Technology Was Never the Lesson: What Foresight Taught Me About Leading Transformation

The most valuable thing foresight ever taught me wasn't how to predict the future—it was how to help organizations prepare for it.

Ironically, I didn't learn that by studying the future. I learned it by asking better questions in the present.

In 2021, during one of our Horizon Z workshops, we posed a question that sounded almost absurd at the time.

What if one day purchasing decisions weren't made by people?

Not because humans disappeared.

But because intelligent systems had become sophisticated enough to evaluate options, compare products and make recommendations—or even decisions—on behalf of customers.

At the time, our discussions weren't focused on generative AI. ChatGPT didn't exist yet.

We were exploring emerging technologies like digital twins, robotics, automation, machine learning and other technologies that could fundamentally reshape industries over the next decade.

The question wasn't whether one specific technology would make this happen.

The question was:

If technology changes how decisions are made, what does that mean for businesses?

Within minutes, the conversation shifted.

We quickly realized the technology wasn't the most interesting part of the conversation. Its implications were.

If intelligent systems were evaluating products...

Would emotional marketing still matter?

Would brand reputation influence the decision in the same way?

Or would purchasing become increasingly based on technical performance, interoperability, lifecycle cost and measurable outcomes?

Then the discussion became even more interesting.

Where would those systems get their information?

Would they trust manufacturers describing their own products?

Would independent third-party testing become the most trusted source?

Would peer recommendations matter more than advertising?

Would structured product data become a competitive advantage?

Would superior engineering matter even more than superior messaging?

By the end of the workshop, we weren't trying to predict whether this exact future would happen.

We were asking a much more important question.

If this future became reality, how would we need to think differently today?

That conversation fundamentally changed how I thought about foresight.

Not because we found the answer.

But because we discovered better questions.

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Horizon Z wasn't really about technology

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to establish and co-lead Horizon Z, an initiative created to help our organization explore emerging technologies and prepare for the future of business.

On paper, it looked like an innovation program.

We explored artificial intelligence, robotics, automation, digital twins, quantum computing, gamification, and future ways of working.

Initially, I thought our job was to understand these technologies.

It didn't take long before I realized something.

The technology was never the destination.

It was the catalyst.

Our goal wasn't to become experts in emerging technologies. It was to use those technologies to challenge assumptions, expand thinking, and prepare our organization for transformational change.

Each new technology became an opportunity to challenge long-held assumptions about customers, markets, products and business models.

Over time, I realized the hardest part wasn't understanding the technology.

It was helping people become comfortable questioning the way things had always been done.

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The questions that mattered were different

Every emerging technology generated the same initial questions.

What does it do?

Should we invest?

What's the business case?

How quickly should we adopt it?

Those are important questions.

But they rarely led to transformation.

The conversations that ultimately changed our thinking sounded different.

• What assumptions does this technology challenge?
• If this became mainstream, how would customer expectations change?
• What new sources of competitive advantage might emerge?
• If we were building our business today, would we design it the same way?
• What capabilities should we begin developing before the market demands them?

Those questions weren't about predicting the future.

They were about preparing for multiple possible futures. In foresight and scenario planning, we often explore possible, plausible, probable, and preferred futures—not to predict which one will happen, but to help organizations become more resilient regardless of which future unfolds.

That realization fundamentally changed how I viewed foresight.

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Foresight isn't about predicting the future

One of the biggest misconceptions about foresight is that its purpose is to predict the future correctly.

In my experience, it's something much more practical.

Foresight builds an organization's ability to navigate uncertainty.

It creates space to challenge assumptions before they become constraints.

It encourages leaders to ask better questions before rushing toward better answers.

Most importantly, it helps organizations prepare before change becomes unavoidable.

Because transformational technologies don't arrive with certainty.

They arrive with ambiguity.

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When Generative AI went Mainstream..

When ChatGPT was released in November 2022, something interesting happened.

A technology that had once felt distant suddenly became accessible to everyone.

Almost overnight, organizations began asking,

"What AI use cases should we build?"

The pattern felt remarkably familiar.

It was the same instinct we had seen with every transformational technology before it.

Jump to implementation.

Find quick wins.

Start building.

A few months later, our executive leadership asked the Horizon Z team to help the organization understand what generative AI could mean for the business as the technology matured.

We deliberately chose a different starting point.

Before building use cases, we built understanding.

We invited external experts to explain what large language models actually were—and just as importantly, what they weren't.

We created opportunities for people to experiment, learn, share ideas, and explore possibilities together.

The goal wasn't simply to teach people how to use a new tool. It was to help them think differently about how work itself could change.

The conversations evolved.

People stopped asking,

"Can AI do this?"

They started asking,

"What becomes possible if we redesign the way we work?"

That shift in thinking was far more valuable than any single AI use case.

Looking back, Horizon Z taught me that technology was never the lesson.

It was simply the catalyst that challenged us to think differently.

Because foresight isn't about predicting the future.

Because the future doesn't reward the organizations that predict it perfectly. It rewards the ones that are prepared to adapt when it arrives.

A Life of “Can’t Believe I Did That”

The first time I jumped out of a plane, there was a moment when the world went completely silent.

No expectations.

No roles.

No labels.

Just sky.

And me.

Mid-air, I remember thinking, What kind of person does this?

Apparently, I do. Apparently I do - with my sister. and on parent's wedding anniversary no less.. Which means if anything had gone wrong that day, they would have lost their daughters on a date, that carried a meaning.

The thought hits differently when you say it out loud and now.

It hits even differently now - when both of them have passed.

But that is the thing about courage, it doesn't always arrive wrapped in perfect timing.

and if asked the younger version of me — the Brown girl raised to be sensible, responsible, composed — she would not have described herself as someone who voluntarily leaps into open air.

And yet.

Skydiving happened.

Jumping off the top floor of a boat in the Caribbean happened. I believe it was Grand Cayman, but the exact island feels less important than the sharp inhale before the jump, stepping back almost 3 times, and then finally taking the plunge and the laughter that followed when I surfaced.

Kayaking in Slovenia happened - in a country I had only been in for a week - with total strangers for half a day.

Going a two day trip in Slovenia, with someone from India, I barely knew happened.  We had only messaged a few times. A small, temporary Indian community in Slovenia trying to find familiarity in foreign land.  I told myself, it was safe, because his mother would be joining us for the trip to Lake Bled and Lake Bohinj..What a memorable trip it was..

Even that logic makes me smile now and yes, aunty made some amazing comfort food for all of us.

Getting lost in Slovenia, alone in my car, in the middle of the night in the pre-Google Maps era happened. Reversing out of what felt like a mile-long tunnel because it was a dead end, with a live train above me, and I had no idea where I was going happened.

And somehow, I always made it back.

But the bravest moment of my life was not for thrill.

It was on a direct flight from Kraków to Dallas.

We were over water when it started.

First, a strange noise. Subtle, but wrong.

Then the shaking.

Not turbulence. Mechanical. Intentional.

I watched an air hostess — calm until that second — suddenly run toward a window, her face no longer neutral. That was when my stomach dropped.

Then the announcement.

“We have lost an engine. We need to attempt an emergency landing. We are trying for Heathrow.”

Lost an engine.

Over water.

The cabin did not scream. It tightened.

20 minutes later, another announcement.

“We will not make it to Heathrow. We are diverting to Glasgow, Scotland.”

That was when it became real.

This was not inconvenience.

This was survival.

I quietly texted my sister and my mother. 

I love you. Hoping when they find the phone, they will know..

Just in case.

And then, suspended between fear and fate, I made myself a promise.

If I survive this, I will come back here one day.

Not like this.

Not in emergency.

But to truly see this beautiful country.

I have not gone back yet.

But the promise still lives inside me.

And here is what surprises me even now.

I looked out of the window.

Scotland from above was breathtaking. Vast green stillness, completely unaware of the drama unfolding in the sky above it.

Even in fear, I was observing beauty.

Even in uncertainty, I was planning a future.

Even in possible ending, I was choosing continuation.

Who does that?

Apparently, I do.

Some of my “can’t believe I did that” moments are dramatic.

Others are quieter.

Spending my 40th birthday at a surprise celebration in Vegas, surrounded by some of my closest friends, who came across the country to celebrate with me, some I hadn't seen in years..

Staying eighteen years in the same company and refusing to stay stagnant. Moving from marketing to sales to business development. Leading engineering, the same team, where I had first start working as a product engineer. Building a foresight startup team within the global business. Reinventing without resigning.

Founding FixTogether.

Starting something with a vision that existed more in conviction than in proof.

We had customer data.

We had end-user insights.

We had testing.

and we had a passionate team of 5 volunteers who believed in my pitch, in my vision and my story, and we also had a fantastic team of 8 Behavior Change Marketing Specialist who believed in me, in my idea and my vision and wanted to help us grow it further.

What we did not have was the perspective of a professional repair technician.

And that was not a small gap.

So I went looking.

I found a repair expert online who had made countless technical videos. Hair dryers, appliances, intricate breakdowns. He had presence. Charisma. Authority.

Most of his content was in Slovene.

I had lived in Slovenia for almost five months once. Long enough to feel connected. Not long enough to feel fluent.

I later learned he was a celebrity. A television personality. A MasterChef winner. Famous.

And I still wrote him a long message on Facebook.

Not casual. Not apologetic.

A thoughtful explanation of what we were building and why it mattered.

Fully aware he might never respond.

Two days later, he did.

What was supposed to be a thirty-minute introduction call became a three-hour conversation. It felt less like networking and more like alignment.

He became our advisor.

He trained our team.

He helped us see what we could not see alone.

Who sends a bold message to a famous repair expert in another country and assumes they belong in the conversation?

Apparently, I do.

And that realization has been unfolding slowly inside me.

I take solo vacations.

I celebrate failures.

I have fallen in love with resin, mixed media, and paint pouring and built an artistic community of nearly a thousand followers.

I have mastered tools that once intimidated me. I have initiated conversations with futurists and experts across industries simply because I was curious.

I stopped waiting for permission.

And here is the deeper truth.

None of this happened because I was fearless.

It happened because I was taught there is always a way.

My parents did not raise me to quit. They did not dramatize obstacles. They modeled resilience quietly. When something felt impossible, the response was never “It cannot be done.”

It was, “There must be a way.”

That belief becomes oxygen.

Especially for Brown women navigating identity shifts.

We are often taught to be agreeable before we are taught to be audacious. To preserve stability before we pursue expansion. To shrink slightly so everyone else feels comfortable.

Midlife rediscovery can feel like rebellion.

But what if it is evolution?

What if boldness is not defiance, but alignment?

When I look at my life through the lens of “I cannot believe I did that,” I do not see recklessness.

I see evidence.

Evidence that I can survive fear.

Evidence that I can build without guarantees.

Evidence that I can pivot, stretch, expand.

Evidence that I can text “I love you” in case of ending and still plan my return.

Taking a seat at the table does not always mean you were invited.

Sometimes it means you stopped asking whether you deserved to sit there.

So here is my invitation to you.

Take the risk.

Be bold.

Stop asking for permission.

Create your own brave movements.

Trust your evolution.

Stop shrinking.

Find your identity again and again and again.

Collect moments that make you say, “I cannot believe I did that.”

Because one day, you will look back and realize you did not just live safely.

You lived expansively.

And that is a life worth believing in.

Algorithmic Economies - When Machines Become the Customer (Part B)

In Part A, I explored what happens when AI begins managing labor.

But management is only half the story.

The deeper shift happens when AI begins making purchasing decisions.

When intelligence sits between supply and demand, markets transform.

We are entering algorithmic economies — markets where intelligence, not emotion, becomes the primary mediator of value.

This is not a subtle upgrade to existing systems.
It is a structural reordering of how choice is made.

We have spent a century mastering the art of influencing human emotion.

Brand positioning.
Storytelling.
Aspirational messaging.
Identity-based marketing.

Entire industries exist because humans make emotional decisions.

But what happens when the decision-maker is not human?

In my Horizon Z strategic foresight work years ago, this felt like a distant scenario — a disruption that might emerge only if multiple forces converged at once.

If AI autonomy advanced.
If data interoperability matured.
If machine-led procurement normalized.
If organizations outsourced strategic decisions to intelligent systems.
If trust in algorithmic evaluation replaced emotional persuasion.

It felt conditional.

A possibility.

A future that required several dominoes to fall in sequence.

And today?

It feels operational.

AI agents already compare vendors.
Rank service providers.
Optimize pricing.
Evaluate reliability.
Assess risk.
Allocate spend.

Quietly.

If an AI has every metric about you and your competitor at its fingertips — performance history, delivery precision, volatility, response latency, failure rates — why would it pick you?

Not because your tagline moved it.
Not because your founder story inspired it.
Not because your brand colors evoke trust.

Because your numbers prove superiority.

That is a different battlefield.

We may be entering a world where businesses are no longer competing for attention.

They are competing for algorithmic preference.

Will we begin designing products to be machine-readable first, human-attractive second?

Will marketing shift from emotional persuasion to structured transparency?

Will we build messaging not for people — but for AI agents parsing metadata?

If machines become the evaluators of value, then persuasion changes entirely.

And when persuasion changes, markets change.

The companies that win the next decade will not be the most emotional.
They will not be the loudest.
They will not even be the most inspiring.

They will be the most machine-preferred.

This is not science fiction.

It is economic evolution.

We are entering markets where algorithms evaluate value faster, broader, and more objectively than any human ever could.

When intelligence sits between supply and demand, power shifts.

So here is the uncomfortable question:

If tomorrow your primary customer is not a human — but an AI agent with perfect memory, infinite comparison capacity, and zero emotional bias —

Will your business still be chosen?

Or were you only ever optimized for human feelings?

— Mind & Muse by Bhumi

Algorithmic Economies – When AI Starts Hiring Humans (Part A)

I did not think we would get here this quickly.

For years, we have debated whether AI will replace humans.
Whether it will automate us.
Whether it will outperform us.

But perhaps we have been asking the wrong question.

What if the real shift is not replacement?

What if it is delegation?

I recently came across Rent a Human — a platform where humans can be contracted to complete real-world tasks. At first glance, it feels like an evolution of the gig economy. Something adjacent to TaskRabbit.

But this is not theoretical.

It is live.

Over 500,000 registered humans.
Across 100+ countries.
Tasks completed daily.

And here is the real shift:

AI agents can hire humans directly.

Through API integration, an AI agent can search for workers, post tasks, and manage hiring autonomously.

Pause there.

The human is no longer the initiator of the task.
The human becomes part of an AI’s execution layer.

That is not dystopian.

It is structural.

For decades, we built machines as tools.
Then we built software to assist.
Then we built AI to recommend and optimize.

Now we are building AI that can coordinate.

There is a difference between a calculator and a coordinator.

When AI can identify a need, break it into tasks, assign human labor, monitor completion, and optimize outcomes — we have crossed into a new operating model.

The question is no longer:

“Will AI take my job?”

The question becomes:

“Will AI become my manager?”

Because management is not just intelligence.

It is strategic allocation.

Allocation of work.
Allocation of time.
Allocation of capital.
Allocation of opportunity.

The moment AI begins allocating humans, the hierarchy subtly shifts.

Not into chaos.
Not into collapse.

But into a system where humans operate inside AI-designed workflows.

The gig economy was human-to-human.

This is algorithm-to-human.

And once coordination moves to algorithms, scale follows.

Today, it may be small tasks.

Tomorrow, it could be supply chains.
Field technicians.
Distributed project teams.
Dynamic pricing contracts.
Performance-based assignments updated in real time.

Delegation is quieter than replacement.

But it is more powerful.

Because the system does not remove you.

It reorganizes you.

And most people will not notice the shift until it feels normal.

That is how structural change works.

Twenty-five years ago, electric vertical takeoff aircraft felt like science fiction. Today, companies like Joby Aviation are actively building them.

Weak signals rarely announce themselves loudly.

They accumulate quietly — until they become infrastructure.

This is not the end of work.

It is the beginning of algorithmic management.

And this is only Part One.

— Mind & Muse by Bhumi

Micro Musings by Bhumi

 

“Some people change the way we think — without ever knowing we exist.”

Inspired by Seth Godin, whose crisp wisdom has shaped how I reflect, communicate, and act—today I begin my own series: Micro Musings by Bhumi.

These are small, sharp reflections from life, leadership, spirituality, awareness, and everything in between.

Some will be poetic. Some will be blunt. All will be mine.

Here is to the unseen mentors—who move us, mold us, and ignite ideas that change our inner world.

If you are curious on Seth Gordin's blog, check it out here - https://seths.blog/2025/07/65-thoughts/

So here we go...

1. “Your bookmarks are a better autobiography than your bio.” 

We often present curated versions of who we are.

But what we save, search, and quietly obsess over reveals our rawest truths.

Look at your tabs. They are love letters to your curiosity.

Now ask: what is trying to emerge?

 

 2. “Spirituality without self-awareness is just noise in sacred packaging.”

You can talk about silence. You can even preach detachment.

But if you cannot read the discomfort in a room—or the hesitation in someone’s voice—what are you really teaching?

True presence is not just discipline. It is compassion.

Do not confuse control with clarity. They feel very different.

 3. “Even the name you cling to was not your choice.”

So much of what we are proud of—or fiercely protective of—was never ours to begin with.

The name. The lineage. The success we inherited or stumbled into.

What would happen if we stopped defending identity and started examining it?

Maybe freedom begins where attachment ends.

 4. “The microphone reveals more than just a voice — it reveals who gets space.”

Some people are scared of being seen. Others are tired of being overlooked.

When you pass a mic, you are not just asking for words. You are making power visible.

Facilitation is not about equal time—it is about equal dignity.

And sometimes, silence is a valid answer.

5. "If you cannot name what you are avoiding, it is already running your life."

Avoidance wears many outfits—busyness, sarcasm, and even endless planning.

But deep down, what we do not face quietly directs our choices.

Self-leadership starts with calling it out—before it calls the shots for us.

What pattern are you pretending is just a phase?

6. "We do not need more thought leaders. We need more thought finishers."

Ideas are everywhere—half-posted, half-done, half-held.

But the real impact lives in the follow-through, not the brainstorm.

You want to change something? Start by completing one idea well.

Clarity is the new charisma.

7. "Ghosting is not a communication style. It is a fracture in character."

Whether it is a beauty appointment, a marketplace meet-up, or a simple "yes" or "no," communication is currency.

When people stop responding, they are not avoiding discomfort—they are outsourcing it to someone else.

We have normalized silence as neutrality, but silence is rarely neutral. It leaves the other person waiting, guessing, questioning.

Close the loop. Say the hard thing. Choose clarity over comfort. That is adulthood.

8. "Closets are time capsules of who we hoped to become."

Every unworn dress was a maybe, a someday, a quiet little bargain with the future.

Now, I donate with a whisper: May this go to someone who actually needs it—not someone like me, hoping it will fix something it cannot.

Minimalism is not about less stuff. It is about fewer illusions.

Letting go is not waste—it is wisdom.

9. "We do not throw it away. We just move it to a quieter corner of guilt."

That broken kettle, the hair dryer, the vacuum—we save them all.

Not because we will fix them, but because part of us still believes we should.

Repair is not just a skill—it is a story of power, intention, and care.

Fixing together is not about things. It is about reclaiming the ability to act.

10. "What if fixing was never just about the object—but about remembering that we can?"

Most people do not avoid repair because they do not care.

They avoid it because they do not know how, or where, or if it is even worth it.

But every repaired item whispers a larger truth: you are not powerless here.

Fixing is not nostalgia. It is a quiet act of future-building.

11. "In high-performing teams, ideas do not need passports. They need good soil."

You may plant the seed. Someone else may water it.

Do not measure impact only by who delivers the final version.

Measure it by the health of the ecosystem you help build.

Growth is not linear. It is collaborative.

12. "Sometimes love means forgiving. Other times, it means finally choosing yourself."

The hardest decisions are not between right and wrong—but between caring for others and not losing yourself.

There is a quiet grief in giving love where it is not seen, not held, not returned.

But choosing distance is not bitterness. It is recovery.

Your peace matters too.

13. "If it always hurts, it is not love. It is a pattern."

You keep showing up. Keep hoping this time they will too.

But love is not proven by how much pain you can tolerate.

It is felt in reciprocity—in being remembered, respected, chosen.

Stop auditioning for what should already be yours.

14. "Once, my birthday began a day early—because love could not wait."

When my parents were alive, they would call at midnight India time—just to be first.

Now, I measure love in silences. Missed moments. Gifts unopened. Words unsaid.

Grief is not always loud. Sometimes it is the quiet ache of not being remembered the way you once were.

Even now, I carry the love of those who remembered me first—and use it to remember myself.

15. "If you cannot meet me with love, I will hold mine closer. Not as punishment. As preservation."

We are taught to keep giving—to rise above, to take the high road.

But sometimes, the high road is simply the path that leads you back to yourself.

Withholding love is not always cruelty. Sometimes it is clarity.

Self-respect is not a wall. It is the soil love needs to grow in again.

16. "The hardest part of growth is grieving the version of you that made no one uncomfortable."

You smiled more. Said less. Gave endlessly.

But growth asks for tension. For boundaries. For truth over likability.

Let them squirm. Let them shift. Let yourself expand.

You were never meant to stay palatable.

17. "Do not tell me about your values. Show me how you treat people with less power."

The admin. The cleaner. The intern. The one who made a mistake.

Spirituality is not performance. It is posture—especially when no one is watching.

Respect is not transactional. It is foundational.

Without it, even wisdom feels hollow.

18. "Some days, self-care is just choosing not to explain yourself."

No justifications. No long texts. No proving you are good.

Sometimes, self-care is silence—not to retreat, but to protect the energy it took to stand up.

You owe no one a permission slip for your peace.

Let it be quiet. Let it be enough.

The Mentors Who Made Me

There are managers. There are leaders. And then—there are mentors.

I have been lucky to know all three. But the mentors? They shaped me. They saw parts of me I was still learning to understand. They held the flashlight when I could not see the path. They became mirrors, sounding boards, quiet cheerleaders, and sometimes, necessary disruptors of my comfort zones.

In a world that often asks us to specialize, to stay in our lanes, I was encouraged to roam. From engineering to marketing, to sales, to business development, to foresight and innovation, my career has been a journey of curiosity and courage. And every pivot, every transformation, carried the imprint of a mentor who said, “Try it. You can.”

One mentor took a chance on me early on—handed me the keys to marketing and trusted me to lead. But what moved me most was not just their faith in my abilities. It was their willingness to tell me, years later, that if I ever outgrew the role or the company, I should leave. Even if it meant losing someone they valued.

That was a lesson in leadership I will never forget. Real mentorship is not about possession. It is not about loyalty to a brand or to a boss. It is about radical care. It is about believing in someone's growth even when it means letting them go. That kind of selflessness is rare—and unforgettable.

Over time, I came to understand that mentors are not always the ones above you. Sometimes, they sit beside you. Sometimes, they are your managers, and sometimes they are not. But they all share one thing in common: they help you find your ikigai—your reason for being.

Equally important, though less talked about, are sponsors. These are the leaders—often within your organization—who speak your name in rooms you have not yet entered. Who advocate for you when visibility matters most. And yes, I learned the hard way that when a sponsor leaves, the impact can feel like a sudden silence. The best response? Build those relationships early. Genuinely. Not just for career advancement, but from a place of curiosity, shared values, and authenticity.

As an immigrant woman navigating corporate spaces that were not built with people like me in mind, mentorship has been more than a professional strategy. It has been a lifeline. The cultural nuances, the unspoken rules, the times I was told I was “too quiet” or “too bold”—mentors helped me decode it all. They gave me language, tools, and most importantly, permission to take up space.

Some became like family—gentle yet firm. Others like close friends—non-judgmental and grounding. Through their guidance, I learned to lead others with the same generosity. And yes, even when it meant letting go of a high-performing team member who was ready to grow beyond my team, I remembered what was once gifted to me: selfless belief.

That is mentorship at its core. A bridge. A release. A steady hand that reminds you, “You are allowed to evolve.”

Today, I urge everyone—especially women, immigrants, and those navigating systems not built for them—to create their own personal board of mentors. Not just one. A circle. A constellation of voices who see your wholeness, not just your performance.

Because with the right mentors, your journey is not just onward and upward—it is deeply yours.

Sustainability Should Not Spill

 There are few things more disheartening than watching your lunch hit the pavement. Especially when it is not your fault. Especially when you are hungry, short on time, and really looking forward to those roasted veggies with that perfectly spicy hot salsa with some guac and sour cream, all bursting with flavors from Chipotle.

The first time it happened, I brushed it off. Maybe the bag had a tear. Maybe it was a fluke. But when the same thing happened again—and then a third time—I could no longer convince myself this was a one-off. The pattern was clear: Chipotle’s new “sustainable” paper bags and the associated paper bowl containers were failing. And they were failing fast.

For context, I live less than a mile from my local Chipotle. A short five-minute drive. No hills. No potholes. Nothing dramatic. Yet every single time, that brown paper bag came back soggy at the bottom, stained and weakened by the heat and moisture trapped inside. And it was not just the bag—it was the paper container inside it. The box that held the burrito bowl was equally unfit for the job, especially when it came to holding hot salsa or just carrying the weight of the meal. Together, they formed a perfect storm of seepage and failure.

If it were just the bag giving way, I might still have salvaged the meal. But when the container itself starts soaking through and giving up, there is no coming back. The bag collapses, the contents spill—and suddenly, dinner becomes disappointment.

I have had this food spill in my garage. Once, on my apartment walkway. I am lucky it has not happened inside the car. But each time, the aftermath is the same: wasted food, wasted money, wasted time, and a growing sense of frustration with a brand that claims to champion sustainability. And don't even get me started on having to clean all this up, while I am absolutely starving now, and hangry!!

Now, I am someone who believes deeply in sustainable design. I just recently founded a repair enablement platform, FixTogether. I have spent time in manufacturing, where packaging goes through rigorous tests—compression, drop, humidity. If you are going to label something “sustainable,” should it not also be functional? Should it not consider the real-life journey of a takeout order—from kitchen counter to customer’s hand?

Because here is the thing: sustainability is not just a checkbox on a product label. It is a system. And when that system fails, it creates more waste than it saves. A bag that breaks and spills food is not sustainable—it is performative. A box that cannot hold its contents without leaking? That is not innovation. That is oversight.

It makes me wonder: are companies testing these “green” solutions in real-life conditions? Are they pressure-testing them not just in climate-controlled labs but in warm kitchens, humid cars, and short drives that somehow mimic a small monsoon inside a brown bag? Are they weight testing them at all?

When I worked in manufacturing, we ran packaging through every scenario we could imagine. We dropped it. We shook it. We heat-tested, weight-tested, moisture-tested. Why? Because packaging is not a formality—it is a promise. A promise that the product inside will reach you whole.

Food, arguably, carries even more sensitivity. It is personal. It is comfort. It is need. And when packaging fails—not just once but repeatedly—it is not just a bad design. It is a breach of trust.

Which brings me to the question I cannot stop thinking about:
Who is sustainability really serving here—people or marketing?

Because when sustainable packaging leads to more food being wasted, more customers left scrambling, more moments of frustration rather than ease... is it really sustainable? Or is it just a feel-good label slapped on something no one bothered to stress-test?

And perhaps more importantly:
Are these companies actually listening to customer feedback? Or have they created the illusion of listening—surveys, help chatbots, PR statements—without the will to act?

True sustainability is not just about biodegradable materials. It is about systems thinking. Collaboration. Co-designing with the user in mind. It is asking: does this work for the customer, for the environment, and for the economics of waste?

Right now, it feels like Chipotle—and perhaps others—are skipping that last mile of thoughtfulness. And that last mile, quite literally, is where the bag breaks.

I get it—change is hard. And sustainability is messy. There is no perfect solution. But perfection is not what customers are asking for. We are asking for awareness. For responsiveness. For products that consider the entire lifecycle—from the manufacturing floor to the apartment floor where someone might be picking up spilled rice and guacamole, wondering if dinner is still salvageable.

If you claim to care about the planet, then you must care about people too. Because the two are not separate. They are deeply intertwined. Real sustainability holds both in balance: the ecological and the emotional, the systems and the stories.

To any company listening: your customer is not just a data point. He/She is a person standing in his/her garage, burrito bowl spilled, hungry, tired, and feeling let down by a decision you made in the name of “green.”

And to every reader who has had a similar moment—maybe with a compostable fork that snapped mid-meal, or a compostable straw which did not last more than 2 sips of your drink, or a recycled bottle that leaked in your bag—you are not alone. You are not too picky. You are not the exception.

You are the reality check that brands need.

So let us ask the harder questions. Let us not be pacified by the word “sustainable” until it is backed by design that works. Let us speak up—kindly, clearly, persistently—until companies realize that if sustainability is going to stick, it should not spill.

Seats of Empathy

It was not the delayed flight that disappointed me most, or the irony that the snacks—an entire box of Pringles, surprisingly generous—were among the best I had seen on a U.S. domestic airline.

It was something deeper. A fracture that went unnoticed by most, but impossible for me to ignore.

I had not flown United in nearly a decade. American Airlines had earned my loyalty over the years—with preferred status, seamless rebookings, and, on international partners like Qatar, small gestures that made me feel remembered. Valued. Seen.

But this flight with United reminded me how quickly trust can unravel when a brand’s culture is not lived out by the very people who carry it forward.

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Before I even reached the airport, United’s app was refreshingly transparent: our flight would be delayed by thirty minutes due to the crew needing mandatory rest. A reasonable delay, and one I appreciated being informed about in advance. That level of proactive communication gave me hope—perhaps things had changed since my last flight with them.

But what happened at the gate revealed something else entirely.

Five minutes before boarding, a new delay was announced. The flight attendants, it turns out, were not scheduled to be picked up from their hotel until after our original departure time. A logistical oversight that puzzled me: how could an airline miss such a basic detail? Do these scheduling gaps happen often? More importantly, who holds the accountability?

I watched time stretch and uncertainty thicken. Another delay followed—this time due to weather. What began as a short delay ballooned to over two and a half hours. I would miss my meeting. My day’s purpose was gone.

And yet, what struck me most was not the operational chaos. It was what happened next.

The plane finally boarded. I noticed several empty seats in the Economy Plus section. Some passengers—perhaps hoping for a small reprieve after hours of delay—had quietly moved forward, easing themselves into those unused spots. And then, the announcement came. Not as a welcome. Not as an accommodation. But as a warning, a correction.

“If you are seated beyond Row 21, please return to your assigned seat. Upgrades to the front are available for purchase.”

It was not just an upsell. It was a warning. A subtle but sharp reminder: empathy was not part of this equation.

That moment? That was the culture speaking. Loud and clear.

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I understand business models. I understand incentives. But I also understand people.

That announcement—on the heels of a frustrating series of events—landed like a slap. It told passengers that even after we had endured delays, missed connections, and a clear breakdown in scheduling communication, we were still being asked to pay more. No empathy. No acknowledgment. Just a script. Just a quota.

The airline might argue it was policy. But what is policy without wisdom?

Had the crew instead invited passengers with the tightest connections to move forward—to offer even the smallest chance at reclaiming lost time—it would have transformed the tone of the entire experience. Even if the delay was out of their hands, the empathy would not have been.

That is the moment when culture shows itself. Not in the livery, not in the lounge, but in the quiet, consequential decisions frontline employees make under stress.

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As a strategist, I could not help but reflect.

There is a profound disconnect when your people are not aligned with your brand’s values and empowered to live them. When KPIs reward the wrong behaviors, you are not just losing revenue opportunities—you are eroding trust. Alienating loyalty. Turning passengers into skeptics.

This is not just about airlines. This is a mirror for every business leader.

Are your metrics inadvertently encouraging short-term thinking over long-term brand affinity? Are your employees equipped—and trusted—to make decisions that reflect your company’s deeper promise?

Culture is not a plaque on the wall. It is a decision made at Row 21, seat by seat.

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So here is the question I leave you with:

If your frontline employee had to choose between earning a few dollars through a policy-driven upsell or saving the trust of a customer through a moment of empathy—which would they choose?

And more importantly—what have you trained them to value?

Because sometimes, the real upgrade a customer is seeking is not a better seat. It is a better experience. A brand that remembers why people fly in the first place: to get somewhere that matters.

On time. With care. And just enough humanity to feel like we are more than just a boarding group.

The Future of LLMs: A Commodity, a Platform, or a Locked Ecosystem?

 There was a time when hardware was everything. The processor, the storage, the power—it was all about the physical components. But over time, hardware became a commodity, and the real intelligence moved to software—the brain that made everything work.

I believe LLMs (Large Language Models) are heading in the same direction.

Today, LLMs are impressive, but above-average performance is no longer enough—everyone is doing that. Soon, just like hardware in smart buildings, LLMs will be necessary but not the differentiator. The real power will lie not in the model itself, but in how we use and move our data between models.

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Imagine This: Seamless LLM Portability

What if, instead of training a new LLM from scratch every time you switch, you could export all your training, memory, and preferences from one model and load it into another?

• Think of it like exporting browser bookmarks from Chrome to Edge—simple, quick, and frictionless.
• Or how smart building automation isn’t about having the best sensors, but the best software to control them.

If someone solves this seamless transfer problem, it would be a gamechanger. Suddenly, I as the user would have full control over which LLM I want to use. It would be a free market of AI models, where I decide which one serves me best—not the other way around.

But here’s the challenge: Why would companies allow this?

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The Moat Problem: Will AI Stay Closed or Go Open?

Right now, the biggest LLM companies—OpenAI, Anthropic, DeepSeek—are building moats, just like Apple did with its App Store and music ecosystem. They don’t want you to leave. They don’t want you to take your trained data elsewhere.

Why? Because data is the real moat. If I allow my users to transfer their AI memories and training to a competitor, I lose my stickiness. I lose my power. I lose my users.

So, will AI follow the Apple model (closed ecosystem) or the Android model (open, interchangeable, user-centric)?

Right now, it’s looking more like Apple—companies are keeping their data walled off, because why would they give up control?

But here’s the twist—eventually, they may not have a choice.

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A Future Where AI Models Become Interchangeable?

Once the market gets saturated, and there are too many competing LLMs, the biggest differentiator will no longer be the models themselves. It will be how well they work together.

At that point, the pivot to interoperability will be inevitable. Some LLM company—or maybe an entirely new startup—could rise up as the AI platform that enables seamless training across all models.

• Think of what Android did to Apple. Instead of one locked system, they enabled an open ecosystem where users had freedom of choice.
• Think of what API-first companies did to traditional software. They created layers that made everything compatible, and suddenly, closed ecosystems lost their advantage.

Could this happen with AI? Maybe not yet—but in a few years, as competition increases, it might be the only way forward.

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What About AI Agents? Are They Moving Towards Openness or Isolation?

I’ll admit—I don’t know enough about AI agents to say for sure. But I do wonder:

• Are they being developed to connect models and enable interoperability?
• Or are they reinforcing more isolation, making it even harder to move from one LLM to another?

POE (Quora’s AI marketplace) kind of does this by offering multiple models under one roof. But as far as I know, it doesn’t allow seamless data exchange between them—it just acts as a layer function that gives memory to different LLMs.

So, are we headed towards more walled gardens or an open AI economy?

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Dreaming of the Wild Possibilities

Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe a smart AI engineer would think I’m nuts for even suggesting this.

But if we don’t imagine new possibilities, we will never disrupt.

The future is always built by those who dare to think differently. And if seamless, user-controlled AI memory becomes reality, hopefully, you’re the one who builds it before your competition does.

What do you think—are we moving towards LLM portability, or will the walled gardens stay? 🚀