Dont Lean In. Lean Back.

No disrespect, Sheryl Sandberg. But I learned (or relearned) recently that leadership with the whole self engaged is a lean back experience.

This is especially true when you're on a rock face, rappelling down a cliff a mile high (or what seems like a mile) after climbing in terror to the top to make the descent. In the moments of the descent, the worst thing you can do is lean in. You must fight your intuition, forget whatever you've learned about balance and wrestle your amygdala to the ground. Only when you lean back are you in balance, capable of controlling the rope that enables you to brake, able to see the rock in front of you, and able to hear the voices of support. You have to lean back. It makes no intuitive sense, and it's the only way.

Or at least this was my experience when I did this rock climbing thing at the Garden of the Gods Park in Colorado Springs a while back. I attended a leadership meeting with the Executive Development Roundtable, focused on the mind-body connections in leadership development. And I learned for sure that when you're up on the rock, your mind and body had better damn well be connected. But I learned so much more than that.

The face of the rock gave powerful voice to a long curated and nurtured fear within me. The Fear Voice was smooth and compelling. It reassured me that there was no need for me to do this. I had nothing to prove. I had nothing to learn. It was challenge by choice, after all, and I chose the base rather than the face of the rock. I have achieved so much in my life, and I did not need to do this. And to be clear, the Fear Voice said: I cannot do it. I cannot make that climb. I am reasonably fit, but I am not incredibly fit. Even if I could make the climb, my vertigo would take over at the top, and I would become the project of the day. How the hell would they get me down? I cannot do this. If you do not try, Nancy, you cannot fail.

And yet I kept looking at it. Looking at the rock.  Looking at my colleagues: old friends, new friends, gathering themselves, gearing up, making the climb. Some scrambled gracefully, others pulled it together with sweat, grit and mental duct tape. Then they executed the descent. They cheered and celebrated. They were supported and coached and encouraged. A small voice started to argue with the Fear Voice. What would it be like if I tried? What's the worst that could happen?

Then the support started from friends who saw something in me that I didn't see in myself. Catherine. "What's the reluctance about?" Great coaching question. As the Fear Voice reeled off all the reasons, she offered real data. "If you do it, take the left descent path; the first step is less of a drop. Look at the rock. Keep your focus straight ahead. Don't look up, don't look down. You can do this if you want to." The voices were equal now, with the small voice gaining strength. Then Jason. He had been up and down already. Had done this. " Will you go if I go with you?" "You would go up again?" "Yes. Will you go if I go with you?" The small voice took over. How do I say no to this? Yes. I will go if you will go with me.

So I went. The climb was horrific. Only my stubbornness and realization that coming down from halfway up would be worse than continuing got me to the top. I waited for Jason to make his climb behind me. Accosted him when he reached the top. "Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting for half an hour!" We laughed and high fived. He shouted that I was the boss of this. His energy and positivity were so big, so real that there was no space for the Fear Voice.   I was afraid, to be sure. But the Fear Voice had lost its volume.

We sat a mile in the air (or what felt like a mile). Jason, Chuck, Nancy. Waiting for our time to descend. We talked, shared water, laughed. Later I realized what I was feeling. Trust. Faith. Belief. What it feels like to be in a place with people who believe in you when you don't believe in yourself. For me, the motivation to go forward and do this was not because they made me believe in myself. It was because I could not bring myself to prove them wrong. They believed in me. Failure was not an option.

The descent was relatively easy and fun. Exponentially better than the climb. I was able to hear the voices and cheers of my friends, a trampoline of support that I knew I could fall into. I was able to look sideways and see Jason on the more difficult right-hand descent line laughing and taking pictures of me. I could hear Roberta's voice at the base, directing my final steps and release. But I could not hear the Fear Voice. The voices of belief, support, and faith were too loud. I did it.

Let's get real. In the world of tough physical challenges, this climb and descent is a warmup exercise at best. But the leadership insight here is not about the physical challenge. It's about the leaning back. The letting go on the rock face, the finding a way to trust the safety, structure and support of those around you at the moment when you most want to lean in and cling to your fear. It's about the power of commitment even when you are afraid. When you focus on just this moment, not the fear of the next moment or the regret of the last. It's about the realization that the most unscalable prison walls are the ones we build ourselves. It's about letting go--letting go of the safety of fear.

I received a note from Jason a few days later. He wrote about the feeling of affirmation, the clear reminder that his purpose in this world was to coach and inspire others. And that being able to support me and others on the rock face gave him something he'd been missing. His gift to us had also been a gift to him. When we inspire others, we inspire ourselves. When we show up the right way for those we lead--when we believe in them when they can't believe in themselves--when we drown out their voices of fear and doubt with our overwhelming belief and faith (YOU are the BOSS of this rock!)--that nourishes us as much, or maybe more, than it nourishes them. All in, full on, lean back leadership...this is the place of transformation.