“Treat a person as they can and should be, and they will become what they can and should be.”

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Our Monster Study

At the height of the Great Depression, hundreds of thousands of American children lived in orphanages. Some had lost parents; many others had been placed there by families who simply couldn’t afford to feed them. There were no parents to look out for these children. No one to ask questions, push back, or take them home if something felt wrong. The young kids were dependent on the adults around them.

Which made them, as researchers of the era well understood, convenient subjects.

Imagine one of these kids in an Iowa orphanage in the 1930s. He doesn’t have much, but he does have one thing that comes naturally … his words. He talks, laughs, and tells stories without a second thought.

Then the adults around him start paying close attention to the way he talks.

They begin pointing out hesitations and stutters that don’t exist. They interrupt him more often and correct him mid-sentence and circle back to every small stumble. Over time, something begins to shift—not in his ability, but how he sees himself.

A new story starts to take hold. Something must be wrong with him. His words aren’t right and can’t be trusted. And before long, the voice that once came easily starts to lock up. The fluency disappears, and the confidence that used to carry him forward fades with it.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t an accident. It was a real experiment.

In the late 1930s, a University of Iowa speech pathologist named Wendell Johnson recruited orphaned children and split them into two groups. Half received encouragement and positive reinforcement. The other half were told, falsely, that they showed signs of stuttering, and then had their speech picked apart relentlessly, week after week.

Many in that second group developed real speech problems, along with emotional damage they carried for the rest of their lives. Johnson kept the study buried for decades, and when it finally surfaced in 2001 after Johnson had passed away, it was given a name that still feels too accurate: The Monster Study.

It’s easy to read a story like this and assume it belongs to a different time, under a different set of rules.

However, Wendell Johnson never saw himself as a monster. He believed he was doing meaningful work. What it seems he never fully recognized was what it means to hold influence over someone who trusts you; someone who has no reason not to believe what you tell them about themselves.

Doubt changes more than how people see themselves. It changes how we see them, too.

When we expect someone to struggle or fail, we subtly begin to treat them differently. We offer less support, even if we don’t realize it, we scrutinize more closely. We tend to jump in sooner, limit their opportunity to work through challenges, and often ease off the encouragement that helps people grow.

The person on the receiving end feels it all, and over time, it adds up. They start playing it safer and hesitate more. They shrink in moments where they used to step forward. And before long, they begin to confirm the very expectations that were placed on them.

We see this dynamic play out in sports all the time. Players whose coaches genuinely believe in them tend to get better instruction, more consistent feedback, and more room to develop and grow. Players who are quietly written off often receive less support, and more often than not, their performance reflects it.

The Monster Study is an extreme example, but the underlying truth shows up in much smaller ways every day for each of us … in practice, in the classroom, and around the dinner table.

Wendell Johnson thought he was running an experiment. He was … and so are you. What you believe about the people around you is already shaping them.

Connecting this quote to the story. The beliefs and labels we place on others often become the very identity and potential they grow into.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Think about the most important people in your life right now … your players, your kids, your team. What story are they telling themselves about who they are, and how much of that story came from you?

“Clarity precedes success.”

— Robin Sharma

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Know What You’re Looking For

January 2011. St. Olaf College, Northfield, Minnesota.

I enjoy speaking opportunities and sharing new ideas with different groups. My three assistant coaches and I had just wrapped what I thought was one of the better presentations we’d given. Forty-five minutes on how we’d built a successful baseball program—the culture, the buy-in, some big wins. The coaches in the room were engaged. The energy was good. And I had one final move, it was a video clip I’d recently discovered that I was convinced would close the talk with a laugh and end our presentation on a high note.

There was just one problem. No A/V speakers.

The clip was in Italian and subtitled, but I felt the audio mattered. So the St. Olaf staff scrambled, found external speakers, got everything wired up, and we were off. I clicked to my final slide, leaned into the moment, and delivered my closing setup:

“In closing, I’ll leave you with these final thoughts. All of you possess the knowledge and tools to excel. It’s where you place your priorities, and what you emphasize within your program can make all the difference. You hold the secret in your hands—it is up to you to show them the way. Let me illustrate.”

I hit play.

A minute later: total silence.

Not polite silence or contemplative silence. Just … energy-draining pin-drop silence. A 45-minute presentation—one I was proud of—ended without so much as a polite chuckle.

I sheepishly closed my laptop. Thanked the room and filed that video away where I wouldn’t have to see it.

For fifteen years, I didn’t think about it (I may have even repressed it!).

Then, while preparing for a new presentation this past week, I found it again—buried in an old folder, exactly where I’d left it. I pulled it up and watched it. And I still thought it was funny, and it had a point worth making. I still believed in the clip and couldn’t believe it flopped so badly.

My wife did not share my confidence.

She thought trying it again was a questionable idea. In fact, we put a bet on it— that no one would laugh. With that friendly wager, I had some stakes on the line and something to prove. More than that, I had fifteen years of experiences to help me understand why it had failed the first time.

So here’s what I need you to do before this post goes any further. Watch this one-minute clip to help me settle my bet.

(You can click here if the link above didn’t work.)

Apologies for my attempts at humor :)

But when I showed that clip to a room full of coaches a week ago—same type of audience, same video, fifteen years later—they laughed heartily and clapped as the presentation came to a close.

My wife owes me.

The video hadn't changed. It was the same clip, Italian comedy, donkey, and punchline. What changed was what I brought to the clip this time.

The second time, I told the room they had to laugh—because I had a bet with my wife riding on it (the bet’s rules said nothing about my ability to do this—sorry, Rebecca!).

Suddenly, the room was invested, and there were some stakes for all of us. Before I hit play, I told them exactly what lens to watch it through. I didn’t leave the interpretation up to chance and I controlled the frame. When it was over, I gave the the punchline they’d been primed to receive:

In 2011, I handed them a video and hoped they’d figure it out.

In 2026, I handed them a lens first, and the video did exactly what I had originally thought it could.

The content was never the problem. It rarely is.

What I’ve learned after decades of coaching and leading is that people don’t struggle because they lack the tools. They struggle because they haven’t been shown how to look at what’s right in front of them. That’s our job. Not just to have the answer, but to help people find the angle, lift what’s in the way, and see clearly. Just like the man in the video. He was solving the problem in front of him, and he knew what he was looking for.

Preparation and framing matters, and so does our clarity of intention. The quality of how you show up … how you set the table, how you guide the eye, how you create the conditions for people to receive what you’re offering … that is the work.

Fifteen years is a long time to sit on a lesson. But some things are worth the wait—as long as you’re willing to figure out what you were missing the first time.

What are you looking for? And more importantly, are the people you lead, coach, and serve able to see it too?

Connecting this quote to the story. People won’t see the lesson until you help them prepare for it. The first time I showed the video, the audience wasn’t prepared to understand what they were seeing, but the second time, they had the needed lens and could see the message that had been missed the first time I delivered it.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Don’t just give people the answer—help them see it.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

— Annie Dillard

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Still on the Air

It was the Fourth of July, and Uncle Jerry was ready.

He loved the holiday the way only a Korean War veteran who had spent his life learning history could love it—it meant something. The family was assembled on the beach by the lake, young and old, and Jerry carried a bulging bag of fireworks down to the dock. It would be a majestic display, the kind that would make his mother, Grandma Violet, beam with pride and exclaim, “Well, isn’t that something!”

Then a spark from his punk fell into the paper bag.

What happened next has been talked about and debated for nearly fifty years. Fireworks erupted in every direction. Kids ran for cover. Grandma Violet dove behind the embankment. And my godfather—hard-working, proud Jerry, a man who never wore shorts—jumped right in the lake.

For about twenty years afterward, he didn’t admit that any of it had ever happened.

What the fireworks don’t tell you is what his hands could do when they weren’t fumbling a lighted punk. Among many things, Jerry was a leatherworker. When I was a kid, he made me a belt. It wasn’t any ordinary belt; it was a full Hulk Hogan WWF championship-style belt, the kind any kid of the 80s would wear like a true Hulkamaniac. Made by hand, with care and love.

Jerry passed away this week at 93, after a full and wonderful life.

Researcher Sonja Lyubomirsky describes lasting happiness quite simply. The experience of positive emotion, combined with a deep sense that your life is good. Not perfect or easy, but good. Jerry had both. Not because his life was without adversity. He served in Korea, worked hard, and lost loved ones too soon. But he was oriented toward life in a way that generated joy around him, even if it meant diving for cover along the way.

That kind of life doesn’t happen by accident. It’s a choice, made daily, to show up and contribute.

Researchers who study aging have consistently found that what people want most at the end of their lives isn’t about recognition, status, or a résumé. It’s the deep desire to pass something forward, to know that what you did and knew and loved will outlast you (something called generativity). This drive to shape the next generation is one of the strongest predictors of purpose and life satisfaction in older adults. At the end, what matters is impact. How you helped, what you passed on, who carries something of yours forward.

Jerry did this for decades from behind a microphone.

He was a radio man by trade. He gave farm reports and sat behind that mic putting his voice, his knowledge, and his stories out into the world so others could learn and benefit. He once told his listeners he was thinking of starting a coin collection, and the pennies came rolling in. Long before podcasts and platforms, Jerry knew that stories are only worth something when they reach people.

The Hulk Hogan belt reached me. I hope the fireworks story reaches his grandchildren’s grandchildren. The farm reports reached farmers who needed to know what was coming.

Jerry would broadcast his stories.

We are all broadcasting something. Every conversation is a transmission. Every time you sit with someone earlier in the journey and share what you’ve learned, you’re doing what Jerry did behind that microphone. And every time you stay quiet because the moment feels small, or because you don’t think your story matters enough, you’re leaving the airwaves empty.

Jerry was a coin collector, a leatherworker, a veteran, a radio man who loved horses and history and his family. He made things with his hands that carried his love forward, and he told his stories so others could learn.

Performative influence will fade. Lived influence becomes a fireworks story that lasts fifty years.

What are you broadcasting? And who needs to hear it?

Connecting this quote to the story. What truly lasts isn’t the moment itself, but the stories, values, and impact we passed on to others … long after we are gone.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: The way you show up today becomes the story someone else tells tomorrow. Make it count.

“The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.”

— Albert Einstein

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

A Reboot is Required

My best thinking almost never happens at my desk.

It shows up in the shower, staring at a campfire, or on a long bike ride without earbuds. I’ll even admit standing at the toilet has generated more than a few breakthroughs I’m not prepared to explain.

With my mind free of distraction, a thought surfaces—it might be a connection previously unmade, a new path forward, or an unexpected answer to a question I’d been grappling with.

For a long time, I thought it was the universe providing an answer. The idea just seemed to come to me at the right time.

There’s a better answer, and science has it.

In the late 1990s, neurologist Marcus Raichle was running brain scans, expecting to find that the brain would quiet down during rest. What he found was that certain brain regions actually light up brighter when people aren’t focused on tasks. Rather than idling down, the brain shifts into a different kind of work. Raichle called it the Default Mode Network (DMN) since it seemed to be what the brain does by default when you step back and give it some room.

What happens in that space? The things that matter most.

The Default Mode Network is where we do our deepest creative thinking. It’s where we connect ideas that don’t seem related on the surface and find the human wisdom that AI can’t reach. It’s also where we process emotions, develop empathy, think about the people around us, imagine the future, and ask the bigger questions about who we are and what we’re doing here. Research tells us that the DMN is central to how we develop a sense of purpose in our personal and professional lives.

And right now, most of us aren’t letting our Default Mode Network run.

Every quiet moment has become an invitation to reach for a phone. The line at the coffee shop, the few should-be quiet minutes before sleep, the quick walk at work. As soon as boredom arrives, we jump on our phones and the Default Mode Network is silenced.

That has consequences. The DMN needs idle time to activate; if we are giving the brain a constant stream of external input, the deeper work never happens. We’re constantly consuming … and quietly losing the ability to think for ourselves.

This happened to us slowly without even realizing it. We didn’t see what we were giving away by constantly seeking stimulation. Social media, video games, and our entertainment platforms are engineered to fill the spaces where the brain’s most important work takes place.

The fix doesn’t need to be drastic. You don’t need a retreat, a vow of digital silence, a regimen of forest bathing, or an overhaul of how you live. You need what boredom used to give you for free.

Leave the podcast behind on your next walk. Let the shower be quiet. Sit in the car for an extra two minutes after you park and let your mind go wherever it wants to go. When boredom arrives, sit with it rather than fill it. When you do, be sure to keep something nearby to capture those thoughts and ideas when they arrive, because the Default Mode Network doesn’t hold its deliveries long.

The best ideas I’ve ever had showed up in the quiet. I would bet the same is true for you. Not at the desk, not in the meeting, not mid-scroll, but in the space between. That’s when our brain does exactly what it evolved to do, when given the chance.

You already know how to reboot a frozen computer. Your mind deserves the same courtesy.

Connecting this quote to the story. When we stop filling every moment, we create space for the answers we’ve been searching for to find us.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: You know how to reboot a frozen computer. Your mind might be waiting for you to do the same.

“What is important is seldom urgent, and what is urgent is seldom important.”

— Dwight D. Eisenhower

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

The Trap of the Urgent

I had this Post-it note on my desk for the longest time with an idea for future exploration. It simply said: Eisenhower Matrix. I’m not sure exactly when I wrote it. It’s been long enough that it isn’t so sticky anymore, it’s started to fade, and the corners have turned. Every now and then I’d look at it, think yes, I need to do that, and then something more pressing would show up and I’d move on.

So here we now are. The note has finally won. And I have a new appreciation for its irony.

Eisenhower had a note of his own.

He had written it the night before the invasion, folded it, and kept it in his pocket. It accepted full personal responsibility if D-Day failed. While thousands of details screamed for his attention—changing weather reports, incomplete intelligence, the staggering logistics required to move 150,000 soldiers across the English Channel—Eisenhower had already done the thing only he could do. He had made the decision and quietly prepared to own the outcome, whatever it was. His attention was on what mattered the most.

Later in life, Eisenhower distilled his approach into a simple framework, known as the Eisenhower Matrix. It sorts the demands on our time into four categories: urgent and important, important but not urgent, urgent but not important, and neither.

Most of us bounce between the urgent categories. Emails, notifications, deadlines, requests … our days fill quickly with things that feel pressing but don’t really move our lives forward.

I’ll be honest, for those who know me well, practicing patience can sometimes be a challenge. And I think I know why. Years of working as an activities director has programmed me to live in the urgent. The job demands it. There are scores of details that must be attended to … and accurately. One mistake can mean a team doesn’t show up, referees aren’t scheduled, a bus never arrives. And if that happens, a game doesn’t happen—a very public mistake that impacts and upsets hundreds of people, some of whom may have traveled a significant distance for an event that simply isn’t there. Most jobs don’t carry that kind of time-bound, public accountability. It trains you to be a firefighter, rushing from one burning issue to the next, and after enough years, urgency stops feeling like pressure. It starts feeling like purpose.

Someone put it this way recently, “The best thing about banging your head against the wall is the way it feels when you stop.” We laugh because we recognize it. Most of us spend entire days trying to finish urgent things, and we’ve confused the relief of stopping with the satisfaction of living in the moment.

Eisenhower knew that the most meaningful work, the kind that shapes who we become and what we leave behind, rarely screams for attention. It waits in that second quadrant: important but not urgent. And if we keep ignoring it, it doesn’t stay quiet forever. Urgency has a way of showing up loudly later when importance is neglected now.

The important things will never fight for your attention the way the urgent ones do. They don’t have that kind of voice. They need you to choose them.

Great leaders are disciplined about protecting space for what matters most—to think, prepare, and invest in others—because they understand that influence is built in important moments, not necessarily the urgent ones.

I’m glad I finally picked that Post-it note back up. The life you want, the relationships you value, the legacy you hope to leave—they rarely come from reacting. They come from choosing.

The fires will always be there. What I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—is that the most important work has never asked me to hurry.

Connecting this quote to the story. Eisenhower’s success came from intentionally prioritizing and protecting time for the most important decisions, which would shape the outcome.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Consciously guard time for what is important before urgency steals it from you.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

— Marcel Proust

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

The Shot Nobody Planned

Christmas Eve, 1968. William Anders was looking out the window of his Apollo spacecraft orbiting the Moon when something unexpected appeared on the horizon.

At first, it was just a sliver of color against the gray landscape. Then more of it rose into view. Anders grabbed his camera. Click. The photograph he captured would become one of the most viewed images in human history. It is called Earthrise.

Anders was part of Apollo 8, the first crewed mission to orbit the Moon, and by any measure the mission was already historic. The goals were to test the spacecraft, photograph potential lunar landing sites, and prove the journey was possible. It had taken hundreds of thousands of people working together to get three astronauts to that moment.

Nobody planned the photograph. It wasn’t on a checklist. It was someone being fully present in an extraordinary moment, who had the awareness to recognize what he was seeing—and then the instinct to act.

The ripple that followed is staggering. That singular image transformed how humanity saw itself. For the first time, people didn’t see a map with borders and nations—they saw one small, fragile world floating alone in an endless void. Something shifted in the collective consciousness. Within 16 months of the photograph being shared, Earth Day was celebrated for the first time, the Environmental Protection Agency was established, and the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts were passed.

As Anders later reflected, “We came all this way to explore the Moon, and the most important thing is that we discovered Earth.”

He went to the Moon to complete a clearly defined mission. He accidentally changed the world by being present for a single unplanned moment.

Anders showed that your most powerful ripple may not come from your most prepared moment. It may not come from the presentation you rehearsed, the plan you built, or the agenda you executed perfectly. It may come from a quiet, everyday morning when you said exactly the right thing to someone who needed it. Or from a conversation you almost skipped. It might be a moment you never saw coming, but were fully present for.

Four hundred thousand people made Apollo 8 possible. But it was a single person, looking out one window at the right moment, who created the image that outlasted the mission itself.

Most of us will probably never orbit the Moon. But all of us are showing up to moments every day—whether in classrooms, locker rooms, conference rooms, living rooms, or Zoom calls—that carry more potential than we realize. These moments exist for all of us … are we present enough to recognize them when they arrive?

You can’t plan the shot that changes everything. But you can be ready to take it.

Think about the most meaningful impact you’ve ever had on someone—the moment that mattered most to the people you lead or serve. Was it a carefully planned scheme, or was it something smaller, quieter, more human? What does that tell you about where your real influence lives?

Connecting this quote to the story. The greatest influence we have can come from simply being present enough to notice the moment.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Influence doesn’t come from the moments you prepare for; it often comes from moments you’re present enough to recognize.

“Everyone you meet knows something you don’t.”

— Bill Nye

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

What Did You Learn the Teacher?

That’s the question my grandfather asked his grandkids every day after school. We all spent years thinking he had it wrong.

My brothers and I would burst through the door, hoping to find him waiting. He was a farmer, house painter, and trapper who lived his entire life in well-worn overalls—a man who measured his days in work done. And every time we came running to him, he’d greet us with a twinkle in his eye and ask the same question: “What did you learn the teacher today?”

We’d laugh and correct him. “Grandpa, we didn’t teach the teacher!” He’d smile like he knew something we didn’t … because he did.

He wasn’t making a grammatical mistake. In his fun and silly way, he was making a statement about how he saw the world. To him, everyone, no matter their age, background, or station in life, had something valuable to give. Even us kids, barely tall enough to see over the kitchen counter, had experiences and perspectives that could benefit the adults around us. Including our teachers—and him.

Most of us strive to spend our lives in learning mode. Consuming wisdom, seeking the next insight, seeking mentors to sharpen our edge. A growth mindset is powerful. However, my grandfather lived something that takes most people a lifetime to discover, growth that stays inside you is only half the story.

Living a meaningful and others-centered life is beyond asking “How can I improve?” It’s “How can my improvement serve someone else?”

That’s the twist from a growth mindset to a contributor’s mindset, and it changes everything.

A contributor’s mindset shows up in three simple ways. A. You walk into every room asking what you can add, not just what you can learn. B. You treat every interaction as a chance to lift someone else, and C. You end each day with one honest question: Did I leave people better today?

My grandfather lived and died in a small town, painting houses and doing various odd jobs to make ends meet. Every day, in those worn overalls, he showed us what it looked like to live a life asking not what you could take, but how you could help.

That’s a contributor’s mindset. Influence showing up in overalls and work gloves, asking the right question, and waiting for you to grow into the answer.

What will you teach the teacher today?

Connecting this quote to the story. Each of us has something valuable to contribute, and leadership begins when we start asking what we can give, not only what we can learn.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Walk into every room wondering, how can I leave this place better than I found it?

“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.”

— Mark Twain

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Where’s that Damned Cat?

There once was a mouse who lived in a tavern. One night the mouse found a leaky barrel of beer and drank all he could hold. When he finished, he sat up, twirled his whiskers, and looked around arrogantly. “Now then,” he said, “where’s that damned cat?”

There's an old saying: perception is reality. For the people watching and listening to you, that's true … and it matters enormously. But if your own perception loses touch with reality, that same principle becomes the most dangerous idea in the room.

The mouse from the opening story didn’t understand this.

And, we’ve all met that mouse, or maybe even been that mouse. A big win, a great quarter, a standing ovation … suddenly we’re twirling our whiskers, puffing out our chest, and looking for cats we were scared of earlier. Nothing in that room changed, except the mouse's willingness to see it clearly. And that’s a dangerous place to lead from.

The mouse wasn’t magically stronger after tipping back some beers. The cat didn’t get smaller. The matchup didn’t change beyond the mouse’s clarity of his odds.

That’s what hubris does. It doesn’t eliminate threats; it dulls your awareness of them. An inflated ego disguises itself as confidence and quietly convinces you that the hard-earned lessons life gave you no longer apply. You’ve arrived, earned it, and nothing can stop you now.

But the cat is still there.

Those with the greatest influence carry their success lightly. They stay curious and coachable. They keep asking hard questions, especially when things are going well. Humility gives clarity. It’s the discipline of seeing reality as it is, not as you’d prefer it to be.

Mice that go looking for cats don’t usually get to tell the story.

When you’re a mouse leading other mice, the barrel of beer doesn’t just affect you. A leader’s inflated confidence can become the group’s collective blind spot.

We’ve seen it in locker rooms where early success turns into overconfidence and preparation quietly slips. Or in organizations where a few strong years harden into entitlement, and leaders stop listening to the warning signs around them. Confidence is essential—it’s contagious and energizing—but it must be sustained by competence. By the work, preparation, and honest assessment of where you actually stand.

The best leaders celebrate with their people and then get back to work. Stay humble, lead with earned confidence, and let discipline move you—not the moment. Because when perception drifts too far from reality, it isn’t the cat that becomes dangerous. It’s you.

Connecting this quote to the story. The mouse wasn’t facing a new cat … he was facing his own unchecked ego, and the real battle wasn’t against the threat in the room but against the inflated version of himself that believed he was invincible.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Don’t let a little success intoxicate your judgment.

“Success is never final. Failure is never fatal. It’s courage that counts.”

— Winston Churchill

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

The Last One Off the Ice

High school playoffs bring the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I saw this happen in a packed arena this week.

The final buzzer had sounded, and with it, a season. For many, it ended a lifetime of youthful joy—moments forged with teammates whose bond had long since blurred into something deeper than friendship.

The top seed had fallen and it was an upset not many saw coming. Both teams had filed off the ice, the officials were gone, the arena was emptying, but one player remained.

He stood there, alone on the ice, unable to leave it. Maybe because leaving meant it was real. Maybe because that ice—that cold, hard, unforgiving surface—had been his sanctuary for as long as he could remember. And this was the last time he’d stand on it wearing that jersey.

His coach waited at the door. Patient. Silent. Not checking a phone. Just ... present. Because a good coach knows that some moments aren’t about strategy or performance. They’re about being there.

Then came his dad.

He moved quickly—the kind of purposeful stride a parent makes when they don’t quite know what they’ll say but know they need to say something. The high school hockey player was emotional. Exposed in that very public, very lonely way that only athletes who have just lost something know.

And then his dad said it, firm … and caring.

“Head up. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You left it all out there. We are all so proud of you.”

The floodgates opened. The player skated to the door, and they hugged, a hug that said everything the words couldn't, in full view of anyone still watching. It was private in every way that mattered.

And there was coach, right beside them, ready to walk him to the locker room. Not ahead. Not behind. Alongside. With a hand on his shoulder.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that moment. I’ve experienced that same feeling many times, and now I was watching it. What do you say? What do you do?

We live in a world obsessed with outcomes and in that framework, what happened that night was simple: they lost, season over, story done. But what I witnessed wasn't a loss. It was a reminder of what all of this, the practices, the seasons, the sacrifices, was really for.

The coach who wouldn’t leave his player alone. The dad who didn’t lead with “get off the ice!” or “toughen up!”—but with unconditional care and pride. The kind that says: I see you and I love you.

There are two great motivators available to all of us: fear and love. Fear would have had that dad arrive with questions, criticism, or uncomfortable silence. Fear would have had that coach already in the locker room managing the chaos. Fear would have told that young man that losing means he failed.

Love did something different. Love waited on the ice, and it walked quickly across an arena to say the right thing. Love put an arm around a kid and walked him somewhere hard.

The outcome of the game didn’t change. It never does. But love shaped everything that happened after that buzzer sounded. It always does.

Who in your life is still standing on the ice—long after everyone else has left—waiting to see what you’ll do next? Will you rush past them toward whatever comes next? Or will you stop, look them in the eye, and choose love?

The game will end. What happens next is up to you.

Connecting this quote to the story. Love doesn’t erase defeat; it transforms what defeat means.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: At the end of the day, people won’t remember the score. They’ll remember how you showed up.

“You cannot always control what goes on outside. But you can always control what goes on inside.”

— Wayne Dyer

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

This story is adapted from What’s Your Juice?

The Great (Ant) Escape

Some of the best leadership lessons don’t come from boardrooms or business books (or newsletters!). Sometimes, they come from a mayonnaise jar, a piece of pantyhose, and a classroom full of ants.

Let me explain.

When I was in elementary school, growing up in the heart of the Upper Midwest’s farm country, I had a science project that required building an ant colony. Simple enough, right?

Or so I thought.

I walked down a dirt road cutting through farm fields by my house until I found a bustling ant mound. I scooped up some promising dirt filled with ants and carefully moved my “subjects” into a glass mayonnaise jar. I then stretched a piece of nylon pantyhose over the top, secured it with a rubber band, and had my homemade ant farm.

We were off to a great start. Although the ants didn’t seem too happy to be in there, I was confident this was going to be the greatest ant farm anyone had ever seen. I couldn’t wait to show off these feisty ants to my classmates and teacher. After the proud reveal, I left my ant farm at school for the night, excited to return the next day and see the progress.

That next morning, I walked into class to find no ants in the jar. My prized insects were gone.

What I had unknowingly captured were cornfield ants—industrious, determined little devils with a natural drive to be free that far exceeded my elementary abilities to contain them. They had chewed straight through the nylon and vanished into the school.

I never did find out what happened to them after their great escape. It became an unspoken secret between my teacher and me; a quiet understanding that some forces simply cannot, and perhaps should not, be contained. There were no re-dos for this project.

Looking back, I had focused all my energy on trying to control something whose very essence was to break free, rather than first understanding what I was truly dealing with.

The ants weren’t the problem. My approach was.

As a leader, I see this pattern play out constantly. We waste enormous energy trying to manage the unmanageable … trying to control outcomes, people, perceptions … instead of directing our efforts toward what we can actually influence. We grip tighter when we should be thinking smarter.

Real power isn’t managing everything; it is choosing what to manage.

On your team: Are you spending energy trying to contain someone whose drive and determination is actually their greatest asset, just needing better direction?

In your work: Are you gripping tightly to a process, a plan, or an outcome that keeps escaping your control no matter what you do?

In your own head: Are you exhausting yourself trying to control things that were never yours to control in the first place?

The most energized leaders I’ve ever known aren’t the ones who control the most. They’re the ones who’ve gotten really clear on what deserves their energy … and what doesn’t.

The ants are going to do what ants do. What are you going to do? That’s what you control.

Connecting this quote to the story. Over-control often backfires, costing you the very thing you’re trying to manage.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Understanding what you’re leading matters more than controlling it.

“We suffer more in imagination than in reality.”

— Seneca

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Running to the Roar

I have always enjoyed Saturday morning nature programs on TV. You can learn a lot from Mother Nature, and I love to see animals I might not otherwise see unless I'm visiting a zoo.

In both cases, I enjoy and appreciate the safety of observing the wild kingdom from a safe place. If you’ve ever heard the full-throated roar of a lion in person, you’ll never forget it. Even separated by a zoo enclosure, your heart starts pounding.

Imagine you don’t have the reassurance of that safety glass for a moment. You’re standing in the tall grass of the African savanna. The air is still until it hits you—the deep, guttural roar of a lion shakes your body. Our built-in fight-or-flight response kicks in. Run … quickly … away from that sound.

That instinct seems safe and obvious. Get away from that noise.

That instinct to run away from the noise is exactly what gets you killed.

When a pride of lions hunts, the roar usually comes first. It’s loud, violent, impossible to miss. Older lions are often tasked with creating the heart-stopping noise that triggers panic. Meanwhile, the real hunters—the younger, faster lionesses—move silently. They don’t roar. They don’t make or chase noise. They go straight to the spot where the fleeing victims will run.

When prey bolts away from the roar, it runs straight into the ambush. The roar actually isn’t the threat. It creates a trap.

The animal kingdom is a constant teacher. We see this same situation play out in our everyday lives. We hear the roar of a difficult conversation and avoid it, a tough project appears and we steer clear, or change happens and we resist. We run away from the noise.

Unfortunately, the thing we’re running from doesn’t disappear. It circles, grows, and waits for you. Avoided conversations rot relationships, delayed decisions turn into crises, and ignored problems compound. The cost of avoidance is higher than the discomfort of action.

Running to the roar (rather than away from it) doesn’t mean being reckless. It means being clear-eyed and recognizing that what’s loud isn’t always what’s dangerous. Likewise, what’s quiet is often where the challenge lives. We can face our fears or be controlled by them.

We can learn to do hard, and we can do hard better. Every time you face what scares you instead of fleeing from it, you build capacity. Hard doesn’t disappear, but your ability to handle it grows.

What’s the thing you keep circling, the thought you push down, the decision you delay? The cost of avoidance is higher than the discomfort of action. Running from the roar only guarantees you’ll meet the ambush unprepared.

Run to the roar.

Connecting this quote to the story. Our stories are the psychological cave; what feels most intimidating to enter is often where growth, clarity, and breakthrough are waiting for us.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Address tension while it’s small.

“To lead people, walk beside them.”

— Lao Tzu

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

Championship Actions are Louder than Words

The torch is lit, and we have two more weeks of the winter Olympics to enjoy—filled with world-class competition and heart-warming stories.

One story most know well will be told again. An unlikely group of American college hockey players. A dominant Soviet team. A gold medal that changed sports and history.

People know about the underdog story. Many know about the relentless conditioning, the bag skates, and the mental toughness that defined the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team. Some might even know the name Ralph Cox, the final player cut from the roster—the one who came within inches of experiencing the Miracle on Ice. And of course, there was Herb Brooks.

What few people know is that Herb Brooks understood the pain of sports better than anyone.

In 1960, Brooks was the last player cut from the U.S. Olympic team, which would go on to win gold without him. He knew what it felt like to be close enough to touch greatness and still be left behind, and he carried that understanding with him for the rest of his life.

Twenty years later, that memory resurfaced at the peak of his coaching career.

The United States was on the cusp of defeating Finland to capture the gold medal at the 1980 Olympics. As the final seconds ticked off the clock, Al Michaels counted down history. Gloves, sticks, and helmets littered the ice. Fans jumped over the glass. An enormous American flag was unfurled, and the celebration became a blur of noise and unfettered joy.

And in the middle of it all, Herb Brooks snuck away to find some quiet.

He quickly hugged his assistants, turned away from the ice, and quietly walked off the bench toward the locker room while everyone else celebrated.

For years, people wondered why. Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t he rush the ice and celebrate with his players? Why didn’t he soak in the moment he had spent his entire life chasing? What was he thinking about?

Years later, Brooks was asked that last simple question: “When the final seconds ticked down, and you knew you were going to win the gold medal, what were you thinking about?”

The answer was unexpected. “I was thinking about Ralph Cox.”

He was about to win the gold medal and what was he thinking about? The last guy he cut from the team. Ralph Cox, the young man whose Olympic dream ended when Brooks cut him. Every leader can relate to that type of moment—maybe not of that magnitude, but we know the feeling.

Herb Brooks is often described as cold, stern, demanding, and intimidating. Those descriptions aren’t wrong. He was brilliant, calculated, and relentless. He pushed people to places they didn’t believe they could go. But in that moment, at the pinnacle of success, what surfaced wasn’t ego. It was empathy. It was memory. It was an understanding of the human cost that comes with leadership decisions.

He knew exactly what that felt like, because years earlier, he had been on the other side of that conversation.

Great leaders don’t erase pain. They acknowledge it, remember it, and allow it to inform how they lead, without letting it define them.

I didn’t understand that about Herb Brooks from Olympic footage or highlight reels. I was too young for that. I learned it years later on a cold night in the Willmar (Minn.) Civic Arena in the winter of 1986–87.

Brooks had recently been let go as the head coach of the New York Rangers and had returned to Minnesota to coach at St. Cloud State, helping lay the groundwork for the program’s transition from Division II to Division I. That night, with our breath fogging in the cold arena air, he wasn’t there as part of some promotion. He was avoiding attention and was simply watching a game.

Along the way, my keen-eyed brothers and I spotted him near the concession stand. He couldn’t have been nicer as he stopped, put his arms around us, and smiled for a photo with my brothers and me. It was just a small moment of humanness in a cold rink.

That’s the image of Herb Brooks that has stayed with me.

Leadership isn’t defined by the moments everyone sees. It shows up in the ones they don’t see. And when you succeed, pay attention to who you were thinking about when you got there.

As the celebration unfolded in 1980, Herb Brooks’ thoughts drifted away from the ice. Ralph Cox wasn’t part of the final roster, but his contributions and the standard he represented were still part of his story. And now, it’s part of our story.

Great leaders remember the ones who helped shape the moment, even if they weren’t there to celebrate it.

That’s influence. And it’s worth chasing.

Connecting this quote to the story. Coaching and leadership require trusting people with outcomes you can’t control, and living honestly with the consequences of that trust.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Remember all the people behind the outcome.

“It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.”

— Epictetus

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon and now on Audible!

The Day My Luck Ran Out

I stood staring at a 21-foot pontoon on a trailer and a pristine 15-foot Cadillac fishing boat. Yes, it was a Cadillac (not the car company) … and this 1960s-vintage beauty was my restoration project. Both boats needed motors. The shop was over an hour away.

Simple math: Two trips meant four hours of driving. Home around midnight.

One trip with both boats? Home by 10pm.

The solution seemed obvious.

I should, of course, load the pontoon on the trailer, lay wood planks across it, and hoist the fishing boat on top. Six ratchet straps later, I had a two-story boat tower that would make an engineer proud (actually, probably wince).

The two guys who helped me lift it into place looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Voila!” I thought. “Brilliant.” (Narrator voice: It was not brilliant.)

The fall colors were stunning as I pulled onto the rural highway. My 2001 Suburban handled the load with ease. Then I noticed the wind gusts—whew, a bit stronger than I’d realized when I was sheltered at the cabin. At a curvy stretch, I decided to pull over to check the straps.

All good. Never a doubt. Away I went.

Google Maps directed me to turn left at a major four-lane highway intersection. I knew I would need a gentle turn with this cargo. I waited for an opening in traffic, eased into the left turn, and … the wind hit me broadside.

In slow-motion horror, I watched through my rearview mirror as my perfect plan tipped sideways. The boats slid off the trailer, still strapped together, and crashed onto their sides, right smack dab in the middle of the busy road. The trailer disconnected from my hitch, held only by safety chains, was now blocking the right lane of traffic.

Hazard lights on. Heart pounding. Don’t panic. Think.

Was this illegal? Am I about to get arrested? How on earth do I fix this? The boats are on their sides, off the trailer, and it took three of us to get them on there the first time!

Adrenaline kicked in. I unstrapped the boats. The fishing boat dropped to the pavement with a WHAP. Farmer strength activated, I dragged it deep into the ditch. Somehow, miraculously, it was unscathed.

Good Samaritans started pulling over to help the sorry sap, alone, with his boats tipped on their sides on the highway. Together we tipped the pontoon upright—WHAM!—and muscled it back onto the trailer. One helper asked, “You want the other boat back on th … ?”

I answered before he finished the sentence … “Nope. We’re good.”

Twenty minutes to the shop. I’d drop the pontoon and return for the fishing boat later. No cuffs, limited damage. Crisis averted. Sort of.

That was until my maps app led me to a dead-end street in a neighborhood where my boat repair guy said, “You’re WHERE?! Get out of there NOW.”

Wrong side of town. Twenty-one-foot boat. Single-lane dead end.

What else could go wrong?

I finally reached the shop after closing time, unloaded the pontoon in the cold dusk, and raced back for the fishing boat, now sitting deep in a ditch on a dark highway.

Half a mile out, I spotted police lights. A tow truck. At my fateful intersection.

Please don’t be my boat. Please don’t be my boat.

It was my boat. On the flatbed of the tow truck.

“That’s mine,” I told the officer. “Had a trailer issue earlier.” (Perhaps that was an understatement.)

“That’s between you and the tow truck operator now.”

$275 later—just for lifting it onto the truck—the boat was now back on my trailer.

I brought it to the boat shop, returned the rental trailer, and drove two more hours home. I pulled into my driveway just after midnight. Windy. Cold. Emotionally drained. Down $275.

One of the worst days of my life.

And honestly? I got lucky, and I learned something about stacking boats … and my pride.

I wanted to save two hours, but what I wanted most was to get both boats safely to the shop. The shortcut cost me more time, money, and stress than it would have doing things right.

At the same time, there was another important piece to the story: when everything went sideways—literally—I didn’t freeze, panic, or freak out. I solved problems. I focused on what I could control.

Separate the boats. Get help. Move forward. Figure it out.

Losing it in that moment wouldn't have moved a single boat off that highway. It would've just made me look even more ridiculous than I already did.

The shortcut created the disaster. The response under pressure got me through it.

Both matter.

Sometimes we choose convenience over wisdom. We stack boats that shouldn’t be stacked. We take shortcuts we know are risky. And when it all tips over in traffic, we get to choose our juice … panic and blame, or adapt and solve.

I’ve made peace with that $275 tow truck bill. It’s the price I paid for the reminder: do it right, or do it twice. And when you mess up? Keep moving. Keep solving. Keep pointing forward.

And when your perfect plan tips sideways, because it will, as a coach or leader, what energy will you bring to solve it? The choice remains yours!

Connecting this quote to the story. My entire day was a live demonstration of Lincoln’s insight. I chose what I wanted now (speed, efficiency, being home earlier), and the lesson arrived when circumstances forced me to realign with what I wanted most: safety, responsibility, and the right response when my plan fell apart.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Panic spreads faster than problems—a steady response stops both.

“Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”

— William Bruce Cameron

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You

Now available as an audiobook! Get your copy today on Audible, iTunes, or Amazon!

Traded for a Bus

Forty-three years ago—on January 19, 1983—something incredible happened in the Western Hockey League. Tom Martin was traded for a bus. Not future draft picks or a player swap. A used team bus, plus some cash, in exchange for his playing rights.

Martin’s team, the Seattle Breakers, needed a bus. The Victoria Cougars needed a forward. Martin became the solution to the two teams’ problems. Over time, the story turned into trivia and a punchline. The guy who got traded for a bus. That’s usually where the story ends. It shouldn’t … there’s more to it if we look more closely at the swap.

Tom Martin kept playing. He didn’t quit, sulk, or let the trade turn into a grudge. He went on to have a solid career, played professionally in Europe, and stayed in the game—proving to be servicable wherever he landed.

That’s the part worth sitting with for a second.

Most of us will land in a moment where our value gets measured in a way that doesn’t feel right. Where timing beats talent, and the spreadsheet says you’re worth less than reliable transportation. That’s when the real test starts.

This becomes more than a hockey trade story. It becomes a leadership story. Leadership is about being a reliable presence when things get messy.

Think about the people who’ve had the biggest influence on your life. They’re probably not the loudest or the most decorated. They’re the ones who showed up when it wasn’t convenient—the coach who believed in you, the teammate who stayed late to help, the mentor who answered the phone at an odd hour. That’s bus-type energy. Nothing flashy or glamorous. Rather, it is steady, necessary, get-the-job-done energy. Juice without ego.

Martin could be remembered as the guy who never got past being traded for a bus. Or, he can be an example of someone who didn’t let a moment define his path.

Take away your title, nameplate, and recognitions. Would what you do still matter?

Times are going to come when you’re going to be valued in a way that feels off … overlooked … unappreciated ... expendable. When that does happen, remember Tom Martin. Not because he was traded for a bus, but because that didn’t mean his future value would end there.

The people I’ve watched quietly change teams, organizations, and lives aren’t always the most flashy or celebrated. They are the ones who keep bringing their best, no matter how they’re being measured in the moment. And the world keeps moving because they show up.

As time fades and the noise dies down, what will be better because you were there?

Connecting this quote to the story. Tom Martin couldn’t control how he was valued, but he could decide the kind of difference he made next—by choosing contribution over resentment and usefulness over recognition.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Stop worrying about how visible your work is. Start worrying about how useful it is.

“Nothing is more exhausting than pretending to be something you’re not.”

— Anne Morrow Lindbergh

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You

Now available as an audiobook! Get your copy today on Audible, iTunes, or Amazon!

The Fisherman and the Painted Life

“They were not half as beautiful as they are painted.”

That’s what Christopher Columbus wrote after seeing manatees he thought were mermaids. He was so locked into what he’d imagined that reality felt like a letdown.

Five hundred years later, we’re still doing the same thing.

Only now, we’re not chasing painted mermaids. We chase curated and painted lives.

There’s an old story of a Wall Street businessman on vacation walking along a quiet beach when he noticed a man sitting in the sand, leaning against his small fishing boat, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze.

Curious, the vacationer stopped. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Resting,” the man replied. “Enjoying the day.”

The vacationer was a bit confused. “Did the boat break? Why aren’t you out fishing?”

“I already caught enough for today,” the man said. “My family will eat well tonight.”

“But why not catch some more?” the businessman asked, seeing opportunity lost. “It’s only noon. You could sell the extra fish. With that money, you could buy a bigger boat. With a bigger boat, you’d catch more fish. Then you could hire people, grow a business, and expand operations. Someday you could sell it all, retire, and live the good life!”

The fisherman listened quietly. “And do what?” he asked.

“Well,” the vacationer said, thinking it through, “then you could relax. You could sit on the beach. You could enjoy your life.”

The fisherman smiled, looked out at the water, and said, “And what do you think I’m doing right now?”

The vacationer was curious and just trying to help. He looked at and saw things differently. He couldn’t see what was actually in front of him, just the picture he’d been programmed to admire.

He’d been sold a familiar story: Hustle. Expand. Scale. Exit. Then, finally, live. That path was so etched in his mind that when he found someone already living, all he could see was someone failing to hustle.

Sound familiar?

We scroll through feeds filled with highlight reels and others’ “wins.” We absorb images of success, beauty, relationships, and careers. All of them carefully framed, expertly lit, and selectively edited. Over time, those images fill our heads with what we’re supposed to want, supposed to chase, supposed to become.

Then we look at our actual lives and feel the same disappointment Columbus found when staring at those manatees.

Not half as beautiful as painted.

We forget that the picture was never the truth. There are real costs to comparisons. Social media isn’t necessarily evil. But it has become the most dangerous comparison machine ever built.

Every scroll suggests a benchmark, each post implies a timeline, and the number of “likes” gives validation and affirmation that we are missing in other aspects of life.

Without realizing it, we stop asking, “What do I actually want?” We start asking, “What am I supposed to want?” We trade our juice … our real energy, our instincts, our story … for a chance to become a B-version of someone else.

The coach who tries to be another coach rather than being himself.
The leader who rolls out an initiative that doesn’t fit her team.
The person shaping a life around validation instead of meaning.

You know what’s worse than being a manatee when someone wanted a mermaid? Being a manatee pretending to be a mermaid.

The fisherman had something the vacationer didn’t: clarity of values and priorities. He knew what mattered. He knew what “enough” looked like and wasn’t waiting for permission to start living.

That’s understanding the difference between your life and a story for someone else to live.

When you spend your energy chasing polished images of success, you drain the juice that could be building something real. When you measure your life against someone else’s highlight reel, you miss the beauty right in front of you. When you become a lesser version of someone else instead of a full version of yourself, everyone loses—starting with you.

You were meant to bring your energy, your gifts, and your story to the life you actually have. Not the one in the frame, in someone else’s feed, or what you think you’re supposed to want. The one that’s yours.

Are you living it, or comparing it to a picture that was never real to begin with?

The fisherman knew the answer. We should, too.

Connecting this quote to the story. The fisherman is fully living his own original life, while the vacationer … and so many of us … are tempted to abandon who we are in order to copy a version of success that was never meant to be ours.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: The moment you try to be someone else, you forfeit the power of your own.

“We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”

— Anaïs Nin

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon! AND … look for What’s Your Juice? on Audible soon!

* This week’s message will be the first message in a short series about:

“Not Half as Beautiful as Painted”

Last week I had the good fortune of staring out at the Caribbean, getting lost in my thoughts like countless others have for centuries. Five hundred and thirty-three years before me, Christopher Columbus did the very same thing.

On January 9, 1493, Columbus stood on the deck of his ship somewhere off the Caribbean coast and gazed at the turquoise waters. Only Columbus saw something different that day, prompting him to reach for his log.

Three figures broke the surface of the water. Sirenas, he called them. Mermaids!

Beautiful half-woman, half-fish mermaids were the stuff of sailor legend. They’d been whispered about in ports for thousands of years, passed from deck to deck and generation to generation. They existed long before maps were reliable or oceans were understood. Their stories carried farther than ships themselves, shaping what sailors expected to find long before they ever reached unknown waters.

Columbus watched them surface. He studied them carefully.

Then he wrote one of history’s most unintentionally honest letdowns: “They were not half as beautiful as they are painted.”

The creatures Columbus saw weren’t mermaids. Missing a keen eye for details … they were manatees. Gentle, gray, whiskered sea mammals drifting through warm Caribbean shallows.

Columbus was so locked into what he expected to see that when reality showed up, all he could feel was disappointment. The mermaids he’d dreamed of finding one day looked like floating potatoes. He couldn’t see these remarkable creatures for what they actually were. He could only see them as homely mermaids.

This is what we all do constantly. We walk into rooms, relationships, and opportunities carrying expectations. We’ve already written the script … how it should go, how people should respond, what success is supposed to look like.

Then reality shows up and it doesn’t match.

The team doesn’t perform the way we hoped for.
The opportunity doesn’t deliver what we dreamed of.
The person doesn’t turn out to be who we thought they’d be.

So we stand there, log in hand, writing our disappointment: “Not half as beautiful as painted.”

What we miss all too often is the new information, what is true, and what is beautiful. Manatees are incredible, gentle giants. They’ve thrived for millions of years, with their own beauty, their own purpose, and their own story.

Columbus missed all of that because he was too busy being disappointed about a mermaid that never existed.

The contributor mindset—the commitment to serve, to lead, to bring something meaningful—requires something Columbus couldn’t quite manage on that January morning.

It requires showing up for what is.

It doesn’t mean lowering your standards or abandoning your vision. It means bringing your best to what’s actually in front of you, not what you wish were there.

The coach who expected natural skill but got undeveloped athletes instead.
The leader who inherited a struggling team instead of a championship squad.
The parent whose child’s path looks nothing like the one they imagined.

Those moments reveal what your juice looks like.

Do you spend your energy mourning the mermaid, or do you show up fully for the manatee?

Columbus missed one of the great privileges of exploration—encountering something entirely new and letting it be what it is. Reality rewards our presence.

That same privilege shows up every Monday morning, in every hard conversation, and in every project that isn’t going according to plan.

The opportunity that looks different than what you pictured doesn’t need your resentment about what it’s not. It needs your energy for what it could be.

Like Columbus did, we all keep logs—mental or physical. We all write entries about the moments when life didn’t deliver what we expected. What are you writing?

“Not half as beautiful as expected”?

Or something more like “Not what I expected. But exactly what I needed to show up for.”

[This is the first post in a short series about lessons learned from “Not half as beautiful as painted.” What other lessons jump out to you from this Columbus story? Share this post with others and post your ideas in the comments section below!]

Connecting this quote to the story. Columbus didn’t suffer from seeing manatees. He suffered from judging them against a mermaid fantasy, similar to when reality fails to meet the expectations we bring to the moment.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: You can’t contribute meaningfully to a moment you’re busy resenting.

* Shout out to Rory Donovan for sparking this week’s ideas.

“The beginning is the most important part of the work.”

— Plato

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon!

How You Enter Matters More Than What You Plan

The tradition of a January 1st New Year's goes back over 2,000 years to Julius Caesar in 45 BCE. In ancient Rome, the New Year was about something different than goals, resolutions, productivity hacks, or bold declarations of what one was finally going to fix.

It was about who you would be.

January takes its name from Janus, the god with two faces. One face looked backward, and the other looked forward. Janus didn't represent change through ambition. He represented change through awareness.

Ancient Romans believed the way you entered the year shaped everything that followed. It wasn’t what one wrote down or promised to do “after things slow down.” What mattered was the words, energy, actions, and presence on day one.

On New Year’s Day, Romans exchanged strenae, gifts of figs, dates, and honey. Sweet things to ensure a sweet year. They believed the generosity practiced on the first day of the year would become generosity practiced all year.

The first actions carried weight, and that momentum carried over. Newton told us this in 1687. While the Laws of Motion don’t explain human behavior, they seem to fit. Once you start moving, it tends to keep moving in the same direction.

Janus is a reminder that every beginning is a reckoning. You don’t get to look forward honestly unless you’re willing to look back clearly, something we often forget. You don’t flip a switch on January 1st and magically become different. You carry something across the threshold.

And whatever you carry tends to multiply. If you enter the year rushed, guarded, cynical, or already tired, no resolution can save you. If you enter it grounded, curious, generous, and present, momentum will take care of the rest.

The Romans practiced vota—vows at their temples on New Year’s Day. But these weren’t really about oneself. They were declarations of who they would be in service to others. “I will be the kind of person who...,” not “I will accomplish X.”

That distinction matters. Because you don’t become who you want to be later. You practice being that person from the first moment. It isn’t from “wanting,” it’s from “doing.”

The Romans weren’t naïve. They knew each new year would bring difficulties. They believed that how you entered the new year mattered.

Most will sprint past the doorway, dragging last year’s frustration, unfinished business, and self-criticism right along with them. Then they wonder why the new year feels heavy by February.

This year, pause at the threshold. Look back—not to judge, but to learn. Look forward—not to predict, but to choose.

Instead of asking, “What do I want to accomplish this year?” consider asking, “What kind of person am I choosing to be as I step forward?”

That question still works.

Connecting this quote to the story. The way we enter this year (our words, actions, and presence) becomes a habit, and those early habits quietly shape who we become and how we influence everything that follows.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Great leadership begins with discovering what each person is uniquely built to do.

“Christmas isn’t a day. It’s a feeling.”

— Edna Ferber

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon!

A brief schedule change for everyone who has grown accustomed to a Sunday morning Chasing Influence message. For the next two weeks, the message will be on Thursdays. Happy Holidays!

The Gift We Forget to Give Ourselves

Christmas has always been a holiday built on belief.

Belief that things can be made new. Belief that light still matters in the darkest part of the year. Belief that love, generosity, and goodness are worth leaning into, even if the world feels heavy.

For some, that belief is deeply rooted in faith and the story of Christ’s birth. For others, it shows up in different ways … traditions, family gatherings, old songs, candlelight, or the simple hope that tomorrow can be better than today.

But no matter how you experience it, Christmas asks something of all of us.

It asks us to believe.

We believe in people again.
We believe in reconciliation.
We believe in peace, goodwill, and second chances.
We believe that broken things can be repaired.

And maybe most powerfully, we believe the best is still possible.

That’s why this season feels different. We suspend cynicism for a moment. We loosen our grip on doubt. We allow ourselves—if only briefly—to imagine a world that’s kinder, more generous, and more hopeful than the one we must sometimes navigate.

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about this year.

We’re really good at believing for others this time of year.

We believe in our kids. We believe in our teams. We believe in humanity. We believe in miracles, big or small.

But too often, we forget one important place to aim that belief: ourselves.

Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped believing we were still becoming. We stopped believing we could change and the next chapter could be better than the last.

Yet Christmas reminds us that belief is powerful precisely because it comes before proof; belief makes magic possible! So what if this year, amid all the giving, you gave yourself a different kind of gift? What if you gave yourself permission to believe again?

To believe you’re not done growing, that you still have something meaningful to offer, and the version of you that you’re becoming—no matter where you are in life—is worth investing in.

Christmas is more than celebrating hope—it is about practicing it.

And maybe the most personal, most lasting way to honor Christmas
is to give yourself one of the greatest gifts—to believe in yourself again.

Connecting this quote to the story. Christmas invites us to notice light—hope, renewal, and possibility—even when life feels heavy, and ultimately challenges us to recognize that same light within ourselves.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Those who inspire the most belief in others are the ones who haven’t given up on themselves.

“The things that make me different are the things that make me.”

— A.A. Milne

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon!

When Your Difference Becomes Your Strength

1939 was a rough year for Robert L. May. His wife was dying of cancer and the medical bills were crushing him. His boss at Montgomery Ward had just handed him what seemed like a throwaway assignment. He was tasked with writing a Christmas story for a giveaway booklet. Nothing fancy, but something the store could hand out to shoppers instead of the usual coloring books.

May sat down at his Chicago work desk, broke, exhausted, and with his wife’s health declining. As he looked out at the fog over Lake Michigan, he started sketching a character. A misfit … an outcast … a reindeer with a glowing red nose that made him the butt of all jokes at the North Pole.

He almost named him Rollo. Then Reginald. But something about “Rudolph” stuck. May’s children’s book grew from a reflection of his own life—feeling small, overlooked, burdened by circumstances he couldn’t control. But in Rudolph’s story, May wrote about something he needed to believe: that what makes you different can become what makes you important.

Montgomery Ward printed 2.4 million copies that first year. By the time Christmas rolled around, Rudolph was everywhere. Ten years later, May’s brother-in-law Johnny Marks turned the story into a song. Gene Autry recorded it, and we have heard it every December since.

What most people miss in the catchy song is that Rudolph’s story is more than a reindeer with a shiny nose. It’s about belief and the quiet power of standing out when the world tells you to look and act like everyone else.

Rudolph didn’t fit in. The other reindeer made that painfully clear. They laughed, excluded him from their reindeer games, and pushed him right aside.

Sound familiar? Has it happened to you?

Every leader, coach, or team member has experienced this in some form. Maybe you spoke up when others stayed silent. Maybe your approach didn’t match the crowd. Maybe the very thing that made you effective also made you uncomfortable to be around. Maybe you did something great but no one else recognized or appreciated your efforts.

Rudolph didn’t change his ways. He remained who he was … a red-nosed reindeer. His big break came when someone—Santa—saw his difference in a way others did not. It was precisely what the big guy needed.

“Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

That question changed everything for Rudolph, and his peculiar nose. His nose didn’t become less red or less unusual, but someone finally recognized that what set him apart was the answer to the problem no one else could solve. What does this mean for all of us?

1. Use your difference as an advantage, not a liability. Rudolph didn’t succeed by becoming like everyone else. He succeeded by leaning into what made him different. The people who are difference-makers are rarely the ones who blend in best. They’re the ones who see differently, think differently, and aren’t afraid to glow red and look a bit different. What makes you different is an asset—it allows you the ability to see and experience life in a unique way.

2. Belief unlocks potential. Santa didn’t fix Rudolph. He didn’t train him or coach the red out of his nose. He simply believed in him and invited him to lead. Great leaders see beyond what team members can do to recognize the unique contributions each person brings—especially those others overlook and create space for that difference to shine.

3. Crisis reveals strength. Rudolph’s moment didn’t come on a sunny day. It came in fog so thick that even the most experienced reindeer couldn’t navigate. When the weather was perfect, Rudolph’s nose was a joke. When the storm hit, it became salvation. The same is true in life. The qualities that seem odd or unnecessary in calm times often become critical when conditions shift. The person who asks hard questions. The one who thinks ten steps ahead. The teammate who refuses to follow the herd.

Rudolph didn’t use his differences to prove himself; he used them to serve others (and to help deliver presents to kids around the world!). He could have stayed bitter and told the other reindeer to figure it out themselves. But when Santa came calling, he stepped up to guide that sleigh.

Robert L. May wrote Rudolph’s story during one of the darkest seasons of his life. He created something that has outlasted him by generations, a story that reminds us that our struggles don’t disqualify us … they prepare us. As you celebrate the holidays, what’s the red nose that makes you the difference-maker you are?

Connecting this quote to the story. Rudolph became irreplaceable not by fitting in with the other reindeer, but by embracing the very difference that everyone else dismissed—his red nose—which turns out to be exactly what the moment requires.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: Great leadership begins with discovering what each person is uniquely built to do.

“Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.”

-James Clear

What’s Your Juice? Unlock the Energy that Transforms Performance, Fuels Purpose, and Ignites the People Around You is now available on Amazon!

Traveling recently, the flight reservation system asked me to add my emergency contact information. It’s an activity many of us do with some regularity and probably give little thought to the question or answer. Have you ever wondered who might be adding your name and number to that blank field?

Maybe it’s your significant other, a parent, or your children? Could it be someone you didn’t expect?

I was listed as an emergency contact, and I had no idea.

One of my colleagues had a medical emergency while at work. By the time I arrived, paramedics were already rushing him to the hospital. The next day, I stopped by to check on him. We worked well together, but we weren’t especially close. It was a visit to check in and make sure he was doing okay.

Then I saw it.

On the whiteboard in his hospital room, among the doctor’s notes and vital signs, was my name and number. I was listed as his emergency contact.

I stared at it, speechless.

I wasn’t family, a lifelong friend, or someone he confided in regularly. Yet when he had to choose one person to rely on in a moment of need, he picked me.

That moment has stayed with me ever since. I never thought I would experience something like it again, but the impression lasted … we just never know how significant our influence might be or how significant we may be to another person.

And then years later at 4:30am, ring … ring … ring. My phone lit up my dark bedroom. Unknown number. My first instinct said let it go to voicemail.

Something told me to answer.

“Hello, boss…” The voice was familiar, quiet, quivering. “I… I’m in jail.”

It was a former employee. Different crisis. Same reason for the call.

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

He didn’t need bail money. He needed someone who would bring the right energy into the worst moment of his life. Someone who would listen without judgment. Someone who could help him slow things down when panic was taking over.

Here’s what those moments taught me:

Your influence isn’t built in big gestures. It’s built in daily deposits.

The energy you bring to ordinary moments determines whether someone reaches for you during their darkest 4:30am. The way you show up when nothing is at stake determines whether people trust you when everything is on the line.

You may never realize how much you mean to someone.
You may never know your name is written on somebody’s mental whiteboard as the person they’d call when life’s struggles hit.

But they know.

Your presence and care fill the space between your words and actions. It’s what people remember when they’re scared, overwhelmed, or lost. It’s the calm you bring into chaos. The consistency that builds trust long before it’s ever tested. It’s the reason they call you at 4:30am.

So who might list you as their emergency contact … and what will make people want to list you?

The juice you bring today will determine whether your phone rings tomorrow.

Connecting this quote to the story. Becoming someone’s emergency contact doesn’t happen from moments of crisis, but through everyday, ordinary interactions where trust is quietly built long before it’s ever needed.

This week’s Chasing Influence tip: If you want to be trusted in a crisis, start by being reliable in the ordinary.