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I had just won the class. And back to the barn, the race was on.

It was not to let my heifer relax or to soak in congratulations from well-wishers; it was to get ready for the next day.

It was 1996 at the Ohio State Fair, and my heifer had just won her class in the junior show, the division for 4-H and FFA exhibitors. I had bought Darcy as a calf the year before and developed her myself; the first animal I had ever shown at that level who won.

I hoped that win would finally validate me and give me standing with the others in the barn.

So I raced to prepare her for the Open division, where any exhibitor could enter; think JV versus Varsity. And yet, the memory that still plays in my mind is my friend’s dad telling me to “chill out,” then walking away in frustrated confusion.

I blew him off because, in my mind, he didn’t get it and didn't care the way I did.  For me, it was about recognition I was so desperately striving for.

Care has two halves, and I only had one. The work ethic was real. What was missing was the selflessness, because under all that effort ran a quiet accounting system that tracked what my care earned me: the results, the recognition, the reputation as being worthy.

That precedent held for years, going as hard and as fast as I could, a ‘Tasmanian Devil’ of action daring anyone to outpace me.

The people I served could feel the difference even when I could not, because care that keeps score does not land as care. It lands as pressure, and people learn to brace for you instead of trust you.

In The Things We Hide, I describe four walls leaders build out of their fears and insecurities, and the one my effort built was insensitivity. Insensitivity is rarely cruelty. It is being so locked on what the work says about you that you stop seeing the people the work is supposed to serve.

Beliefs drive thoughts, thoughts drive actions, actions drive results. My belief was that effort was proof of care, so my thought was that showing up harder meant loving people better. The action was doing more, always more, and the result was a trail of people who got my hustle when what they needed was my attention.

The question was never whether I cared. It was who my care was actually for.

Podcast

Hunter Price is a record-setting former Wisconsin high school basketball coach who now runs a content company at the intersection of leadership, coaching, and faith. His book, Care to Compete: A Coach’s Guide to Connection That Wins the Margins, is a playbook for leaders who have to win without the most talent, budget, or facilities. Of all the records he set on the court, the one he talks about most is a full season with zero parent or player complaints.

Here are three takeaways from my conversation with Hunter.

1. Care Is an Equation, Not a Feeling

Everyone in your organization believes they care, and Hunter says that is exactly the problem. “We use the word care for the food we like, the football team we like, how we feel about our spouses, our kids. It’s such a wide spectrum that you really can’t ask, do you care?” So he breaks care into work ethic and selflessness, and maps the four combinations onto four characters. 

The sloth is selfless but will not work. 

The vortex works relentlessly but pulls everything into orbit around itself, doing damage while calling it commitment. 

The ally brings both, joining the fight because the mission matters. 

The heartbeat carries both to the highest degree and pumps life through the whole team. 

The assignment is the one Hunter gave his locker rooms: define what care means in your building, in writing, in behaviors, because until you do, every yes is measured on a private scale you have never seen.

2. A Real Heartbeat Gives the Moment Away

A team of fifteen realistically produces one heartbeat, Hunter told me, and everyone else wins by owning a role. His favorite proof is a player who sat at 999 career points with ten seconds left, down one, on the road against a hated rival. A thousand points is the milestone every high school player dreams about. 

Instead, he drove, drew the help defender, and dropped the ball to a raw big man still finding his footing, and the layup won the game. As Hunter put it, that is what a heartbeat does: “I don’t need the ultimate gift of attention. I can give it off to somebody else and still succeed.” The pass cost him a highlight and bought a teammate a season, because confidence given away multiplies in a way applause never does.

3. Call People Up, Not Out

Hunter learned this on long walks with his father-in-law, a leadership coach whose hard conversations never left a mark; problems got addressed, Hunter never felt attacked, and it took him a year to figure out why. The difference is direction. Calling out keeps a ledger: you ran the play wrong, you missed the line, bad pass. Calling up starts from what you have seen in someone: you are out there for a reason, we practiced for this, I know you are capable, so fix it. 

“When you call people up instead of out, you stop having the scoreboard mentality of you did wrong, you did wrong, you did wrong. And you start feeling strangely uplifted after the feedback.” Fear will buy you quick compliance, Hunter warns, but it will never buy you trust. Before your next correction, name who you know the person to be, then hold them to it.

Win the Margins

Hunter’s whole career ran on a truth most of us live every day: you will never have the most talent, money, or facilities, so you win in the margins, and the margins are won by care that has been defined, modeled, and demanded.

So here is my question, and I want an actual answer. Hit reply and tell me which one you have been lately: the sloth, the vortex, the ally, or the heartbeat. I read every reply, and I will write back.

And if your honest answer is the vortex, the next Lead Without Hiding Challenge is built for you, August 18 through 20 at 12 pm Pacific: three days, live with me, naming the wall you have been calling work ethic and learning to lead from who you are instead of what you produce.

Save your seat: leadwithouthiding.com

Did you catch this podcast? If not, listen to it here.