Permission to Glow

There's a moment in every leader's journey when the familiar strategies stop working. The pace accelerates, the demands multiply, and despite all the productivity hacks and time management systems, something feels fundamentally off. You're achieving goals, checking boxes, maybe even exceeding expectations, yet a nagging sense persists that you're running on a hamster wheel that keeps spinning faster without taking you anywhere meaningful.

This disconnection isn't a personal failing or a sign of weakness. It's actually a signal that you've outgrown your current operating system. The world around us has shifted into what military strategists call VUCA—volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity—and our old playbooks simply weren't designed for this terrain. What's needed isn't another framework for optimization, but rather a fundamental reimagining of leadership itself. The path forward requires us to move beyond the myth of the self-sufficient achiever and embrace a more expansive understanding of what it means to lead with both power and purpose.

In the corner office of a Fortune 500 company, David sat staring at his calendar, every slot packed with back-to-back meetings stretching into the evening. His team respected him, his results were solid, but inside he felt like he was drowning. The constant urgency had become his normal state, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a real breath. When his assistant asked about scheduling his vacation, he laughed—not because it was funny, but because the idea of stepping away felt impossible.

David had fallen into what many high achievers experience: the trap of equating busyness with importance, speed with effectiveness. Every morning, he'd dive into the river of demands without pausing to consider whether he was swimming in the right direction. His days blurred together in a stream of reactive responses, urgent emails, and the persistent feeling that he was always three steps behind where he needed to be.

The transformation began when David learned to distinguish between being busy and being effective. He discovered that the most productive leaders aren't those who move fastest, but those who create space around themselves—mental, emotional, and physical space that allows for clarity and intentional action. By building in moments of pause, practicing conscious breathing, and protecting time for reflection, he found that his capacity to handle complexity actually increased. The irony was striking: by slowing down, he accomplished more with less effort and stress.

The permission to chill isn't about becoming passive or disengaged. It's about recognizing that in a world accelerating toward chaos, our ability to remain centered and thoughtful becomes our greatest strategic advantage. When we grant ourselves this permission, we discover that peace isn't the absence of challenge—it's the presence of our own unshakeable core.

Sarah prided herself on being unflappable. As a senior executive in a high-pressure industry, she'd cultivated what she called her "game face"—a composed, professional demeanor that never cracked, regardless of what chaos swirled around her. During a particularly challenging merger, she maintained her steady exterior while her team looked to her for stability. But privately, she was struggling with a mix of anxiety, frustration, and grief over the changes that would inevitably come.

One afternoon, during a routine check-in with her coach, Sarah was asked a simple question: "How are you feeling about all this?" For the first time in months, she paused. Really paused. And in that pause, she realized she had been so focused on being the rock for everyone else that she'd completely disconnected from her own emotional experience. She'd been operating from a place of emotional numbness, mistaking it for strength.

The breakthrough came when Sarah learned to view her emotions not as disruptions to be managed, but as valuable intelligence to be consulted. Her feelings of anxiety weren't signs of weakness—they were her inner wisdom alerting her to areas that needed attention. Her frustration wasn't unprofessional—it was pointing toward values that weren't being honored. Her grief wasn't something to push through—it was helping her process the genuine losses that come with any significant change.

As Sarah began to acknowledge and work with her full emotional range, something remarkable happened. Her team noticed the difference immediately. Instead of sensing the controlled tension they'd grown accustomed to, they felt met by someone who was genuinely present and authentically human. Her willingness to model emotional honesty created safety for others to do the same, and the quality of their conversations and decision-making improved dramatically.

When we give ourselves permission to feel deeply, we don't become more fragile—we become more real. And in a world hungry for authentic connection, our willingness to show up as complete human beings becomes one of our most powerful leadership tools.

Marcus had been preparing for this presentation for months. The startup he'd founded was at a crucial inflection point, and this pitch to potential investors could determine whether his vision would survive or crumble. As he stood backstage, waiting for his cue, every fear he'd ever had about not being good enough, smart enough, or worthy enough came rushing to the surface. His hands were shaking, his voice felt uncertain, and part of him wanted to run.

But something deeper than fear was also present. Marcus thought about the problem his company was solving, the team that believed in the mission, and the customers whose lives could be improved by what they were building. He realized that his fear and his excitement were actually made of the same energy—they were both signs that he was standing at the edge of something that mattered. The difference wasn't in eliminating the fear, but in choosing to breathe through it and step forward anyway.

When Marcus walked onto that stage, he made a conscious choice to bring his whole self—including his nervousness, his passion, his vulnerability, and his conviction. Instead of trying to project an image of having it all figured out, he spoke honestly about the challenges they faced and his commitment to working through them. He shared not just the data and projections, but the story behind them and the future he could see so clearly that it pulled him forward despite his uncertainties.

The presentation was a success, but not because it was flawless. It succeeded because Marcus had learned to alchemize his darkness into light. His willingness to be vulnerable while still maintaining his authority, to acknowledge uncertainty while expressing unwavering commitment, created a resonance that mere competence never could. The investors didn't just fund a business plan—they invested in a leader who had demonstrated the courage to glow even when the outcome was uncertain.

The permission to glow in the dark teaches us that our greatest fears often point toward our most important contributions. When we're willing to express our gifts despite our uncertainties, we discover that the very act of showing up authentically becomes a beacon that lights the way for others to do the same.

At the height of her career, Elena had achieved everything she'd thought she wanted. As the CEO of a thriving company, she was respected, well-compensated, and recognized as a leader in her industry. Yet something felt incomplete. Despite her success, she found herself increasingly isolated, carrying the weight of decisions and the burden of responsibility largely alone. She'd become so good at being self-sufficient that she'd forgotten how to truly collaborate and receive support from others.

The shift began when Elena started paying attention to how she interacted with her executive team. She noticed that she had a tendency to already know the answer before asking for input, to delegate tasks without truly empowering ownership, and to take on challenges herself rather than risk disappointment from others' efforts. She was operating from an "I got this" mentality that, while effective in many ways, was limiting both her own growth and the development of those around her.

Elena began experimenting with what it might look like to move from "I got this" to "we got this." She started bringing real questions to her team meetings—not just requests for validation of decisions she'd already made, but genuine inquiries where she didn't know the best path forward. She began sharing her own uncertainties and asking for help in areas where others had stronger skills than her own. Most importantly, she started creating space for other people's lights to shine, even when it meant she wasn't the center of attention.

The transformation was profound. As Elena learned to trust her team more deeply, they stepped up in ways that surprised everyone. Projects that she would have struggled with alone became collaborative adventures that energized the entire organization. Decisions that once felt like heavy burdens became shared explorations that led to innovative solutions no one could have conceived individually. Her role shifted from being the sole source of vision and direction to being a catalyst who helped others discover and express their own unique contributions.

When we give ourselves permission to glow in the light—to shine alongside others rather than despite them—we discover that leadership isn't about being the brightest bulb in the room. It's about creating the conditions where everyone's light can contribute to an illumination far more powerful than any one person could generate alone.

The journey through these four permissions reveals a fundamental truth about leadership in our time: the challenges we face are too complex and interconnected for any individual to solve alone. Our old models of leadership, built on the myth of the self-sufficient hero, are not just insufficient—they're actively counterproductive in a world that requires unprecedented levels of collaboration, innovation, and adaptability.

Each permission builds upon the last, creating a foundation for what might be called "spiritual leadership"—not in any religious sense, but in the recognition that our greatest contributions emerge when we align our actions with something larger than our individual egos. The permission to chill teaches us that our power comes not from constant motion, but from our ability to be present and responsive rather than reactive. The permission to feel reminds us that our emotions are not obstacles to be overcome, but guidance systems to be consulted. The permission to glow in the dark shows us that our fears and our gifts are intimately connected, and that courage isn't the absence of uncertainty but the willingness to act in service of what matters despite that uncertainty. Finally, the permission to glow in the light reveals that our individual excellence finds its highest expression in collective illumination.

The world needs leaders who are willing to show up as complete human beings—centered enough to hold space for complexity, emotionally intelligent enough to navigate the full spectrum of human experience, brave enough to express their unique gifts despite fear, and wise enough to recognize that their individual light shines brightest when it's part of a larger constellation. These permissions aren't just strategies for better leadership—they're invitations to a way of being that can transform not only how we work, but how we live and relate to one another in every aspect of our existence.