Two paradigm-shifting, world-changing, one-hundred-eighty-degree-turn-inducing words

Many of the leaders I work with come to me with a skill that I highly valued, treasured, and utilized every day as a leader. In fact, it is probably one of the most common skills of great leaders and is often at least partially responsible for the promotions that got us here.

I was a speed demon. Often at work, if direct reports came and wanted to chat with me about an issue, I was doing paperwork or sending email or signing documents to get more done immediately. If a board member or a donor or a parent or a community member needed something, I would often do it while I was talking to them, multitasking, to get it done. When someone would ask me to work on an issue I would often do it while I was talking to them and then email it immediately. I patted myself on the back for my incredible efficiency.

You can imagine my shock when first a coach and then other leaders I admired suggested I had to “slow down." Of course, they were wrong, and it would only be a matter of time before they realized it. My speed was my secret power—didn’t they see that? Besides, if I have more things to do than can be done, shouldn’t I be speeding up, not slowing down? Then I read that multi-tasking is ineffective. What!? I was the king of multi-tasking! I could prove it worked. Or at least I thought I could. Or I thought it was. Or…

As I watched the implications of my speed, I had an epiphany. I wrote it down to test it out. I paid close attention over time. The epiphany was true. It changed my life. It will change yours. Why didn’t I realize this before? Could what I thought was my superpower actually be my superweakness? Could I have been fooling myself?  I realized how many mistakes I had made—how many problems I had created simply because I did not know these two words. How could something so simple be so powerful? What could these paradigm-shifting, world-changing, one-hundred-eighty-degree-turn-inducing words be?

Speed kills.

My strength was a weakness—it had few benefits. The need for it came from deep within me—not from the task itself—and it created far more problems than it solved. Looking back, it was as plain as the nose on my face. Speed kills. That typo made me look unprofessional, the multi-tasking made my team think I was uninterested in them, my speed seemed like a carnival trick I whipped out to impress people. People pretended to leave my meetings inspired and maybe some were, but most were secretly scared and exhausted.

But we all die with a full inbox, so isn’t speed desirable? No. End of sentence.

But why is speed a problem? If I can be fast, doesn’t that help? Frankly, and again, no.

But if I am the leader, shouldn’t I be modeling speed? Absolutely not. Because most importantly, as a leader, if you set a pace that no one else can keep, you will lose your team. If you are superhuman and I am only human, why would I follow you? I will never be what you are. If you are the fastest brain in the west and I am a reflective thinker, what chance do I have? You will have the answer while I am still reading the question. If you are the rabbit and I am the snail, telling me how you developed your legs won’t help; telling me how it feels to win the race makes me feel worse not better; your example does not inspire me—it demoralizes me. Because I CAN’T BE YOU.

if you set a pace that no one else can keep, you will lose your team.

When speed is modeled and rewarded, people adapt to pace instead of contributing to thinking. Inputs get quicker and safer. Conclusions replace exploration. Over time, the harder questions disappear because there’s no space for them. Conversations turn transactional. Listening becomes partial. Presence is replaced by efficiency. And then, people experience something unintended:

Distance.

The leader still feels fast while the organization gets shallow.

Leaders overly indexed on pace often miss when slowing down would actually accelerate results: a rushed hire that takes months to unwind, a quick pivot that confuses the market, a fast meeting that leads to slow execution because no one bought in.

What feels like responsiveness to you can feel like dismissal to them. What feels like decisiveness becomes pressure. What feels like excellence starts to seem unattainable. The team absorbs the cost.

Not every decision deserves the same tempo. Some require urgency; others require patience—even discomfort. The danger is losing the ability to tell the difference.

Slowing down isn’t about doing less for its own sake. It’s about doing less of what doesn’t matter so you can fully engage in what does.

In practice, it looks like letting a problem sit long enough for someone else to own it, giving someone your full attention instead of divided efficiency, and choosing depth over volume.

It will feel uncomfortable. But the shift is real. Your team thinks more. Conversations deepen. Decisions strengthen and the work that matters actually gets done.

Speed has its place. But leadership isn’t a race to clear the inbox. It’s the discipline to focus on what matters most—and to create the conditions for others to do the same.

Slowing down isn’t about doing less for its own sake. It’s about doing less of what doesn’t matter so you can fully engage in what does.

A simple question: Are you trying to go fastest or farthest?