Going Nuclear

The longer you run the race, the more you learn that not every problem requires the nuclear option.

One of the gifts of getting older—and being in business for a long time—is perspective.

Things that would have made me incredibly angry ten or fifteen years ago don’t seem to have quite the same effect anymore. It’s not that they aren’t important. People still make poor decisions. Commitments get broken. Money gets lost. If you lead for long enough, you’re going to be disappointed, misunderstood and occasionally taken advantage of.

Earlier in my career, I had a tendency to treat too many of those situations as if they were life or death. Something went wrong, and I needed to fix it immediately. Someone crossed a line, and I needed to make sure they knew it.

But business—and leadership—is a marathon, not a sprint.

When you’ve been running for a while, you begin to realize that you’ve seen storms before. Things that felt catastrophic at the time somehow worked themselves out. Problems that consumed your thoughts eventually became stories you barely remember.

That perspective is valuable because it helps you protect something incredibly important: your peace.

I’m learning that not everything requires the nuclear option.

A nuclear weapon certainly accomplishes something. The problem is the carnage it leaves behind. Leadership can be the same way. You can prove your point, fire off the email, win the argument or make sure everybody knows exactly how badly you’ve been wronged.

But sometimes the better question isn’t, “Can I win this?”

It’s, “What will be left when I do?”

And maybe an even more important question: “What is this doing to my own soul?”

Peter describes Jesus this way:

“When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate… Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.” — 1 Peter 2:23

Jesus wasn’t weak. He confronted people, spoke truth and established boundaries. But He didn’t allow someone else’s behavior to determine His response.

I also think about Jesus in the boat during the storm. The disciples are convinced they’re going to die. The wind is howling, waves are crashing over the boat, everyone is panicking—and Jesus is asleep on a cushion.

Same storm. Completely different perspective.

There’s something in that picture I want more of in my own leadership.

Age and experience should give us the ability to look at today’s storm and remember all the storms God has already brought us through. We can still hold people accountable. We can still establish boundaries. We can still have difficult conversations. But we don’t have to surrender our peace to do it.

Sometimes maturity sounds surprisingly simple:

Calm down. It’s going to be okay.

Longevity teaches you to conserve your emotional energy for the things that truly matter. You don’t have to turn every conflict into a crisis or every disappointment into a battle.

There are moments to take a strong stand. But strength and calm aren’t opposites.

The longer I run this race, the more I want to become the kind of leader who can deal honestly with what needs to be dealt with, love people well, protect my heart, and keep moving forward without leaving unnecessary carnage behind.

Because if this really is a marathon, how we run matters just as much as how fast we run.