How They Led Each Other

Leadership didn’t start in a boardroom; it started on a leash.
On quiet mornings when a four-pound dog refused to move until I stopped hurrying. When a woman from Medellín showed me that grace isn’t weakness — it’s rhythm. When I finally learned that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is follow.

Twinkles led by trust.
She didn’t command; she invited. Every time she looked back before crossing a street, every time she ventured forward just far enough to make sure I’d come along — she was teaching me the rhythm of confidence: a dance between assurance and awareness. She led by example, not authority.

The Colombiana led by presence.
She listened before she spoke. She taught me that connection isn’t built through instruction, but through attention — by noticing the tone, the silence, the gesture that says more than words ever could. She turned every plan into a conversation, every challenge into a duet.

I led, when I remembered to listen.
When I stopped equating direction with control. When I realized that courage isn’t stepping ahead — it’s standing beside. The best kind of leadership, I learned, isn’t vertical; it’s circular. Each of us — dog, woman, man — took turns holding the light for the others until the path became clear.

That’s how we learned what “higher ground” really means.
Not altitude, but attitude. Not achievement, but alignment.
We didn’t climb to the top — we rose together.

Because leadership, at its truest, is never about who’s in front.
It’s about who has the courage to keep walking together when the trail disappears.