I’ve known this lesson a long time, but it was burned into my conscience in a fresh way this week.
My family and I were in Sri Lanka for a short break—a week after most of my staff had taken theirs—following a death in my family. That meant that while my team was collaborating diligently on a critical communication plan for an adjustment to our employee benefits program, I, the CEO, was not in the office.
At one point, our HR Director texted me while I was on a scenic train through the hills of Sri Lanka. She shared the draft presentation slides and asked if I had any concerns. Confident in my team, I made a mental note to review them later.
Eventually, as we were returning to town the day before the staff meeting, I opened the slides. My confidence began to waver. The presentation seemed too detailed—dense with tax law and investment terms that I feared would overwhelm our staff.
I texted the HR Director my concern, suggesting that the plan might be too “in the weeds.” In fact, at one point I typed a phrase in ALL CAPS, but I had just enough sense to edit my text before sending it. I was sure I was right.
She replied graciously, assuring me that the team had spent a great deal of time and collaboration on the material, and that they believed the level of detail was necessary for transparency and uprightness.
Still uneasy, I reached out to her supervisor, our Chief Community Officer. I told him that my instincts were flashing a warning: we were setting ourselves up for failure by overcommunicating. But I also told him something else—that I trusted his instincts more than mine. He responded confidently that the team was ready.
I said I would trust him, and I meant it. I added that if I turned out to be right, I wouldn’t say “I told you so.” Instead, I would stand beside him to help plan the next steps.
Toward the end of the staff meeting, he texted me:
“So far so good. [Name] says this is all important.”
I replied immediately:
“You were right. I was wrong. I am delighted!”
He answered:
“I am too. We had a lot of conversations during the meeting to gauge when we were on track and when to move forward.”
That was it—a simple exchange, but a deeply convicting moment for me.
A Fresh Lesson in Leadership
The CEO is not the smartest person in the room.
In fact, when leadership begins to assume that it is, wisdom has already started to erode.
Leadership is not about always being right. It’s about cultivating an environment where the right wisdom rises to the top, even if it doesn’t come from you. It’s about having the humility to recognize that the collective discernment of your team will often exceed your own.
When you build a team of competent, value-aligned people—and then actually trust them—you give them space to grow, own their work, and carry the mission farther than you could alone.
And when you’re proven wrong, celebrate it. That’s not a failure of leadership; it’s a triumph of trust.
Reflection
The moment you start believing you’re the smartest person in the room, you’ve stopped leading and started managing your ego.