Some lessons come from mentors, books, or those posters HR tapes on the wall.
And then there are the lessons that come from a locomotive that refuses to start, a crew that’s pissed off, and a shift clock that somehow moves faster when everything is going wrong.
This one came on a night when the shop was hotter than hell and twice as loud. We had power failing left and right, a switch list stacked like a Jenga tower, and three people asking me three different versions of “What do you want me to do?” at the exact same time.
My first instinct?
Snap. Bark. Tell everyone to sit down, hush up, and let me think.
But here’s the thing:
The shop doesn’t care about your instincts.
It cares about what you do next.
So instead of cracking, I walked the floor. Slowly. Purposely. I checked in with each person like I actually gave a damn — because I did. And somewhere between the traction motors and the sand tower, I realized the crew wasn’t frustrated at the work. They were frustrated because they hadn’t seen me do the one thing a leader is supposed to do when the world goes sideways: stay calm.
And the second I stopped acting like I was on fire, the whole crew chilled out.
The noise dropped.
The tension cracked.
The work started moving again.
We didn’t finish early. We didn’t finish pretty.
But we finished — and nobody got killed or quit.
Leadership isn’t about knowing the answer. It’s about not becoming another problem.
Some days, the shop teaches you patience.
Some days, it teaches you humility.
Some days, it teaches you that you’re the reason the energy was jacked up in the first place.
The trick is paying attention long enough to hear it.
Show up. Do honest work. Take care of people. Everything else is noise.