I am always scheming ways to chase the sun in the winter months, whether for work or play (#JoyIsMyJob). Last week, I was in Mexico with my husband and a few friends.
I am not a huge seafood person. I’ve gotten sick once or twice on fish and lobster, which makes me cautious. Meanwhile, our friend LOVES fish and ordered something new at every meal.
The only dish I couldn’t stop staring at was the one that still looked exactly like a fish. Eyes. Tail. The whole thing. It looked like it had been pulled straight from the ocean and dropped into the fryer.
Sorry for the visual.
But it made me laugh. The actual fish wasn’t the issue. It was how it was presented.
Same ingredient.
Different experience.
And it reminded me how often leadership works the same way.
Leadership
I don’t know about you, but I am usually a year or two behind on most TV shows. Apparently that now includes Ted Lasso. (It’s great if you haven’t seen it.)
For years, people told me, “You would love it.” A few even said, “You’re kind of like Ted.”
Now that I’m finally watching, I see what they mean. The upbeat optimism. The energy. The belief that people are capable of more than they think.
But what really caught my attention was a small leadership moment that almost slipped by.
Two people were about to interact. Before introducing them, Ted offered a genuine compliment about each one, in front of the other.
Not over the top.
Not performative.
Just intentional.
“Hey, you’re pretty amazing.”
“And you? You’re pretty amazing too.”
“You two should meet.”
It struck me because it’s one of the simplest leadership tools in the toolbox — and one I use often.
Highlight something good about someone in front of someone else.
That’s it.
No big speech.
No formal recognition ceremony.
No leadership framework required.
Just a moment of noticing and naming.
When we name someone’s strengths (or compliment them) in front of others, a few things happen.
First, the person feels seen.
Second, the room recalibrates how it views that person. When someone vouches for someone, it creates shared currency.
Third, we subtly shape the nature of the interaction before it even begins. We shape the environment.
Same person.
Different presentation.
Different experience.
We often think leadership requires big moves, bold declarations, or perfectly crafted strategy decks (ick). But sometimes it’s nuance. A sentence that tilts the room toward respect. A quick comment that builds direction and trust before a conversation even begins.
What if leadership didn’t require pomp and circumstance?
What if it required awareness?
Before your next introduction, 1:1, or team meeting, pause and ask yourself:
What is good and true about this person that I can say out loud?
Small moment.
Big ripple.
It might feel slightly awkward. Do it anyway.
The best part? It costs nothing but attention.
Life
On the way home from Mexico, somewhere between hustling through security and realizing we had way too much time at the gate, my husband and I decided to walk. We knew we’d be sitting for hours, so we might as well move while we could. Maybe it’s because we’re getting older and our bodies demand it. Or maybe we know that sitting too long just makes us feel stiff as a board.
That’s when we saw them.
A mom with a stroller.
A baby asleep in a front carrier.
And a five- or six-year-old boy who had zero interest in riding and every interest in exploring.
They were walking next to one of those moving sidewalks. Not on it. Next to it. And at the end of the moving magic carpet, a maintenance worker was crouched down, tinkering with something underneath.
The little boy locked in.
“What are you doing?”
“Why are you doing that?”
“What does that piece do?”
“And that one?”
The mom, clearly exhausted and slightly mortified, tried to gently pull him away. You could see the silent apology in her body language.
But the worker?
He looked up, surprised that anyone was talking to him. And then he lit up.
In about three minutes, I watched him go from stoic and task-focused to animated and proud. He started explaining how it worked. What he was fixing. Why it mattered.
His hands moved differently.
His voice had energy.
He wasn’t just fixing a moving sidewalk anymore. He was teaching. And I was learning too.
When the mom and her son finally moved along, the worker stood up with the tiniest pep in his step. His shoulders were higher. His face softer. His movements more confident.
My husband and I looked at each other and smiled.
In reality, most people don’t need applause.
They need someone to be interested.
And to let them be interesting — in their jobs and in the most mundane, everyday moments of life.
Since that interaction, I’ve made it my quiet mission to do the same. To slow down long enough to notice someone in their element. To ask one more question. To let them shine for a minute.
Not to evaluate.
Not to critique.
Just to care.
Because you never know when three minutes of attention might change someone’s whole afternoon.
And if that isn’t a ripple effect, I don’t know what is.