Good Job

It had been a full week.

I was traveling for work, and I had done five events in five days. While that sounds exhausting–and it is–I was feeling really good. The clients, the work, and the venues had all been incredibly life-giving.

On Friday night, I crawled into bed at a quaint Airbnb in Southern California, and I intentionally didn't set an alarm. There was nowhere I needed to be the next day. I decided I would wake up whenever my body was ready.

At 8:20 the next morning, I rolled into the living room and stretched out on the couch. I stayed there until almost 9:00 before finally getting up to make breakfast. I was still feeling a sense of gratitude for the work, but I was also feeling the effects of a very full week.

Around 10:00, I headed out for a long walk.

One of the reasons I selected that Airbnb was its proximity to 20 miles of urban, paved trail. After a week of sitting in traffic and standing in front of audiences, it was time to move, regardless of the summer heat.

As I began my walk, the first mile was a struggle. My legs felt heavy, and the California sun was already heating up the day. I started to wonder if this should be a shorter walk, if it was already too hot, and if I should just turn around.

I wrestled with these thoughts as I continued to walk. I looked up and noticed a man riding his bike toward me on the opposite side of the trail. I always try to acknowledge people when I'm on a trail; a wave, a smile, or a quick head nod.

He wasn't wearing cycling gear. He wasn't flying down the path like someone training for a race. He looked like an ordinary guy just getting a little exercise.

As we made eye contact, he smiled and said something no one has ever said to me on a trail before.

He said, "Good job."

And since I was walking one way, and he was riding the other way, the moment passed very quickly. But there was something very powerful in his words.

The whole interaction lasted maybe two seconds. But his words stayed with me for the rest of the day. I've thought about that exchange a lot since then.

It wasn't just that he encouraged me. It was that I believed him. In that moment, I believed I was doing a good job.

He didn't know I had spent the previous week speaking to audiences across California, that I was tired, or that I had almost turned around minutes earlier. In fact, he didn't know anything about me.

He only knew that another person was out on the trail, putting one foot in front of the other. And somehow that was enough.

As I think back on the significance of his words, I wonder how often we underestimate the power of simply noticing another human being.

Over the past few months, I've been leading an activity with groups that I call "Hug, High-Five, or Handshake." I invite everyone to stand up, find someone in the room, and decide whether they want to give that person a hug, a high-five, or a handshake. Then one person simply tells the other person how they've seen them making a difference. The person who is being spoken to cannot reciprocate the compliment; all they can say is “thank you,” and then they each walk away to find someone else to connect with.

I have watched group after group be changed by this exercise. The hugs are real, the energy is high, and the emotions are heartfelt.  Nearly every time, when we debrief, people share how powerful the exercise was.  In fact, in nearly every group someone says, "I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear that."

And this need impacts not just our work, but our lives. People show up day after day, shouldering responsibilities no one else fully understands, while wondering whether what they’re doing even matters. Daily, they question, does anyone even notice?

Maybe that's why those two words from a stranger hit so hard–he noticed me.

I think that's what human-centered leadership invites us to do. We imagine leadership as giving the perfect speech or having the perfect strategy. But maybe leadership is noticing. Maybe it is simply reminding someone they're doing better than they think. Maybe it’s offering encouragement before someone reaches the finish line instead of waiting until the race is over.

As I continue to think about my exchange with a stranger, I’ve realized that it felt like he wasn't just referring to my walk, it felt like he was acknowledging my entire week.

Five events in five days. Five opportunities to show up as fully as I could.

Of course, he wasn't talking about my week. He couldn't have known any of that. But that's the beautiful thing about being human. Sometimes the people who keep us going have no idea they did.

So, if no one has told you lately, good job. I mean it.

Keep trying. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. And whether it feels like it today or not, you're farther down the trail than you think.

Good job.