Environment Dictates Outcome and the Price We Pay
Recently, I was speaking on the phone with my brother, who lives in Tirana. We were talking about the latest news of professionals who now find themselves under investigation for various illegal dealings.
He paused and then said, “How come so many young professionals study at some of the best universities in the world, but when they come back here something changes them?”
No wonder my brother was surprised. I was not so much surprised as I was trying to make sense of a painful but brutal reality.
A significant number of professionals who return to Albania with strong education and no previous history of breaking rules end up being sucked into systems that place them under enormous pressure to do exactly that: break the rules.
My mentor Daniel Priestley often says, “Environment dictates outcome.” I will elaborate on this more deeply elsewhere, but I believe this is precisely what happens to many young professionals when they fall into toxic environments that normalise compromise, silence, or compliance.
What follows is a personal perspective on hesitation and perhaps fear, not as emotion, but as lived observation.
Have you ever noticed that sometimes people dislike you without knowing you? Perhaps you have experienced it yourself. For no obvious reason, there is resistance, quiet hostility, or polite distance.
I have thought about this for a long time. One thing feels certain: you cannot be liked by everyone. In fact, if you genuinely want to succeed, you must accept that you will, consciously or subconsciously, rub some people the wrong way. Some will be unhappy. Hopefully not too many.
My life experience has shown me that whenever I denied myself the right to do my best, there were still people who were unhappy. The difference was that I also lost something far more important: my moral compass. What has allowed me to move forward has always been a clear internal reference point, a commitment to generate positive change and to help others succeed along the way, not at their expense.
I have also learned that everything stems from one’s personal situation and inner make up. Many successful artists and professionals, beyond their strong drive, develop the ability to remain humble and to keep their success, in one way or another, under the radar. Some call this strategy. I see it as something deeper: an effort to stay in tune with oneself and to serve a life mission that includes doing good for others, not overpowering them.
A powerful example of this is Ermonela Jaho. Despite being an absolute diva on the world operatic stage, she consistently disarms people with her modesty and kind heart whenever she meets anyone, on or off stage. That level of humility is not performative. It is grounded.
My own mission and passion have consistently pulled me toward these principles, especially when it comes to maintaining and building meaningful connections with Albania, Albanian artists, and my culture.
For the past thirty five years, I have worked and collaborated on numerous projects with Albanians both in Albania and abroad. I have had some strong results. Yet there is a persistent feeling that something is missing. Perhaps this comes from my own subjective standards about how things should be done, and from the reasons I left Albania at the peak of my career, when I was assistant choreographer of the National Ballet, Opera, and Ensemble, under the mentorship of Panajot Kanaci and Agron Alija.
This brings me to a difficult question: are my colleagues afraid of me, or am I afraid of them?
Rather than framing this emotionally, I see it as a series of personal doubts and a conscious stance towards them.
I have questioned whether I allow myself to be measured by standards and opinions that are not mine. I have reflected on whether ideas shaped abroad are perceived as intrusion rather than contribution, as if competence were being claimed rather than offered. I have considered whether new perspectives, even when rooted in shared culture, are received as disruption rather than dialogue.
I have also asked myself whether I consciously hold back, concerned that I might disturb balances others have worked to establish over decades, even when those balances appear fragile or compromised. Whether hesitation comes from respect, caution, or the unspoken cost of being seen as inconvenient.
I have questioned my own expectations too: whether I place myself under pressure to deliver perfectly, fearing that any shortcoming might validate someone else’s judgement. Whether I take responsibility for systems that are not mine to carry.
Yet what I have consistently observed is this: when I present ideas or propose collaborations, even when I take on the full burden of the project, the response is often hesitation at best, and silence, fading away, or direct rejection at worst. The situation becomes noticeably worse when money enters the conversation, but that is a subject for another article.
A concrete example remains vivid.
In 2012, I presented an arts management programme at a university. I found myself navigating an almost alien internal culture. On the surface, people were polite. Underneath, there was quiet scrutiny mixed with indifference. The situation escalated when I was told to give maximum marks to drama students who had not attended lessons because they were “preparing for exams.”
The fact that such a request could be made so casually made it impossible for me to ignore what it represented. It made me angry, but I knew I had to remain cool and not emotional.
I was faced with a genuine dilemma.
Complying would mean acting against my principles. Refusing would almost certainly create an enemy. Granting marks without attendance would reinforce the idea that rules are negotiable and integrity optional. Failing everyone would create a much larger conflict, placing the entire institution against me.
None of the options were neutral.
Eventually, I saw two realistic paths. Either I would leave, resulting in the course being cancelled, with consequences for students and colleagues alike, and with damage to my reputation as someone “difficult to work with,” without much chance to defend myself. Or I would find a middle way, one that bent regulations but preserved my conscience and protected the students’ learning.
I chose the latter.
I delivered the lesson twice: once in the morning for those who attended, and once in the evening for those preparing for exams. It worked. The students benefited. But the outcome was also clear. I was not invited back. It became evident that I could not be easily moulded to expectations that sat uncomfortably with my values.
Looking back, I no longer see that experience as a failure or a misunderstanding. I see it as a moment of clarity.
I was not rejected because I lacked competence, flexibility, or goodwill. I was rejected because I would not quietly participate in something I did not believe in.
Fear does not always show itself as aggression. Sometimes it appears as politeness, hesitation, silence, or disappearance. And often, what is feared is not the person, but what that person represents: a mirror, a disruption, or a reminder that another way is possible.
Perhaps the real question is not whether they are afraid of me, or whether I am afraid of them. Perhaps the real question is this: what happens when integrity enters a room that has learned to survive without it?
And this brings me back to those young professionals who returned with enthusiasm, belief, and a genuine desire to contribute. I cannot help but wonder how many of them found themselves standing at similar crossroads. How many tried to remain faithful to their values, and how many felt compelled to “adapt” to a reality that quietly demanded compromise. Some may have stayed strong and paid the price of exclusion. Others may have bent, believing it was temporary, only to find themselves trapped and now suffering the consequences.
By now, it is probably clear where I stand, and who I stand by.
Tomorr Kokona
Business Coach for Creative Industries, Choreographer. Producer and Best Selling Author.
Vice Chair, British Albanian Culture and Arts Association
London Jan 2026
