
Do you know how to assemble IKEA furniture on the deck of a ship, in a storm, with the wind snatching your hex key, the pieces missing, the instructions are soggy? Welcome to the current stage of modern business.
We are living in the age of VUCA — volatile, uncertain, complex, and ambiguous. The term was first popularised by the U.S. Army War College in the late ’80s, but it feels like it’s having its cultural moment.
And the waves aren’t getting any smaller. If you’re waiting for calm seas, I have bad news: the weather forecast for the next decade is “stormy, with a chance of flying furniture parts.”
So, how do you keep your business afloat, your crew intact, and your half-assembled wardrobe from toppling overboard?
For decades, companies have been obsessed with efficiency. Lean processes, just-in-time inventory, minimal redundancy — all excellent in calm conditions. Efficiency trims the sails, sharpens the prow, and gets you to your destination faster.
But in a storm? Efficiency can make you brittle.
Over-optimised systems are like a ship with no spare rope, no backup sails, and a captain who insists that the lifeboats take up too much deck space. When a rogue wave hits, there’s no slack, no buffer, and no room for error.
In VUCA conditions, efficiency isn’t enough. You need adaptivity — the capacity to change course without capsizing, and to keep working even when the deck is tilting.
Adaptivity is the ship’s ability to keep moving in unpredictable waters. It’s not about having the fastest hull; it’s about being able to reef the sails quickly, redistribute weight, and avoid sailing directly into a squall.
But adaptivity doesn’t just happen because you wish for it. It’s powered by resilience — the shock absorber of your organisational and personal systems. Without resilience, every wave feels like a shipwreck. With resilience, a storm is just another Tuesday.
Think of resilience as the seaworthiness of your crew and your vessel combined. It’s not about being unshakable — it’s about being able to wobble without falling apart.
In a great conversation on resilience, four core practices emerged. Let’s translate them into life at sea:
Resilience isn’t just about equipment and processes — it’s also about mindset. Here are three psychological habits that keep sailors (and leaders) steady when the deck is swaying:
Positive explaining style focuses on the good in every situations
When you’ve got a glass half full of salt water, you don’t complain about the taste — you turn it into soup. It’s not about denying reality, but reframing it so it becomes useful. Instead of “We lost a client,” try “We freed capacity to pursue better-fit clients.”
Active-constructive reactions strengthens the commitment for the relationship
When a crew member reports a problem, respond in a way that shows you’re listening and invested. “I hear you, and here’s how we’ll handle it together” builds trust far more than a distracted “Okay, noted.” Emotional connection is when the other party feels they are understood and taken care of.
When there is trouble, social connections cannot decrease
In rough seas, the instinct can be to hunker down alone in your cabin. But connection is the immune system of resilience. Whether it’s regular team check-ins, informal chats, or making sure no one feels isolated, social ties keep morale buoyant.
Here’s the truth about resilience: it’s not built in a single heroic moment; it’s baked into the small, daily habits that keep the ship in shape.
Humans naturally take the path of least resistance — which, unfortunately, can lead us straight into old, unhelpful patterns. To create lasting change:
Remember: in a storm, you don’t rise to the occasion — you fall to the level of your seamanship. And seamanship is just the sum of practiced habits.
VUCA isn’t going away. Yet, adaptivity shall wear the captain’s hat. And resilience is the muscle that makes adaptivity possible. It’s what lets you keep steering, keep working, and maybe even laugh a little when a wave knocks your half-built IKEA wardrobe across the deck.
The storms aren’t the problem. The real danger is building a crew and a ship that can’t handle them. As a result, a rough sea makes a skilled sailor.