The Coaching Secret…

It began with an orange poppy.

Walking to school with Sophie, nature suddenly interrupted the rhythm of the morning. Growing through the edge of a wall, almost unnoticed amongst the noise of traffic and routine, was a bright orange poppy. Sophie laughed immediately because it was exactly the same colour as the kitchen at home — loud, vibrant, impossible to ignore.

And in that small moment I found myself thinking:

“Do you mind if I borrow some inspiration from you?”

Because nature has a remarkable way of catching our attention without demanding it. It does not shout. It simply exists.

Quietly. Authentically. Organically.

And perhaps that is one of the reasons why nature still has so much to teach us about learning, coaching, development, and ultimately ourselves.

The poppy was not growing because somebody had created a sophisticated development framework for it. It had not completed a badge, attended a workshop, or progressed through a formal pathway. It had simply found space to grow. Roots searching for water. Petals opening towards light. Development emerging through interaction with the environment around it.

It made me wonder again about coaching and coach development.

Why do we spend so much money building systems that are often so artificial?

Modern coaching systems can sometimes resemble life-support machines. Structured courses, competency frameworks, accreditation systems, prescribed behaviours, assessment criteria, development pathways — all designed with good intentions. Some of these structures absolutely matter. Some provide safety, guidance, and standards. But there is also a danger.

A danger that we create coaches who can only function inside heavily supported environments.

Coaches who survive within systems but struggle to guide themselves once the scaffolding disappears.

Because genuine coach learning is often far more organic than we would like to admit.

It is messy. Non-linear. Emotional. Reflective. Personal.

It is built through experiences, mistakes, conversations, observations, relationships, tensions, contradictions, failures, successes, and moments of unexpected clarity. Like roots underground, much of the most important learning remains invisible while it is happening.

But organic learning does not mean directionless learning.

As Seneca once wrote:

“If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favourable.”

And this is where I sometimes think coaching and education can become confused. We often romanticise ideas such as “discovery learning” without acknowledging their limitations. Discovery alone is not enough. If people are simply left to wander, they may discover very little. Worse still, they may reinforce poor habits, shallow thinking, or comforting illusions.

This is why guided discovery matters.

Not controlling every answer.
Not scripting every movement.
But helping people notice what matters.

Helping them connect ideas together.

I keep returning to this notion of constellations of learning.

How one observation connects to another.
How a flower becomes a reflection on development.
How philosophy connects to coaching.
How coaching connects to identity.
How identity connects to leadership and humility.

Learning rarely moves in straight lines. It moves more like constellations — separate experiences orbiting around deeper truths that only become visible when we pause long enough to connect them together.

Perhaps this is one of the defining qualities of great coaches.

Not simply knowledge.

But the ability to connect seemingly unrelated things into meaningful understanding.

I also think we need to reconsider the relationship between coach and athlete.

As coaches, we absolutely have the right to challenge players and athletes. We should support them, stretch them, care for them, and help them improve. But maybe athletes should also possess the right to challenge the coach.

Imagine an athlete saying:

“I understand what I’m working on… but what are you working on?”

That question matters.

Because growth cannot only travel downward.

If coaches constantly demand reflection, discipline, and development from athletes while refusing to evolve themselves, there is a contradiction at the centre of their practice.

Possibly even hypocrisy.

One of the fascinating patterns I have noticed over the years working with coaches is how development changes across the lifespan.

Young coaches often arrive with enormous enthusiasm. Their depth and breadth may still be limited, but their energy and curiosity are alive. Learning can happen rapidly in those early years. Ideas are absorbed quickly. Reflection feels exciting. Exploration feels natural.

Then something interesting happens.

A plateau appears.

Not necessarily in competence, but psychologically.

The coach begins to say things like:

“I’ve done my badges.”
“I’ve served my time.”
“I’ve arrived.”

That word — arrived — worries me sometimes.

Because coaching is not a destination profession.

The moment a coach believes they have arrived may actually be the moment their learning quietly begins to slow down.

Often somewhere in their 40s or 50s, coaches arrive at a crossroads. They possess enough experience to survive, enough credibility to protect themselves, and enough success to justify staying still.

At that point, two paths often emerge.

One path is positional.

The coach hides within their role, status, qualifications, or past achievements. Experience becomes armour. Learning narrows. Curiosity fades.

The other path is transformational.

The coach becomes curious again. Open again. Humble again. They begin exploring beyond the safety of what they already know.

And what is fascinating is that when coaches reach their 60s, wisdom often starts pouring out of them.

Not because they suddenly became intelligent.

But because many no longer feel the need to prove themselves.

The ego softens.
Generosity increases.
Perspective widens.

They become more willing to help younger coaches grow rather than protect their own position.

And I sometimes find myself wondering:

What if they had possessed that mindset in their 40s and 50s?

They may have become truly world-class.

One of the most powerful moments in coaching and coach development is recognising that people are not always ready to hear certain messages.

I remember coaches asking me for “something quick around coaching,” and occasionally I’ll reference an email, article, or WhatsApp message I sent them years ago.

Suddenly they search back through old messages and say:

“Can you remember sending me this three years ago?”

Then comes the astonishment.

Not because the information suddenly appeared.
It was always there.

The learning was there.
The reflection was there.
The insight was there.

They simply were not ready to receive it yet.

And that is such an important lesson.

The real question is often not:

“Is the information good?”

But:

“Is the person ready?”

Sometimes athletes are not ready for the truth.
Sometimes coaches are not ready to question themselves.
Sometimes coach developers plant seeds that may not bloom for years.

Modern systems often assume learning is immediate: attend the course, complete the assessment, achieve the outcome.

But human learning rarely works like that.

Some lessons need failure before they make sense.
Some reflections require maturity before they become visible.
Some truths only emerge when experience catches up with information.

Nature understands timing better than we do.

The poppy blooms when conditions allow it to bloom.

And perhaps people are not so different.

This is why maintaining a beginner’s mindset matters so much.

Not beginner in the sense of wiping away experience or pretending expertise does not matter.

Experience matters enormously.

But beginner’s mindset means remaining open. Curious. Teachable.

It means retaining the ability to say:

“There may still be more for me to learn.”

Although if I am honest, there are moments when I look at certain coaches and think:

“I wish we actually could start again.”

Because sometimes years of coaching are not years of growth. Occasionally they are simply years of repetition.

The challenge is not starting over completely.

The challenge is building upon what we already know without becoming imprisoned by it.

I recently came across some research that used a brilliant metaphor: learning as a coffee filter.

Our biography, upbringing, experiences, successes, failures, qualifications, and environment all become part of the filter through which we interpret information.

And filters are useful.

They help us focus.

But they can also become restrictive.

Because if coaches only filter information through what they already know, they simply reinforce their existing beliefs.

The same ideas.
The same conversations.
The same methods.
The same environments.

Eventually familiarity becomes mistaken for truth.

It becomes intellectual inbreeding.

A closed loop where coaches continually recycle their own assumptions back to themselves.

It is a little bit like coffee.

How do you know what your favourite coffee is if you never try anything else?

If you only ever drink one blend, from one café, prepared in one way, your world remains narrow without you even realising it.

But when you start exploring different coffees, different blends, different environments, your taste expands.

Your filter changes.

It becomes more diverse. More adaptable. More inclusive.

And perhaps coaching works in exactly the same way.

The more environments we experience…
The more perspectives we hear…
The more conversations we engage in…

…the more dexterity we develop.

Not because we agree with everything.

But because we become capable of seeing more.

Which somehow brings me back again to the orange poppy by the roadside.

A flower becoming a reflection on learning.
A conversation becoming a philosophy.
Coffee becoming a metaphor for curiosity.
Nature becoming a mirror for development.

One small observation creating a constellation of ideas.

And maybe that is what learning truly is.

Not the accumulation of isolated information.

But the ability to connect things together.

Poppies and people.
Planets and pathways.
Coffee and coaching.
Experience and humility.

The joy of learning is not simply gathering more knowledge.

It is developing the awareness to notice that wisdom has often been sitting quietly in front of us the whole time — waiting patiently for us to finally become ready to receive it.