I come in, watch, listen, find what's actually broken — and leave when they don't need me anymore.
The sooner,
the better.
Their pain is usually legit. The logic, not often. That's where I start.

What I always end up asking
What I actually do
Most people already know something is wrong. They just stopped saying it out loud. I find what's stuck, bring it to the surface, and work through it with the people there — not around them, not instead of them.
I'm not there to expose people. I'm there to expose and solve problems.
Something is repeating. A process nobody questions, a conflict nobody names, a meeting that solves nothing but keeps happening. I find the pattern, break it down, and redesign it with the people who live it every day.
Not another framework on top of a broken foundation.
The story
Every team I've walked into had the same face. Overloaded, misaligned, and quietly convinced the problem was somewhere else. Not their fault. Usually not.
The meetings were full of people agreeing on the surface and disagreeing in their heads. The processes were there — just not working for anyone. The goals were set, but nobody could explain how they connected to the actual work being done on Monday morning.
I started noticing a pattern. Not in the tools. Not in the methodology. In the conversations that weren't happening — or were happening in the wrong rooms, with the wrong framing, at the wrong time.
So I started having those conversations first. Coffee, one-on-one, no agenda. Just: "What's actually broken?" The answers were always sharper than anything in the retrospectives.
From there, the work was about preparing people — individually — before putting them back in the room together. Most change fails not because the idea is wrong, but because the people aren't ready to carry it.