Month: May 2022

Leading From Behind

On a cold day in November 1928, the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team huddled in a locker room at Yankee Stadium.

The Irish were in the midst of a lackluster season, and the first half of this contest against the undefeated Army Cadets was going no better. Both teams had battled to a 0-0 tie, and morale on the Notre Dame sideline seemed low.

In the silence of the locker room, coach Knute Rockne spoke up. Instead of discussing strategy or tactics, Rockne evoked the memory of a former player — the All-American George Gipp. Gipp had died eight years earlier, and Rockne recalled Gipp’s final words to him:

Sometimes, when the team is up against it – and the breaks are beating the boys – tell them to go out there with all they’ve got and win just one for the Gipper.

The players responded to Rockne’s call with vigor, roaring back to beat Army. Notre Dame would go on to win national titles in the two subsequent years.

Rockne was already a legend before he urged his team to Win one for the Gipper. He had won 85 football games at Notre Dame to that point and helped popularize the forward pass.

But the halftime speech took his legend to new heights. It showed that coaches could do more than plot out X’s and O’s on a blackboard. They could lead from the front.

They could inspire with their words, command with their charisma, and blaze a trail through the boldness of their conviction.

Leading from the front was not a new concept when Rockne evoked it. It had long existed in politics, with its premium on oration and debate. But it was relatively nascent elsewhere.

Now, it no longer is.

Indeed, in the near century since Rockne’s speech, leading from the front has become the norm — in sports, in business, and in life.

Coaches are expected to say the right words to their teams at the right times. Bold keynote presentations are now expected of CEOs. And charisma is demanded of the rest of us.

The implication is clear. By taking charge and demonstrating a plan for success, leaders can inspire others to action. They can spark a movement and leave their mark on the world.

This approach has paid dividends, on and off the field. But it’s not the only way forward.

I grew up with sports.

Watching them. Playing them. And appreciating all the lessons they brought.

Throughout all that time as an aspiring youth athlete, I only remember one speech that made a difference to me. It came from my middle school baseball coach during a practice. And while it impacted my life, it didn’t raise my team’s performance on the field.

No, I didn’t rely on my baseball coaches for inspiration. My motivation came from watching pro baseball players. Not the flashy, hard-nosed ones. The quiet and consistent types.

I recognized from an early age that the best baseball teams had more than big sluggers or lights-out pitchers. They had glue guys — seemingly ordinary players who did all the little things right.

Oftentimes, their attention to detail would cause others to follow suit. And if those with the greatest athletic abilities were also attending to the details of the game — well, that made the team nearly unbeatable.

There’s a name for this quiet leadership. It’s called leading from behind. And I’ve been fascinated with it ever since those boyhood days on the diamond.

For leading from behind is hard. It requires us to show up each day and do our best.

There are no shortcuts to success. And no glamour to be found in the process.

When leading from behind, our best hope is for the steady drip of our actions to inspire others. Our best wish is to serve as a north star, illuminating the road ahead for our team. And our best reward is to garner the respect of those around us.

Embracing this mentality can be a tough adjustment, especially in a society that lionizes towering personalities. But the journey can prove worthwhile.

After all, those who lead from the front tend to have big egos. And egos can be mighty polarizing.

Yes, for all his glory and accolades, Michael Jordan wasn’t exactly beloved by his teammates. Despite his visionary leadership, Steve Jobs might be best remembered as a vindictive jerk. And Stanley Kubrick was as tough to work for as he was brilliant.

These character flaws might seem immaterial. But the dissent they spawned diluted the leadership abilities of these great men and tarnished their legacies.

Those leading from behind don’t face these problems. Their actions speak volumes all their own.

When I was in college, I decided I wanted to work in television news.

But my self-determined role in this industry was a strange one.

Instead of reporting from the field or sitting behind an anchor desk with the bright studio lights upon me, I wanted to produce the nightly newscasts. I yearned to compile stories, write scripts, wrangle footages, and – yes – manage the egos of news personalities. And I pined to do this behind the scenes, far from the discerning eyes of the viewing audience.

I knew that I’d get little acclaim for doing this. I wouldn’t be recognized when I walked down the street. Heck, I might not even be feted in my own newsroom.

And yet, I knew the value of the producer role. Without it, the newscast would be a rudderless ship, short on information and full of chaos.

Producing the nightly newscasts would provide me a great opportunity — the opportunity to lead from behind.

I seized that opportunity for nearly three years, making friends and garnering respect along the way. And when I left the news media, I didn’t abandon those principles.

As I’ve built a career in marketing, I’ve led from behind. I’ve put in the work, deflected credit, and sought to elevate my team at every turn.

This strategy certainly has its risks. There was always the chance that I’d be overlooked for a promotion or a similar opportunity.

But the benefits have far outweighed the risks. I’ve earned the respect of colleagues, made new friends, and helped accomplish far more than I would have if I had gone it alone.

But I’m not unique. Many others could reap these same benefits by shifting their conceptions of leadership.

We don’t need to be up front to make a difference. There’s plenty of merit in leading from behind.

It’s high time we explored it.

Wheels Keep Turning

I was a mess.

Groggy and incoherent, I stumbled out of bed at the sound of my alarm.

Immediately, I was greeted by two things. Intense discomfort in my gut. And a smartwatch alert about heart rate dipping below 40 beats per minute while I slept.

These two notifications — one biological, one technological — had a common thread.

Both showed that my body was still working, even as I lay unconscious in slumber. In fact, it was chugging along less efficiently than it should have been.

Yes, the pause I experience while recharging — it’s far from a complete one. Even while at rest, the wheels keep turning.

Look at a run-of-the-mill office suite around 10 PM on a weeknight, and it might seem like a ghost town.

Overhead lights off. Workstations powered down. The sound of silence resonating.

Business is on hibernation until the following day. But make no mistake, work is still going on.

Servers are storing the company’s files. Security programs are keeping business assets safe. And software is queueing after-hours transactions.

Even in the dead of night, the wheels keep turning.

No, the business world is not set up to stop and start on a dime. It’s more akin to a freight train — one full of inertia that can only be sped up or slowed down.

Our bodies have similar traits. This is what makes the words Cardiac Arrest so devastating.

And yet, we’ve been tempted to pull the emergency brake on this centrifugal force. For decades, there’s been talk of cryogenically freezing ourselves. And much of our economy recently did get shut down, as we reckoned with a deadly pandemic.

The thinking behind the shutdown was straightforward. A virus was blossoming; restricting interpersonal contact was thought to be the best way to stop its spread. And with most people holed up in their homes, business as we knew it needed to take a break.

This philosophy is what led to the eeriness of silent city streets and darkened storefronts. It’s what spurred the rallying cry We’re all in this together as we waited for the storm to pass.

But lost in that gesture of goodwill was a disturbing fact. We were more resilient than the corporate ecosystem we were abandoning.

While major companies had prepared for oodles of contingency plans, a complete shutdown was not one of them. For in the ranks of industry, such a move is tantamount to a death blow.

As the once unthinkable became a reality, our economy cratered. Millions were laid off from their jobs. Supply chains seized up. And many suffered.

Fortunately, we got the economy humming again. As the stay-at-home orders lifted and remote work blossomed, people got back to work, and the business boomed. But scar tissue from the ordeal has caused lingering issues — including supply chain disruptions and skyrocketing inflation.

It might be a while before things are back on the rails again. And until we reach that point, we’ll keep suffering the consequences of our recent economic catastrophe.

You need a vacation.

I’ve heard this advice time and again.

For I go hard at everything. Whether it’s work, exercise, cooking, or writing — I approach what’s on my schedule with meticulous focus and high intensity.

Those around me worry that I’ll burn up or burn out. So, they implore me to clear my schedule, hop on a cruise ship, or park myself at a faraway beach. I’ll return rejuvenated, they say.

I doubt it.

For I know my abilities and my inabilities. Powering down will only fill me with anxiety. And I’ll feel disoriented, rather than refreshed, upon my return.

So, I politely decline the calls for an extended vacation. I maintain my high-octane lifestyle.

Yes, I recognize that my own wheels must keep turning. Maybe not at warp speed all the time, but at least enough to maintain intertia.

Many of us share this sentiment, whether we’re acutely aware of it or not. It’s why we talk about needing a vacation from our vacation, or to stay in sync.

Idle hands are truly the devil’s handiwork. We need those wheels to keep turning.

The great reset.

This is a phrase I’ve heard bandied about in recent months.

As we emerge from a tumultuous time in our collective existence, we are tempted to take stock of our own lives. We yearn to change course and find meaning in what we do.

Such sentiments can be useful. But we’ve been robbing banks all these years, it might not be the best idea to make a clean break with the past.

For while our old habits and routines might no longer be our cup of tea, they did get us to this point. All that we learned along the way — it’s far from worthless.

Far better to incorporate such experience into our future than to bury it with our past. We’ll be stronger and more resilient for it.

I’ve seen this firsthand.

There are plenty of opportunities I’ve seized well into adulthood. New hobbies have found their way into my life. Healthier habits have sunk in. And a renewed sense of purpose has pervaded my life.

These developments are a blessing, and I’m filled with gratitude for them. But sometimes, I lament all the wasted years that have preceded my good fortune.

I think back to the days when I would stay out at the bar until closing time, downing cheap drinks with my friends, and complaining about my job. I recall the days when I scrolled endlessly through social media because I had no other vessel for my free time. I reminisce on that feeling that I was stuck in neutral, living month-to-month with no sense of greater direction.

I’m not proud of this version of myself, and I often wish the contemporary edition was around back then. But such desires are a fool’s errand.

If anything, I should give my past self a modicum of credit. For even in the depth of my doldrums, my wheels kept turning.

Yes, I might have yearned for a solution on a silver platter. But I kept doing the little things to help seize that platter if it came about.

This mindset is what laid the groundwork for the more bountiful future I would ultimately build for myself. My prosperity is not the dividend of a reset. It’s the culmination of all I’ve encountered on life’s journey to date.

So, let’s turn away from this discussion of pauses and resets. A better future is certainly worth pursuing. But we’re more likely to reach it with the help of our own inertia.

In good times and bad, through challenges and triumphs, let’s make sure those wheels keep turning.

The Broken Chain

The back seat was unassuming.

Basic cloth seats that stayed wet long after the rain clouds moved away. Seat belt buckles that would scorch the skin during a hot summer day. Manual window cranks and door locks.

Nothing fancy, yet still quite memorable.

For I grew up in that back seat. It was part of my parents’ sedan.

I rode to school in the back seat. I headed on grocery runs in it. I spent hours back there on family road trips.

My only entertainment during these treks? The radio, the view out the windows, and a Rand McNally atlas in the seat pocket.

It was a spartan existence. But I survived.

Today, I’m in the driver’s seat of my own SUV. The seats are comfier, there are power windows, and the seat belt no longer burns me. All my entertainment needs can come from my mobile phone, which syncs to a display on the center console.

But even with all these frills, I’m drawn to those old three standbys. I listen to the radio while on the road — albeit the satellite variety. I plan out my route before setting foot in the vehicle. And I check out the scenery as much as I safely can while behind the wheel.

Old habits die hard. But that might not be a bad thing.

Screen time.

It wasn’t a buzzword when during my youth, but it sure is now.

Smartphones and tablets are now ubiquitous. With supercomputers in our hands and entertainment just one tap away, we can stare at screens for hours — regardless of where our day takes us.

These days, kids will pass the time on road trips by playing video games on their tablets. Teenagers will spend hours scrolling social media on their phones. And adults will stream their favorite shows whenever their schedule allows.

This has led to an odd dichotomy.

We are all much more in the loop than we once were. It’s never been easier to stay informed and up to date on anything trendy or buzzworthy.

And yet, we are more isolated than ever before. Even in the center of a bustling metropolis, we are interacting with our screens, oblivious to all that’s going on around us.

Add in the shadow of a devastating pandemic — one which required months of social isolation — and the problem compounds.

We might be dominant at Mario Kart, looped in with the latest on Ted Lasso, or masters of online trivia. But we’ve forgotten how to act while at the dinner table, in the line at Starbucks, or even while walking our dog at the park.

Basic decorum is sorely lacking. And given the hyper-partisan state of our society, this problem seems particularly intractable.

Like many, I’m concerned about our present, and what it might mean for our future. But I refuse to be fatalistic.

All is far from lost.

I walked into the classroom, shaking like a leaf.

It was my first day of third grade, at a brand-new school. And I was terrified.

My teacher extended out her right arm and asked me what my name was. I replied softly, my eyes staring off at a classroom wall as my right hand crumpled under the force of my teacher’s firm handshake.

Within seconds, the encounter was over. But my adventure was just beginning.

For my third-grade teacher, bless her soul, refused to acquiesce to my timid nature. She could tell that change was particularly hard on me. But she wouldn’t let me bypass social customs because of it.

Over the course of months, she coached me to look others in the eye while speaking with them. She taught me how to give a firm handshake. She convinced me to stand tall, listen intently, and be bold.

And I was.

I walked out of third grade a fundamentally different boy than I was entering it.

Sure, I still had a lot of growing up to do. But my days of tiptoeing on eggshells were over.

For the first time, I fully engaged with my peers. I tried new things and made mistakes. And I suffered the consequences of those mistakes.

But with each step — forward or backward — I learned a little more about social norms. I became more proficient in the nuanced language of our culture and our society.

Yes, third grade was a game-changer for me. But now, we’re all about ready to forfeit.

Not long ago, I boarded an airplane for a business trip.

As I took my seat, I noticed the man sitting closest to the window in my row had the plastic shade pulled down. Oblivious to my stares, he gazed intently at his smartphone as it played the next episode of who knows what — the sound percolating into his ears through noise-canceling headphones.

As the plane taxied and took off, the man was oblivious. His body was in an airplane seat, but his mind was somewhere else.

Meanwhile, I was out of sorts. This man’s self-serving act had deprived me of the view of the airport fading into the distance, as we glided over the city and on to our faraway destination. All I saw instead was a strip of tan plastic.

The last time I was this disoriented, I was on a school excursion. We were all blindfolded, placed on a school bus, and dropped in a remote location, with only a compass and a watch to help guide us back to the starting point.

I led the class back to base that day. While blindfolded, I had memorized the turns the bus had made, relying on the jolting I felt in my seat. Then I triangulated the sun’s position in the sky with my watch and compass. And I combined this knowledge into a successful action plan.

If this man at the window seat had been the one leading that excursion — well, God help us all.

And yet, that seems to be exactly the conundrum we’re in.

We’re all too content to stumble around in our self-contained bubbles, happily oblivious to anyone and anything in our path. We’ve punted away the hard tasks of observation, conscientiousness, and communication. And we’ve forgotten the rules of social engagement in the process.

Our tech landscape certainly plays a role here. But make no mistake, we bear much of the blame.

For there were screens back when I was in third grade too. We had Nintendo video games to distract us, and televisions to entertain us.

None of that prevented me from learning social norms. None of that kept me from abiding by them.

It’s time that we put the broken chain back together. It’s time that we stop making excuses for our antisocial behavior and commit to a code of common decency.

This doesn’t mean banning screen time. It doesn’t require us to return to the era of no-frills vehicles with cloth seats and window cranks.

But it does mean taking the time and effort to actually give a damn. And to hold ourselves accountable to that standard — the same way my third-grade teacher once held me accountable for it.

This mission is eminently attainable. Let’s get after it.

In The Way

Several years ago, my grandparents were stopped at a red light, not far from my childhood home. Two cars in front of them also waited for their moment to advance.

The light turned green. My grandfather waited patiently for the cars ahead to clear when…BOOM!

His car was rear-ended.

The impact of the collision was intense. My grandparents’ car was damaged, but fortunately, they were alright.

When my grandfather approached the driver that hit his car, that driver had a simple explanation for the carnage.

The light was green.

Forget that there were three cars between that driver and the intersection. Forget that my grandparents could have gotten seriously injured.

Green meant go. Simple as that.

The offense this driver committed was egregious. No one would deny that.

But the philosophy he tapped into, it’s one we’re all familiar with.

You see, we’re groomed to act like a bull in a China shop when it comes to the obstacles we face. We’re taught that the only path forward is through.

Now, there are certainly times when such an approach is warranted. We face plenty of barriers that are meant to be knocked down like bowling pins.

But there are countless other times when we’re far from the bowling alley. Where the obstacle ahead of us is in place for a good reason. And where we should adjust accordingly.

Much like that driver, we don’t have a playbook for such a scenario. And we all suffer for it.

There’s a new sheriff in town.

We’ve probably heard that phrase before.

This phrase signifies more than a changing of the guard. It signals that we all have but two options — get in line or get out of the way.

Such an approach was worth its weight in gold on the rugged Western frontier of yesteryear. But it’s poorly equipped for the modern era.

These days, respect isn’t meted out at the heel of a boot or the end of a gun. It’s earned by threading the needle between competition and collaboration.

Yes, sometimes it’s prudent to work with others to bypass the barriers in our midst, rather than taking dead aim at them. Sometimes it’s better to play the long game, to see the forest for the trees.

Thanks to this alternate philosophy, we see universities joining together for research efforts. Thanks to this philosophy, we see Microsoft Office software on Apple computers. Thanks to this philosophy, we have the phrase frenemy.

Yes, the past has proven that win at all costs carries a crippling toll. History has shown us that joining forces can truly yield benefits.

And yet, we fail to pay attention to the evidence. We fail to heed this guidance.

I stood behind a tall table in the middle of an expo hall floor. In front of me were assorted giveaways. Behind me was a banner featuring my employer’s logo. And off to the side were a couple of colleagues.

My job was simple — talk to whoever came by the booth and scan their conference badge.

Many times, these visitors were our potential customers. But sometimes they were representatives from businesses like ours. Not direct competitors, but service providers whose solutions complemented ours.

After these representatives listened to my sales pitch and grabbed a few branded items, they walked away. And as they did, my colleagues would utter the same phrase.

Maybe we’ll acquire their company someday.

I knew where my colleagues were coming from. Our company had been aggressive in the Mergers & Acquisitions space. Many of us in the booth had joined from an acquired company.

But after hearing it over and over, I’d had enough.

Y’all, I exclaimed. We’re not acquiring every other company out there. We can partner with some of them.

Now, partnership is not exactly a novel concept. But in this case, it seemed as if I was speaking a foreign language.

For business is Darwinism at its finest. It is dog eat dog competition.

With revenue, profit margins, and valuations ruling the roost, companies seemingly have no choice but to try and rule the jungle. In the words of Ricky Bobby, If you ain’t first, you’re last.

This ruthless competition has certainly propelled industry forward over the years. It’s sparked innovation and driven gains in efficiency.

But there is a downside to this single-minded pursuit. And that downside can best be described in two words: Customer relations.

You see, business doesn’t exist in a vacuum. To survive, companies need customers. And to succeed, companies need to retain those customers.

This process of earning and maintaining customers — it demands emotional intelligence. It requires empathy. It depends upon understanding.

And it’s simply not possible to meet those needs while acting like everything a business encounters is nothing more than an obstacle to be cleared.

This is why partnerships are important. This is why collaboration matters.

But only if we commit to it.

My grandparents were involved in that car wreck years ago.

They’ve since passed on. And so, I fear, has the era of partnership.

These days, I fear that more of us are like that offending driver. More of us are plowing through the cars ahead of us, simply because the light is green.

Partisanship is as bad as it’s ever been. Competition is everywhere and compromise is sorely lacking.

It’s all so tragically ironic.

For the more we treat each other as obstacles to clear, the less we accomplish. Our pursuit of winning at all costs ends up costing us everything.

It’s far better for us to be selectively competitive. For us to discern who is really in the way, and who isn’t. And to act accordingly.

Such an approach is not risk-free. Erstwhile partners might turn into rivals, leaving us vulnerable to serious harm.

But the risks of staying the current course are even more significant. What lies ahead for us all is even more treacherous.

So, let’s take the more sustainable path. Let’s act with thoughtful discretion, rather than reckless abandon.

We will all be better for it.