People talk a lot about what drives us. Curiosity, ambition, intelligence, creativity, collaboration, purpose. All true. But there’s something that rarely makes the list (maybe because it sounds harsh, or is hard to admit) and that drives me every single day: anger.

Yes. Anger.

Anger at wasted talent. Anger at brilliant ideas dying in drawers. Anger when internal politics silence courage. Anger when bureaucracy chokes innovation. Anger when ego holds the collective hostage.

And all of that (yes) happens in companies. Even the good ones. Even ours. Including ours.

But anger, for me, was never a destination. It was a starting point. It wakes me up. Shakes me. Pushes me when I’m stuck.

The hardest (and most beautiful) part comes next: what I choose to do with that anger. Because turning anger into action takes presence. And courage. And humility. And partnership. It takes listening. It takes staying in the game. It takes channeling discomfort into movement, not destruction.

Maybe that’s why I’m still here. Wanting more. Wanting better. Wanting different. Wanting what’s fair.

If I hadn’t felt angry, I might’ve settled. Might’ve become just another corporate exec. But anger (that stubborn little thing) didn’t let me accept “it’s just the way it is.” It probably left a few people angry too, and if you, the one reading this, are one of them… well, nothing like a printed letter to explain myself. But it didn’t let me give up.

Anger from watching everyone doing the same, and us daring to be different. That’s how Feels Like Magic came to life recently.
Because in the end, it’s not magic: it’s logic, it’s work, it’s some pretty damn good math.

Anger made me question. Test. Argue. Create. It made me part of this 30-year ride not as a passenger, but as someone who grabbed the wheel (sometimes with a shaky hand, but always with a steady will to move forward).

Of course, anger alone doesn’t hold up. It would be destructive. It needs love. Vision. Generosity. It needs to be shaped. It’s raw energy. Creative fire. And I’m proud I let it live in me. That I never apologized for feeling it. That I turned it into something that builds. I’ve probably messed up along the way, but I’m still alert.

If CI&T is what it is today, it’s because some people felt anger and turned it into motion. They looked at the world, at systems, at the rules, and said: “not like this.”

And then they did it differently.

So yes. 30 angry years. And may the next 30 come with even more restlessness, more courage, more hunger to change what no longer serves.

Because if anger is born from love for what could still be… may we never run out of it.