A few years ago, I was invited as a judge at the ICC Mediation Competition in Paris. For those unfamiliar with it, the ICC competition is, in many ways, the Mecca of commercial mediation. Dozens of teams from top universities around the world, a buzzing community of professionals, and some of the finest mediators you could ever hope to meet – all in one place.
At the time, I was still trying to establish myself in the field. And as every mediator knows, the golden rule is simple: get the gigs. The more the gigs, the more you practice. The more the gigs, the more you’re known. The more the gigs, the more you’re trusted. I still believe that getting the gigs is actually harder than conducting the mediations themselves, but that’s a story for another day.
One of the things I’ve always loved about the ICC competition is the chance to interact, informally and intensely, with world-class mediators. Not just skilled professionals, but true masters of the craft. People who regularly mediate high-stakes disputes, from infrastructure projects and insurance claims to the complex dynamics of cross-border banking. Individuals who know how to read a room, manage power dynamics, and gently nudge parties (and their lawyers) to better understand their own interests and positions.
One afternoon, during a break between rounds, I was chatting with one of them – let’s call him Mr. X. I was younger, eager to learn, and I asked him a question I thought might sound naive:
“What’s the secret to becoming a solid, respected practitioner in this field?”
He smiled. Then he opened his suitcase and pulled out a battered piece of A4 paper. It was worn at the edges, yellowed, covered in scribbles, highlights, and underlines.
“This”, he said “is my business plan. I wrote it eight years ago. It’s always been with me since I left my litigation practice” (up to that time he was a partner in a renowned international firm). “It’s in my briefcase, every single day. You can take a look if you want”
IIt wasn’t a book. It wasn’t even a proper presentation. Just a few stapled pages. But they contained his goals, his vision, and a clear sense of direction.
What struck me most, though, was not just the content, but the ritual. The fact that he carried that paper with him across airports, continents, and time zones.
It had become part of him. A silent compass folded in his luggage.
That conversation stayed with me.
Years later, when things started to fall into place professionally, and I launched Better Ipsum, that story came back to me. It still resonated, powerfully.
I had already written a business plan, but after that memory resurfaced, I printed it out and started carrying it with me. In my briefcase, my backpack, or whatever bag I happened to be using that day.
It reminds me why I do what I do. And where I hope to go.
Let’s see if it stays with me until 2035. Or longer.
One thing is certain: I’ll always be grateful to Mr. X for that tip. Quiet, practical, and unforgettable.
