The Milan Winter Olympics are on right now, and it’s hard not to get swept up in the spectacle of peak performance. But every time I watch, there’s something I want to shout at the screen: you’re not seeing the whole story. You’re seeing the moment, not the recovery. The medal, not the rehab. The highlight, not the healing.
And honestly, that feels like a pretty good metaphor for life right now. The world is loud. The U.S. is louder. So many people are walking around trying to “perform okay” while carrying fear, exhaustion, and nervous systems fried by a 24/7 news cycle. From the outside, it might look like they’re holding it together. Inside, it’s a very different story.
So this week’s Field Notes is a simple reminder: you can fall forward without falling apart—but not by pretending you don’t need support.
The Olympics are a powerful reminder that “strong” is rarely solo. What we see on the world stage looks like individual grit, but behind every moment of triumph is a web of support, sacrifice, and strength that doesn’t make the highlight reel.
Let’s celebrate Madison Chock, Evan Bates, and Chloe Kim, all who medaled delivering their season’s best efforts. They did not “lose gold”, they won silver with grace, talent, and maturity. Or U.S. figure skater Maxim Naumov competing after losing his parents in a plane crash. That kind of strength isn’t fueled by adrenaline. It’s powered by love, grief, and sheer will.
I could not write this without celebrating Ilia Malinin. Watching his performance and emotions was painful. Again, I am so frustrated with the intense pressure we put on these talented individuals to win gold, as if that is the only goal worth having. He is simply the most talented skater of his generation, and should be celebrated every day. I am impressed with his maturity and willingness to meet with the press and skate in the final exhibition. Let’s amplify that!
And then there are the families—the sacrifices nobody posts on Instagram. The money, the time, the second jobs, the unglamorous logistics, all so a kid can have a shot at this stage. None of it is solo, even if it looks that way from the outside.
Which brings me to my own, much smaller version of this story: a walker, a cane, a shower chair, physical therapy tools—and the slow realization that asking for help isn’t falling apart. It’s falling forward.
What my hip replacement taught me about leadership (and being human)
I had a successful hip replacement surgery. I’m healing well, and I’m grateful. And also—on the morning of the surgery—I was terrified. Not a little nervous, but the kind of fear where your brain runs a full-length movie called Everything That Could Go Wrong.
What stays with me is how that fear was met. My husband, my doctor, and my nurse didn’t rush me or minimize it. They didn’t try to fix it. They listened. They soothed me. They treated my fear like it belonged there. No judgment. Just presence.
That, by the way, is real leadership—not the polished version, but the kind that makes space for what’s actually happening.
Recovery was the humbling part. If you’re a capable person, it messes with your identity. A walker. A cane. A shower chair. Physical therapy tools. Asking for help with basic things feels strange—not because you’re weak, but because you’re used to being the one who handles it.
And here’s the quiet truth: you can sleep twelve hours and still be tired. Your body is working even when you’re still. Healing doesn’t look productive, but it is.
TEDx: Courage doesn’t remove fear. It moves with it.
My TEDx talk was a success, and I’m proud of it—but “successful” is only the last page of the story. The earlier pages were filled with doubt, rehearsals, nerves, and the familiar “who do I think I am?” spiral, followed by the choice to do it anyway. That’s the real lesson I’m carrying forward: courage doesn’t remove fear, it moves with it. You don’t wait for fear to leave; you invite courage to sit beside it. That’s falling forward—not bravado or forced confidence, but showing up as you are and taking the next right step.
Steady Over Urgent: Leadership for an Unstable Moment
The world feels unstable, and the tone of leadership is shaping how people show up everywhere, including at work. Right now, some leaders are reacting, retreating, or performing certainty to soothe others. But the strongest leaders are choosing something quieter and harder: steadiness. They tell the truth without panic, set boundaries around their attention, protect their teams from chaos-as-a-lifestyle, and ask for help instead of turning fear into control. Because ignored fear doesn’t disappear—it resurfaces as micromanagement, harshness, or exhaustion. And none of those are a strategy.
LEADING WITH PRIDE BOOKCLUB SELECTION
Radical Tenderness: The Value of Vulnerability in and Often Unkind World by Gisele Barreto Fetterman
Available on Allstora
Gisele Barreto Fetterman is a Brazilian-American activist, philanthropist, and non-profit executive. She is a founder of the non-profit Freestore 15104 and co-founder of the non-profits For Good PGH and 412 Food Rescue. Her efforts have rescued millions of pounds of food and clothed several hundred thousand people. Fetterman was the first woman recipient of the Rodef Shalom Congregations Peace award. She currently resides in Braddock, PA with her husband, Senator John Fetterman, and children.
Final Thoughts
This week’s practice: Falling forward without falling apart
Here are three questions to sit with this week. Print them. Save them. Send them to the group chat that keeps you sane.
Where am I trying to “power through” something that actually requires healing?
What support or tool am I resisting because I’m worried it makes me look weak? Who do I trust enough to tell the truth to — without being judged?
What would change if you treated recovery like leadership instead of a delay?
Forward doesn’t have to mean frantic, and strong doesn’t have to mean solo. Sometimes falling forward looks like a cane and a nap.
With love and backbone,
Jim
PS (Jim wink): If Olympians need coaches, trainers, PT, and a whole support team… the rest of us are allowed to need a shower chair, a calendar block, and a friend who answers the phone.
PPS: If this landed for you, I’d love to hear it: hit reply (or comment) with your answer to the question above. And if you know someone who’s trying to “power through” their way to burnout, please share this with them. If you’re not subscribed to Field Notes yet, subscribe so you don’t miss the next one.