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Natalia Curonisy

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When What You Wanted Starts to Cost Too Much

February 1, 2026 Natalia Curonisy

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

“I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

She wasn’t lost.
She was one of our top performers.

A regional marketing leader. Consistent results. Strong reputation. Positive leadership. The kind of person organizations invest in—and expect to keep moving forward.

From the outside, her career was progressing exactly as planned.
On the inside, the cost was starting to show.

We were in a growth phase. New regional roles were being defined, and she was a strong candidate for several of them. Senior leaders were already reaching out, informally checking her interest for future moves.

And yet, in my office, the narrative shifted.

She was tired. Frustrated. Uncertain.
Not because she lacked ambition—but because the external script no longer matched her internal reality.

She had everything she was supposed to want: trajectory, options, credibility.
And still, something wasn’t adding up.

Her questions weren’t philosophical. They were operational:

  • Am I on the right path?

  • Should I slow down now for my children?

  • If I step off this track, will I be able to get back on?

  • What happens if I lose what I’ve already built?

Inside organizations, there are costs that don’t show up on any dashboard.
Everything can look “fine” while someone is quietly burning out.

And this created a real dilemma—on both sides.

If she left, the organization would lose a high-potential leader we had invested in.
If she stayed by forcing herself through, the cost would show up later: erosion of energy, disengagement, declining standards.

As a leader, I was facing my own uncomfortable trade-off:
Do I support a decision that might impact short-term results?
Or do I push for a “rational” stay that looks good on paper—but isn’t sustainable?

The first thing I did was listen.
No quick fixes. No forced optimism. No premature solutions.

These conversations break down when leaders try to “solve” them too quickly. We relieve our own discomfort—but we don’t help people gain clarity.

That’s when I shared two principles that guide my leadership decisions.

1. Developing talent is a strategic investment—with consequences

Growth ultimately comes from within. No leader “develops” someone else.
But leaders do design the environment:

  • they remove obstacles,

  • broaden perspective,

  • assign challenges that stretch without breaking,

  • give feedback that is honest—not performative,

  • and open real doors.

I don’t manufacture anyone’s future.
But I can create the conditions where their best version has room to emerge.

And this matters:
My role is not to retain talent at all costs.
It is to support growth—even when that growth leads somewhere else.

Developing talent is a decision.
Not developing it is also a decision.

Both carry risk.

2. Allow yourself to change your mind—without losing dignity

Life is not a contract with the person you were five years ago.
Strategic decisions are not verdicts; they are hypotheses.

The real question is not “What if I’m wrong?”
It’s “What experiment will help me learn—without burning the bridge?”

We worked with a simple decision lens:

  • What gives you energy?

  • What drains it?

  • What sustains your life today?

  • What do you need to test to gain clarity?

We agreed on real flexibility.
We set a timeframe.
We defined an experiment—not a permanent promise.

She chose to stay, but in a different role, working more from home while her child transitioned into school.

Eighteen months later, she returned to a commercial role— with more clarity, less internal noise, and more energy than before.

High Care + High Performance

I call this High Care + High Performance.
They are not opposites. They reinforce each other.

  • High care is not about softening decisions. It’s about clarity, context, and intelligent flexibility.

  • High performance is not about squeezing results. It’s about clear standards and honoring commitments.

And one critical distinction: high care does not protect people from cost. It helps them choose which cost they are willing to pay.

Because leadership decisions are rarely made with full clarity.
They are made when the cost of not deciding becomes higher than the risk of being wrong.

A decision lens you can use

  • What decision are you postponing because it feels safer to wait?

  • What small, time-bound experiment could give you clarity without closing doors?

If you lead others, try this in your next 1:1:

“If you could change one thing about how you work today, what would it be?”

Then agree on one concrete action for the following week.

Clarity rarely arrives all at once.
It is designed—one deliberate decision at a time

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If You Repeat This Month for 10 Years… Do You Like Where You’d End Up?

January 1, 2026 Natalia Curonisy

If you repeat this January for 10 years, where would it take you? And more importantly, would you like that place? That question predicts your 2026 better than any list of resolutions.

January is the month of lists. Goals. Intentions. Resolutions. Every year, millions of people write down what they want to achieve: lose weight, save more, read twenty books, learn a language, change jobs. And a few weeks later, most of it fades.

Not because you lack willpower. Not because you’re “inconsistent.” Often, it’s something simpler—and deeper: we plan the what without stopping to ask the why.

We write what we want to do. We rarely name why we want to do it. And when the why is blurry, any obstacle is enough: a heavy week, a bad night of sleep, a trip, a low-energy day… and the plan disappears.

The problem isn’t your goals

Viktor Frankl—an Austrian psychiatrist and concentration camp survivor—dedicated his life to a hard question: what helps some people find strength to keep going when everything seems lost?

His answer was simple: “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”

In January, we often do the opposite. We build the how without defining the why. It’s like mapping a route without a destination. You can stay busy… and still not arrive anywhere.

The why is meaning. The how is a system. And without a system, your why turns into good intentions.

A scene that repeats every year

February. A random Tuesday. 7:40 p.m. You’re tired. You open your phone “for one minute.” Half an hour disappears. You remember the habit you started strongly on January 1… and you don’t even feel like thinking about it.

You didn’t fail. You just didn’t have a minimum plan for a normal day. You didn’t lack motivation. You lacked structure.

That’s why the 10-year question matters so much. It doesn’t talk about your best day. It talks about your habits.

The question before the goal

Before you ask, “What do I want to accomplish this year?”, there’s a more important question:

What am I living for?

This isn’t a philosophical question to sound deep. It’s practical. Because if you don’t know what you’re living for, your goals become borrowed: what looks good, what others applaud, what you “should” want, what sounds impressive.

Aristotle called it telos: the end that everything else is meant to serve. For him, a good life wasn’t a life full of achievements—it was a life oriented toward what truly matters. And what truly matters doesn’t show up by accident. You discover it through reflection.

Leonardo Polo put it differently: the human being is unrestricted growth. We’re built to grow, to give, to transcend. But growth without direction isn’t growth. It’s just movement.

The emptiness goals don’t fill

Frankl described the “existential vacuum”—that feeling of apathy or disorientation that appears when life loses meaning. And it’s more common than we admit.

You can achieve everything you set out to do and still feel like something is missing. You can keep your resolutions and reach December with a question that stings:

“Was that it?”

That’s why I keep coming back to my favorite question—the one I use for my own planning and the one I include in the Daily Journal I’ve refined over five editions—because it doesn’t let you escape:

If I repeat this month for 10 years… where does it take me? And do I want to be there?

That question pulls you out of the day and forces you to see the pattern. And many times, the honest answer is: “No. This doesn’t take me where I want to go.”

That discomfort—the good kind—is the beginning of real change.

Because goals answer a tactical question: What will I do?
Purpose answers a deeper one: Who will I become?

The “how” that holds your “why”: a 3-layer system

After years of testing different approaches, I concluded: loose goals don’t work. What works is a system that connects what you do today with the person you want to become over time.

1) North Star: Life vision and purpose
Before any annual goal, you need clarity on your values, your direction, and what “a good life” means to you. Not what it means to your boss, your parents, or Instagram. To you.
This includes your gifts, your passions, and your long-term goals (15 years, 5 years)—and those “someday” goals you keep quiet.

2) Route: Annual and quarterly operating system
With your vision clear, you ask a powerful question: What do I want to be true about me when December ends?
Then, every quarter you zoom out: review, refocus, and choose 1 to 3 moves that truly matter for the next 90 days. Not ten. Three, at most.

3) Today’s step: Daily practice
Vision without action is fantasy. That’s why you need a simple daily space:

  • gratitude (anchors you),

  • one concrete action (moves you),

  • an identity statement (“I am…”) (reminds you who you’re practicing being),

  • and an end-of-day review (teaches you).

You don’t need an hour. You need 10 minutes of intention.

This three-layer system—North Star, Route, and Today’s step—is the structure of Living with Purpose · Daily Journal for 2026: life vision, annual and quarterly planning, and 365 daily pages. All inside a hyperlinked PDF so you can move in one tap between your vision, your annual plan, your quarters, and your day. (Because if it’s hard to use, it won’t get used.)

From purpose to plan

When your purpose is clear, your goals change their nature. They stop being wish lists and become vehicles for meaning.

“I want to lose weight” becomes: “I want the energy to be present with my kids.”
“I want to earn more” becomes: “I want the freedom to choose projects that matter to me.”
“I want to change jobs” becomes: “I want to contribute to something bigger than myself.”

The goal may look similar. But the fuel changes. And fuel determines whether you keep going in February… or quit.

What I’m inviting you to do (without drama)

I’m not asking you to drop your goals. I’m asking you to anchor them. To sit with the hard questions before you write the list. To give yourself permission not to have everything clear right away. And to trust something simple: clarity arrives when you commit to reflection.

If you want ongoing support, I will send a monthly email with one idea and one short exercise (Spanish and English). No noise. Just tools to think better and decide better.

Your year doesn’t change in January. It changes on an ordinary Tuesday.

Your exercise for today (7 minutes, on paper)

Before you write a single goal for 2026, answer—without filtering:

  1. If a year from now I look back and feel I lived with purpose, what would have had to happen?

  2. Why does that truly matter?

  3. What would be the concrete evidence? (What would I see in my calendar, my habits, and my decisions?)

Don’t look for a perfect answer. Look for an honest one. That’s usually where the truth is—what you’ve been avoiding naming.

May 2026 not be the year you achieve more things.
May it be the year you live with more meaning.

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