A Most Difficult Shift
David Freund

About seven weeks ago, I began to feel a bit lost. I wasn’t sure what was wrong — or what to do about it. I just didn’t feel right. I’d lost my motivation, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure of my purpose.

My wife and I took a quick trip to Pennsylvania to attend a Sight & Sound performance. (If you’re not familiar with it, it’s worth checking out.) When we woke up the next morning in a very nice Lancaster hotel, I finally admitted to my wife that I felt I’d lost my purpose and needed help. I told her I was reaching out to my coach.

I sent Jack a very short text message: “When can we meet? I think I’ve lost my purpose.”

Jack responded immediately, and we scheduled time together for the following Wednesday at 3:00 p.m. Jack is a great coach. He knows it’s not his job to solve the problem — only to listen well and ask great questions. Knowing the approach he would take, I also knew I needed to begin with some deep introspection and honest reflection.

It was while I was hosting Session 3 of High Impact Leadership that I found tremendous clarity. We were working through John Maxwell’s book Leadershift when my eyes were opened, and I could clearly see what was happening. In this session, John teaches the content, then we share takeaways and update our workbooks together.

During the video, I was writing feverishly. The first statement I wrote was this:

“I am in the middle of living the shift from Soloist to Conductor.”

I’ve taught this content at least 4 times before, but it had never landed quite like this. As I continued writing, I realized that for the last ten years, I’d been operating as a soloist. It was my responsibility to grow training at MACNY. It was my responsibility to establish a coaching program for our members.
It was my responsibility to develop new leadership content — to help shift mindsets from Transactional to Transformational leadership in our community. And now, it was time for something else.

I began making this shift last May when Steve Maloney rejoined MACNY as our Director of Training. I passed the torch of managing and leading training to him. What I didn’t realize at the time was how much value I placed on the metrics tied to my former role. They were my training numbers. My training revenue. My measurable outcomes.

It was very easy to know whether I was succeeding. When those immediate performance metrics disappeared, I felt like the soloist who finishes the song and sets the instrument down. The applause fades, and suddenly there’s silence. I felt lost. I questioned my purpose. Some of you may be surprised by this, especially if you remember reading blog posts or articles where I shared how excited I was about this new role. The truth is, I was naïve — and unprepared — for the shift.

Back in that moment of clarity, I wrote three more statements:

1. I need to go slower so I can go farther.
2. I need to communicate to others how much I believe in them.
3. I want to find people and help them shine.

Here’s what those statements mean to me.

1. I need to go slower so I can go farther.
   When you go alone, you can move quickly. You can make fast adjustments and sharp turns to navigate obstacles. But when you bring others with you, you must slow down. You need to make sure they’re ready. You need to ensure they have the right tools. When you do that — when you move together — you go much farther than you ever could alone.
2. I need to communicate to others how much I believe in them.
   I’ve had the opportunity in the past to conduct both an orchestra and a choir. The conductor’s role is to know the music — inside out and backward — and to guide the musicians through it. Together, the performance becomes a gift to those who listen. Often, musicians feel unsure. They need encouragement. Sometimes they need the conductor to sing or hum the part. Above all, they need to know the conductor believes they can create something beautiful.

3. I want to find people and help them shine.
   As a conductor, pulling the piece together is only part of the opportunity. You also get to identify the soloists and bring them forward. The conductor knows when to quiet the orchestra so the solo can be heard.

Now, this blog post is longer than it probably should be, so I’ll pause here. In my next blog post, I’ll share how I plan to live this out.

What I can tell you is this: I’m excited again. I’ve found my purpose. This role is harder than being a soloist. There will be days when I have to convince myself that progress is being made, even without clear metrics.

When I shared all of this with Jack, he challenged me to develop a new scorecard — one that measures what really matters in this next season. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Happy New Year.