Heart of Management

Tag: personal-growth

  • The courage to speak up… smells very different when you do it right

    Following last week’s post

    the one about how the opposite of courage isn’t fear, but avoidance

    today we’re diving into the first kind of courage.

    There are moments in management

    when the room feels filled with the distinct scent of

    “I want to say something… but maybe this isn’t the right time.”

    It’s a familiar smell.

    A subtle mix of lukewarm coffee,

    an air conditioner working a little too hard,

    and papers shuffling not because anyone needs them,

    but just to fill the silence.

    And then the classic lines appear:

    “Well… only if that’s okay…”

    “I don’t want to interrupt, but…”

    “I just have a small point… really small…”

    (And if you’re anything like me,

    you recognize those sentences in yourself too.

    Yes, I’m looking at you. And at me.)

    And here comes the truth,

    the kind that sometimes stings

    like a metal chair in a conference room:

    The courage to speak up isn’t about raising your volume.

    It’s about raising your intent.

    You don’t need to shout.

    You don’t need to demand.

    You don’t need to give a speech.

    Sometimes courage sounds like a short sentence,

    said calmly,

    at the exact moment everyone was hoping

    someone would be willing to say

    what everyone else was already feeling.

    And sometimes courage sounds like this instead:

    “Let’s talk about this one-on-one.”

    Because here’s the truth:

    the courage to speak up isn’t about

    who spoke the loudest,

    but about who chose the right arena.

    When you say the right thing,

    in the right way,

    to the right person,

    in the right room

    your message passes through layers of defense

    as if they were a thin curtain,

    not a fortified wall.

    And then something beautiful happens:

    Your team doesn’t just hear you.

    They feel you.

    In their chest. In their gut.

    In the place where real change is born.

    And this

    this is the first kind of courage

    that separates

    a manager who gets work done

    from a leader who actually moves people.

    Before you scroll on, pause for a moment and ask yourself:

    If today you removed just one

    “only if that’s okay…”

    and replaced it with one clear sentence of truth

    what would you talk about?

    (Don’t answer me.

    Answer yourself.

    That’s where the courage muscle starts to grow.)

    Next post, we’ll move on to the second kind of courage:

    the courage to trust.

    The one that decides whether you keep holding

    357 tasks by yourself,

    or finally start building a team

    that actually walks with you.

    (Hint: it takes more courage than it looks.)

  • 💔 Turns out the opposite of courage… isn’t fear at all

    (Yes, and I learned this from a woman with a tattoo.)

    The Zoom call started like any other one.

    Camera on.

    Hot coffee in hand.

    And then she appeared on screen.

    A senior education leader.

    Responsible for the professional development of over 6,000 teachers.

    And from the very first moment, it was clear:

    this was someone you couldn’t ignore.

    Sharp presence. Big smile.

    A tattoo on her arm (and that’s where I paused, I didn’t ask what it said).

    And a feeling in the room like

    someone had just opened a window after a very long day.

    She didn’t raise her voice.

    But she was the kind of person who walks into a room

    and the noise instinctively pulls up a chair.

    We talked about leadership. About change.

    About what actually holds people together from the inside.

    And then she said something simple:

    “The opposite of courage?

    It’s not fear.

    It’s avoidance.”

    One of those sentences that makes you stop mid-sip.

    Fear is loud.

    You can feel it. You can name it.

    Avoidance is quiet.

    It slips under the radar.

    It doesn’t shout, it whispers.

    And it shows up in a manager’s life

    long before they realize what’s happening…

    stealing years of growth and effectiveness along the way.

    Then she added one more thing:

    “There are three kinds of courage.”

    And that’s where the connection became mine.

    Managerial.

    Deep.

    She only named them.

    My mind filled in the rest:

    🩵 The courage to speak up

    Truth. Authenticity. Navigating organizational politics

    without paying unnecessary prices.

    🩵 The courage to trust

    Letting go. Delegating.

    Stopping yourself from holding 357 tasks with two hands.

    🩵 The courage to experiment

    Innovation. Mistakes. Learning. Change.

    Actually moving reality—not just moving the cursor.

    And suddenly it all snapped into focus:

    “Managerial stuckness” isn’t personality.

    It’s not workload.

    It’s not character.

    It’s usually one form of courage

    that’s been left unattended for too long.

    So before you scroll on

    Do a quick internal audit:

    Which kind of courage

    are you most actively avoiding?

    Because right there

    exactly there

    your next big leadership shift begins.

    📌 Next week, I’ll open up the first one: the courage to speak up.

    And I promise it will change how you see your team, your boss,

    and yourself.

    📌 And by the way… there’s one more kind of courage.

    Just as deep.

    The courage to change.

    That one deserves a post of its own.

    (Hint: it’s the habits managers pay the highest price for.)

  • How to tell your trigger has kicked in, before it starts running you

    I’m going to say something that might be uncomfortable to hear.

    But if you stay with me until the end, you’ll understand why this is pure managerial gold.

    Most people think a trigger means anger, hurt feelings, being offended.

    But honestly?

    Your trigger shows up long before you notice it.

    It starts in your body language, your tone, your eyes, your breathing—

    before your thought even fully forms.

    And then this thing happens:

    It’s not what you’re expressing.

    It’s what you’re trying to hide.

    And that’s the part the room picks up first.

    That’s why you say, “I’m calm,”

    and the team hears, “I’m about to blow.”

    That’s why you smile politely,

    and the feeling in the room is, “Something’s boiling underneath.”

    And that’s why you’re trying to be professional, measured, statesmanlike

    while your pulse is screaming,

    “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

    I remember a conversation with a senior executive who told me:

    “I’m calm. Everything’s fine. I’m just stating a fact…”

    And her tone said everything except “calm.”

    It was like watching a whistling kettle say:

    “I’m not boiling it’s just steam. Relax.”

    So how do you catch a trigger in real time?

    1) Pay attention to your body—it reacts before you do

    Shoulders tighten.

    Breathing gets shallow.

    Eyes narrow by a millimeter.

    Hands move just a little too fast.

    The body doesn’t know how to lie.

    2) Notice the “acceleration moment”

    Right before you speak,

    there’s that split second when your mind starts racing ahead.

    That’s the second to catch.

    It’s the difference between a manager who reacts

    and a leader who leads.

    3) Listen to the voice in your head

    “How dare he?”

    “I won’t rest until…”

    “Not this again…”

    These aren’t thoughts.

    They’re sirens.

    Why does this matter so much?

    Because managers don’t fail because of mistakes.

    They fail because of automatic reactions.

    The trigger itself doesn’t wreck you.

    The unnoticed trigger does.

    And the moment you learn to catch that second before

    you’re not just seen as calmer, clearer, more confident, more influential.

    You become the person

    the room trusts.

    Without you having to say a word.

  • “The Only Engineer in a World of Managers”

    A boardroom.

    Twenty managers in crisp, corporate-blue dress shirts,

    standard charcoal-gray slacks,

    and body language that said, “We were born to lead.”

    And then there was me.

    Jeans, a bargain shirt from the outlet mall,

    and a face that said, “Did someone invite me here by mistake?”

    Back then, I was the only engineer

    in a world of managers.

    There was no promotion track for engineers.

    The only way forward

    was to cross over into management.

    So when a management position opened up,

    I wanted it, badly.

    But instead of giving me the chance,

    they hired someone from the outside.

    Why?

    Because I was a “great engineer”…

    but not a manager.

    It was like telling a chef

    his food is extraordinary

    but he’s not qualified to run a kitchen.

    That’s when it hit me:

    In organizations, being good at your craft isn’t enough.

    You have to project leadership potential

    long before you get the title.

    Ever felt like you were ready to take the next step,

    only to watch someone else leap ahead of you?

  • “We Sat. We Talked. We Almost Threw Punches.”

    Okay, not really.

    But you know that silence in a meeting

    when everyone’s eyes are screaming?

    I was leading a brand-new management team.

    Some were seasoned veterans with tons of experience.

    Others were new, sharp, hungry.

    A winning mix?

    On paper, yes.

    In practice? More like putting peanut butter on sushi—interesting, but… it doesn’t exactly go down easy.

    There were arguments.

    Drama.

    Hallway chatter.

    Small tensions that turned into big stories.

    Every discussion felt like a fight.

    Every decision, a vote of no confidence.

    Something had to give.

    And then something simple happened:

    we opened a process.

    Not a box-checking, corporate exercise.

    A real one.

    One that taught us how to give feedback.

    How to stop shooting and start talking.

    Feedback not as a reaction, but as a tool.

    Not just to vent, but to move things forward.

    Slowly, things shifted.

    The energy balanced out.

    Fights turned into conversations.

    The cynicism cooled down.

    And those eyes stopped screaming.

    The insight?

    Conflict doesn’t disappear.

    It just changes form.

    And when people learn how to argue,

    they also learn when to compromise.

    So here’s the question:

    Does your team know how to fight to get stronger?

    Or are they just fighting?

  • The Dishwasher Was Empty.

    But She Was Still Standing There.

    I was proud of myself.

    The dishwasher was empty.

    Dishes were clean. Counters wiped down.

    Just like in the commercials.

    Then my wife walked in.

    She looked around.

    Said nothing.

    Just stood there, hands on hips, eyebrows raised.

    You know the look.

    I smiled like a hero and said,

    “All done!”

    She didn’t smile back.

    She just tilted her chin toward the counter:

    “What about that?”

    And yeah…

    The counter did look like someone made a tuna sandwich in the dark.

    But in my head?

    Not my problem.

    I had a task: dishwasher.

    Mission accomplished.

    Then she hit me with this:

    “You’re not taking a math test.

    It’s not about what was assigned.

    It’s about seeing the whole picture.”

    Boom.

    Right there, holding a dish towel in one hand and a coffee cup in the other,

    I saw it all.

    My team.

    My coworkers.

    The familiar phrases:

    “That’s not my responsibility.”

    “I did my part.”

    “No one told me…”

    And it hit me

    That’s the difference between an employee and a leader.

    Employees wait for assignments.

    Leaders notice what’s needed.

    Sure, the dishwasher was empty.

    But my brain?

    It was full.

    Because I finally understood:

    It doesn’t matter how well you executed your task

    if you missed the bigger picture.

    Since that day at home and at work

    I stopped asking “What was I told to do?”

    And started asking:

    “What’s really needed right now?”

    Ever had one of those moments where you were so focused on the task,

    you forgot to look up and see the full picture?

  • Got a “good” question? Ask it.

    Even if you’re the manager.

    Especially if you’re the manager.

    You know that moment in a meeting when someone drops a term…

    And your whole body signals:

    “Of course. Of course I know what CAC is. I’m the manager, after all.”

    But your mind goes:

    “If someone shouts at me right now ‘What’s CAC?’ – I’ll just head out for a coffee break and never come back.”

    So you smile, jot something down in your notebook (even though you have no idea what you wrote),

    And later that evening, you ask Google.

    Or your kid.

    Or ChatGPT.

    And that’s exactly the moment you missed the chance to be a more human manager.

    Because the gap wasn’t in knowledge it was in the courage to ask.

    A simple question like:

    “Could you explain that for a second?”

    Can change the entire dynamic of a meeting.

    It shows you’re not projecting authority based on bravado – but trust.

    And it gives others permission to ask too.

    And in an age where even a dishwasher can define “digital marketing,”

    What sets you apart isn’t what you know.

    It’s your willingness to keep learning.

    And by the way? I have no idea what CAC is either.

    But I’m going to ask the chat.

    What’s worth remembering?

    The one who asks doesn’t look less smart.

    They just look like a sane manager.

  • A management tip (that I learned the hard way):

    If you start feedback with a “but” – you’ve already lost the conversation.

    I used to jump straight into feedback.

    Direct. Sharp.

    “Not accurate enough,”

    “I expected more,”

    “There’s a gap that needs to be closed.”

    From my side, it was just being straightforward.

    From their side?

    It felt like the end of the world.

    Then it hit me:

    Wait a second.

    I hate it when people start with that tone too.

    No one likes feeling like they have to defend themselves before they’ve even had their coffee.

    So I started differently.

    Something small.

    A sentence like:

    “I want to start with what worked well.”

    And that changed the whole tone.

    Not because I gave up on the feedback –

    But because I started with an open heart, not a pointing finger.

    It sounds simple,

    But it completely shifts the energy of the conversation.

    What’s worth remembering?

    The sharpest feedback is the kind that doesn’t feel like a knife.

    A good start leads to an ending someone can actually take with them.

    Good feedback is the kind the other person can truly absorb.

  • A visit to the production lines

    Once, during a routine visit to one of the production lines, I saw that the workers were struggling with a simple measurement.

    I stood on the side, noticed the confusion – and then stepped in.

    I showed them exactly how to measure.

    We solved it in two minutes.

    At the end of the day, I asked the consultant who was accompanying me:

    “So, how was I?”

    He looked at me and said:

    “Terrible.”

    I was shocked.

    “What do you mean? I solved the problem!”

    Then he said a sentence that changed everything I thought I knew about management:

    “You’re not supposed to solve problems.

    You’re supposed to teach others how to solve them.”

    And from that day on – I stopped being the hero who saves everyone.

    And started being the one who asks:

    “What do you think?” “How would you handle this?” “What did you learn from it?”

    At first, it took restraint.

    But later – it freed me.

    And it lifted them.

    A good manager isn’t measured by how much they know –

    But by how much they help others believe that they do.

  • About a decade ago – life pressed “Pause” on me.

    And not a small click.

    A long pause.

    I got sick.

    Badly.

    It was clear I’d need surgery.

    Complex. Long.

    Thirteen hours.

    When I woke up —

    I was hooked up to tubes.

    Machines.

    Getting treatments.

    I didn’t wake up like a fairy tale prince…

    More like a rough version of RoboCop on a bad day.

    But in the middle of all that?

    I felt in control.

    From the first moment I was awake —

    I felt I was in charge.

    Even though I wasn’t.

    Even though I had no strength.

    But something in me radiated presence.

    The atmosphere around me felt respectful.

    I felt authoritative — without effort.

    And then, on the fifth day,

    the head nurse came to me with an unusual request:

    “There’s a patient here.

    He’s afraid to go through the same surgery you had.

    Would you talk to him?

    Explain?”

    Imagine the scene:

    I can barely move.

    Tubes coming out of me in every direction…

    And she wants me

    to give someone else strength.

    So I talked to him.

    Explained.

    He went into surgery.

    And he made it.

    —

    But the truth?

    I wasn’t always like that.

    That sense of authority —

    so natural in that hospital room —

    didn’t come out of nowhere.

    It’s not some inborn trait.

    It’s not a “gift” you’re born with.

    It came from years of managing.

    Mistakes.

    Listening.

    Growth.

    Moments where I learned

    not just to manage —

    but to be present.

    —

    So if you’re thinking:

    “I’m not the authoritative type. That’s just not me…”

    Pause for a second.

    Authority isn’t about muscles.

    Or rank.

    It’s about the quiet you bring with you.

    And yes —

    it can be learned.

    Even when you’re hooked up

    to every monitor in the ward.