I recently spent time at a health retreat, and one idea from a talk there has stayed with me.
The doctor spoke about how, when we don’t feel well, our instinct is almost always to add: more supplements, more medication, even more food, ‘to sustain us’. We reach for something external to fix what feels wrong internally.
But he challenged us to consider a different perspective.
What if, when we are unwell, there is already something within us contributing to that state? And instead of adding more, the solution might lie in taking something away.
He spoke about fasting as one example — giving the body space to heal, repair, and reset without constantly diverting energy toward digestion. He says digestion, after all, is one of the most energy-intensive processes in the body. By stepping back, we may allow the body to do what it is already designed to do: restore balance.
This idea struck me not just physically, but philosophically.
Addition has always felt like the easier path. Even at school, addition was simpler than subtraction — no negative numbers, no sense of loss, just a steady upward path. More feels good. More feels like progress.
But “more” isn’t always progress.
For a long time now, I’ve been drawn to the idea that improvement doesn’t always come from piling things on. Often it comes from stripping things back.
In business, this raises interesting thoughts.
Where are we adding layers (resources, systems, processes) that don’t serve us? Rules that should give clarity but create friction, rigidity and reduced creativity? Processes that slow things down rather than make them more efficient? Complexity has a way of creeping in quietly, often in the name of improvement, until it becomes the very thing that holds us back.
What would it look like to take things away instead?
From a leadership perspective, this feels even more personal.
Where am I adding in ways that don’t actually improve outcomes?
* When I rewrite my team’s work, am I strengthening it — or diminishing ownership and accountability?
* When I add to someone’s idea, am I elevating it – or complicating something that was already clear?
* When I choose to be in a meeting – am I improving the flow and outcome of the meeting – or feeding an internal need to feel important and like a critical contributor?
Probably a more useful question is not “What more can I do?” but:
“Where can I do less?”
And even more importantly:
“What could improve if I stepped back?”
There is a quiet discipline in restraint. In choosing not to add.
In trusting that sometimes the best contribution is space
— space for others to think, to act, to grow.
The discipline of this isn't easy.
It involves checking in on your intentions, being aware of the role your ego is playing.
But there is an invaluable incentive in doing this.
More time, more choice, more intention.
Taking away is not about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing less of what doesn’t matter, so that what does matter has room to breathe.
And maybe that applies not just to our work, but to our bodies, our habits, and the way we live.
Sometimes, the most powerful change doesn’t come from adding something new.
It comes from letting something go.