opportunity!
A leader . . . What a clever use of English language. What a nerve. They honestly don ’t know what “leader ” means. For them it ’s just a new buzzword. Just another trend. Just a sound. A typical leader for them is an enthusiastic smooth talker who is very good at reading management ’s mood, proficient at running meetings and in possession of decent kiss-up skills. Ignorance is bliss. A true leader is something entirely different . . .
It begins with the face. Old or young, fresh or tired, cute or unattractive—none of this matters. None of it. It ’s all about the faith. The faith that shines from inside. And the voice. Timbre is of no importance. It ’s the passion that makes all the difference. Authentic, impossible -to -imitate passion and bleeding faith dripping from every word, from every gesture. The context, the scope, the message—everything pales in comparison to these true signs of a leader.
“ . . . It is a problem, it ’s a serious, big, ugly problem. But mark my words—we will tackle it and we will prevail!” “Hey, you! Play by our rules or get lost!” “Get rid of him. He ’s of no use to us . . .” “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat . . .”
Voices blending together into one Voice. Faces blending together into one Face. And behind the Face, behind the Voice, behind the assertiveness and confidence—inner strength and will. An unbreakable combination. A true foundation for everything else. Right circumstances, environment, education—all these factors are important, but they are worth nothing without it. That ’s what being a leader means. And , like it or not, you can ’t become one. No training in the world will ever make you one. You have to be born one.
But obviously not a word will be said about this in that place. This workshop is going to be nothing but a boring extension of the boring fussy world I live in five days a week. People in this world take pride in using words that are more suitable for an army command center than for peaceful office workers. Strategy, losses, troops, power struggles . . . Although “strategy ” in this world refers to tasks such as finding ways to cut expenses by switching to a cheaper brand of toilet paper. And “power struggle ” usually implies the likes of complaining to the manager about a peer with the hidden agenda of seizing a couple of headcounts from the department next door. As for “leader , ” in this world he is often a harmless balding man who until he reached the age of seventeen had been going by the nickname Heffalumpy. Oh well . . . w hy grumble? At least this week will be different.
Different people, different goals . . . It ’s good to have goals in life, isn ’t it? Except there ’s a fine print. Someone said that our goals keep us going, but it ’s our dreams that makes us tick. So if you disconnect your goals from your dreams don ’t be surprised if one morning you realize that your life is on autopilot.
But what if you don’t have dreams in the first place?
Chapte r Two
The mountains were grayish blue. They stood silently, dissecting the fresh morning sky, their steep, broken lines stretching along the entire horizon. As if brought to life by the brush of a skillful impressionist, the ridges were changing their tint from a pale ghostly hue to a soaked -through full color. And beneath them, surrounded by the lush green mass of trees, lay the mirror of the lake.
Michael slowly breathed in cool morning air. This balcony was too welcoming to leave quickly. The view alone was worth waking up at 5:00 a.m. and going for a three -hour drive. He could ’ve taken the option of arriving last night, but another day at work meant less surprises with the project ; h ence the jolly sound of the alarm clock at five in the morning and the crack-of-dawn trip.
The mountain highway, fearlessly clinging to the rim of a breathtakingly steep canyon, gave way to a gravel road
A leader . . . What a clever use of English language. What a nerve. They honestly don ’t know what “leader ” means. For them it ’s just a new buzzword. Just another trend. Just a sound. A typical leader for them is an enthusiastic smooth talker who is very good at reading management ’s mood, proficient at running meetings and in possession of decent kiss-up skills. Ignorance is bliss. A true leader is something entirely different . . .
It begins with the face. Old or young, fresh or tired, cute or unattractive—none of this matters. None of it. It ’s all about the faith. The faith that shines from inside. And the voice. Timbre is of no importance. It ’s the passion that makes all the difference. Authentic, impossible -to -imitate passion and bleeding faith dripping from every word, from every gesture. The context, the scope, the message—everything pales in comparison to these true signs of a leader.
“ . . . It is a problem, it ’s a serious, big, ugly problem. But mark my words—we will tackle it and we will prevail!” “Hey, you! Play by our rules or get lost!” “Get rid of him. He ’s of no use to us . . .” “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat . . .”
Voices blending together into one Voice. Faces blending together into one Face. And behind the Face, behind the Voice, behind the assertiveness and confidence—inner strength and will. An unbreakable combination. A true foundation for everything else. Right circumstances, environment, education—all these factors are important, but they are worth nothing without it. That ’s what being a leader means. And , like it or not, you can ’t become one. No training in the world will ever make you one. You have to be born one.
But obviously not a word will be said about this in that place. This workshop is going to be nothing but a boring extension of the boring fussy world I live in five days a week. People in this world take pride in using words that are more suitable for an army command center than for peaceful office workers. Strategy, losses, troops, power struggles . . . Although “strategy ” in this world refers to tasks such as finding ways to cut expenses by switching to a cheaper brand of toilet paper. And “power struggle ” usually implies the likes of complaining to the manager about a peer with the hidden agenda of seizing a couple of headcounts from the department next door. As for “leader , ” in this world he is often a harmless balding man who until he reached the age of seventeen had been going by the nickname Heffalumpy. Oh well . . . w hy grumble? At least this week will be different.
Different people, different goals . . . It ’s good to have goals in life, isn ’t it? Except there ’s a fine print. Someone said that our goals keep us going, but it ’s our dreams that makes us tick. So if you disconnect your goals from your dreams don ’t be surprised if one morning you realize that your life is on autopilot.
But what if you don’t have dreams in the first place?
Chapte r Two
The mountains were grayish blue. They stood silently, dissecting the fresh morning sky, their steep, broken lines stretching along the entire horizon. As if brought to life by the brush of a skillful impressionist, the ridges were changing their tint from a pale ghostly hue to a soaked -through full color. And beneath them, surrounded by the lush green mass of trees, lay the mirror of the lake.
Michael slowly breathed in cool morning air. This balcony was too welcoming to leave quickly. The view alone was worth waking up at 5:00 a.m. and going for a three -hour drive. He could ’ve taken the option of arriving last night, but another day at work meant less surprises with the project ; h ence the jolly sound of the alarm clock at five in the morning and the crack-of-dawn trip.
The mountain highway, fearlessly clinging to the rim of a breathtakingly steep canyon, gave way to a gravel road
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