Spectacle Leadership and the Practice of Steadiness

I was standing at my kitchen island, looking at another Trump administration announcement on my phone, when the familiar questions began. What does this actually mean? What will it cost? Who benefits? Who carries the risk? And where are the details?

My old banker brain wanted the paperwork with the details so I could crunch numbers. My mother brain wanted to know who might get hurt. And the dragon in me was getting ready to breathe fire.

Then something quieter came through: Stand down.

For months, I’ve found myself pausing over announcements from this administration that leave me unsettled. Sometimes it’s the substance. Sometimes it’s the language. Sometimes it’s the enormous distance between a triumphant headline and the information needed to evaluate it. Before I’ve worked through one announcement, several more arrive. I can spend an afternoon trying to understand what happened and still feel further behind than when I started.

It can feel orchestrated. I cannot know the intention behind every announcement, but I can recognize the effect on me: my attention gets scattered, my emotions get stirred, and someone else’s agenda begins influencing my day.

That is part of what I mean by spectacle leadership. The announcement becomes an event. Confidence arrives before clarification. We’re invited to celebrate the outcome while the terms are still difficult to find. There are so many plates spinning that keeping them in the air can begin to look like accomplishment.

But I’ve sold enough new homes to know that excitement at the sales table doesn’t finish the house. I can close a sale but someone still has to build it, inspect it, account for the money, and explain the delays. Eventually, the people who believed the promise need something they can actually live in.

And here comes the uncomfortable part: I recognize a little of myself in all that motion.

I know the thrill of a new idea. I know how quickly enthusiasm can become urgency. My closet and purchase history contain sufficient evidence; we don’t need to subpoena the receipts. I’ve sometimes mistaken wanting something intensely for needing it immediately. I’ve also mistaken having a response for needing to publish it.

I’m getting better at waiting. A purchase can sit. A thought can develop. A disturbing post can pass through my day without taking possession of it. The pause gives me time to discover whether I have something useful to contribute or simply some heat to release.

That is the steadiness I want to practice, and the leadership I want to be known for. Steady leadership can move quickly when necessary, but it makes room for questions. It explains what is known, what remains uncertain, and who is responsible for the next step. It considers the people who will live with a decision after the cameras leave. It follows through, admits mistakes, and repairs what it can.

I still care about honesty, humane treatment, and responsibility in government. I’m choosing where my care can become useful work. For now, that means returning to the ordinary experiences that give me something concrete to examine: the purchase, the promise, the receipt, the return, the system that made a simple transaction unnecessarily complicated. There is plenty to learn there, and plenty to bring into Dancing with Dragons.

I don’t have to attend every fire simply because I can see the smoke.

Let it go and let it flow. Today, that means putting down the phone and focusing on the work I want to grow. Spectacle leadership may feel more exciting and draw more attention but steady leadership produces better results.