What They Did Differently
Presence isn't a theory. It's what happens in real moments, with real stakes. These are the stories that taught me the most.
Each case study breaks down a defining moment—what happened, what we can learn, and the question it leaves you with.
CRISIS LEADERSHIP
⏱️5 min read
Jacinda Ardern: When Empathy Became Strategy
After the Christchurch tragedy, the world watched a leader choose compassion over convention. Her approval ratings soared—not because of her softness, but because of it.
March 15, 2019. A terrorist attack in Christchurch kills 51 people. The world waits to see how New Zealand's young Prime Minister will respond.
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WHAT HAPPENED
What Jacinda Ardern did next broke every rule in the crisis communication playbook.
She didn't stand behind a podium in a power suit. She wore a hijab and embraced grieving families. She didn't use distancing political language. She refused to say the shooter's name, denying him the infamy he craved. She didn't wait for polls. Within days, she pushed through gun reform that had stalled for decades.
The political analysts expected backlash. They got the opposite.
THE DEEPER PATTERN
Here's what most people missed: Ardern wasn't being "soft." She was being strategic—just not in the way we've been taught to recognize.
Traditional crisis leadership says: project strength, control the narrative, show you're in charge. Ardern flipped the script. She projected humanity, shared the narrative with victims, and showed that she was with the people, not above them.
Her approval rating hit 51%—the highest in over a decade. Not despite her emotional approach. Because of it.
YOUR MOVE
The lesson isn't "be more emotional." The lesson is that authenticity—when it's real—is the ultimate power move.
Ardern didn't calculate her response. She responded as herself. And in a world of scripted politicians, that was revolutionary.
The question for you: When crisis hits, are you reaching for the playbook, or reaching for your actual values?
PRESENCE & CONVICTION
⏱️5 min read
Steve Jobs: The Power of Believing Your Own Story
They called it the “reality distortion field.” His team hated it. They also achieved the impossible because of it. What made Jobs's presence so unnervingly effective?
Engineers at Apple had a name for it: the Reality Distortion Field. When Steve Jobs walked into a room and declared something impossible was now expected by Tuesday, they'd roll their eyes. Then they'd do it.
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WHAT HAPPENED
By every conventional measure, Jobs should have failed. He was famously difficult. He made engineers cry. He was ousted from his own company.
And yet.
When he returned to Apple in 1997, the company was 90 days from bankruptcy. Twelve years later, it was the most valuable company in the world.
Watch his keynote presentations. He doesn't just announce products, but he creates *moments*. "One more thing..." became cultural shorthand for anticipation itself. He paused where others rushed. He used silence like a weapon.
THE DEEPER PATTERN
Here's what made Jobs different: He didn't just believe in his products. He believed in his “vision” so completely that doubt seemed... irrelevant.
Most leaders pitch. Jobs *declared*. There's a difference.
When he said the iPod would "put a thousand songs in your pocket," he wasn't selling specifications. He was selling a future that felt inevitable, because to him, it already was.
The "reality distortion field" wasn't a form of manipulation. It was a conviction so total that it became contagious. His certainty gave others permission to achieve more than they thought possible.
YOUR MOVE
This isn't about being delusional. It's about the power of committed belief.
Jobs didn't hedge. He didn't say "we think this might work." He stood before thousands of people and declared a future. His certainty made it real.
The question: What would you build if you stopped hedging? What future would you declare if you actually believed it?
AUTHENTIC LEADERSHIP
⏱️5 min read
Brené Brown: The Researcher Who Won by Losing
She almost didn't give the talk. When she did, she broke every rule of academic credibility. That “failure” made her one of the most influential voices of a generation.
June 2010. A shame researcher with zero media training walks onto the TEDxHouston stage. She almost backs out. What happens next will be viewed 60 million times.
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WHAT HAPPENED
Brené Brown was a qualitative researcher. She studied shame, vulnerability, and human connection, which are not exactly TED material in the era of tech founders and big ideas.
Her talk was supposed to be about her research findings. Instead, she did something academics never do: she told the audience about her own breakdown.
She admitted that when her data revealed vulnerability was the key to connection, she fought it. She called it a "vulnerability hangover." She made fun of herself. She showed the audience her own struggle with the very thing she was teaching.
Every instinct said this would destroy her credibility. You don't admit weakness. You don't joke about your mental health. You definitely don't call your therapist a "breakdown" specialist on a public stage.
THE DEEPER PATTERN
Here's the counterintuitive truth Brown stumbled onto: Expertise without humanity is forgettable. Humanity without pretense is magnetic.
Every other researcher presented findings. Brown presented herself—messy, reluctant, human. And that's exactly why people remembered her.
The academic world had told her for years: be objective, be distant, be credible. She broke every rule, and it made her the most credible voice in her field.
Why? Because we don't trust perfection. We trust people who've struggled with the same things we're struggling with. When Brown said, "I tried to outsmart vulnerability for a year," every person in that audience thought, "So have I."
She didn't persuade people with data. She gave them permission to be imperfect. That's rarer, and more valuable, than any statistic.
YOUR MOVE
Brown's career-defining moment came from doing the opposite of what experts told her. She didn't project authority nor admit uncertainty. That admission became her authority.
The irony is perfect: by being vulnerable about vulnerability, she became the world's leading expert on it.
The question: What would happen if you stopped performing expertise and started sharing the actual journey? What if the struggle *is* the credibility?
Have a case study suggestion?
Know a leader whose presence deserves a closer look? I’m always open to exploring stories that matter.