Tremendous Tracey

In the kingdom of Leadership, there lived two knights of equal skill and training. Both faced the same fire-breathing dragons, the same treacherous terrain, the same impossible quests. But their approaches couldn't have been more different.

Sir Mount charged into every battle with his sword held high. When the dragon breathed fire, he didn't retreat—he found another path around. When his quest went sideways (and they always did), he adapted and pressed forward. When others needed rescuing from the tower, Sir Mount was the first to volunteer, knowing full well the climb would be brutal.

Sir Render, on the other hand, had a different strategy: surrender before the battle even began. He saw the fire-breathing dragon and immediately catalogued all the ways he'd get burned. He viewed every quest as proof that the kingdom was doomed. When asked to rescue others, he'd list seventeen reasons why it was impossible.

Leadership in crisis isn't about knowing the right thing to say—it's about being the right kind of person long before the crisis comes. It's about building a "bunker" of trust, truth, and training into the hearts of your people—not a shelter of fear but a system of faith.

As I left that underground hallway and stepped back into the sunlight, I didn't just feel grateful. I felt challenged. Am I building in others what the crisis will reveal?

The Ides of March is a historical marker of betrayal, a reminder that even the most powerful leaders are not immune to sabotage. At the peak of his leadership, Julius Caesar was undone by those he trusted most. But you don't have to be an emperor to experience your own Ides of March. If you're leading, at some point, the knives will come out.

The type of leaders that I hang with are courageous. They have a keen sense of discernment, a compulsion to speak the truth professionally, and a sense of service over self. So why do these brave point people get vilified, sniped at, or even railroaded out of the very entity they are trying to help?