Reflections on Connection-Centered Leadership - Issue No. 39: Not All Progress is Visible
There was significant impact and sacred work at the Healing in Truth retreat I co-facilitated last weekend. Of course, there is the work of planning, creating the environment, and building in components that make change possible. However, we held the plans loosely enough to be flexible when an impromptu climbing of the hill to the cross arose.
The hill was steep but not all that high. Maybe four stories tall. There was excitement, and most participants were going to climb. I wasn't so sure.
After my first freak accident, where I had to relearn how to walk from a wheelchair after four years, I worked towards not only walking but running and eventually summiting mountains. So, this hill—though steep it was—shouldn't have been daunting. Except I had my second freak accident only sixteen months ago, where I broke my back, my pelvis, and tore my hamstrings in my left leg, which used to be my good leg.
I had trepidation, but I wanted to prove to my now-out-of-shape, still-not-fully-restored self that I could do it. It wasn't the highest mountain I've climbed, but the accomplishment felt similar. There were no high-five tunnels at the top. No sign telling us we made it. But the moment shared with the women at the top, where I raised another Ebenezer in my life, worked just the same.
The photograph is beautiful, but it measures much more progress than those who view it can possibly measure. Not all progress is visible. And progress is difficult to measure when we don't know the starting point.
Everyone could see the hill. Everyone saw each other climb it. What they couldn't see was the distance between my starting point and anyone else's who climbed. Two people can arrive at the same place while having dramatically different distances to get there.
I've seen this in my own family when considering what it takes for one daughter to ace a test versus another who has a different learning style and another who has dyslexia. The effort required to reach the same grade varies greatly.
I have also seen this in the workplace, as those working to become more outspoken overcome their fears and contribute. Or leaders who fear losing control begin to delegate and trust their teams to execute more freely. Or those who are suffering tremendous loss and grief continue to show up productively.
The outcome may be visible while the progress required to produce it is not.
This concept is relevant in light of a workplace trend being called “loud working.” After years of hearing about “quiet quitting,” we've apparently entered an era in which some employees are deliberately making their contributions more visible. In an uncertain job market, workers are talking more openly about their accomplishments, choosing projects with greater exposure, building professional brands, and making sure leadership knows what they're contributing.
I understand why. Good work doesn't always speak for itself. Leaders cannot recognize contributions they don't know exist. Learning to communicate our work clearly isn't arrogance, and making our expertise visible can create opportunities that quietly hoping someone notices may never produce.
But there is another side of the conversation worth considering.
What valuable progress are we failing to see because we've become better at measuring visibility than growth?
Gallup's current employee engagement data gives us reason to ask. As of May, only 29% of U.S. employees strongly agreed they had received recognition or praise for doing good work in the previous seven days. Only 31% said someone at work had talked with them about their progress in the previous six months.
Perhaps the issue isn't simply that people need to become louder about their work. Perhaps leaders need to become better at seeing.
That may mean noticing the person who finally contributes an idea in a room where speaking up has always been difficult, or the leader who delegates something she could have done faster herself because she's learning to develop the people around her. It may be the person whose measurable output remained steady during a season when simply remaining steady required enormous effort, the employee who prevented the problem that never became visible enough to be celebrated, or the person developing someone else whose eventual success may receive more attention than the investment that helped make it possible.
That's not an argument against performance standards or KPIs. Organizations have goals to reach. Teams have responsibilities. Results still count. But numbers rarely tell the whole story of human progress.
Elevation can tell you how high I climbed. It can't tell you how far I came.
Years ago, after my first accident, I summited my first mountain. That accomplishment was much easier to recognize. There was a mountain. There was a summit. There was a photograph from the top.
By any objective measure, that climb was significantly greater than the little hill I climbed last weekend. But I didn't start those two climbs from the same place. Context changes what progress means.
Leading ourselves well requires understanding our own starting point without using it as either an excuse or a weapon against ourselves. There is a difference between acknowledging where we are and lowering the expectation of where we're capable of going.
Sometimes leading ourselves well means refusing to compare today's hill with someone else's mountain. Sometimes it means refusing to compare today's hill with our own former mountain.
Sixteen months ago, my starting point changed. Pretending otherwise doesn't make me stronger. It simply makes me inaccurate.
Awareness allows me to acknowledge what is true now, recognize genuine progress, and continue moving.
Leading others intentionally asks something different of us: Do I know the people I'm leading well enough to recognize their true progress and their starting points?
Current Gallup data also shows that recognition, development, and conversations about progress remain missing for far too many employees.
Seeing progress isn't simply a nice thing good leaders do. It's part of leading people well.
Connection gives us context that a dashboard cannot. When I know someone's strengths, starting point, aspirations, obstacles, and development goals, I have a better chance of recognizing progress that would otherwise look ordinary. I can hold someone accountable for the destination while also recognizing the distance they've already traveled.
And that changes culture.
Cultures where people flourish aren't cultures where everyone gets a trophy for trying. They're places where expectations are clear, contribution is recognized, development is encouraged, and people know they are more than the latest number attached to their performance.
Recognition can become specific rather than generic: I saw what you did there. I know that was difficult for you. I noticed the way you handled that differently this time. I see the progress.
Connection-Centered Leadership gives me a way to think about all three.
Vertically, my worth isn't determined by who notices the climb. My connection with God reminds me whose I am before I begin measuring what I've accomplished. And I can borrow strength to continue when my mountain seems too big.
Inwardly, awareness helps me tell the truth about where I actually started, what the journey required, and where growth is still needed.
Outwardly, connection asks me to look beyond what is easiest to measure and become curious about the human being producing the result. Then movement allows us to take the next step.
At the top of the hill last weekend, I raised an Ebenezer. In 1 Samuel 7, Samuel raised a stone of remembrance after God helped Israel, marking the place with the acknowledgment, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.”
I like the idea of marking places along the way, not because they are always the highest summits, but because sometimes we need a reminder of how far we've come before we start climbing whatever comes next. Much like a mountain climber places protection along a route so that a fall doesn't send them all the way back to where they began, these markers can remind us that a setback doesn't erase the progress we've already made.
The photograph above won't tell you that. It shows a wooden cross against a beautiful sky, but it doesn't show the wheelchair, the years of rebuilding after the first accident, the second accident sixteen months ago, or the leg that still isn't fully restored. It doesn't show the moment I stood at the bottom, wondering whether I should attempt the climb at all.
It doesn't show my starting point.
But I know where I started. And the women standing at the top with me knew enough of the story to understand why that little hill wasn't particularly little at all.
There were no high-five tunnels. I didn't need one.
I raised my Ebenezer, and I knew how far I'd come.
Questions I'm Sitting With This Week
Where am I overlooking progress because I'm measuring myself against the destination rather than my starting point?
Am I communicating my contribution clearly without allowing visibility or recognition to determine its value?
Who around me may be making significant progress that I'm failing to recognize because I don't know enough of their story?
As a leader, am I measuring only what people produce, or do I understand them well enough to recognize what they're becoming?
What progress in my own life deserves an Ebenezer before I move on to the next climb?
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