Somewhere between the Zoom echo chambers and the Slack noise, a quiet truth is whispering to us:

The best leaders are often the quietest ones.

Not the ones with the grandstanding monologues, or the ones who dominate the whiteboard, but those who know how to hold a moment, hold a gaze, and—most importantly—hold space for others.

I’ve coached enough leaders to know: there’s a kind of magic in leaders who listen well. It’s not passive. It’s not weak. It’s not a placeholder for the "real" work of leading. It is the real work. And yet, in a world that rewards the loudest voice in the room, listening can feel almost radical.

Let’s get something straight: ego isn’t a four-letter word. Well, it is, technically, but it’s not inherently evil. A healthy ego is what gets you out of bed, into the meeting, and through the tough conversation. It’s what says, “Yes, I can do this.”

But when confidence crosses into overconfidence? That’s where things start to unravel, often in subtle, slow-motion ways. And leaders? We’re especially susceptible.

Let me guess: you’re busy.

So busy, in fact, that you almost didn’t click on this post.

Because stillness? That feels like a luxury. Or maybe a trap. Like the moment you slow down, everything you’re juggling might just come crashing down.

But what if stillness isn’t the enemy of productivity? What if it’s actually the source of your best leadership?

Let me take you back about a year or so ago. I was standing in a redwood grove in the Muir Woods of California, looking up. Way up. These ancient trees, some of them older than our country, were unmoved by the noise of the modern world. No Slack notifications. No urgent emails. Just stillness. Immensity. And an unapologetic presence.

I had been fried before that trip. Crispy. Burnout was no longer knocking; it had unpacked a suitcase and settled in. But in those woods, something shifted. Not all at once, not magically…but enough. Enough to remember what it felt like to breathe without performing.