It starts with a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Forrest Gump wakes up one summer morning to an empty house. His love – Jenny – has departed in the dawn’s early light while he lay sleeping.
Alone and heartbroken, Gump laces up a pair of Nike running shoes. The same pair of Nikes that Jenny had gotten him for his birthday. And he goes for a jog in them.
The experience is invigorating to Gump, and he doesn’t want it to end. So, he keeps going until he reaches the ocean. Then he turns around and runs until he finds “another ocean.”
This pattern repeats itself for several years. But as it does, something changes.
Others join the fold. Not to race Gump, but to run in formation with him.
Some seek advice. Others are content with the sound of their feet hitting the pavement. But all follow, wherever Gump goes.
The entourage views him as a leader. Gump begrudgingly accepts this role – even though he ultimately strikes a match to it with seven words.
I’m pretty tired. Think I’ll go home now.
The movement fizzles out when Gump stops running. But the lessons of the experience live on.
When I was growing up, I would head with my father to the barbershop on Saturday mornings once a month.
We’d sit in adjoining chairs while two barbers – both native Italians with thick accents – gave each of us a haircut to our stylistic specifications. All the while, we’d talk.
We’d discuss the ballgame. We’d marvel at the new traffic light at the parking lot entrance. We’d gab about other events in our lives.
Discussions of leadership bring me back to the barbershop. It seems that everyone has their own style. And they’re none too shy about sharing their opinions with the world.
There have been books, documentaries, and debates about the practice of leadership. There have popular theories, handy checklists, and trendy buzzwords bandied about. There have been attempts to tie leadership to management, and efforts to cleave the two concepts apart.
But I wonder if we’re all making this too complicated. Perhaps the key to leadership is in the hands of Forrest Gump.
Of course, Gump is not an actual person. He’s a low-IQ character in an acclaimed movie from decades ago. That makes him all too easy to dismiss in this discussion.
But let’s consider Gump’s journey again. He goes for a run, and others follow along. While Gump doesn’t seek out this group, he provides them direction nonetheless. All by continuing to do what he’d already been doing.
Maybe that’s all that’s required to be a leader. No superhero cape. No upskilling. No bluster.
We just need to be worthy of following. And we need to do something that inspires others to follow us.
It’s harder than it sounds. Especially if we try.
You are here to become a leader.
I listened incredulously as my college orientation got underway.
The school I’d devoted the next four years of my life to was acclaimed for many things. Football. Partying. Sun tans. But leadership was not traditionally one of them.
The university president was on a quest to change all that. And it started with this speech to freshly arrived students.
The president knew what she was talking about. After all, she’d come to campus after a stint in a White House cabinet.
She understood the power of effective leadership. And she was committed to bringing it to the next generation.
But I was not buying what this campus leader was selling.
You see, I fancied myself many things as I sat in the arena that day. But aspiring leader was not one of them.
I’d just spent high school in the shadows, content to let others drive the agenda in the classroom, in the lunchroom, and on the baseball field. I fancied myself more a follower than a leader, and I had no qualms with that.
I didn’t think I was cool enough to be a leader. I didn’t consider myself charismatic enough to be a leader. I didn’t believe I was talented enough to be a leader.
And even if I had regarded myself that way, I didn’t want to be a leader. Following seemed so much safer.
But the university president’s words proved prescient. For as I progressed through my studies – and eventually into the workforce – I started growing into the role demanded of me.
This was by no means intentional. I honestly didn’t try to change my approach much this whole time.
But staying true to myself started to yield me a following. One that started small but soon grew to the point where it couldn’t be ignored.
That revelation brought some gravity. I still wasn’t quite sure what made me worthy of following. But the why didn’t matter. I felt responsible for my followers. I would not, could not let them down.
I might not have been seeking out leadership. But it found me, much like it found Forrest Gump on the silver screen.
And I was ready to heed the call.
Childhood is often considered the age of innocence.
The youngest among us race around playgrounds, scarf down candy, and dream big dreams. All with a refreshing dose of enthusiasm.
But our earliest days are not immune to pressure. Quite the opposite.
We might feel the wrath of an overbearing parent, the strain of a sibling rivalry, or the crush of cultural demands from the land of our ancestors.
I encountered none of those forces growing up. The pressure I contended with was purely circumstantial.
I’m the first member of my generation. My sister and cousins are all younger than me. And from an early age, I understood what that meant.
Sure, I’d get the first crack at everything. But all eyes would be on me.
A misstep would risk setting an entire generation down the wrong path. It could shatter familial trust, relegating my existence to a cautionary tale.
My mission was to avoid that fate. And I took it seriously.
That’s one of the reasons I played it so safe in my youth. It helps explain why I yearned to be a follower – albeit one who followed the clean-cut crowd.
But looking back now, it’s hard to see anything but a missed opportunity.
You see, I’d been conscripted into the role of leader by pure circumstance. I had a sibling and a bevy of cousins who literally followed in my footsteps. Yet, I failed to make the most of the opportunity right under my nose for years.
Fortunately, my reluctance hasn’t had lingering effects. My sister and cousins are all grown up now, and all of us have found success.
Still, I feel an urge to do better with my second chance. To face the burden of leadership more directly. To prove to my followers that their choice was worthwhile.
This doesn’t require me to change much in terms of my fundamentals. But it does demand that I live my values with consistency.
When things are going well, I must not let it embolden my approach. And when times are tough, I must not run and hide.
Others are watching what I do and what I say. I must not fail them.
I know the path, and I’m ready to travel it with grace and humility. My hope is that I don’t undertake this journey alone.
For the truth is, leadership is not a talent or an accolade. It’s a responsibility. A responsibility those blessed with a following are bestowed with.
How we account for that responsibility matters. It matters more than our title, or any 10-step plan found in literature.
Simply put, it defines us.
So, let’s stop seeking out leadership bona fides. Let’s allow the quest to come to us.
And when it does, let’s handle that burden with care.