Somebody called me this week.

There was nothing unusual about it. I saw the name. I answered. We talked.

And somewhere in the middle of the conversation, they told me that the work I'm doing matters.

Then they made it personal. They told me I had mattered to them.

I don't remember what I said back. Probably something awkward. Probably tried to brush it off a little.

That's what we do when something lands deeper than we're ready for.

But after we hung up, I sat there for a minute.

And I felt different.

I still don't have a better word for it. It was like someone gave me a shot of something I didn't know I needed.

That's the part I keep coming back to.

I didn't know.

If you had asked me that morning how I was doing, I would have said fine. And I would have meant it. Nothing was wrong. Nothing had happened. The people I love were fine.

But I'd had a few of those moments that week. The ones where the confidence you normally carry gets a little quieter. Where you wonder whether you're on the right path. Whether the thing you're pouring yourself into becomes what you believe it can.

I hadn't told anybody about that.

It never occurred to me that I should.

The Role

That feeling got me thinking about something.

Somebody is always the strong one.

For their team. For their family. For their friends.

Because that's the role.

Somebody has to be steady. Somebody has to be the one who says we'll figure it out. And once you're that person for enough people, you don't get to put it down whenever you feel like it. It's who you have to be, most of the time, for most of them.

And when you're in that role long enough, you stop noticing that you need the same thing you're handing out.

You're too busy being the one who has it handled.

Which brought me back to an elevator. Actually, probably hundreds of them.

There were days during my career when I'd step into one carrying something heavy. A decision. Something happening above us. Something I knew that my team didn't.

I can't remember most of the specific issues anymore. But I remember the feeling.

The doors would close. And for those few floors, I could let myself think about all of it.

What happens if this goes wrong?

What am I missing?

What do I tell them?

What can't I tell them?

I'd watch the numbers change above the doors. Getting closer to my floor.

And somewhere between one floor and the next, I'd straighten myself up. Take whatever I was carrying and put it somewhere nobody could see it.

Ding.

The doors would open. And I'd smile.

I'd walk onto the floor like everything was going to be okay.

Nobody out there knew what had just happened in there.

Of course they didn't. I made sure they didn't.

If That's You

Yours might not be an elevator.

Maybe it's the car in the driveway. The engine's off and you're still sitting there, because the second you walk through that door everyone is going to look up, and whatever's on your face is going to set the temperature of the whole house.

So you sit there another minute. And you fix your face.

Maybe it's the parking lot before your shift or the stairwell.

Maybe it’s the decision that's already made but hasn't been announced.
The number in the bank account.

And you carry it, and you walk in, and you smile.

Because people need you to.

If that's you, I want to say something.

I see you.

You've probably been doing it so long that nobody in your life thinks to check on you anymore. That isn't their failure. It's a measure of how good you've gotten at it.

And I want to thank you.

Because that is leadership. Not the title, and not the org chart. The part where you absorb something so the people around you can keep moving peacefully.

Make the Call

Think about who does that for you.

The one who's always there. The one who knows what to say. The one everybody leans on, at work or at home, because they've always been able to carry it.

That strong exterior might be in need of a call.

So that's my ask this week. If anything I've written over these last 122 weeks has ever meant something to you, give me this one.

Think about your person. You probably already know who it is.

Call them. Text them.

There's a good chance they'll answer the way people like that tend to answer.

"Hey... everything okay?"

And you say: "Yeah. Everything's great. I just wanted to call you."

Then tell them. Tell them what they did. Tell them what they mean to you. Tell them you're grateful they're in your life. Tell them they're friggin' awesome.

And if they laugh it off or try to change the subject, don't let them.

Make them hear you.

Because somewhere in your life is a person who has gotten very good at walking through a door with a smile.

So good that you may have never once stopped to wonder what happens before it opens.

They may be having a wonderful week. They may need absolutely nothing from you.

Or they may be standing alone in an elevator right now.

Watching the numbers climb.

Carrying something nobody knows about.

Getting ready for the doors to open.

Make the call.

You have no idea how badly they might need it.

They might not know either.

Trust me.

I know.

P.S. My first novel, Leadership at the Dinner Table, drops September 15^th!!
Join the waitlist today!

With Absolute Sincerity,

Ed Clementi,

Founder & CEO of Inspired Fire, LLC

Make an Impact and Feel an Impact!