That’s the detail I keep coming back to when I think about one of the most uncomfortable interviews I’ve ever witnessed.

I was supporting an executive at a Fortune 40 company. We’d landed her a coveted interview with a national outlet — the kind of hit that could launch not just a product, but a perception. This wasn’t just a media opportunity. It was a milestone. Her division was introducing a first-of-its-kind product for one of the biggest corporations in the world.

But the interview became something else entirely.

A masterclass in how quickly confidence can collapse when preparation is treated like a formality.

Her team declined every opportunity to rehearse.

“She’s always the most prepared person in the room,” they told me. “She’ll practice on her own.”

So, I waited on Zoom, making small talk with the reporter for ten long minutes. When the executive finally joined, she looked tight. Uncomfortable. Not at all like the polished leader I’d been promised.

The questions started easy. But instead of leading the conversation, she looped. Her answers circled the runway and never quite took off. No clear message. No strong point of view. No narrative. Just noise.

And then I saw it.

She kept putting her hand to her ear.

Over and over again. It wasn’t a tic. It was tech. She was wearing an earpiece — relying on her comms team to feed her lines in real time.

But the earpiece wasn’t working.

Which explained why she was late.

And why she came undone.

The interview unraveled. The reporter was gracious enough to spike the piece. But the damage inside the organization was harder to smooth over.

Here’s what I took away: you can’t outsource preparation.

Not the real kind. Not the kind that holds up under pressure.

If your confidence is tethered to a script, a coach, or a clever workaround, it’ll fail you when the moment demands presence.

Great leaders own their prep. They practice out loud. They test what might go sideways. And when the pressure hits, they show up with clarity — not because someone else handed it to them, but because they built it themselves.

That executive was smart. She knew her product. But she hadn’t practiced talking about it with stakes in the room. And when her safety net vanished, she had no voice to fall back on—because she’d never learned to trust her own.

Sometimes the moment demands that you speak without a net.

That’s not reckless. That’s readiness.

What’s one message you’ve been meaning to practice — out loud — before the stakes get real?

Subscribe now

On one hand, it feels like the world is on pause — quiet trips to the lake, beach days, early mornings that invite you to linger over coffee or take the long way home. The heat slows everything down.

But work hasn’t gotten the memo.

Right now, I’m involved in 10 different business development opportunities — each one asking for creativity, focus, and follow-through. And the regular client work hasn’t slowed either. I’m lucky to work with clients who are growing and moving fast. But that kind of momentum carries weight.

Keeping pace takes more than a well-managed calendar and a solid to-do list. It takes a daily decision to make room for myself. For stillness. For something as small and non-negotiable as walking my black-and-tan terrier Harvey around the block — even when deadlines are crowding in.

Here’s what I’ve learned living in that tension:

Pauses aren’t idle. They’re where clarity happens.

A productive pause doesn’t mean stopping everything. It means making room to think, reset, and reenter the work with purpose.

That five-minute walk with Harvey?

It’s not procrastination. It’s maintenance.

That deep breath before a call?

Not a delay. A decision.

We’ve been conditioned to equate productivity with motion. But the best leaders I know understand the value of rhythm. Sprint, breathe, sprint, breathe. The breathing isn’t a break from the work. It’s part of the work.

Next week, I’ll be breathing a little deeper.

No newsletter while I head to the North Carolina mountains for some hiking, stargazing, and true rest. Because sometimes the most productive thing you can do is step away from productivity altogether.

What’s one way you’re building pause into your pace this summer?

Subscribe now

You know the one. Smiling a little too wide, nodding a little too much, saying the things I thought would land well instead of the things I actually meant.

It was my first Brainswarm, and I was surrounded by marketers, data analysts, and brand leaders I'd never met in person. The kind of room where everyone's accomplished, everyone's sharp, and everyone's quietly sizing up everyone else.

My instinct kicked in: perform, impress, be the version of myself that would fit.

Then a colleague from Jackson Spalding and I started talking—really talking—about how much easier it felt to just be ourselves with each other. We both knew the real value of these retreats wasn't in the presentations or the breakout sessions. It was in the conversations that happened between the formal moments. The ones where you actually connect.

That conversation became a commitment. I decided to stop curating myself for the room and start meeting people as they were—and as I was. No façade, no performance, just showing up.

Here's what I learned: in a world that often rewards performance over presence, choosing authenticity isn't naïve—it's strategic. At high-stakes events, the instinct is to polish your image and default to safe small talk. But real influence doesn't come from posturing. It comes from connection. When you lead with curiosity instead of credentials, you create space for trust to take root.

MORE: Brainswarm Lessons on LinkedIn

People remember how you made them feel long after they forget what you said. The data analyst who shared her biggest challenge. The brand manager who admitted he was figuring it out as he went. The conversations that started with "Can I ask you something?" instead of "Let me tell you about..."

Those moments don't happen when you're performing. They happen when you're present.

The work doesn't end when the retreat is over. The relationships you build—the real ones—become the foundation for everything that comes next.

Vulnerability isn't weakness in business. It's how alliances are built and collaboration actually works.

What would change if you stopped performing and started connecting?

Subscribe now

Neighbors, donors, volunteers—they all had ideas. Most were happy to share them. Loudly.

One of the most common suggestions? "You've got to persuade more people. The right message will win them over. Get them on your side."

That's how you end up with billboards. Big, expensive, and basically useful only if you're a personal injury lawyer.

But in a political campaign, persuasion isn't the priority. Not really.

If you want to win, you focus on the people who already agree with you. You make it as easy and motivating as possible for them to show up — and to bring someone with them. You build energy at the edges, then work your way in.

It sounds obvious, but it goes against a lot of instincts. Especially for those who believe that logic and messaging can move mountains.

But in the field, under pressure, you learn: having your people show up for you beats convincing. Every time.

The same principle applies in business. We waste enormous resources trying to convert skeptics when our real leverage is with the people who already believe in what we're doing.

Your core supporters—whether they're customers, team members, or stakeholders—are your most valuable asset. They're the ones who will champion your work, defend your decisions, and bring others along.

When you're launching a new initiative or navigating change, start by mobilizing the believers. Give them the tools, the language, and the confidence to act. Make it easy for them to say yes, to participate, to spread the word. Their energy creates momentum that's far more powerful than any persuasion campaign.

To be clear, this isn't about creating echo chambers.

It's about recognizing where your real influence lies. The truth is, most people make decisions based on what others like them are doing. Your advocates create that social proof in ways your marketing never could.

Next time you're planning a rollout or facing resistance, ask yourself: "Am I spending too much energy trying to convince the unconvinced?"

Your resources might be better used rallying the people who are already nodding their heads.

That's the work that counts.

That meant packing up my old one. While cleaning out a desk drawer, I found a business card from someone I genuinely like but hadn’t spoken to in years.

I set it aside, thinking I’d reach out when I had a reason.

Then I remembered what Glen Jackson teaches all of us at Jackson Spalding:

When you think of someone, call them.

Don’t wait.

Don’t overthink it.

Just pick up the phone. If they don’t answer, leave a voicemail.

That’s it.

After reading last week’s post, my friend Jane Kidd said, “Most of the successes I’ve had were because of connections and/or the gumption to just pick up the phone and call — or write a compelling letter with follow up call.”

I still struggle with this simple advice, although I know it works. I raised millions of dollars for my nonprofit by picking up the phone and calling. But my mind still fills with reasons not to call.

What if I’m interrupting?

What if it’s weird after all this time?

What if they think I want something?

The mental gymnastics we do to avoid basic human connection is almost comical.

But here’s what I’ve learned: those spontaneous check-ins—the ones that happen for no other reason than “you crossed my mind”—often lead to the most meaningful moments.

They say something rare and powerful: “I wasn’t reminded by a birthday alert or a meeting. I just thought of you.”

The business world trains us to be strategic about relationships. We schedule follow-ups. We set quarterly reminders. We build outreach plans.

That all has its place.

But when every connection becomes calculated, we lose something essential.

Your network isn’t just a professional asset. It’s a living, breathing ecosystem of people who matter.

When you act on that passing thought to reach out, you’re nurturing those relationships in their most human form. You’re honoring the person, not the potential.

I called the person from that business card last week. We talked for seven minutes.

No agenda. No ask. Just a conversation.

Funny how that kind of call—quick, unplanned, sincere—can do more to strengthen a connection than any formal follow-up.

So next time someone pops into your head—during your commute, while folding laundry—don’t wait for a “reason.”

The thought is the reason.

Make the call.

And if you do, let me know. I’d love to hear how it went.

The facilitator tossed out names. Big ones.

If you had to, who could you connect with this week?

Barack Obama? A few hands went up.

Oprah Winfrey?

Someone grinned. “I know someone who knows someone.”

And it wasn’t a joke. It felt real.

That’s when it hit me: influence has an architecture. And sometimes, the structure is already under your feet—you just haven’t looked down.

Five years later, I was helping plan our nonprofit’s annual fundraiser. Congressman John Lewis was our guest of honor. Someone said, “We should dream big. Who could help us honor him in a way that stops the room cold?”

The answer came fast: Oprah.

It sounded impossible. But so had that moment in the classroom.

And just like before, someone knew someone who knew someone. We made the ask.

While Oprah didn’t agree to be there in person, she did respond. She sent a video made special for the occasion. A personal tribute. We kept it under wraps and played it that night as a surprise.

At the perfect moment, the room went still. Then came the applause. Not because a celebrity said hello. But because it matched the moment. It matched the man.

Since then, I’ve thought a lot about the power of a network.

Not the LinkedIn kind. The real kind.

Networks aren’t business cards or contact lists. They’re potential energy. Stored power. The best leaders don’t just collect names. They activate people. They connect dots other folks don’t even see.

And that matters. Because the biggest problems we face—at work, in our cities, in our lives—don’t get solved alone. They need partnerships, creativity, and reach.

Your network isn’t just yours. It’s a shared resource. And if you treat it with care and purpose, it can move mountains.

So if something feels just out of reach today, stop and ask: who do I know who might know someone?

The only real failure is not asking.

What impossible thing might be within reach—if you actually tried?

You know the one—where someone pulls back the curtain with a flourish to show you the finished product. I prefer watching things unfold, seeing the process, understanding how we got from there to here.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I love knowing how magic tricks are done.

That’s why I’m starting this newsletter with a small confession: I’ve spent most of my life writing for others—but never quite like this. It started in high school at the Troy Messenger. Continued through college at The Crimson White. Later, at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and CNN.com, my words reached millions. Then in 2011, when I launched my nonprofit, I wrote emails weekly—sometimes daily—to more than 100,000 subscribers.

Each time, I was writing as an extension of something larger than myself.

But this is different. This is just me, writing to you.

No institutional voice to hide behind. No cause to champion beyond the exchange of ideas that might make us both a little sharper, a little more thoughtful. It's simultaneously more vulnerable and more freeing than anything I've done professionally.

There's something powerful about stepping into unfamiliar territory with intention. Whether you're launching a new initiative, adopting a different communication approach, or simply showing more of yourself to your audience, that first step carries both risk and possibility.

The magic happens when we acknowledge both—when we don't pretend to have everything figured out, but instead invite others to join us in the discovery.

I've found that the most effective leaders aren't those who have all the answers, but those willing to ask better questions. They create space for experimentation and learning in public. They understand that authenticity isn't about perfection—it's about presence and transparency.

So, here's my commitment: I'll share personal moments from my professional life every week or so, connecting them to insights you might find useful.

Some weeks will land better than others. That's part of the process, and I'm okay with that if you are.

What new territory are you considering stepping into?

What would it look like if you approached it not as a performance to perfect, but as an experiment to unfold?

Let's make this count.