Let’s cut to the chase: managers are checked out. Not all of them, but enough to set off alarm bells from the boardroom to the break room. According to the latest Gallup report, global employee engagement has dropped for the second time since 2009. And the group leading the disengagement parade?

Managers.

Let’s face it, we’ve all had that moment when we’re trying to rally a team, lead a meeting, or give a toast and suddenly think, “How would Morgan Freeman say this?” It’s a fair question. Because when it comes to influence, we’ve been conditioned to associate impact with polish, charisma, and the booming cadence of a Hollywood voiceover.

But real influence - the kind that makes people sit up, lean in, and take action - has less to do with performance and more to do with presence. Specifically, authentic presence.

Let’s start with a simple question: when was the last time you were fully present? Not halfway listening while checking email. Not nodding through a conversation while mentally composing your grocery list. I mean actually here, in the moment, with both feet planted, eyes open, and mind not doing gymnastics.

If you’re struggling to remember, you’re not alone. Presence is rare these days. Like finding a quiet park bench in spring that isn’t already taken.

Ever scroll through social media, see someone your age who’s apparently already a CEO, running marathons before sunrise, and somehow has perfect hair at all times—and think, Wow, I’m crushing it at life? No? Yeah, me neither.

Comparison is the modern-day plague we all suffer from, and thanks to the internet, we now have 24/7 access to everyone else’s highlight reels. But what if constantly measuring ourselves against others is actually making us miserable? Spoiler: It is.

There’s a strange myth in leadership—the idea that a great leader must be an unshakable, all-knowing, superhero-type figure who never sweats under pressure. If that were true, we’d all need capes and theme music just to survive a Monday morning staff meeting. But real leadership isn’t about putting on an invincible mask—it’s about taking it off.

In a world that celebrates hustle, grinding, and going the extra mile, the idea of slowing down can seem downright scandalous. We wear busyness like a badge of honor, equating productivity with worth. Yet, what if the secret to being more effective wasn’t doing more, but doing less?

Have you ever been at a party, networking event, or even a family gathering when someone inevitably asks, “So, what do you do?” You freeze for a moment, calculating the most polished way to describe your job. You say something like, “I’m a marketing manager,” or “I’m a business coach,” and the conversation rolls on. But later, you catch yourself wondering—Is that really all I am?

I remember the moment I realized I had stopped leading and started merely managing. A once-enthusiastic team had become disengaged. Meetings felt more like status updates than strategy sessions. I was so focused on deadlines, checklists, and efficiency that I had lost sight of the bigger picture—motivating, inspiring, and empowering my team.

Like many leaders, I had fallen into the trap of management, mistaking oversight for impact, control for guidance. And I wasn’t alone. This is a common struggle in workplaces across industries, where leaders become so focused on tasks that they forget their true role—leading people.

The first time I sat in a meeting where AI-generated reports were being used to assess team performance, I felt a mix of excitement and unease. Here was a tool that could process vast amounts of data in seconds, identifying trends that would have taken weeks of manual work to uncover. But as the discussion continued, I noticed something else—some leaders in the room were visibly uncomfortable. Not because they feared AI would take their jobs, but because AI was making their shortcomings impossible to ignore…

I remember sitting in a high-stakes meeting, surrounded by executives who had been in the industry far longer than I had. My heart pounded. My hands felt clammy. I nodded along, hoping no one would see through me—that I wasn’t as confident as I appeared. That little voice in my head whispered, You don’t belong here. Any moment now, they’ll figure it out.