The Looking Glass: The Origins of Leadership and Burnout
The hero’s journey, and where things go wrong
Dear readers,
I meant to sit down and write what I’ve learned about innovation, but somehow in the process this morphed into a different kind of essay. I blame this on my absolute sheer delight at listening to Beyonce’s remix of of Dolly Parton’s Jolene.
What is innovation but the story of the hero’s journey, and what is a hero’s journey but the classic story of leadership? I hope you enjoy this two-sided tale.
Warmly,
~Julie
In this issue:
- The origins of leadership
- The origins of burnout
- What leadership actually is
- What leadership takes
For paid subscribers:
- What an exceptional team looks like
- How to escape burnout
The origins of leadership
I’ve seen too many triumphs of workplace leadership to count.
It plays out the same way as a Star Wars movie.
A hero realizes that something big must be done for the good of the team.
Something hard.
We need to build this new capability. We must invest in a better process. We have to fix this broken narrative. We must clean up the debt of our forecolleagues.
She fights to get it done — through the sticky quagmire of red tape, through the late night doubts, through the endless volley of critics and naysayers.
She writes the code, coaxes her peers, pushes her bosses, studies the evidence, delivers her arguments, launches her tests.
More and more people join her cause. Some join early, because they share in her pain.
Some join in the next wave, because her cause needs time to sink in.
Some join after that, because they see others are joining.
Some join after results appear, because for them actions speak louder than words.
Eventually, she prevails, brimming with the confidence of momentum and the bonds of new trust.
The team is changed for the better. Her story becomes the stuff of company legend. People listen and think, Anything is possible here.
The origins of burnout
I’ve seen too many defeats of workplace burnout to count.
It plays out the same way as the movies that never get made.
A would-be hero realizes that something big must be done for the good of the team.
Something hard.
We need to build this new capability. We must invest in a better process. We have to fix this broken narrative. We must clean up the debt of our forecolleagues.
She fights to get it done — through the sticky quagmire of red tape, through the late night doubts, through the endless volley of critics and naysayers.
She writes the code, coaxes her peers, pushes her bosses, studies the evidence, delivers her arguments, launches her tests.
But despite her best attempts, she feels like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up Mount Everest.
Some join in critiquing her early work, pointing out the flaws.
Some join in asking her to stick to her lane and get her daily tasks done.
Some join in arguing for an alternative idea.
Many more join in shrugging their shoulders, unconvinced and unwilling to take a risk.
Eventually, she gives up, trembling with the exertion of exhausted energy and the cynicism of a dead dream.
The team does not change. Her story becomes yet another company cautionary tale. People listen and think, Trying that sort of thing here is a terrible idea.
What leadership actually is
What is the difference between these two stories?
There is the team, and there is the hero.
Some teams have been wrapped over too many times with cautionary tales. Each adds yet another layer of armor to the beast. It’s done with the intent of protection, but we all know what happens when we become weighed down.
Our nimbleness disappears. We can no longer dance or improvise. We chug along like a tank, heavy and slow.
When a hero burns out, the most obvious explanation is that the team was like such a tank — too risk-averse, too heavy, to difficult to move.
This is true.
But it is truer to say the team was too difficult for the hero to move at that time.
For you see, there is also the hero.
It takes grit and skill for a hero to pull a team along. The bigger the team, the more armor it has accumulated — the more grit and skill it takes.
You see, a hero becomes a hero precisely because she manages to pull a team forward. This process of sweating, pulling, cajoling, fighting — this is leadership.
Standing on a ship where everyone is already rowing in the direction you want to go is not leadership; it is simply jumping the band-boat.
Leadership is the act of a single person, through their words and actions, successfully changing how something is done in a way that benefits the team.
The harder the task, the bigger the leadership opportunity.
The heavier the team, the greater the hero who pulls it along.
That fine line between the skill and grit of the hero and the layers of armor of the team — that is where leadership opportunities arise.
What leadership takes
Leadership is portrayed as refreshing and cool, a sip of elixir to slake a parched team desperate for guidance.
But this couldn’t be further from the truth. Leadership neither comes easy nor feels easy.
Leadership takes two ingredients: grit and skill.
Grit is borne from the fire of frustration, the rude shock of injustice. Why aren’t things the way I’d like them to be?
The hero sees an obvious gap, a yawning chasm between what is and what should be. It befuddles her why others can’t see what is so plain and simple to her. This frustration shakes her from the status quo, grows intolerable, like sitting in a pot of water atop a burning stove.
But leadership also requires an ample pour of hope.
The hero may be afraid, she may well know her chances of success are slim, she may doubt her abilities, but some part of her believes the future can be different because of her.
This hope is not blind; it is borne of faith in one’s skill to 1) sharpen the clarity and correctness of one’s position; 2) deepen understanding for others’ positions; and 2) communicate persuasively to enact change.
It is these two ingredients — burning frustration and effervescent hope — that form the cocktail of leadership.
This drink tastes unpleasant, especially in the beginning, when the hot, bitter notes hit.
Why am I the only one who cares this much?
Why can’t they see what I see?
Why won’t they just get on board and help?
But if the hero focuses on the sparkling notes of hope, the flavor sweetens and becomes intoxicating.
My caring makes a difference.
My unique perspective is a strength to this team.
I can use my voice and actions to rally others to the cause.
The hero drinks this concoction over and over again. Every failure and rejection is another swig of that burning, awful foretaste. Every persuasion and milestone crossed is another hit of those addictive bubbles.
This shit ain’t easy to drink.
If leadership looks effortless, remember this: it either isn’t really leadership, or the hero is a fabulous actress.
There are 2 more chapters in this article for paid subscribers:
- What an exceptional team looks like
- How to escape burnout
If you like my words and want to support writers like me, consider being a paid subscriber.
Big thanks to those of you who have subscribed and shared with me your questions, musings, confusions and insights. I appreciate you dearly.
