Instinctual Wisdom in the Age of Frameworks and Dashboards: How a Café Interaction Reminded Me About My Own Playbook
One of my favourite films is Amélie—not just for Audrey Tautou’s knack for blending chaos with happiness, but for how it captures those small pleasures in life: the quiet moments of people-watching that reveal tiny windows into other people’s worlds. Much like Amélie, one of my great loves is people-watching. It’s why I often choose to work or write from some of my favourite Melbourne cafés, where I can observe our community in action. It’s also a way of meeting our “end users,” if you will, in own community—and some of my richest insights and observations often come from these unplanned moments.
Sometimes, I not only observe but unintentionally overhear (I promise, I’m not purposefully eavesdropping!) the kinds of exchanges that leave a lasting impression. The ones that resonate with me most deeply always seem to connect back to the work I do and why I choose to approach it the way I do. Recently, one of these moments didn’t just resonate—it genuinely delighted me. First, as someone steeped in design processes across people, organisations, and industries, my view of the world is both as a problem-solver and observer. So, this interaction struck me as an unexpected, powerful illustration of both roles. And second, because I have never seen a nine-year-old school a middle-aged man so confidently and effortlessly as this young woman did.
So, this blog post is dedicated to the young woman I was lucky enough to observe, to her curious and supportive father, and to the future leader and impact-maker I have no doubt this young woman will become.
There I was, typing away, sipping my iced long black, and, if I’m being honest, being a bit judgy. My initial impression was of a father immersed in his own work, furiously typing on his laptop with AirPods in, seemingly ignoring his young daughter, who seemingly had to be entertaining herself with a book at the table next to me.
Then, I witnessed an exchange between them that made me think about how we approach problem-solving in the workplace—especially in environments where risks are high, and the ‘ego’ stakes of failing publicly among our peers and managers can feel even higher. This seemingly ordinary scene—a father absorbed in his laptop, his daughter bent over a book of Sudoku puzzles—contained, in one brief interaction, a powerful lesson about the balance between structured thinking and intuitive wisdom.
The next thing that occurred was the daughter proudly pushing her Sudoku book between her father’s eyes and his laptop screen, saying, “I finished it!” with a grin so wide it was infectious. And as quickly as she said it, her father replied, “Well how do you double-check that you've got the answer correct?” looking up from his screen as his daughter held up the completed puzzle. Without missing a beat, she met his gaze and replied with the kind of unwavering certainty only children seem capable of: "I trust my instinct… because I’ve done these so many times." It was a slam dunk of the ages. No hesitation, pure self-assurance, and a tone so confident I could almost feel the eye-roll ripple through the café like a sound wave as she delivered her answer. I could barely contain myself; I wanted to high-five her.
The father, like many of us trained—or should I say habituated—in the corporate world, instinctively sought a framework, a method to verify and validate. His daughter’s response, however, cut through layers of learned complexity with the simplicity of that final puzzle piece snapping into place.
As I watched their interaction unfold, the father probed deeper, either not happy or not quite understanding both her confidence and intuitive response, seeking her methodology, “so, why a 1 here, a 4 there?” She explained her logic with remarkable self-assurance, mirroring perhaps the same confidence with which I’m sure he tackles his own work. The parallel was striking: two problem-solvers, separated not just by age but by their fundamental approach to certainty.
This moment offered one of those ‘light bulb’ moments for me. Perhaps something I’ve been grappling with in my own work: the push and pull of trusting both our intuition whilst continuously accumulating layers of professional expertise. We become so entrenched in frameworks, methodologies, and best practices that we sometimes forget the power of well-honed instinct—that ineffable knowing that comes from deep experience, an overlay we can’t always measure with the newest tool, framework, or recognition of how many KPIs we have met throughout our working career. It is also in these moments I think of how much we appreciate the practice of our favourite artist and their contribution and how they too must trust both their instinct and honed practice.
Consider how often in professional settings we encounter “wicked problems”—those complex, interconnected challenges that resist conventional solutions. We diagram them, frame them, break them down into manageable chunks. But what if, like this young Sudoku master, we also gave ourselves permission to trust our intuition? What if, alongside our rigorous analysis, we acknowledged that some solutions might emerge from a place of practised instinct rather than structured deliberation?
This isn’t to suggest we abandon methodical approaches entirely. Rather, it’s about finding the sweet spot between structured thinking and intuitive wisdom. The father’s smile of recognition at his daughter’s competence suggested he understood this too—that sometimes the most powerful problem-solving comes not from doubting our instincts but from trusting them when they’ve been earned through rigorous practice.
Reflecting on this café scene, I’m reminded of how often transformation in organisations stalls not because we lack frameworks or processes, but because we’ve lost the ability to trust our collective intuition and the experts best placed (often in the front line) to pass on their wisdom. We become so caught up in opposing viewpoints, writing business cases and seeking approval for minor elements that we forget to trust the simple intuition that children naturally possess; sometimes, when you’ve done something enough times, you just know.
The challenge, then, isn’t to choose between structure and intuition but to rediscover how they might work in harmony. Like that father and daughter, each approaching their puzzles with their own blend of methodology and instinct, perhaps we too can find ways to honour both our learned expertise and our inner knowing.
In our rush to professionalise, systematise, and optimise, we may have overlooked one of our most powerful tools: the ability to trust ourselves when experience has earned that trust. As I watched that young woman return to her puzzles, confident in her abilities and unburdened by doubt, I couldn’t help but wonder: what might we adults achieve if we could recapture even a fraction of that childlike certainty in our own hard-won wisdom?
The answer, I suspect, lies not in any framework or methodology but in learning to trust that sometimes, the best way forward is simply to know that we know.
Innovation thrives at the intersection of structure and intuition. If you’re interested in exploring how to bring a blend of method and instinct into your organisation's next problem-solving session and approach to innovation and transformation through strategic solutioning, then reach out via info@dialecticalconsulting.com.au or contact me via LinkedIn.
