Great Floating Tribe

30/08/2026

Summer ends. And for many of us, it means leaving again.
Leaving family behind. Going back to wherever “home” currently is. Not knowing how you will find them the next time (not even being certain if you will be back...). Life happens; places and people change, sometimes in unexpected ways.
The Japanese word 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑖 reflects this feeling very well : the nostalgia of something coming to an end, mixed with the uncertainty of whether we will experience it again.
In this article, I wrote about 𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑖, about leaving my father this summer, about the very different ways we experience goodbyes, and about something I am learning: sadness does not necessarily mean that leaving is wrong.

Our bodies leave first. Our feelings follow a few steps behind.
We leave a part of us behind, but still feel fine, still whole.

Nagori is a Japanese word for the nostalgia of something coming to an end, and the uncertainty of experiencing it again. A reflection on the end of summer, leaving people and places behind, and allowing ourselves to remain attached even as we move on.

17/08/2026

Here is another article that I wrote about 6 months ago about the practice of Nemawashi in Japan.

I thought I understood influence. That was before I moved to Japan and learned about Nemawashi. Before Japan, I would ask: are we moving fast enough? After Japan, I ask something else first: are the right people already part of this — before we move at all? Japan gave me…

17/08/2026

What Should a Leader Wear during the Hot Days of Summer?

I have found that the answer depends mostly on where you live and work, not really on who you are.

This year, with the heat waves hitting many countries, summer was something to survive. We complained about the heat, hid indoors with the air-conditioning (if you're lucky – not me in Paris), and count the days until September.

It brought back my memory of Japan, when every year, as summer approached, I found myself asking the truly important question: "When does Cool Biz start this year?"

I didn’t want to make the “gaffe” to drop the jacket and wear short sleeves one day early!

As I researched this year's CoolBiz dates, I've learned about the new "short" controversy. Nowhere else but in Japan !

In many Western countries, the debate around workplace attire has largely disappeared. In Japan, however, the issue still becomes national news.

If clothing is merely personal expression, changing it is easy. If clothing is part of the social fabric and a strong signal about professionalism, changing it becomes a cultural negotiation. A national debate on how to adapt to climate change.

Read more in my new article on my blog.

This is about my observations about suits, ties, and Cool Biz in Japan. In many Western countries, the debate around workplace attire has largely disappeared. In Japan, however, the issue still becomes national news. If clothing is merely personal expression, changing it is easy. If clothing is part...

18/07/2026

The more I use AI, the more my own voice matters.
Two years ago, I started experimenting with generative AI out of curiosity.

This year, it became part of my writing practice.
Not because I wanted AI to write for me, but because I discovered it could really help me find and amplify my own voice.

So from now on, you'll find this short note at the end of my articles:
"This article was originally written by my own brain with the help of my finger-tips, then reviewed and improved with the help of a generative AI tool. It was then reviewed again and edited by me, to ensure that it is reflecting my personal voice, point of view and opinion."

Partly, this is to comply with the evolving guidelines around AI in Korea. But mostly, it's because I believe transparency matters.



https://greatfloatingtribe.com/the-more-i-use-ai-the-more-my-own-voice-matters/

08/07/2026

𝑷𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝒀𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔. ⭐

A few weeks ago, I was packing to go on a business trip to Japan. I was pondering what I should wear. It might sound like a trivial question, but in Japan it isn't.

In fact, I know a coach colleague who once received a complaint from a client because she was wearing boots while facilitating a workshop. Not because the workshop was poor. Not because participants were unhappy. Because of the boots.

In any culture, wearing the appropriate clothes is a strong sign of showing up as a professional. It signals that you understand your role and indicates competence. But nowhere is it as true as in Japan.

Find out more in my new article in the series "Lessons in Leadership from Japan", on my blog.

In any culture, wearing the appropriate clothes is a strong sign of showing up as a professional. It signals that you understand your role, your competence and what is expected about you. But nowhere is it as true as in Japan.

29/06/2026

Peut-on vraiment se préparer à vivre dans une autre culture... avant d'y avoir mis les pieds ?
On ne s'adapte pas à une réalité que l'on n'a pas encore vécue.
C'est une chose que j'ai apprise après des années à accompagner des expatriés et des équipes internationales.

Marc Bloch, dont l'entrée au Panthéon a reveillé cette idée, l'a trés bien formulé dans son livre L'Étrange Défaite :

« S'adapter par avance à une réalité simplement prévue et analysée par les seules forces de l'esprit est probablement, pour la plupart des hommes, un exercice mental plus difficile que de modeler leur action, au fur et à mesure, sur des faits directement observés. » Pour la plupart des femmes aussi.

Il l'a formulé dans un contexte bien différent : dans son travail d'historien essayant de comprendre la defaite de la France en 1940. Mais dans mon expérience de la mobilité internationale - un contexte totalement different, pourtant, cette phrase est profondément vraie.

Les formations interculturelles avant le départ sont interessantes, mais sont-elles vraiment utiles? Elles permettent de découvrir un pays, de comprendre certains codes, d'éviter quelques faux pas. On s'amuse, on fait des jeux de roles. "Entertaining" est le mot qui me vient à l'esprit. Mais qu'est-ce qu'il en reste lorsqu'on fait ses premiers pas sur le sol de son nouveau pays ?

Une fois sur place... tout change.

Le choc culturel ne s'apprend pas dans une salle de formation. Les émotions, les malentendus, les interprétations, les situations inconfortables ou les tensions ne peuvent réelement être comprises qu'au moment où elles sont vécues, ainsi que par une prise de recul, un retour sur l’expérience.

C'est à ce moment la qu'etre accompagné devient indispensable. Cela aide à comprendre ce qui se joue dans les situations, decoder, comprendre ce qu’il va falloir mettre en oeuvre pour naviguer dans ce nouvel environnement, les comportements et actions à adapter.

Comprendre la mesure des changements à mettre en œuvre. Ce qu’il va falloir commencer à faire, continuer à faire et arreter de faire.

J'ai longtemps animé un atelier destiné aux personnes installées à Tokyo depuis quelques mois. Les échanges étaient d'une toute autre nature que ceux organisés avant le départ. Les questions étaient réelles. Les situations étaient concrètes. Et les réponses pouvaient être mises en pratique dès le lendemain.

On n'apprend pas à s'adapter avant le départ.
On apprend à partir des situations que l'on traverse... à condition d'avoir quelqu'un pour nous aider à les décoder.

26/06/2026

Japan was the mirror, not the destination.
Writing this second article in my Leadership Lessons from Japan series taught me something unexpected.

Not about Japan. About writing.

My first draft explained too much. It told readers what I had learned.

The rewrite does something different. It lets them get lost with me first.

For three days, I was convinced we were wasting time—driving through rice fields, visiting factories and sharing meals instead of starting the project I had travelled to Japan for.
Only years later did I realise that the project had already begun.

Sometimes the hardest part of writing isn't finding the right words. It's resisting the temptation to explain too soon.

I'm slowly learning to trust the story.
The Long Way Around is published on my blog.

I hope it doesn't just take you to Japan. I hope it invites you to remember a time when the way you thought things should work quietly stopped working—and a larger perspective began.

A journey through Japan that begins with an unexpected encounter and ends somewhere I never expected: a different way of understanding leadership, people and myself. Because sometimes the longest journeys are the ones that quietly change how we see the world.

22/06/2026

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒙𝒆𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 "𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉" — 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆.
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈.

Summer is coming. And with it, the moves. Some are heading to a new country. Others are returning "home." Either way, a chapter is closing.
But before you focus on what comes next, there's something essential to do first: say goodbye to this life.

That sounds obvious. And yet most people leave without really leaving. Caught up in logistics, paperwork, schools, boxes — and then one day the plane takes off. And they assume the transition is done.

It isn't.

Leaving is a process. Not an event.
The friendships you're leaving behind. The routines you're giving up. The dreams that came true (or not). A mix of emotions that's hard to name — sadness, gratitude, relief, regret, all at once.
If you don't make room for them, these emotions don't disappear. They resurface later, sometimes months or years down the line, when you least expect it.

Dr. David Po***ck, a pioneer in supporting expat families, had a simple framework for leaving well: the RAFT.
𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 — repair what can be repaired. Unresolved tensions have a way of travelling with us.
𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 — tell people what they meant to you. Don't assume they already know.
𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 — consciously say goodbye. To people, places, routines, chapters.
𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 — prepare for what comes next. Even if you're going "home," much has changed. Something in you has shifted that will never be the same.

Leaving well takes intention. It starts with making peace with the chapter you're about to close. When you leave well, you carry memories forward.
Not regrets.

03/06/2026

When they land in a new country, some people need a map. or a compass.
I need a cultural interpreter.

This week in Seoul, I had the pleasure of meeting Diane Eunju Hong, one of the pioneers of cultural and cross-cultural training in Korea.
She started doing this work when the field was still emerging, long before "global leadership" and "cross-cultural competence" became fashionable topics.

Our conversation reminded me how important it is to have trusted cultural decoders around you. People who can help you understand what sits beneath behaviors. What values, beliefs, historical influences, social norms, and collective experiences are shaping what you see.

People who can help you make sense of the moments that leave you thinking:
"Why did that happen?"
"Why was that reaction so strong?"
"What am I missing here?"

For me, this is particularly valuable as I continue exploring leadership in Korea. Korea fascinates me because it is living through multiple eras at once.

The influence of Confucian values is still visible in many workplaces. At the same time, Korea is one of the most dynamic, creative, innovative, and globally connected societies in the world.

Understanding Korean leadership today requires understanding where it came from, what has shaped its evolution, and where it may be heading next.

And that matters.

Because every day, Korean and international leaders are navigating these changes in real time. Supporting them requires more than cultural tips and tricks. It requires curiosity, context, history, and the humility to keep learning.

My conversation with Diane felt like breathing fresh air.
It remind me why I love this work.

27/05/2026

She is writing a book about her experiences and her travels.
And it is going nowhere.
Oddly enough, that might be exactly where it needs to be.

This morning, I had coffee with a member of the Great Floating Tribe. Korean, raised partly in Australia, now moving back and forth between Korea and Australia. The kind of person whose identity probably requires a 2-hour conversation and several airport codes to understand properly.

At one point she mentioned, almost cautiously:
“I’m writing a book.”
My curiosity was immediately piqued. So I asked the dangerous question:
“What kind of book?”

And she struggled to answer.
Not because she lacked ideas. Quite the opposite.

She started somewhere around:
“Well… it’s based on my travels… and my life in different countries… but also reflections… and other topics that matter to me…”

You could feel her trying to compress something alive into a marketable sentence. And it made me realize there may be two very different ways people write book.

The first way is very clear from the beginning.
You have a topic.
A message you want to bring into the world.

You can already see the finished shape of the book in your mind. There is a red thread running through it from day one. The writing becomes the process of building that structure carefully and intentionally.

It is neat. Efficient. Reassuring.

You can answer easily, comfortably, to the question "What is book about?". No headache. You feel competent. On the surface.

And then there is the second way.
The writing starts long before the book exists.

You write fragments. Memories. Observations. Stories.
Moments that refuse to leave you alone.
You write here and there, often without fully knowing why.

The process is much more inside-out.
And for a long time, it can feel like… nothing is happening. It's messy.
No clear concept.
No elevator pitch.
No satisfying answer when people ask:
“So what is your book about?”

But maybe the real work is not building the structure yet.
Maybe the real work is noticing what keeps returning. What's emerging.

At some point, the fragments begin recognizing each other.
And slowly, almost quietly, the book starts emerging on its own.

I suspect many people who have lived across countries, cultures, and versions of themselves write this second kind of book.

Because when your life has unfolded through movement, the meaning often arrives late.

Sometimes years late.
Sometimes in another language.
And maybe that kind of writing looks messy from the outside because it is not trying to manufacture coherence too quickly.

It is trying to discover what was already there, taking form. Like a pregnancy.
Which may be slower.
But also infinitely more alive and authentic.