My sister is one of those people who shows up every day for work that most people couldn’t do.
As a paraprofessional at a school for students with developmental needs, she pours herself into kids who need her most – the ones who are misunderstood, underestimated, and often just having the hardest time navigating a world that wasn’t built for them. She loves these kids. You can hear it in the way she talks about them, even on the days that would break most people.
Like …
Last week, a student spiraled out of control, which happens from time to time. He dumped a full bucket of dry erase board cleaner on the floor, sending the school into lockdown. She slipped while trying to help clean up the mess. She’s now in a knee brace and enrolled in physical therapy.
That story would have been the talk of the district, had it not been immediately overshadowed by two local bus drivers who were allegedly hooking up in a grocery store parking lot.
She shared all of this with me the other day, laughing about the dynamics of her day. Then she asked what I was up to.
I’ll be honest .. I didn’t want to tell her. I was sitting in the airport Delta lounge, sipping a decaf Americano and munching on a kale caesar, awaiting a first-class bump en route to a client site where the challenges on the agenda were… a bit different.
Our worlds don’t look the same. And honestly, that’s partly by design. The work I’ve chosen puts me in boardrooms and conference rooms, working with leaders who have their own set of challenges, just a different kind. I’m not navigating lockdowns or slippery floors. I’m not in the rooms where things get that raw.
Sometimes after talking with her, I wonder what I’m missing. Have I built something so polished that I’ve lost touch with the full, messy, wild spectrum of human experience? What’s the cost of that? Probably more than I realize.
It raises a question worth sitting with: How real is my life? Maybe you’re asking yourself the same thing.
We’re all starting to feel it, especially with AI in the mix. I can’t tell you how many photos, texts, and videos I see and think: is this even real? Full disclosure: I was completely duped by a Shane Gillis, David Goggins, and Joe Rogan spoof. My kids haven’t let me forget it. Still won’t.
We’re craving truth. Authenticity. Something unedited.
The solution isn’t doomscrolling or manufacturing suffering. It’s simpler, and more intentional. Call the person in your life with the wild stories. Walk into the breakroom and ask how people are actually doing. Volunteer somewhere outside your comfort zone. Show up for something that has nothing to do with your agenda … and everything to do with staying grounded.
It matters because it rounds us out. It levels us. It reminds us that the details we’re wrestling with today, while real and valid, aren’t the whole world.
For leaders especially, this matters. A curated reality is a limited perspective. And limited perspective is a leadership liability. It shows up in ways that are hard to ignore:
Blind spots in decision-making. When your world is too filtered, you miss signals that people closer to the ground are reading clearly. You make calls based on incomplete information and wonder why execution falls apart.
Missed innovation. Breakthroughs rarely come from polished boardrooms. They come from friction– from unexpected collisions of perspective, from seeing how the world actually works, not how we wish it did.
Erosion of connection. When you consistently turn away from discomfort, you lose the ability to relate to the people around you … and they feel it. Leaders who can’t meet people in their hard moments, their frustration, their chaos don’t inspire loyalty. They inspire distance.
So that’s my marching order for myself this week: continue to keep it real. Want to join me on the journey? Your next breakthrough might be hiding in the mess.
