inspiration Archives - Ember Trace

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.

On Heroes

Heroes.

From our earliest days, we’re wired to have them.

As kids, we sleep in Superman or Wonder Woman pajamas, dress up as astronauts for Halloween, and dream of becoming firefighters.

Heroes provide us with a guiding light. They give us something to aspire to and an example to follow. All at a time when we’re at our most impressionable.

But even in our early days, the types of heroes we choose can vary.

Take me as an example.

My childhood hero was Bernie Williams, the centerfielder for the New York Yankees.

Growing up in New York during a time when the Yankees won four world championships, this might have seemed like a natural choice for me to idolize one of their players. But there weren’t a ton of other kids who looked up to Bernie the way I did.

Bernie Williams was an excellent player, to be sure. He won a batting title, and the statistics on the back of his baseball card always looked solid.

But he wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t loud. And he wasn’t self-aggrandizing.

He went about his business quietly and with class. Both on and off the field.

While others didn’t find these traits exciting, they intrigued me. I tried to follow his example as much as possible.

Yet, something strange happened when I had an opportunity to meet him.

I was in high school at the time, and was at an awards ceremony. The ceremony was being held in a large hotel ballroom, and I was told Bernie Williams was on the other side of the room.

This was actually not that unusual. On top of being a phenomenal baseball player, Bernie Williams has long been a standout classical guitarist. He would often perform at various events around the New York area — unannounced — during the off-season. And he was supposedly going to do just that at this event.

Coaxed on by my friends and acquaintances, I started walking across the room to meet the man I idolized. But with each step, my mind was racing.

Am I bothering Bernie by ambushing him at his table? I wondered. And even if not, how could I possibly express all he had meant to me throughout my childhood?

I must have gotten halfway across the room before I changed my mind. I walked back to my table and sat back down.

I don’t look back on this incident proudly. But it does carry weight for me. For it inadvertently marked a turning point in how I viewed the concept of heroes.

Bernie Williams had an outsized impact on my early life. But I didn’t directly know him at all. Everything I espoused and emulated came from what I saw of him on television, or what I read about him in books or newspapers.

There were some degrees of separation between me and my idol. So, it was difficult to reconcile just how much of my image of him was real. And that, as much as my shyness, made me terrified in the moment of truth — the moment when I could finally come face to face with him.

Now, I do believe that what I had seen and read about Bernie Williams was accurate. I believe he was, and is, the person I have always believed him to be. But when I talked myself out of an introduction in that hotel ballroom, I ceded the opportunity to find out for sure.

My loss. Or potentially my gain.

For as I reflected on the incident, I came to realize there were others I could look up to. Others who impacted my life in a positive way, but who I wouldn’t be so sheepish about approaching.

As I pondered who these might be, two people came to mind — one from each side of my family. They were my grandfather and my uncle.

I’ve written about both of them before.

My late grandfather — my mother’s father — was a World War II Navy veteran, who later became a math teacher in the New York City public school system. After he retired, he spent more than 30 years as a volunteer for the Museum of Modern Art. He spent all the time I knew him enriching the lives of others.

My uncle — my father’s brother — is a renowned cancer surgeon and researcher in Philadelphia. He’s spent all the time I’ve known him saving the lives of others.

But it’s far more than accolades that inspired me.

My grandfather was not just a veteran and a teacher. He was the best storyteller I ever knew, with an intrinsic knack for captivating an audience. My passion for writing and storytelling came from him.

My uncle is not just a defender against cancer. He sets a great example outside of his work on being selfless, staying even-keeled, and valuing the importance of family. I espouse many of these traits because of him.

And on top of that, both my grandfather and my uncle were approachable. I knew them well, and they knew me. This meant I was comfortable asking them for advice or letting them know I was following their example.

I might not have recognized it initially, but these were my real childhood heroes. These were the ones who played an outsized role in shaping me into the man I am.

I don’t think my experience is unique. I believe many of us are more inspired by those we know well than those who we see on TV screens or in comic books.

Sure, it may be flashier to idolize a famous person or character. It provides an easier point of reference when we share that information with friends and acquaintances.

But if the spirit of having heroes is to emulate their behavior, there’s no substitute for familiarity. I believe that with all my heart.

We must be able to ask questions, iterate and grow. And it’s hard to get to that point if we’re too far removed from our idols.

So, it’s time for us, as a society, to reevaluate who we prop up as heroes. It’s time for us to reconsider who should be wearing that crown.

For in this endeavor, notoriety only goes so far. It’s the closest ties that count the most.

Reflection on Inflection

What is your inflection point?

The point that changed everything.

Mine came about 15 years ago, in a musty community hall in Folcroft, Pennsylvania.

My family had come to town that evening for my grandfather’s retirement party. After 40 years of serving the town’s medical needs, he was leaving the practice he’d built behind.

I knew what my grandfather did for a living. I remember going by his office from time to time, helping set up EKG’s for his patients.

But none of that could have prepared me for what I was about to experience.

The room where the party was held was packed with people I’d never met. I then watched in awe as person after person spoke of how much of an impact my grandfather had on their lives.

I was floored.

Coming into that party, I was an average teenager. I wore a backwards baseball hat, sought a good time at every opportunity and found the idea of growing up to be soul-crushing.

But by the end of the night, my entire life had changed.

I saw the impact my grandfather had on his community and felt inspired.

In that moment, I found my purpose. That purpose was to positively impact the lives of others, just as my grandfather had done.

That purpose has driven all of the major decisions I’ve made in my life and career. The college degrees I’ve pursued, the jobs I’ve worked, the places I’ve lived — all have been within the framework of profoundly impacting the lives of others.

Yet, it’s almost odd that this is the moment I circle as my inflection point. After all, I experienced the horrors of 9/11 firsthand, moved halfway across the country and made a daring career switch — all by the age of 25.

Those events changed the trajectory of my life, no doubt. But they were almost too direct.

There was no getting around the changes those events brought about. Whether by God’s will or my own, the status quo no longer existed. I had to come to terms with my new reality.

I felt small in those moments. And I felt powerless.

On the other hand, my grandfather’s retirement party didn’t have to change my life. I didn’t find myself facing the abyss, the point of no return. I could have gone on living my life as I had before, and no one would have batted an eye.

But that didn’t happen. I saw the the emotions my grandfather’s life’s work evoked in his community and decided to devote my life to helping mine.

I still felt small in this moment. But this time, I felt powerful.

I knew I had the power to live into my newfound purpose. But I had to do my part to make it reality.

There was clear buy-in required. And I was all in.

I believe this buy-in is key when it comes to our inflection points. After all, the most impactful moments in our life are not those that change us. They’re the ones that inspire us to change ourselves for the better.

So, when searching for your infection point, don’t focus on the changes you’ve endured. Search instead for your earliest moments of inspiration.

The smallest moments might be more impactful than you think.

The Light Bulb Moment

What happens when it all clicks?

When something that was once difficult to grasp suddenly makes sense. When what was once murky becomes crystal clear in our mind.

It’s pretty magical, ain’t it?

I call this instance “The Light Bulb Moment.”

Just like electric light, it can illuminate at the flip of a switch. And just like many other significant moments in life, it can be difficult to fully explain the sensation we feel when this happens.

Why is that? Well, there are a mix of emotions at play each time that switch is flipped.

On one hand, there’s a heightened sense of relief. Something that was one frustrating and exhausting for us to comprehend — such as a math principle or a business operation — suddenly requires far less effort, and we can step back take a deep breath.

But on the other hand, there’s often a desire to act upon what we can now comprehend — and quickly. This is inspired by both the excitement of testing our newfound understanding and the fear of it disappearing from our mind, should we fail to take immediate action.

It’s the balance between these conflicting triggers — one encouraging us to relax, the other spurring us further into the fray — that gives us those warm fuzzies that are hard to articulate with words. It’s what sends us into mad scientist mode, tinkering with that newly understood concept with a smile glued to our face.

And while this all might seem a bit odd and contrarian, The Light Bulb Moment reflects the human condition better than nearly every other situation.

You see, there’s a misconception that people just want everything to be easy and require little work. A misconception that we all want our version of the Staples Easy Button (y’all remember those, right?) in all walks of life.

Thing is, this is not entirely true. As a whole, humans are not lazy or averse to a challenge. We’re happy to put in the work, provided we understand what it is we’re doing and what the outcome of it will be.

Essentially, we just want everything to be clear. To not have to spend a ton of effort trying to grasp a concept or purpose.

This will make us more efficient and less flustered as we take on the myriad tasks life puts in our path. Both of these attributes allow us to be at our best. After all, frustration is hardly humanity’s best look.

This is why we devote ourselves to training and education. Why we value communication and teamwork. For the less time we spend trying to catch up, the more time we can spend in getting ahead.

That’s far more valuable.

So, we should cherish these light bulb moments. We should continue to seek them out and learn from them. But most importantly, we should continue to act on them.

For the more we do, the brighter our future becomes.

Be The Answer

I earn a living as a search marketer. That means, in my professional life, I’m responsible for helping clients increase their visibility across the Internet — on search engines, directories and social media platforms. I’m a hired gun, a desperado using a very particular set of skills — as Liam Neeson would put it — to make a difference in both the success of my clients and my own livelihood.

This all might sound meaningless and corporate to you — that’s OK, it sounded that way to me too at first. After transitioning from the broadcast media industry to search marketing, I struggled in finding true meaning in my work. I wanted to make a positive difference in the world around me; although I felt the broadcast media industry largely failed at this task (more on that in another post), I still felt a little less altruistic — and a bit empty.

Over time, I realized that I wasn’t looking at my role from the proper perspective; I was focusing on the six inches in front of my face instead of the bird’s-eye view for the industry. That change in perspective was truly enlightening.

By looking at the bigger picture, I have realized that I was positioned in a unique industry — one that has continually transitioned into more innovative version of itself in recent years, and one that has largely been dominated by the cornerstones of 21^st century culture: Google and Facebook. Both of these companies have leveraged the combination of innovation, consumer needs and rapid growth of their user base to create de facto monopolies over the Internet marketing world.

Good fortune, good timing and brilliant business maneuvering helped both Google and Facebook rapidly grow into the dominant cultural forces they are today. But unlike so many corporate narratives from previous generations, the story does not end there. Instead of simply chasing profits and stepping on consumers, Google and Facebook used their dominant positions to carry out their missions — organizing the world’s information and connecting the world, respectively. Since both companies dictate the market, the search marketing industry was obligated to follow their lead. These initiatives have helped consumers improve their experiences on the Internet — and yes, they’ve also helped Google and Facebook send their own profits skyrocketing.

It’s in this context that I came to understand the true purpose of the industry I came to work in, and of my role in that industry. You see, each time Google or Facebook changes something up, the search marketing industry changes with them. The most recent focus of the industry is providing information for what Internet users are asking for — both actively (in a search bar) and subversively (through demand for websites with good user experience).

How does a search marketer such as myself factor into all this? Three words.

Be The Answer.

By providing the best answer at the right time on my client’s websites consistently, I can help Internet users find solutions, and my clients find success. If you strip away that Neeson-esque “particular set of skills,” this is what my job is all about. It’s that simple.

***

Be The Answer has become my mantra and my rallying cry. It’s brought purpose to my career, but it’s also brought a necessary level of perspective to my life. And I bet it could have the same effect on yours.

How so?

Start by asking yourself the big, scary questions:

Am I giving my all, every day?
Am I learning from my mistakes?
Am I treating people with kindness and respect?
Am I doing my part to make the world a better place?
Am I the spouse I should be?
Am I the friend I should be?
Am I the parent I should be?
Am I the son or daughter, the niece or nephew, the cousin I should be?
Am I satisfied with who I see looking back at me in the mirror?

Scour your soul to find the truth, even if you don’t like what you find. Then work on improving every day, until the answer is unequivocally yes. And when you get there, keep working to keep it that way.