I feel incredibly lucky to be surrounded by friends and peers who are bold, driven, and always ready to seize opportunities. Watching them chase their goals and carve out space for themselves has inspired me time and time again. Their courage has shaped my own path and pushed me to show up more fully. I also know (because I’ve lived it) that it takes time- real time- along with trial, error, and honest experience to find people who truly resonate with you.
As someone in my twenties, I know how easy it is to feel like everyone else has already found their people- the perfect team, the inspiring mentor, the dream collaborators who just get them. However, I think the truth is, finding meaningful connection- connection that goes beyond surface-level synergy- takes time. It requires patience, self-awareness, vulnerability, and sometimes, getting it wrong before you finally get it right.
You don’t always recognize your people right away. Sometimes they’re the quiet ones in the corner. Sometimes they show up not during your wins, but in your moments of crisis. Often, you have to walk through the wrong rooms, sit in misaligned circles, and endure the awkward silences before you truly learn what real alignment feels like.
Over time, I’ve learned that the people who truly resonate with you aren’t always the loudest or most confident ones in the room. They’re the ones who make you feel seen- without needing you to perform or explain. The ones who remain steady when things get messy. Who don’t need to declare their value, because it’s lived, not announced. Most importantly, I think that if you’re lucky enough to find people like that, you have to show up for them in the same way- with consistency, care, and presence.
That kind of connection, and that kind of leadership, doesn’t happen overnight.
It comes from paying attention. From listening closely. From learning to recognize strength that doesn’t seek the spotlight. And sometimes, it comes simply from showing up: quietly, consistently, without needing to be asked. In leadership, we’re often taught to focus on the bold, the vocal, the obvious talent. However, just like in life, some of the most powerful forces are the ones you don’t immediately see: the quiet teammate who holds things together under pressure, the introvert who listens more than they speak, the person who leads not by title, but by presence and intention.
It’s a theme that reminds me of Janie Crawford, the protagonist of Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”. Janie’s journey isn’t about claiming the spotlight; it’s about reclaiming her voice, slowly and courageously, on her own terms. She isn’t loud. She doesn’t demand to be heard. Yet by the end, she commands a kind of respect and wholeness that comes only through deep personal growth. Her story is a powerful reminder that the most transformative leadership often begins within and often unfolds in silence.
At its heart, Janie Crawford’s story is a journey toward self-definition. Over the course of the novel, she moves through relationships, social expectations, and long stretches of silence. These moments often mirror how many of us experience leadership in real life- not as a single, defining act of authority, but as a slow accumulation of clarity, courage, and truth.
What makes Janie such a powerful figure, especially to me, is not her ability to dominate a room, but her refusal to accept a life that doesn’t reflect who she truly is. She begins the novel shaped by other people’s dreams: her grandmother’s desire to protect her, her husbands’ need for control, and her community’s narrow ideas of what a woman should be. Over time, she grows into someone who listens to herself, trusts her experience, and learns to speak, not just to be heard, but to say something meaningful.
Actually, I think that one of the most striking scenes in the novel comes when Janie returns to Eatonville alone after the death of her husband, Tea Cake. She walks through town with her head held high. She doesn’t perform grief for others. She doesn’t shrink in response to their whispers. She offers no explanations for where she’s been or what she’s endured. She doesn’t justify her strength. That quiet self-assurance is, in itself, a radical act of leadership.
Janie teaches us that leadership doesn’t always look like command. Sometimes it means walking away from what no longer serves you. Sometimes it means sitting in your truth, even when no one else understands it. And sometimes, it means blooming quietly after a long season of silence.
Her story is a reminder that the most powerful voice you can develop is your own. That voice doesn’t have to be loud to change your life, or the lives of those around you.
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” -Zora Neale Hurston
So here’s a reflection for today:
- Who in your life or on your team inspires you, not because they speak the loudest, but because they show up with quiet strength?
- Have you taken the time to recognize them, support them, or learn from them?
I ask these questions because sometimes, leadership isn’t about making noise.
Sometimes, it’s about noticing who’s blooming quietly, and remembering that even flowers don’t ask to be watered (a little hint towards my next topic!).