Leadership Essentials: Perspective

Every spring break, my son and I take a road trip.

It started seven years ago, just the two of us, packed into a car with gas station snacks, playlists, and a loose plan to explore a national park or two. It has since become one of the most important rituals in my life.

We plan carefully. We chase beauty. We keep it simple.

It’s not a break. It’s a reminder.

Out here, everything slows down. There are no meetings, no inboxes, no pressure to be productive. There is time—spacious, unstructured, ordinary time. And in that space, I remember what matters most.

I do these trips for him. I want him to see the world. To learn how to be present. To understand that there’s more to life than tasks and grades and proving yourself. That awe and quiet and conversation are also part of growing up.

But these trips are for me, too.

They give me perspective. They remind me that this time—this child, this relationship, this short window of spring breaks before everything changes—is more important than anything I could chase professionally.

And that perspective carries me through the rest of the year. It shapes how I think about time, attention, ambition. It keeps me from making work my whole identity.

I haven’t always had that clarity. I’ve been a workaholic. I’ve pushed through grief, illness, and burnout, believing that if I could just outwork the fear, I’d be safe. That success would earn me stability. That being needed was the same as being valuable.

It’s not.

And the more distance I get, the more I see it:

Leadership without perspective is obsession.

It’s the belief that more is always better. That urgency equals importance. That rest is weakness. That if you stop moving, you lose.

And the truth is—when you lead like that, you do lose. You lose clarity. You lose connection. You lose the ability to make decisions that actually serve the people you’re responsible for.

Good leadership requires the long view. It requires humility. It requires a life outside of work. Because without those things, you stop being able to see beyond the next task, the next fire, the next KPI.

I’ve led like that before. I won’t do it again.

This road trip isn’t a detour. It’s a reset. It’s a space where I remember who I am and what I care about. It’s where I practice presence. And it’s where I model the kind of leadership I believe in—calm, grounded, curious, human.

My son won’t remember most of the details. But I hope he remembers how it felt. I hope he carries some of that perspective with him as he grows. I hope I do, too.

Because this is the work that matters most.