Beginning in middle school, I found myself on the “leadership
track.” If there was an event or workshop designed to build
leadership skills, I was invited to participate. In the 80s and 90s,
the leadership being emphasized was the kind that put the leader
front and center. It would take awhile for me to experience the
power and value of a quiet, steady, behind-the-scenes kind of
leadership. And even longer for me to recognize that that was the
kind of leadership that I embodied.
I remember a few coveted leadership opportunities being given to
other people. At the time, I was disappointed and confused about
being overlooked. Wasn't this what I'd been primed for? What was
wrong with me? What could I have done better to achieve this role?
Now I see the value (and good fortune) in those perceived losses.
So often we learn far more from the nos than from the yeses. What I
now understand is that another narrative was being written, and it
would take some time, life experience, and perspective for me to
recognize and appreciate the other story.
I stood on the edge of the stage in my high school auditorium. I
was small in the cavernous, ornate space. The other teenagers
attending the auditions seated in velvet seats beyond the stage were
acquaintances. I didn't know yet they would soon become good friends.
I had never auditioned for a musical. I could carry a tune, but
could the director hear my voice over my nerves? They took center
stage as my voice quivered and registered low in volume.
Days later those same teens gathered around the orange stage door
where the cast list was posted. I was in! I was a nameless member of
the chorus. Play practices dominated my after school schedule, and I
quickly realized this nameless role was perfect for me: I could sing,
dance, and enjoy the camaraderie of my cast mates without the
pressure of memorizing tons of dialogue. From my marked spot on
stage, I saw how the dedication of the chorus formed the backbone of
the whole production.
I noted the times when the members of the cast—basking in the
glory of their leading roles—weren't prepared. They stumbled over
their lines. They couldn't get the timing of their solos. They
tripped over the choreography. They relied on their natural talent
assuming it would take the place of hard work or repetition. The
director scolded them for these lapses, scratching his balding head.
Why does the chorus have the choreography down? Why can we run
through their songs without interruption?
Arriving at practice prepared and taking my
behind-the-action work seriously was a form of leadership.
I bundled up in head-to-boots winter wear intended to keep out the
cold. Shoulders up to my ears, I stretched my mittened hands over
the open fire burning in the metal drum. I was a junior in college,
vice president of the group forming a campus chapter of Habitat 4
Humanity. On this frigid Iowa night in November weeks before finals,
we abandoned our studies and recreated a homeless night in the cold.
It was intended as a lesson in appreciation and a reminder of what
Habitat 4 Humanity was working to eliminate. Toes tingled with
penetrating cold. We snuggled close to friends inside the shelter of
a cardboard box. Some slept, others merely rested. The discomfort was
bearable since hot showers, clean clothes, and warm breakfasts would
greet us with the morning sun.
From cardboard shelters on snowy ground to planning meetings in
the warmth of a conference room, this service work engaged my head
and heart. I was a motivated, vital member of the chapter. I had
ideas and knew how to implement them beside the other board members.
I found my groove; I was in a leadership position, but in a
supporting role to the president.
My senior year I ascended to president of the chapter. I missed
the members who had graduated. We were still an active group, but
something felt different. I was overwhelmed by my role as president.
I didn't feel as effective as I had the year before. It wasn't that I
was incapable of leading or didn't want the responsibility. While no
one suggested that I performed poorly, I knew I was far more
effective in the support role than I was as the figurehead. It was a
gut feeling. And it struck me as an important thing to take with me
as I graduated.
This behind-the-scenes
leadership has taken me into adulthood. My day job entails writing
gift acknowledgments for medical school executives. I write the
letters, and other people sign them. The only visible mark of my work
is the lower case initials that follow the upper case initials at the
bottom of each printed letter. But the powers-that-be trust my
judgment and the power I wield with words. I am often consulted on
how to approach the delicate nature of donor relations using well-
crafted words.
In a politically charged
environment, I am finding my footing as a novice activist. I am
working to figure out how to best use my voice and my energy to
advocate for those who are voiceless and for causes that honor all of
humanity, not simply a segment of the privileged few. I often have
found myself overwhelmed and disappointed that I am not doing more.
As I navigate this uncharted territory, I am reminded that it takes
all kinds of temperaments and personalities to achieve great things.
And so, I return to my strengths: calm under pressure, quiet
confidence, empathic awareness of the needs of people around me,
solution oriented, and optimism. I live and lead from those places,
and I am certain I can make a positive impact.
I have been a witness to
transformation in the lives of two little boys. My friends have
devoted months to training, home preparation, and heart and soul
exploration to become foster parents. Shortly after their credentials
were finalized, two young brothers were placed in their care. When we
first met these children, they were shy and scared. Under the loving,
firm, and consistent parenting of my friends, these precious boys
have blossomed. They smile often. Their eyes twinkle. They run
straight into my arms and shout my name with each visit.
I am certain that I could
not do what my friends have done. Theirs is the front and center
leadership that does not come natural to me. But I have also learned
that foster parents need supportive safety nets and safe places to
share and recharge from the intensity of the parenting and advocating
they do on behalf of these children. I can be the soft place for this
family to land by babysitting, active listening, and checking in via
text. I can be a member of the village that supports these children,
and I am proud to do it.
This post has taken me months to write. I struggled with
questions. By asserting that I'm a behind-the-scenes leader, was I
selling myself short? Was I falling for a message spoon fed to women
that promotes fading into the background?
I marinated in these questions waiting for answers, to better
understand what I was working to articulate. I've given a lot of
thought to who I have become in the past two years. I am a vastly
different woman. I trust myself more than I ever have. I listen
attentively to what guidance my gut offers when I ask her for
clarity. This quote from Martha Beck appeared in my email in-box one
day a few months ago. It comforted me and reinforced what I've been
working out in this post.
“
We typically think of leadership as a
“superior” dominating the behavior of an “inferior.” That is
not the kind of leadership that will help the Team, or save the
world. Part of the transformation of human consciousness is
understanding that we can lead from any social or economic position,
if we access our power to direct our own thinking, make our own
choices, and respond to our own sense of right and wrong.”
I better understand that I will continue to grow and evolve. Perhaps someday life will call me to things that today seem unlikely or impossible. But if that doesn't happen, I feel confident and competent to express myself and lead in the ways that I have cultivated since I was a child.
Among the many
differences in me over the past two years is the fact that I now
direct my own thinking, I make my own choices, and I respond to my
own sense of right and wrong. I also trust myself and honor the
spaces I am leaving behind, the new ones I am living into, and the
liminal spaces in between. I have heard repeatedly as I blog about
the hard places, as I check off items from my bucket list, and live
into my new life that I inspire people. I am surprised by this every
time I hear it, but I also understand. By living truthfully and
openly, I create space for others to do the same for themselves on their own terms and timelines.
It's appropriate
that I end this leadership post with the words of one of the
presidents whose biographies I have read. His words encourage me to
continue accepting the quiet role of leadership that comes naturally
to me.
“If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do
more and become more, you are a leader.”
- John Quincy Adams
