Powered by Coffee, Vinyl and the Force!

Well... if you've already snooped around my profile (and let's be honest, you did), you've probably figured out I'm a Star Wars fan.

Not just an "I like lightsabers" kind of fan. I'm talking full-on quoting Yoda in meetings, debating The Clone Wars over dinner kind of fan. I even collect LEGO minifigures.

So yes, the Force is strong with this one.

And no, I don't own a Jedi robe.

Not yet.

This section is the informal bit. The "here's the human behind the HR professional" part.

The rest of the website is where I'm serious.

This is where I admit that I'm powered mostly by curiosity, enthusiasm and a concerning amount of coffee.

We spend most of our lives in meetings, making decisions, pretending we understand every Excel formula, and replying to emails that make less sense than Alfredo's fettuccine. But we're more than that.

Work matters, of course.

It's a big part of who we are.

But it doesn't define all of us.

Life needs space. Space away from buzzing phones, endless meetings and the relentless pursuit of profit.

Even Darth Vader had a meditation pod.

And he was basically a Top Manager.

If you think about it, he was responsible for employee engagement, succession planning, conflict management and organizational restructuring.

Admittedly, his leadership style wouldn't pass today's HR standards.

Long before HR, leadership and talent management entered my vocabulary, there was radio.

Radio has always fascinated me.

There was something magical about the idea that a voice could travel through the air and reach people you had never met.

Someone once gave me a small radio transmitter and I immediately promoted myself to DJ, presenter, producer and station manager. For hours I would play songs and talk on air to an audience consisting mostly of... nobody.

To improve reception, I connected copper wires from the antenna to whatever metal object I could find around the house, including several pot lids from the kitchen.

At some point our home looked less like a family house and more like a secret Cold War communications facility.

My mother was not impressed.

Looking back, radio taught me one of my first lessons about communication.

People connect with stories long before they connect with information.

Oddly enough, that's still true today.

Fast forward to 1987.

While much of my generation was dancing to Madonna and Duran Duran, I found myself at a Pink Floyd concert in Venice.

That evening didn't just entertain me.

It rewired my brain.

I've been collecting their vinyl records ever since.

Some experiences deserve more than an algorithm and a pair of wireless earbuds.

Music has always been much more than a hobby.

It taught me that creativity and discipline are not opposites.

It taught me to listen carefully.

And in both music and life, listening is often more important than speaking.

Sport arrived with a completely different set of lessons.

I've run marathons in Florence, Milan and Venice.

Anyone who has ever run a marathon knows that there comes a point when your body starts negotiating with you.

Usually quite aggressively.

Running taught me that meaningful goals are rarely achieved through enthusiasm alone.

The first kilometres are motivation.

The last kilometres are discipline.

When everything hurts and the finish line still feels impossibly far away, you discover that resilience is not a talent.

It's a choice.

The same applies to professional life.

The biggest achievements rarely come from one brilliant moment.

They're usually the result of consistency, patience and the willingness to keep moving forward when things become difficult.

I also spent several years as a football referee in Italy's Lega Pro, what most people know as Serie C.

In 2006, I even received a national award for refereeing.

Not quite Jedi Knighthood.

But not bad either.

Being a referee taught me another valuable lesson.

Sooner or later, someone will disagree with your decisions.

Sometimes very loudly.

It taught me to stay calm under pressure, make decisions with incomplete information, manage conflict and take responsibility when everyone is looking at you.

Those lessons have proved surprisingly useful throughout my professional life.

Then there's Formula 1.

I've collected autographs from legends such as Senna, Prost, Mansell, Hill, Schumacher, Lauda, Regazzoni and Alboreto.

Basically the Avengers of motorsport.

What fascinates me most isn't the speed.

It's the pursuit of continuous improvement.

In Formula 1, success isn't usually about one spectacular moment.

It's about hundreds of tiny details executed slightly better every single day.

I've always found that idea fascinating because the same principle applies to organisations, careers and personal growth.

I play bass guitar with roughly the same elegance as a particularly talented macaque.

My apologies to Roger Waters.

I've also spent time experimenting with the Theremin and the Moog Theremin because apparently regular musical instruments weren't strange enough.

Later in life, I discovered swimming and scuba diving.

That changed me more than I expected.

Underwater, phones don't ring.

Emails don't arrive.

Nobody asks for a quick call.

Nobody schedules a meeting that could have been an email.

There is only silence, perspective and an endless blue world that reminds you how small your daily worries really are.

Diving taught me something that has become increasingly important over the years.

Not every situation requires an immediate reaction.

Sometimes the best decisions come from slowing down, observing carefully and understanding the bigger picture before acting.

Photography grew from a similar mindset.

I've always enjoyed capturing moments that many people simply walk past without noticing.

A reflection.

A detail.

A particular light.

An unexpected expression.

Photography teaches observation.

And observation, much like listening, is one of the most underrated human skills there is.

Some of my photographs have even been published, although I should probably clarify that I'm still a very long way from winning the Pulitzer Prize.

Then again, hope is free.

Art in general has always fascinated me.

It kicks the dust off the soul.

It reminds us that productivity isn't everything and that beauty still matters.

I also love writing.

One day I'd love to publish a children's storybook.

Something that helps children defeat the monsters hiding under the bed, inside the closet and in the dark corners of their imagination.

To be fair, some adults could probably use that book as well.

I only own colourful socks because life is rarely black and white. The most interesting things happen somewhere in the middle, among billions of colours, nuances and different points of view.

I've never really understood the appeal of blending into the background.

Life is simply more interesting when people allow their personality to show.

At the end of the day, all these experiences have something in common.

Radio taught me communication.

Music taught me listening.

Marathons taught me perseverance.

Refereeing taught me judgement.

Diving taught me perspective.

Photography taught me observation.

Art taught me curiosity.

And all of them taught me something about people.

Which is probably why Human Resources never felt like a career choice.

It felt like a natural destination.

Of course, Giuseppe Palermo is far more than what you've read here, but I won't bore you with any more tales from the galaxy.

If we ever get the chance to work together, you'll discover the rest for yourself.

Until then, may your vinyl records stay scratch-free, your meetings stay short, your coffee stay strong and your Force remain with you.

Forever and ever.

Oh, and before I forget.

If you're not Italian, here's a quick public service announcement.

Every time you order a cappuccino after lunch or dinner, or break spaghetti before putting it into boiling water, somewhere in Italy a grandmother places a disappointed hand over her heart.

Please.

Think of the nonnas.