Humility is not about diminishing yourself; it is about speaking less about yourself. The quietest person in the room often has a unique story or talent and understands that consistent self-improvement is the key to success.
Serving as a club’s General Manager can feel intimidating. You work alongside accomplished business and community leaders on the Board, Finance Committee, or House Committee, each bringing valuable expertise. A strong General Manager knows when to contribute and when to let the discussion unfold. Mastering communication is an art that takes years of practice, mistakes, and emotional awareness. One helpful question is: “Does this need to be said now? Does it need to be said by me? Does it need to be said at all?” That mindset reflects patience, restraint, and humility in the moment.
This patience is very different from the black-and-white reality of cooking. A dish is either right or wrong in that first bite, taste, or presentation. Wait a little longer, and you can convince yourself to go in another direction. Great chefs make the decision in ten seconds: redo it, add this or that, replate it, and move on. The challenge is that this is culinary excellence, not human interaction, where the space between intention and interpretation matters.
Over time, I became highly skilled at tasting, technique, and flavor combinations, but not at interpreting how others received my words or actions. When I moved to the front of the house, I carried over the quick-response style that had served me well in the kitchen: know the answer, offer the solution, or assign responsibility. While the kitchen demands speed, accuracy, and execution, working with people requires patience and a more thoughtful approach.
Only in the past ten years have I gained the confidence to slow down, listen, pause, and admit I do not have the answer right away. I have come to believe it is better to know the right question to ask than to have every answer. Real confidence comes from trusting that you can find the right solution, not from knowing it immediately. Part of that confidence comes from becoming a Master Chef, achieving something no one else at the table has, and feeling that I have earned my place at the boardroom table.
This quiet superpower has even allowed me to be questioned about culinary matters without feeling challenged in my response. Looking back, that is exactly what every intern did in my kitchen twenty-five years ago. They constantly asked, “Why did we do this?” or “Why did we do that?” Sometimes I had to research the answer or confirm that the technique was correct. Parents experience this with their children, whose innocent curiosity often leads to endless questions.
Almost always after one of my Board meetings, I would sit down next to a member and ask about something they had said or mentioned during the meeting. They were always kind and generous in explaining their thoughts, ideas, or perspectives. We had exceptional legal, financial, design, and medical minds around the table, all discussing what was best for their club.
Research shows that consistency drives performance. While many people focus on technology and tools, time remains one of the few factors fully within their control. Practicing a skill for twenty minutes each day can place someone ahead of most others through steady effort alone. Speed, accuracy, and endurance are built one step at a time. Better shoes, hydration, or supplements may help, but they cannot replace repeated practice and accumulated knowledge.
Another superpower for me has become listening. Whether in a board meeting, in conversation, or simply at rest, I focus on what is being said rather than on how I will respond. Often, after a conversation with my work partner, Annette, I reflect for a few days before sharing an idea or insight. What matters is that I truly listened, built upon the conversation, and sometimes contributed knowledge that proved valuable later. These are qualities of high emotional intelligence, often reflected in how people connect and respond to one another.
These skills have been refined gradually over time. I do not want to be the person in the room whom others merely tolerate; there are already too many of those in both professional and personal life. Cycling has given me space to reflect, especially on a lesson I use in speech preparation: “This is what I wanted to say, this is what I actually said, and this is what I wish I had said.” That is part of the practice. Although I often feel more confident with notes, some of the most effective speaking is organic, authentic, and unscripted. Recently, I gave a speech from the heart, and afterward the sponsor told me they could not believe I had spoken without notes. It reminded me of the saying, “It’s how you make people feel, not what you said,” that often has the greatest impact. Consider Martin Luther King Jr.’s words: “I have a dream,” rather than “I have an idea.”
Was it the content or the emotion that resonated most? Like cooking, you can follow the recipe, but once you understand the desired outcome, you can add something uniquely your own. Those touches often become the flavor or texture that stays with the diner. When you create emotion, you move closer to mastery.
