My family and friends joke that I was born old. I've always been quick to step up, and I've spent a good part of my life in charge of one thing or another.
When I was an undergrad at Marshall University, I was asked to help at a music workshop that brought hundreds of high school kids to campus. Dr. Ben Miller asked me to get one of the bigger ensembles seated and take them through their warm-ups.
There were about 100 kids in the room. It was a level of excited chaos that can only be found in a group of high school kids. I stood on a chair and clapped and shouted until I got their attention. They found their seats a few at a time, and eventually we got through the warm-ups, though it required several starts and stops. Dr. Miller leaned against the doorframe in one of his famous floral shirts, arms crossed, watching me struggle.
Afterward he thanked me and asked me to stay and watch him with the next group. The room filled up again, every bit as loud as before. He stepped onto the podium, put a finger to his lips, and waited. The kids quieted down. He held up the warm-up sheet and one finger, and they got their music out. Then he raised his baton and led them through the warm-ups. He didn't say a word.
I'm grateful every day for that lesson in quiet leadership. I learned more that day than any of the kids did. I have tried to carry that lesson with me at home and at work.
Through a job center full of technicians, customer meetings that were going badly, and my own site walks, staying calm, patient, and composed has been my approach. The times that call for a raised voice are rarer than they feel in the moment, and the quiet version keeps everyone's reactions in check and gets better work out of the room.