What a decade of writing for one CEO taught me

For nearly a decade, I wrote perspectives and opinions for a CEO – what the business world calls thought leadership. This is what it looked like:

Each month, the CEO of a privately held services company gathered a hand-picked team of trusted professionals to discuss and debate issues – what’s trending, what’s around the corner, what’s being overlooked, what’s is being misrepresented, and what matters to her company’s audience.

One of us would be charged with drafting the perspective, and occasionally two of us would take a crack at the same topic to examine two different approaches.

We didn’t always agree but we never failed to uncover a truthful perspective, something to say with conviction that we hadn’t heard articulated. The process forced us to think more deeply about what was happening in and around our work, and what clients might find valuable as they wrestled with their own work.

Then we revised, edited, and edited some more before putting it into the world.

Always to an email list first, then to the social feeds.

What came next was the remarkable part.

“How do you know this works?”

It’s the question everyone asks. The response the CEO gave wasn’t what anyone on her team expected. It was atypical of the work-and-response rhythms of client work.     

In that decade of writing, not once did anyone bring analytics to our meetings. Not. Once. And nobody asked for them. The extent of our group’s awareness of “effectiveness” was in the earliest days, confirming emails were sent, noticing an unopened rate to consider a second send, and then making adjustments to dead emails or unsubscribes, which we rare.

Instead, our time together was intentional, focused on mapping and pressure-testing the next set of ideas. That was the important thing – thinking through issues and perspectives that would benefit clients.

In time, it was as though the written content became a secondary byproduct of our robust dialogue, strengthening our perspectives and resolve on key issues.  

Yet the questions from the outside persisted – how do you know this works? – the CEO’s answer was unexpected and refreshing. She said plainly – I don’t know.

And by I don’t know, she meant that she didn’t know what the analytics were, even though she could access them.

That data, if she chose to trust the numbers, easily could’ve killed our work early on.

So why did she persist for a decade?

It became personal

Here’s the thing — she experienced something more valuable than numbers and percentages could reveal.

Before we developed a cadence or monthly expectation among her audience, her peers in the c-suite we responding – first to the to the listserv email, and then to her personal inbox, providing affirming comments, their own thoughts, and occasional pushback, which she welcomed and responded to thoughtfully. At meetings, events, and galas, leaders would tell her they read her latest perspective.

She would share the written comments, unedited, with her hand-picked team. These were supposedly busy executives who didn’t have time to read monthly thought leadership, let alone respond to it.   

It was the only metric that mattered, her tangible proof this was valuable to others, revealing itself in an email, a comment on a client call, a random encounter out in public. It became about personal engagement: her thoughts, their reactions, and ongoing dialogue.

She would openly admit there was no conclusive proof that any of it translated to a specific piece of new work. But she knew it put her top of mind among her audience, creating recall when they bumped into similar issues she’d already wrestled with and shared.  

We didn’t check a thought leadership box with expectation of what would happen the following week or month. We were coming together to challenge ourselves, putting a stake in the ground on what we thought, and sharing our own wrestling match with others where she had the final say on what she believed and attached to her name.

This was true thought leadership — the kind that was never intended to become another cog inside a sales funnel.

Instead, we created authority through the candid and consistent work of thinking through hard issues so that when people needed perspective or expertise, they knew where to turn. She was adamant that we would not turn this exercise into a blatant sales pitch.

What I carry forward

I was an outsider this CEO trusted. I wish I could pinpoint the initial why of that trust, but I worked hard to maintain it, mainly by questioning, pushing, and presenting other perspectives. Sometimes my arguments could shift her lens. Often it galvanized her original thinking and views, spurring language for us in how to defend it.

In retrospect, that decade-long assignment was one of my favorites. And it led to opportunities to work with her and her team in other ways. That’s what trust does.

It also sharpened my thinking and counsel to clients on what I see as effective thought leadership. I believe it has four essential components.

1. Understand the commitment. I’ve worked on several multi-year campaigns with clients. I’ve also had just as many stall after a few months because they expected thought leadership to do their sales work for them. Knowing what you’re committing to – creating authority, not sales conversion – determines if you have the stamina for the work and its intent. Commit to showing up and see what emerges. 

2. Make it a collaborate effort. Working in a small collaborative of trusted thinkers helps to pressure-test every angle and find your unique position. Even when you think you have great ideas, allowing others you trust to poke at it to see how it holds up before writing is essential. Find the people you trust with your ideas and ask them to challenge it and to show you other points of view over your own bias. This is perhaps the most valuable part of thought leadership.  

3. Have courage. You must convey a distinctive point of view. Regurgitating what others have said is neither leadership, nor is it your unique thinking. Having courage to address hard things and experiences, with resolve and empathy, is what makes you memorable. 

4. Play the long game. Authority and trust aren’t handed out freely. They are earned over time when reliability and relatability converge in the reader’s mind. That said, the practice of gathering for deep thinking and idea sparring forges discipline and defines a path forward, becoming as important as any written product. Give it six months to a year, minimum, and listen closely. Watch your trusted team grow in confidence.

That 10-year assignment didn’t feel like a decade of work. It felt like fun that went way too fast. And when the work is fun and valuable to others, you’re on to something.

The "Attention" Graphic

“PROGRESS” via Visualize Value

One graphic. Two vastly different perspectives.

1. WHAT deserves my attention?

2. WHO deserves my attention?

In the WHAT scenario, this exemplifies focus (good).

In the WHO scenario, this signals missed opportunities. (not so good).

I also see the WHAT-WHO as interconnected.

When I am hyper-focused, I have little time for distractions and interruptions. It’s part of our conditioning to always "strive for" a level of focus that leads to breakthroughs or better outcomes.

But it can come with consequences.

Human consequences.

And if I am to effectively lead a team, my business, clients, or my family forward... I need A LOT more of the Xs on "WHO deserves my attention?" to become checkmarks. (I also think of an X as a person coming back multiple times).

Doing focused work isn't a hall pass to ignore the needs of people who seek your insight, guidance or encouragement. We might not always have the time, right this minute, but we must find ways to make time and space for the people who need us.

Those who get it will have a more profound impact on the people in their sphere of influence.

NOTE: this graphic is originally titled "PROGRESS" from Visualize Value, which prompted how we define & measure progress.

"That's one way to do it."

CRITICISM IS EASY.

Take the harder high road, the more productive path.

Early in my career I had a mentor who was as methodical as the day is long.

I had worked with process-minded people before, but this was a level of process reaching stratospheric proportions. As much as I respected this woman and her many accomplishments, the mere thought of being caught in her process web would send me and some of my fellow colleagues into the proverbial fetal position.  

She held professional titles that included teacher, legislative aide, attorney/partner, executive, plant manager, principal – and she brought every bit of herself and influence from those previous roles and experiences to bear on the work for our clients.

There were days when my younger self hated the prospect of entering her office knowing her full range of experience was about to come crashing down on the crumb of work I was trying to implement for a client.

All I wanted was a simple yes or no; do this or change that.

But the teacher in her wouldn’t make it so easy. Not when she saw a student in front of her.

“That’s one way to do it...”

She had a wealth of stories and phrases that she dropped like clockwork on us. It got to a point, or even a time of year, when we could anticipate them. One that sticks in my head to this day is – “That’s one way to do it.”

Translation: We are not doing it that way.

For years it seemed I was prolific in doing it that one (wrong) way.

It never came off as criticism. It was more a glaring fact, and the more you thought about it you intuitively knew she was right: this was not the way to do it.

I’m sure there were times when she would’ve enjoyed going off script to rip into me and my thinking. Still, she never criticized my ideas or the draft work I put in front of her. Instead she willingly gave me time (and demanded undivided attention from me in return) as she worked alongside me to make things better.

Better, I learned, was a much steeper climb than I thought possible.

Doing the hard work for me wasn’t the experience she was willing to pass down. She also knew that criticizing the work would erode trust in the process. Her experiences helped to guide how she would teach others through experience, and by that I mean failure, and revision, and more revision, until we revised our way into something wholly new and different. Maybe she knew that all along, and what she knew I needed to experience. I can hear her words in my head:

“YOUR FIRST IDEA IS NEVER YOUR BEST IDEA, KID.”

Don’t be wooed by your own sense of accomplishment. There is always room for improvement.

She also didn’t criticize the work of clients or competitors. If we had a different approach, we’d work hard to show value in presenting an alternative perspective. We would be persistent but patient. We would be respectful but resolute. And yes, we’d even be willing to rethink our thinking: is this just one way to do it, or might there actually be a better way than we initially envisioned, now that we have greater insight?

CRITICISM IS EASY.

Take the harder high road, the more productive path.

I don’t recall her ever saying this. She didn’t have to.

But it’s what I gleaned from her and an unwavering work ethic — as a teacher imparting wisdom; as someone in politics who knew that common ground is what moves things forward; as an attorney who understood all the ramifications of missteps; as an executive who valued culture and strategic plans as equally important and intertwined; as a plant manager who took responsibility for people, parts and productivity; and as a principal who never compromised her long-held principles.

When we choose to criticize prospective or existing clients for “not getting it” or when we criticize our competition for taking approaches we disagree with or find unprincipled, we need to recognize it for what it is:  wasted energy that doesn’t lead us down a more productive path.

When we find ourselves in these situations, perhaps we can flip our thinking and be more thankful for what we learn from doing the hard high road work — and that helps us in the end. Restraint and resilience pay powerful dividends later.

I’m grateful for a mentor who didn’t coddle me, who taught me that first ideas are not our best ideas, it’s just one way to do it. And then graciously extended a hand as if to say – let’s improve on that thinking. Let’s keep climbing.

We need more of that right now in all walks of work and life.

I’m renewing my commitment to taking the often harder, but always more productive path.

It’s a process, one that a right-brainer learned from a patient, left-brained mentor. The path is wider than you might imagine and relatively uncrowded — if you’re inclined to join me.

photo credit: Pawel Chu

Silence as a Strategic Advantage

I recently spent an entire week in complete silence.

No talking. No verbal communication whatsoever. Doctor’s orders.

Not exactly ideal for a communicator.

Sadly, this isn’t unusual for me. It marked the fifth time in 10 years this has been necessary: a surgery to address abnormalities with my vocal cords.

Previously I tried to work through my recovery – using hand gestures, mouthing the words, using a white board to convey thoughts in the moment, and staying fully connected as best I could.  

But this time was different.

This time I left town for a remote place assured of silence and a focus on healing.

I limited all screened time. I walked a lot.

I did tactile things – mostly painting. I read for pleasure.  

And this is where my brain did something unexpected.

Instead of shutting off or winding down, my brain accessed a gear that is rarely found amid the speed of daily life.

A week of recovery turned into a week of renewed ingenuity brimming with ideas, surprising connections, and new possibilities. Things that would not have happened had I been running on the proverbial treadmill of work.

To be clear, this was different from vacation, from necessary downtime.

It was a mandated stop of verbal communication and a self-imposed limit on digital communication.

That, I learned, was the key to unlocking the floodgate of possibilities.  

When you are not actively communicating you become an observer, a listener – a discerning captive to that still small voice from within that provides a way forward.

IMAGINE THIS:

You have a big project hanging in the balance or a must-win pitch on the horizon.

You could engage as you always do – brainstorm meetings, ideation sessions, check-ins, status updates, work reviews, more meetings – and then “sprint” to the finish line.

Or you could give your team some silence and space. A mandate to think rather than perform. Consider it the opposite of the groupthink brainstorm.

This doesn’t require extreme measures or a full week’s worth of quiet and processing.

But what if you provided the freedom, untouchable increments of time and some space to breathe, think, and ideate in silence away from scrutiny of performance, away from the tyranny of the urgent?

What fruit might that yield?

What might a collaborative session look like when unfettered thinking is brought back to the table, rather than expecting brilliance to strike during a planned 60-minute brainstorm?

You and your team likely won’t find that hidden gear under those circumstances.

It is not how the flood of creative problem-solving is unleashed. 

Every organization wants the breakthrough idea that accelerates the business. Few are willing to give it the time, space, and necessary silence to bubble up from the quiet depths to the surface.

NOW IMAGINE THIS:

Your competitive advantage isn’t about doing more, or grinding, or hustling, failing even faster, or cracking the whip on your team.

In fact, it might look a lot like doing nothing – or appear to be ignoring the elephant in the room.

But you know looks can be deceiving.

Because what you are doing is making space and clearing a path for the best thinking to emerge. To allow for strategic listening to occur and see how ideas begin morphing into solutions.

That’s not only good business, but it also reenergizes teams to think – and then perform – differently.

And it’s also what organizations seek for the good of their business and their people.