(I030) The Leadership Discipline of the Ebb: What One Quiet Week Revealed About Strategy, Stillness, and Self-Awareness
At the peak of a strong week, the energy is unmistakable. Ideas connect. Conversations flow. Metrics rise. Like surfing the top of a wave, the feeling of momentum is exhilerating. And if you’ve been building something for any amount of time, you know this feeling: the flow. That powerful, propelling season where your actions start to compound. Where your training, timing, all come together and you feel the pay off to your hard work.
But just as naturally as the tide comes in, it must also pull back. And what happens next—in the ebb—is what separates those who sustain growth from those who burn out chasing it. When the wave runs out, and you know you need to grind again to swim against the current to catch another.
Last week, I entered the ebb. I felt so stuck.
And rather than resist it, I chose to observe it—with data, discipline, and a deep reverence for what Japanese philosophy has long taught us:
The space between is sacred (間). It refers to the space between things—not as emptiness, but as presence. As potential. The kanji for Ma is made of two characters: a gate, with the sun shining through. It’s the pause where light enters.
Riding High, Then Listening Low
The week before, I had been riding a high. Momentum in my business, traction on my content, early signs of market pull for the tools I’m building. There was flow. Forward movement. Enthusiasm. Excitement!
But I also knew: this wave was designed to recede. Not because I’d done something wrong, but because nature does not operate in a straight line. And neither does Leadership or business. Sure enough, as the days progressed, I noticed a dip:
My LinkedIn views slowed.
Engagement dropped.
That energized momentum started to quiet.
But instead of spiraling into doubt, I returned to my strategy. I listen, observed, got curious.
The Discipline of the Flywheel & the Ensō Circle
Years ago early in my career, Jim Collins’ concept of the Flywheel surfaced, the circle just like the Ensō circle. A reminder that great results come not from one big moment, but from small, consistent efforts compounding over time. The visible success is only ever the final turn of a wheel that’s been moving—quietly, powerfully—for much longer.
In my business and how I operate as a founder, I’ve built my own Jim Collins’ SMaC recipe (Specific, Methodical, and Consistent rules) to guide me through both the wave and the ebb and in the Infinity Growth Model. It includes:
Weekly disciplined reflection
Micro-experiments in real contexts (HA-HA-HA to find the AHA)
Ongoing refinement based on observed results
Deep human-centered presence and emotional literacy
This is not just a checklist. It’s a philosophy. And when the external signals dimmed, this system reminded me: the flywheel is still turning and there are many similarities to the Ensō circle. Everything is cyclic in nature, And so we need to simply know where we are in the cycle.
These principles are embedded into my Human Impact Kata courses—where leaders practice presence, precision, and progress.
Next cohort begins July 2025. CLICK HERE to learn more and join the movement.
SHU: Learning from the Masters
Midweek, I was criticized kindly. I could have let the feelings of “he noticed I am sucking” or I could view it as a rare gift: unprompted feedback from someone I deeply respect—Brian Miller. An award winning TedTalk Speaker and a leader, a thinker, someone whose perspective I value deeply. He didn’t have to say anything. But he did. And when someone that notable takes time to offer insight, I don’t just nod—I listen, deeply.
That’s the essence of 守 (Shu)—the first stage of Shu-Ha-Ri, the Japanese model of mastery: Obey the form. Learn from the masters. Practice with devotion and gratitude.
In Western culture, we often rush to break form, to innovate too early. But Shu reminds us that true mastery begins with deep respect for form, for feedback, and for those further down the path.
That brief moment of feedback grounded me. It reminded me I’m not just building something, I’m becoming someone. And part of becoming is staying coachable.
The Japanese Lens: When Less Feels Like Loss
In Japanese disciplines—from Chadō (tea ceremony) to Shodō (calligraphy), there is a reverence for what is unseen.
The concept of 間 (Ma) represents the space between things, the intentional pause between actions, the silence between musical notes, the rest between breaths. It’s not considered empty or unproductive. It’s honoured as essential.
This is how I’ve come to view dips in visibility or energy: Not as failure. But as Ma.
And when discomfort or fear arises, as it inevitably does in moments of stillness. I turn to a deeper teaching: 恐れ (osore), the Japanese word for fear. But osore is not something to conquer or suppress. It is not a flaw to fix, it is a signal to receive.
The kanji itself tells the story: At its top, 工 represents structure, pressure, or force. Beneath it, a small 丶 stroke acts as tension—a subtle press. And at the base lies 心 (kokoro), the heart—our emotional core.
恐 is not chaos:
It is the heart under pressure—a quiet beat beneath the weight of what’s ahead.
Not weakness, but awareness.
Not danger, but a call to presence.
In Japanese thought, osore is not failure—it is readiness. It is the pause before choice. The moment that asks:
"Can you stay with yourself here?"
For leaders, learning to listen to osore is a skill of emotional precision. It turns discomfort into direction. And turns fear into a trusted guide for deeper, more courageous leadership.
The Mirror of My Son
Nowhere do I practice presence more deliberately than with my son. He’s six. And like many children, he notices everything. We have an agreement—when I’m with him, I’m with him. No multitasking. No screen scrolling. If I stray, he gently reminds me.
This week, though, I was tested, as I sat beside him outside, I was not focused, I was on my phone. And gently, he placed his hand on my chin and turned my face toward him.
“Mommy, You promised me no screen.”
He was right. He learned that from me. We hold each other accountable. It’s how I’ve always reminded him: “I see you.” Now, he offers that same gift back to me.
That small moment was leadership in action. Presence. Connection. Accountability. And it reminded me of what I most need to thrive.
Three to Thrive: A Practical Framework
Psychologist and researcher Tasha Eurich, in her book Shatterproof, offers a model I return to often: Three to Thrive. These aren’t just performance traits—they’re foundational leadership (actually LIFE) anchors:
Confidence – Trusting yourself, even when certainty fades
Connection – Understanding your impact on others and staying emotionally attuned
Choice – Recognizing your agency and responding with intention
In the ebb, this model becomes not just useful, but essential. It’s easy to feel confident in the wave. But in the quiet? That’s where these three shift from outcomes to alignment tools.
This week, I saw myself more clearly. I felt the weight of my choices. And I witnessed my impact on my son, my work, and the quiet future I continue to shape, even when no one else can see it.
Leading Through the Ebb
The week didn’t end in a breakthrough. It ended in something far more sustaining: a deepened trust in my systems, my stillness, and my strategy.
This is the quiet work that leadership rarely celebrates. The unseen growth that happens beneath the surface, the pause at the base of the Infinity Growth Model, where one loop ends, and the next begins.
It’s the moment between the pillars— where the energy settles, the noise fades, and the deeper wisdom of the path reveals itself.
In this stillness, I heard the voices of my Kensho Flock, the wise owls in my tree, resurface. Not with fanfare, but with truth. Reminding me:
"Pause. Listen. Trust the rhythm. The path is still unfolding beneath your feet."
So if you’re in a lull, a quiet patch, or what feels like a setback, pause. Not to panic. But to practice.
Return to your system.
Reconnect with your presence.
Respect the space between.
Ensō: True leadership isn’t defined by the wave—It’s shaped in the ebb.
If this message resonates with where you are in your leadership journey, I invite you to go deeper.
Join me this Thursday for a webinar that holds space for you:
🌳 “A Tree Still Grows: Leadership Lessons from Nature with a Japanese Lens”
We’ll explore how stillness, rhythm, and presence shape sustainable leadership.
Reserve your spot here.
Let this be the pause that gives you power.
