There is a form of capital in your organization that never shows up on a balance sheet, a currency that influences your culture beyond measure.

Recently, a CEO I deeply respect said something that stuck with me. He said,

“If I am honest, I did not enjoy this exercise. I did this for you – because you asked me to.”

There was something in the way he said it. It was clear: He trusts me more than he trusts the process I am leading him through.

Are you leading as if disruption is behind you…or as if it’s part of the job description?

It has been more than five years since the world shut down.

I was in full-time ministry when donuts and coffee were “the thing.”

And not just any donuts and coffee. We had some of the best in the region.

Occasionally there was excess that lasted into the week. Other times it was holidays, celebrations, or staff gatherings. Cakes. Cookies. Pastries. All manner of baked goods were often on the counter for the taking.

As someone who genuinely loves processed sugar, those were good times.

But somewhere along the way, my mindset – and my waistline – began to shift.

Not overnight. Not dramatically. Just slowly enough to notice that what once felt like a treat had become routine, and what once energized me now left me sluggish.

It was after that shift that I began to dream of a day when I would be responsible for the office menu.

A day when the food provided to my staff would be a bowl of beautiful, ripe, in-season, delicious, whole fruit.

You’ve heard the phrase, “I’m worth more dead than alive!” Maybe you’ve even uttered it.

It is a common quip after the initial payment on a significant life insurance policy. Understandable. The immediate windfall of the execution of that contract would be significant.

But let’s get real for a second and remove our proverbial tongue from said cheek.

It’s just not true, no matter the size of the estate transfer.

Christian leaders tend to speak comfortably about generosity. We encourage it. We celebrate it. We build language, culture, and reputation around it.

And rightly so.

But when commerce enters the conversation, especially profit, pricing, ownership, or control, the tone often shifts.

Tension creeps in. Motives get questioned. Assumptions are many.

The decision took less than two seconds. The preparation behind that decision has taken years.

Three seventeen-year-old young men were aggressively pursuing a loose ball. My eyes were darting across about fifteen degrees of viewing angle scanning for a tie-up, illegal contact, or unnecessary roughness.

At the same time, a coach was directly behind me yelling for a time out. In order to grant that time out, however, I needed visual proof of player control of the ball.

The entire sequence lasted maybe three seconds. Tops.

The moment a leader promises fairness, they step into a minefield of expectations they cannot fully control.

Fairness is not a fixed point. It is a constantly moving target shaped by bias, perspective, and self-interest.

Unfortunately, fairness feels like a reasonable expectation in leadership.

Employees expect it.
Customers demand it.
Vendors measure it.
Boards assume it.

And leaders are right to care deeply about being as fair as possible in their dealings with others.

The challenge is the fact that everyone brings their own definition of “fair” into the conversation. And almost without exception, that definition leans in the direction of their personal biases.

That reality makes fairness, at its core, a leadership trap.

Privilege.

A word that has been turned into a label, an accusation.

But for most of human history, that was not the case. Privilege was understood to be something we earned, protected, and carried responsibly.

Somewhere along the way, it became radioactive.

One does not “accidentally” grow.

If your development is occasional, reactive, or isolated, it is already costing you more than you realize.

Most executive leaders do not fail because they lack talent, intelligence, or experience. They fail because they slowly drift.

Not dramatically.
Not publicly.
Quietly.

Drift happens when growth becomes optional, sporadic, or assumed. It happens when experience replaces intentional formation, when stability masquerades as strength, and when leaders convince themselves that what carried them here will somehow carry them forward.

It will not.

Senior leadership does not forgive neglect. It exposes it.

Senior leaders carry an enviable asset that rarely shows up on résumés or performance reviews: Seasoned perspective.

It involves a confidence that cannot be taught. One is “survived” into it.

It comes from time in the arena. From leading through moments that felt dark, grim, and at times nearly hopeless. From trying, failing, recalibrating, and trying again.

From discovering firsthand that what once felt potentially fatal was, in fact, not just survivable, but formative.

Storms change a leader.