Arabela Navarro

Gantt Charts Are Not the Enemy of Agile

There’s a quiet assumption in many Agile teams that I’ve always found interesting: Gantt charts are for waterfall. Almost like they belong to a different world—a world we moved on from.

And yet, every time I hear someone say “Gantts are for waterfall”, I can’t help but wonder if we’re not actually avoiding Gantt charts… but avoiding time and visibility.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: Scrum helps us manage work, but it doesn’t always help us understand time. And time matters.

When I look at a backlog, I see priorities. When I look at a sprint board, I see execution. But when I look at a Gantt chart, I see something different. I see consequences. I see what happens if something slips. I see dependencies that weren’t obvious before. I see whether “we’ll probably make it” is actually true… or just optimism.

Some people resist Gantt charts because they associate them with rigidity—fixed timelines, fixed scope, heavy planning. But a Gantt chart is just a visualization. It doesn’t force you into waterfall. It simply answers a question Agile teams sometimes avoid: given what we know today, will we finish on time?

In complex environments, especially when multiple teams and dependencies are involved, that question is not optional. It’s leadership. Because without that visibility, dependencies become surprises, delays become explanations, and deadlines become negotiations.

A Gantt chart doesn’t replace Scrum. It complements it. Scrum operates in the present—what are we doing now? A Gantt chart connects the present to the future—where is this actually going?

And maybe that’s the real shift. Using a Gantt chart is not about controlling the team. It’s about respecting reality.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this through a different lens. When I play chess, sometimes I get so focused on the piece in front of me that I completely miss what’s developing on the other side of the board. And then I lose a piece and think, “how did I not see that?”

Gantt charts feel like stepping back from the board. They don’t tell you what move to make, but they help you see what’s coming.

So no—Gantt charts are not anti-Agile. Used correctly, they are a tool for awareness. And in both chess and delivery, awareness changes everything.

What Chess Taught Me About Blind Spots

There is a moment in chess that feels almost embarrassing.

You’re focused. Deeply focused. You’ve been calculating lines, thinking ahead, maybe even feeling proud of your position… and then it happens.

You lose a piece.

And the thought comes immediately: Nooooo. How did I not see that???

Many times this was not because your opponent made a brilliant move, but because you simply didn’t see it.

I’ve had that moment more times than I’d like to admit. But recently, I realized something: this doesn’t only happen on the chessboard. It happens in life.

When I play chess, my attention tends to narrow. I focus on what I want to do—my strategy, my plan, my next move. But while I’m focused on that, I stop seeing everything else. Other pieces. Other threats. Other possibilities.

And then I get surprised.

Not because the information wasn’t there, but because I didn’t see it.

So I started asking myself a different question: What am I not seeing?

Something interesting began to happen after I started playing chess. That question didn’t stay on the board. It started appearing in my thoughts at random moments during the day—especially when I was making decisions. In conversations, at work, even in small everyday choices, I would suddenly pause and think: What am I not seeing? Almost as if chess had trained a new layer of awareness in my mind.

Life works in a similar way. We move forward with intention. We set goals, we make plans, we act with purpose. And yet, we still miss things. Signals from other people. Risks in our decisions. Opportunities outside our current focus. Patterns we repeat without noticing.

Just like in chess, the issue is not intelligence. It’s awareness.

We don’t see everything. We see what we are looking for.

That realization reminded me of Aristotle, who believed that understanding reality requires looking at it from multiple perspectives. But as humans, we naturally simplify. We narrow our field of vision to what feels most relevant in the moment.

In modern terms, we call this selective attention, tunnel vision or even cognitive bias. But on a more personal level, it simply feels like being certain… and still being wrong.

Chess, in that sense, becomes a practice in humility. It is not only about thinking ahead, but about learning to see the whole board. Stronger players develop a habit of pausing before they move. They ask themselves what changed, what is being threatened, which pieces are now vulnerable.

They train themselves to look beyond their intention.

This idea has started to change the way I make decisions in my own life. Now, when I feel certain, I try to pause. I ask myself what I might be missing, what assumptions I’m making, what could go wrong that I’m ignoring. I try to imagine what an outside perspective would notice that I cannot see from where I stand.

Sometimes, nothing changes. But sometimes, everything does.

It is not about overthinking or doubting every step. It is about expanding awareness, even slightly, to include what is outside of our immediate focus.

Chess humbled me in a way I didn’t expect. It showed me that even when I feel focused, capable, and in control, I can still miss what is right in front of me.

And maybe the goal is not to see everything. That would be impossible.

Maybe the goal is simply to stay curious enough to keep asking:

What am I not seeing?

The 4 Causes of Every Project Problem (What Aristotle Can Teach Modern Leaders)

Recently, I came across a video explaining the philosophy of Aristotle—specifically, his idea of the four causes.

It’s a 2,000-year-old framework meant to explain why things exist the way they do.

My immediate thought was: This applies to Project Management.

Not metaphorically—structurally.

Because one of the most common challenges in delivery is not execution itself, but misdiagnosing the type of problem we’re dealing with.

When something goes wrong in a project, the default response is:

Run a retrospective
Perform a root cause analysis
Use tools like the Five Whys

This approach is useful—but it assumes that every problem has a single causal chain. In practice, that’s rarely the case. They usually have multiple reasons.

Aristotle proposed that to truly understand anything, you need to look at it from four different perspectives:

What it’s made of
What structure it has
What created it
Why it exists

The Five Whys asks: “Why did this happen?”

Aristotle’s model asks: “What type of cause explains this?”

This is not a deeper question—it’s a different dimension of thinking.

Thinking with this framework can look like this:

Cause	PM Translation	Type of Problem	Examples	Typical Wrong Fix
Material Cause	Resources	Capacity / Constraints	• Not enough QA • Budget limitations • Tooling gaps • Unrealistic timelines	Pushing the team to “work faster” instead of adjusting capacity or scope
Formal Cause	System Design	Structure	• Poor backlog definition • Unclear processes • Weak architecture decisions • Misaligned workflows	Adding more meetings or micromanagement instead of fixing the system
Efficient Cause	Execution	Delivery	• Low productivity • Communication breakdowns • Lack of accountability • Ineffective ceremonies	Redesigning the process instead of coaching or improving execution
Final Cause	Purpose	Direction	• Misaligned priorities • Unclear business goals • Delivering output without value • Teams optimizing for the wrong outcome	Optimizing delivery speed instead of realigning goals and value

Next time something goes wrong in your project, pause and ask:

Material → Do we have the right resources?
Formal → Is the system well designed?
Efficient → Is execution effective?
Final → Are we solving the right problem?

Things Will Happen When They’re Meant To

Lately, I’ve been reminding myself of a phrase that feels simple but profound: “Las cosas van a salir cuando tengan que salir.”

In English, it means, “Things will happen when they’re meant to happen.”

I’ve been holding on to it like a quiet mantra — especially on the days when my to-do list feels endless. Between work responsibilities, PhD deadlines, family matters, and personal goals that always seem to move to “next week,” it’s easy to feel like I’m constantly behind. Yet, this phrase reminds me to breathe, to trust that not everything has to happen right now, and that timing — real timing — has a rhythm of its own.

We live in a culture that celebrates control, planning, and productivity. I’m someone who loves structure and progress, but I’ve also learned that not everything can be forced. There’s a point where pushing harder doesn’t help — it only drains you. Some things need time to unfold, and others simply need you to be ready for them.

Philosophically, this idea isn’t new. The Stoics spoke about focusing on what’s within our control and letting go of what isn’t. Aristotle taught about balance — what he called the Golden Mean — the virtuous midpoint between excess and deficiency. It’s the art of doing not too much, not too little, but just enough. And the ancient Greeks also had two words for time: chronos and kairos.

Chronos is the time we measure — the quantitative kind. It’s the hours, days, and deadlines that structure our lives. It’s the calendar reminders, project plans, and submission dates. Chronos is linear, logical, and necessary — it keeps us moving and helps us make progress.

But kairos is different. Kairos is qualitative. It’s not about the clock — it’s about the moment. It’s the right, opportune, or meaningful time — the moment when something feels ready, when everything aligns. Kairos can’t be scheduled; it’s sensed. It’s when an idea suddenly clicks, when healing finally begins, when clarity appears after weeks of uncertainty.

I think a lot of our stress comes from trying to live only in chronos, while life often unfolds in kairos. We measure our progress by tasks completed, but we rarely give space for the kind of progress that can’t be tracked — emotional, intellectual, or spiritual growth.

This idea has shown up in my life in many ways. During my PhD, I’ve learned that insights don’t arrive on command; they come when I’m ready to understand them. In my personal life, especially after my dad passed away, I’ve realized that grief, healing, and even joy follow their own timeline. You can’t rush them. You can only stay open to them.

So I keep reminding myself: things will happen when they’re meant to happen. Not as an excuse to procrastinate, but as a reminder to trust the process — to do my part with integrity and let life take care of the rest.

Maybe the point isn’t to control time, but to live wisely within it — to work with chronos while staying open to kairos. Because the most meaningful things rarely arrive on schedule. They arrive when we’re finally ready for them.

When Life Feels Upside Down: Lessons in Real Well-Being

When life is steady, well-being feels like a checklist: sleep enough, move your body, eat well, take your supplements.

But when everything turns upside down—when you’re grieving, overwhelmed, stretched thin—that’s when the real lessons come through.

The last few months have been some of the hardest I’ve had in a long time. I lost my grandmother. Then, a few months later, I lost my father.

I’ve been balancing multiple projects at work, in the middle of a PhD, and somehow trying to show up as a leader, a student, a sister, a daughter, a friend… all while still taking care of myself.

Here’s what I’ve learned (and am still learning) about well-being—not the Instagram version, but the quiet, raw, deeply personal kind:

1. Grief Doesn’t Ask for Permission

Grief doesn’t wait for the weekend. It shows up in between meetings and to-do lists.

In my case, both phone calls came on Mondays—one just as I was starting my workday, the other at night, while I was in the middle of a PhD class.

Even though I knew those calls could arrive at any moment, when they finally came, they still shocked me.

Nothing could have prepared me to receive them.

Grief is deeply personal; each of us experiences it in a different way.

I’ve learned to let it in, even if just for a moment—a deep breath, a memory, a tear.

I don’t push it away. I try not to judge it.

2. Self-Care Becomes Survival

Self-care has become as simple as drinking water and eating.

Sitting in silence for five minutes. Taking a few days off from work and classes. Going out for a walk.

These tiny acts have become my anchors—small reminders that I’m still here.

3. People Are the Pillars

During these months, I’ve leaned on people more than ever. Friends, family, professors, other PhD students, and coworkers have been there in many different ways.

Sometimes a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” went a long way.

Well-being isn’t a solo mission—it’s collective.

We heal in community, even if the gestures are small.

4. Permission to Pause

One powerful thing I gave myself: permission to do less.

To postpone a task. To take longer walks. To cry during a break.

To spend more time with my family and truly be present.

Sometimes I feel like I spend most of my life thinking and doing.

Now, I’m learning to take time to feel and just be.

Productivity can wait. Healing can’t.

5. It’s Okay Not to Feel “Okay”

I’ve stopped pretending everything is fine.

And strangely, that honesty made me feel more grounded.

There’s peace in truth.

And there’s strength in vulnerability.

Closing Thoughts

These months have reminded me that well-being isn’t about perfection—it’s about compassion.

It’s about creating space for all parts of life: the joy, the sorrow, the chaos, the calm.

And learning, little by little, that I can carry both.