When Purpose Outlasts Perfection
Start Where It Hurts: When the Bubble Bursts
The bubble didn’t burst because someone was bad.
It burst because something was misaligned.
Not just misaligned between personal and company goals. But between inner truth and outer performance. Between showing up and being seen.
Recently, a leader who had been journeying with us for almost a decade chose to leave.
There was no dramatic fallout. No direct confrontation. Just a slow unraveling—subtle, emotional, complex. We’re still in conversation, but it feels like we’re nearing a quiet transition. Not final yet, but 95% there.
And in that in-between space, I’ve found myself reflecting—not on blame, but on leadership. What environment did I create? Did I miss the deeper emotions beneath the surface? Was there more I could have done to create safety, clarity, or courage in that season?
Leadership, after all, isn’t just about holding people accountable. It’s about holding space—for honesty, for fear, for growth. Even when the ending is not yet written.
At first, I struggled. I found myself filling in the blanks with disappointment—wishing things were clearer, firmer, or more resolute. But over time, I began to see it differently.
Sometimes what looks like distance is actually inner wrestling.
Sometimes what sounds like silence is actually someone processing.
It’s not always avoidance. Often, it’s fear. Or unreadiness. Or simply a season someone can’t yet articulate.
There hasn’t been full closure. But maybe that’s okay.
Leadership doesn’t always give us clean endings. Sometimes, it invites us to stay present even when things are unfinished.
Let the Story Breathe: From Outer Circumstances to Inner Alignment
There was a time I equated a purpose-driven life with a perfect one.
When plans derailed, when tensions arose, when relationships felt strained—I assumed something must be wrong out there.
I blamed systems. I blamed environments. Even spiritual spaces that felt too rigid or judgmental.
But over time, I began to realise: the issue wasn’t always external.
Sometimes, the real misalignment was internal.
Between who I appeared to be and who I actually was.
Between what I said I valued… and what I quietly tolerated.
The pursuit of a purpose-driven life isn’t about crafting a perfect life.
It’s about telling the truth—even to yourself. Especially to yourself.
I grew up surrounded by expectations. Judgment. Labels. And in response, I learned to perform.
To pretend.
To show up in ways that looked “right” but didn’t always feel real.
At church, I could fake it. I could speak the right language, nod at the right times. But deep down, it wasn’t faith that was driving me—it was fear.
Fear of missing out.
Fear of not belonging.
Fear of being judged for not being “Christian enough.”
But as I matured, I began to discover a different kind of maturity—one that wasn’t reactive, but reflective.
And I learned this:
Blame is the language of immaturity. Ownership is the beginning of transformation.
That’s the same lesson I now teach my children:
You must take ownership of every decision you make—or allow.
And this applies to leadership, too.
This recent transition reminded me of that—not because someone has left, but because I had to pause and ask:
Where was I responsible?
Could I have led differently—earlier, more gently, more truthfully?
Because no matter how others respond, leadership always starts with me.
Pause and Reframe: A Leader’s Responsibility in Disappointment
Was I hurt? Yes.
Was I surprised? Not fully.
But here’s the truth: growth doesn’t come from protecting ourselves from disappointment. It comes from stepping through it—honestly, humbly, hopefully.
There were signs. Small fractures that widened over time. A tension between internal clarity and external compliance.
But I had to remind myself: not everyone is ready to face what they feel. Some carry fears they can’t name. Some seasons are heavier than they look. Some exits are less about escape and more about exhaustion.
So instead of holding on to frustration, I held space for reflection.
I asked myself:
- Did I create a safe enough space for honest conversations?
- Was I too focused on performance and missed the person?
- Could I have led with more empathy, more presence?
I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: leadership is never about perfection. It’s about presence.
And presence means staying even when others leave.
Ten Simple Anchors: What We’re Building at Stellar
In our upcoming book, Lead to Impact, we outline ten simple but powerful guides—anchoring truths that differentiate leaders who impress from those who impact.
They aren’t complicated. But they’re costly. Costly in ego, in comfort, and in time.
Here they are:
- “I’ll go first.”
Leadership starts before you speak. It begins when you step up. - “I’m not sure.”
Teachable hearts grow fastest. Uncertainty is the soil of transformation. - “What’s your take?”
Listening isn’t passive—it’s leadership in disguise. - “Let me tell you a story.”
Truths wrapped in stories are remembered longer than rules. - “What can I do better?”
Self-awareness is the soil where legacy begins. - “Let me show you.”
Don’t demand excellence—demonstrate it. - “Sometimes we win, sometimes we learn.”
At Stellar, failure isn’t shameful. It’s sacred ground. We fall forward. We learn loud. - “I noticed.”
See the unseen. Appreciate the quiet effort. Call out the gold. - “That’s on me.”
Accountability is integrity under pressure. Leadership means raising your hand—even when no one sees the cracks. - “What legacy will they carry?”
Don’t build followers. Raise leaders. Let go to grow.
Invite Action: What I Want to Teach My Children
If one day my sons come to me and say,
“Dad, I’m struggling,”
I’ll sit with them, not just to solve their problems—but to help them ask better questions.
Are you running away from responsibility?
Or is this truly not your path?
Because I want to raise boys who know that love is unconditional, but growth is not without consequences.
And life is rarely black and white.
It’s integrated.
And that integration is the very heart of leadership—bringing empathy and integrity, truth and love, excellence and grace into tension without compromise.
Just like the story of the captain who punished himself to save his mother. Sometimes, the leader bears the cost to preserve both justice and mercy.
In this season, we carry the cost of another’s exit—not with resentment, but with resolve.
The Reverse That Redefines It All
“Good is doing what’s right. Faithful is doing what’s right—over time.”
We strive to be good. To be kind. To be excellent.
But it is faithfulness that will be tested most.
Not your talent.
Not your charm.
Not your results.
Faithfulness is staying when it’s hard.
Leading when you’re unseen.
Letting go of comfort to hold on to calling.
It’s showing up in the dark.
Not for applause.
But for stewardship.
And one day, if I am to stand before my Creator, I don’t just want to hear,
“You were good.”
I long to hear:
“Well done, My good and faithful servant.”
Faithful—not flashy.
Steady—not spectacular.
Present—not perfect.
Because that’s the kind of leader this world needs.
And that’s the kind of legacy worth building.
Written by a reluctant leader still learning to lead.
One day at a time.
