There is an art to laying brick.
At first glance, it doesn't seem all that complicated. You take a brick, spread some mortar, set it in place, and move on to the next one. Repeat the process enough times, and eventually you have a wall.
But anyone who has spent time around a skilled mason knows there's a whole lot more to it than that.
Bricklaying is tedious, physically demanding, and requires an incredible amount of patience. Every brick has to be positioned just right. The mortar has to be consistent. The lines have to be straight. And every so often, you have to stop, step back, and make sure what you're building is actually going in the right direction.
There's a reason master masons are hard to find and their craftsmanship is in such high demand. They understand something that takes years of experience to appreciate.
The strength of a wall isn't found in any single brick. It's found in how all those bricks come together.
I've spent a good portion of my professional life learning that leadership isn't much different.
I've had the opportunity, more than once, to walk into situations where something needed to be built, rebuilt, or repaired.
Sometimes that meant starting something from scratch. Other times it meant stepping into organizations that had experienced some difficult seasons. Relationships had become strained. Trust had been tested. Communication had broken down. And people were frustrated, discouraged, or simply tired of hearing that things were going to get better.
Somewhere along the way, and without really setting out to do so, I think I've found a bit of a niche.
I've become pretty good at fixing things that aren't working quite the way they should.
Not because I have all the answers or some special ability to turn things around overnight. I've just found that I genuinely enjoy the challenge of taking something that has struggled, figuring out what makes it tick, bringing people together, and helping it find its footing again.
There's something incredibly rewarding about seeing relationships restored, watching people regain confidence, and helping an organization recognize the potential that's been there all along. And maybe that's why I've always tried to approach those situations with a glass-half-full mentality.
Where some see dysfunction, I see an opportunity to establish clarity. Where relationships have been damaged, I see an opportunity to rebuild trust. Where people have become disconnected, I see an opportunity to bring them back together.
But I've also learned that optimism, while important, can sometimes get you into trouble.
I've experienced situations where I genuinely believed something had been fixed, only to discover that we had addressed the symptoms without ever dealing with the underlying problem. And if I'm willing to be completely transparent, there have been times when I probably knew there was more beneath the surface but chose to see the best in the situation anyway.
I've always believed in giving people opportunities. I've believed in developing talent from within, promoting people who have invested in an organization, and giving individuals the chance to grow into something more.
I still believe in those things.
But I've also learned, sometimes the hard way, that seeing the best in people and seeing people clearly are not always the same thing.
There have been times when I've allowed someone's potential to overshadow what their actions were telling me. Times when I've mistaken a willingness to move forward for a genuine commitment to change. And times when I've wanted a relationship or situation to work so badly that I overlooked signs that something wasn't quite right.
A wall can look perfectly straight from the outside while the mortar holding it together is slowly deteriorating. And if you're not willing to examine what's happening beneath the surface, eventually something is going to give.
I think that's one of the more complicated parts of leadership. You have to be willing to trust people while also recognizing that trust needs to be supported by actions. You have to give people opportunities without ignoring patterns of behavior. And you have to recognize that repairing something doesn't necessarily mean it's been restored.
That doesn't mean becoming cynical or assuming the worst in people. I refuse to believe that's the answer.
It means learning to balance optimism with discernment. It also means recognizing that you can't build a healthy organization by avoiding difficult conversations or hoping that unresolved issues will somehow work themselves out.
Through those experiences, I've developed a few principles that I try to carry with me.
Listen before you build.
You don't have to agree with every perspective, but you ought to understand it. People are much more willing to be part of something when they believe their experiences and opinions matter.
Don't confuse activity with progress.
It's easy to fill a calendar, launch initiatives, and make changes. It's much harder to determine whether those things are actually making the organization stronger. Being busy and building something meaningful aren't always the same thing.
Be willing to repair before you replace.
Not every strained relationship is beyond saving. Not every struggling process needs to be thrown out. Sometimes the most meaningful progress comes from recognizing what's worth preserving and putting in the effort to make it stronger.
Understand that trust takes time.
You can't demand it because of a title, and you certainly can't rush it. Trust is earned through consistency, transparency, humility, and doing what you say you're going to do.
Give people something to build toward.
It's difficult to move forward when everyone is focused on what went wrong. A shared sense of purpose doesn't erase the past, but it gives people a reason to believe in the future.
And finally, remember that you aren't the only one laying bricks.
Leadership isn't about building something impressive so people can admire what you've accomplished. It's about helping people recognize what they're capable of accomplishing together. A master mason doesn't measure the quality of their work by how quickly they can stack bricks. They measure it by whether what they've built is straight, strong, and capable of standing long after they've put their tools away.
I think there's a valuable lesson in that for all of us. When I look back on my leadership experiences, I don't want to measure success simply by what I accomplished while I was there.
I want to know whether relationships are stronger. Whether people feel supported. Whether trust has grown. Whether the organization is better positioned for whatever comes next.
