The holidays and the New Year have a funny way of pulling our energy in opposite directions.
If I had to choose cartoon characters to describe mine, it would probably be Olaf, Eeyore, and Boss Baby. Some days felt easy breezy, optimistic, and light. Other days felt heavier and slower. And then there were moments of full-on “go mode,” slightly bossy, trying to make everything happen efficiently.
This year, I can proudly say that during the holidays, I was more Olaf than not. Probably because we snuck away for a few days.
That contrast between light and heavy, calm and urgency has been sitting with me as the year gets underway.
Which brings me to both leadership and life this week.
Leadership
I was standing in the back of Kohl’s recently, waiting in a long Amazon return line. You know the one. Christmas returns. End-of-holiday fatigue. Everyone mildly annoyed that this errand is taking longer than it should.
A woman stepped in line behind me, and I could immediately feel her frustration. The kind that doesn’t need words. I casually said something like, “I have a feeling this line is going to move faster than we think.” She gave me a look that said, I’m not convinced.
So we did what people do when they’re stuck together for a few minutes. We talked about our kids. Christmas and the holidays. What we were returning and why. Before we knew it, we were at the front of the line.
As we walked out, she said, “Thanks for restoring my faith in humanity. I’ve had one hell of a day.”
I laughed and said, “Same.” And we both went on with our lives.
I’ll never see her again. And if I’m honest, I wasn’t trying to be a good human. I was just passing time. But it mattered.
And it got me thinking about leadership right now.
This year has felt clunky. Heavy. Loud. Divided. And it’s just getting started. There’s uncertainty we can’t control. External pressure we didn’t ask for. Change coming from every direction. Leaders feel that weight, and so do teams.
What I wonder, though, is if we’re leaving something important on the table in seasons like this. The power of small impact.
When I take a quick inventory of what it actually takes to make a difference, especially in hard seasons, a few things stand out.
· We already know it’s going to be hard. Leadership doesn’t come with a guarantee of ease, and pretending otherwise only creates more tension.
· Small moments matter more than we think. A tone shift in a meeting. A quick check-in. A human moment in the middle of pressure.
· And leadership isn’t always about fixing the big picture. Sometimes it’s about changing how the moment feels. The shared experience of living, surviving, or even thriving together.
You don’t have to control the whole year. You don’t have to solve everything. But you do get to decide how you show up in the small, ordinary moments. In an Amazon line. At the grocery store. At work. Even at the post office (because we all know how long that takes).
Those moments add up faster than we realize.
The world and our teams need humanity. They need steadiness. Presence. A little more kindness. Sometimes that’s all it takes to restore our faith in the world and give us a bit of hope.
Because life doesn’t always go the way we planned.
Life
Vacations get marketed as rest. A break. A chance to sneak away from real life.
And yes, sometimes they are that.
This year, we did sneak away for the holidays and set off for Hawaii (Mele Kalikimaka).
But in our family, vacations have also quietly become one of our best classrooms.
This trip started early. Like 4:30 a.m. early. Our flight was at 6:30, and everything felt suspiciously smooth. Bags checked. Security easy. We sat on the plane thinking, wow, we are ready.
Then the pilot came on the intercom. Clear as day.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have bad news. Engine number two is not firing properly. This airplane is not going to Phoenix today.”
Cue the internal math. Four or five days before the holidays. Getting to Hawaii suddenly felt unlikely. Our kids felt it too. That mix of disappointment and watching your parents try to stay calm while very quickly problem-solving.
Customer service confirmed what we were afraid of. They could get us there in four or five days, which would put us somewhere around December 23rd or 25th. Not ideal and it would cut our trip very short.
I wanted to yell or cry, but instead I took a breath and asked the gate agent, “What would you do?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“I would cancel, get a refund, and book another airline. You’re going to pay an arm and a leg, but you’ll get there. They have a flight today at 2:30.”
So we did it.
And then we had to get our bags back. Out of security. Back to baggage claim. Only to realize we couldn’t check them with the new airline for hours. Which meant we were standing there with all the bags we had been so happy to get rid of earlier, realizing we also couldn’t go back through security yet.
So there we were. Tired. Hungry. With nowhere to go.
We took a shuttle to a hotel across a very large street (why are hotel streets always like this?), ate at the restaurant, and waited it out. No rushing. No fixing it faster. Just waiting.
Eventually, we boarded our 2:30 flight to Seattle. Then sat through another round of quiet stress when that flight was delayed 45 minutes. Would we miss the connection to Hawaii? Thankfully, that flight was delayed too. Small wins feel very big in moments like that.
The overnight flight brought its own lesson. The people in front of us were awake and loud almost the entire time. And again, our kids practiced patience. Presence. Letting something be annoying without melting down. Honestly, the adults were practicing too.
We landed in Hawaii around 11:30 p.m., fingers crossed the rental car place was still open. It was. We made it to the Airbnb around 12:30 a.m., which is 5:30 a.m. Iowa time. Nearly 24 hours awake. Adrenaline finally wore off.
The next day, after sleeping in, the magic of vacation finally showed up. The weather. The food. The island. The deep exhale that only comes after you’ve been tested a bit.
And that’s the thing.
Vacations don’t just teach us how to rest.
They teach patience. Flexibility. How to figure things out when the plan breaks. How to experience disappointment without quitting. How to notice how different people move through the world.
Maybe you’re reading this nodding your head thinking, this is exactly why I hate traveling.
Trust me, a part of me gets it.
But there’s also something really wonderful about it. About letting your kids feel it. About modeling how to handle it. About realizing that even the messy parts become part of the story you tell later.
Sometimes the gift of vacation isn’t the escape.
It’s the experience.
Cheers to more experiences in 2026!
Have Good Ripple Effect,
Lisa