What Quiet Courage Costs, and What It Returns

A note to young leaders.

A close friend of mine recently sold his real estate agency for a sum that invites a discreet whistle.

But the ending isn’t the interesting part. The beginning is. And that happened decades earlier, and lasted about eleven seconds.

Second day on the job. Team meeting. At the head of the table sat the principal, wearing his authority the way some men wear their cologne: liberally, and in the untroubled belief that everyone else is enjoying it. In his hand was a lit cigarette.

Australia had just passed laws banning smoking in the workplace. So my friend politely reminded his boss that lighting up indoors was no longer permitted.

“Do you know who the f#*% you’re speaking to?”

“Yes”, my friend replied. He then resigned, collected his things and walked out.

Notice what he did not do. He did not write a letter setting out his position in fourteen numbered paragraphs. He did not consult a solicitor, who would have converted one bad morning into three expensive years.

Dignity has a short optimal length. The person who states his position and leaves has said everything; the person still explaining himself six weeks later has unsaid most of it.

Two months on, his telephone rang. It was the principal’s business partner, who had been sitting at the far end of that same table, saying nothing, seeing everything. He was offering the franchise rights for western Sydney.

My friend took the deal and built the substantial business he’s just sold. Eleven seconds, well spent.

Stand up for what you believe in. Do it briefly, do it courteously, and decline the encore.

And bear in mind the quiet one at the end of the table. He’s always there, he’s always watching – and when you least expect it, the phone will ring.