I Almost Called It Something Else

A year ago, I was going to call this Diary of a Failed Leader.

That's where my head was at. I had left the C-suite under circumstances that weren't my choice. The title that had defined my credibility for decades was gone. And the story I was telling myself about what that meant was not kind.

Failed felt accurate at the time.

But somewhere between starting this newsletter and writing twelve entries, I got more precise. Not softer. More precise.

Because failed and flawed are not the same thing. And the difference matters more than I initially understood.

A failed leader is not one who makes mistakes. Every leader I have ever respected makes them. Big ones. The kind that kept them up at night, might have cost them something real, and changed how they led afterward.

A failed leader is one who never knows they made a mistake. The one who walks out of the room certain they were right when half the room is still absorbing the damage. The one who attributes every win to their own instincts and every loss to someone else's shortcomings. The one who has never considered the uncomfortable question: what did I get wrong here?

That's a failed leader. Not because they were cruel. Because they couldn't see themselves.

I want to be honest about what this last year of writing has given me.

Anyone who has ever worked with me knows writing is not my skill. I dictate everything. Every post, every article, every entry in this series started as a voice memo in a car or a ramble into my phone on a beach somewhere.

That process has given me something I didn't expect. Not just a way to share ideas, but a reason to stop and reflect. On what I got wrong. On what I got right. On what I still need to work on.

And then the emails started coming. People I had never met telling me a post had resonated, that they had needed to hear it, that it had shifted something for them.

I genuinely did not expect that. Not from my writing.

But here is what I have come to understand. I am almost 60years old. I have led teams of 800 people. I have made decisions that affected entire communities. I have gotten things very right and I have gotten things very wrong. And none of that came from a book or a podcast. It came from showing up, making the call, and living with what happened next.

If I can't share those stories to help someone else navigate what I already experinced, then I shouldn't be doing this work.

It takes some bravery to tell everyone about your screw ups. I'm okay with that now- I think.

This year of writing has also sharpened everything else I do. My speaking. My coaching. My workshops. It has helped me understand what my offering actually is and why it matters. Real experience, honestly told, inservice of helping others lead better.

That's the work. That's what Diary of a Flawed Leader is.

So as I move into year two, I want to ask you the same question I ask at the start of every presentation.

What are you waiting for permission for that never actually required permission?

Because I can tell you from experience: when you take that first step, the rewards will be far greater than you ever expected.

I almost called this Diary of a Failed Leader.

I'm glad I didn't.

‍