, an excellent reputation and real relationships, and you were taught that if you keep doing good work, the right people will know. For a long time, that playbook worked.

It just doesn't work nearly as well now.

I see the consequences all the time. Someone with decades of experience can't understand why they didn't make the shortlist. A consultant with an incredible track record can't figure out why the phone isn't ringing. A senior leader leaves an organization after 15 years and suddenly realizes how much of their reputation lived inside that institution.

It's also one of the reasons grifters have been winning. They're willing to talk. Meanwhile, some of the smartest, most experienced people I know have decided that talking publicly about what they know is beneath them, too self-promotional or just not their thing.

Okay. But while you're quietly being excellent, other people are becoming known for the expertise you actually have.

And here's the thing: you're probably already generating interesting ideas. You're just doing it offline.

You read an article and immediately text your friend because you have THOUGHTS. You drop it into the girlfriend kiki chat. You spend 20 minutes telling your partner why everybody is completely missing the point.

Put some of that somewhere people can see it.

I'm not saying you need to become a content creator. Join an industry group. Comment when you have something useful to add. Share an article and tell people what you actually think. Start a small newsletter.

Early in my career, I spent about two and a half years sending a simple newsletter to people I'd worked with or had interesting conversations with. I wasn't trying to become an influencer. I wanted to stay on people's minds, and that little newsletter helped me secure some of my most interesting early opportunities and leapfrog over entry-level positions where other people were getting stuck.

You don't need 10,000 followers. You need the right people to start associating your name with an interesting point of view.

And this is where a lot of experienced people get stuck. You already have plenty of experience. But you may not have built the muscle of deciding which parts of everything you know are worth talking about, how to articulate what you're seeing in a way that makes somebody pay attention, or how to do any of this without feeling like you've become one of those people on LinkedIn you can't stand.

That's exactly the kind of problem we can work through in a Leadership Edit. We can figure out what's actually interesting about the way you see the world now, what the right people need to understand about you, and how to make more of that visible.

Because those smart conversations you're already having in private?

Some of them need a bigger room.

Leadership Edit. Link in bio.

09/28/2026

My dad is currently in a shipping box, which requires some explanation.

When his ashes arrived, they came in this larger shipping box marked CREMATED REMAINS by the Postal Service. I side-eyed him for some time because I wasn't ready to unpack him, so I didn't.

But lately, I've been feeling this powerful, unspoken magnetism toward him. The other day, I had this urge to lay down next to the box and curl up next to him.

I didn't do it then but eventually, I finally knelt down, put my hand on the box and said, "All right, Dad. I can tell I'm ready for you to unpack." A few days later, I did.

Inside was this little black box with his name on it. I took him out and just held him, and I felt this sense of release and relief.
As I held him and closed my eyes, I drifted back to the last time I saw my dad in physical form.

My dad died on July 21. I had driven three hours to Fresno hoping to make it before he passed, but I didn't. By the time I got to the hospital, he was being kept alive by machines. I was grateful I could still touch him while he was warm, caress his skin and just be present with this man who represented so many things in my life: excitement, hope, devastation, puzzlement, awe.

After they pronounced him dead, they examined him and lifted his eyelids. That was the last time I saw my dad's eyes.

What surprised me in the midst of my sadness was how much beauty I noticed. There was still a glimmer of light. There was still brightness.

That's the beautiful part.

And now, two months later, I'm holding what's left of his body and wanting him closer to me.

Grief is so weird. There's been this tension in me of, why am I still grieving this dude? I didn't know him that well.

I said some version of this to a friend recently, and she said, "Well, he's still your dad, Kibi."

Yeah.

I'm finally allowing myself to sit in that tension without needing to figure it all out. Because underneath all of my questions is something much simpler: I want my dad.

For now, he's out of the shipping box, sitting on a beautiful shelf in my living room, still in that little black box with his name on it, next to the urn I'm not ready to put him in yet.

We're moving.

Team Kibi Anderson

10/14/2026

10/13/2026

10/08/2026

10/07/2026

10/06/2026

10/05/2026

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09/28/2026

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