There’s something refreshingly obvious about the idea: you can’t cook rice without rice.
It’s a phrase that might sound silly at first, even laughable, but it carries a truth so foundational that we often forget it in our daily hustle to do more, be more, achieve more. Because in all of our strategizing, all our frameworks, metrics, plans, and processes – we sometimes lose sight of the one thing that matters most: the thing itself.
This was said out loud in a strategic meeting by someone who I deeply appreciate and admire, someone who has played a pivotal role in my transition to the non-profit sector.
You can’t build culture without people. You can’t teach without listening. You can’t lead without trust. You can’t scale without value. You can’t heal if you’re not present. You can’t cook rice without rice.
In the world of leadership, design, business, or just plain living, we’ve developed a dangerous fluency in distraction. We get caught up in the process of things, in performative effort, in the aesthetics of progress. But we rarely stop to ask: Do I have the essential ingredient? Not just a checklist of surface-level inputs, but the core substance required to make the outcome not just possible, but meaningful.
The metaphor travels well. A leader might be busy holding meetings, setting goals, aligning teams, yet miss the quiet truth that they’ve stopped being present with people. An entrepreneur might chase funding and press, but forget to build something that actually solves a problem. A teacher might complete the curriculum but miss the connection. You can have the pot, the water, the salt, even the flame – but without the rice, you’re just boiling expectations.
There’s a false comfort in momentum. Motion often masquerades as meaning. And in a world obsessed with productivity, it’s easy to confuse process for purpose. But what we forget is that the essence always comes first. Everything else is in service of it. The water helps the rice. The heat activates the rice. The salt brings out the rice’s flavour. But if there’s no rice, you’re just performing a ritual that leads nowhere.
This is not a call to do less. It’s a call to remember what matters. To ask harder questions of ourselves before we hit send, ship, or share. Are we bringing the essential ingredient? Are we being honest about what’s missing? Are we solving the right problem, or just performing competence?
Sometimes, the essential ingredient is clarity. Sometimes it’s trust. Sometimes it’s rest. Sometimes it’s saying I don’t know. And sometimes it’s just admitting that you’re not ready yet. You can’t cook rice if you haven’t even bought any.
For those of us who live and work in complex systems – education, entrepreneurship, nonprofits, public service – this isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a warning. We often try to serve communities without understanding them. We try to empower youth without listening to their reality. We try to grow organizations without grounding them in their purpose. In strategic design, we talk about feasibility, viability, and desirability. But none of that matters if the core is missing. And no framework – no matter how elegant – can stand up without substance at the center.
One of the most liberating questions I’ve learned to ask in my work with young people, with leaders, with founders, is: What are we really trying to make here? Not what do we want to show, not what do we want to say, but what is the real thing we are here to do. If we can name it honestly, we can start gathering what we need to make it real. And if we can’t name it, then maybe we shouldn’t be cooking yet.
The beauty of this phrase – “you can’t cook rice without rice” – is how humbling it is. It pulls us back down to the ground. It’s a reminder that no matter how sophisticated our language, how strategic our plans, how ambitious our goals – nothing can replace the quiet presence of the actual work. The thing itself. And our responsibility to it.
Sometimes, leadership is about being the person in the room who says: Let’s stop. Do we actually have what we need? Are we solving the right thing? That kind of pause isn’t a delay – it’s a gift. A moment of clarity in a world addicted to speed.
In the end, everything else is seasoning. The rice is the point. And once we have it, all the other pieces – the people, the plan, the process – can do what they were always meant to do: support what actually matters.
So the next time you’re in a meeting, or building a plan, or launching a campaign, or starting something new, stop for a second and ask: Do I have the rice? Because if you don’t, no amount of fire will feed you.