BlueSky Lisa

Most of the professionals I work with are already over-performing. That's rarely the issue. They deliver, they're reliable, they get it done, and somewhere along the way that became the whole of their reputation.

"What got me here isn't working anymore" is how one client put it to me. She wasn't wrong about her work. She was right that hard work alone had stopped being the thing that moved her forward.

Here's what I've noticed: reputation isn't something that happens to you as a reward for effort. It's something you decide, and then build, on purpose.

So the real question isn't "am I working hard enough." It's "what's the reputation I actually want, three years from now, and am I doing anything today that builds it."

A couple of questions worth considering:

What are the three words you'd want people to use about you in three years?
Is anything you're doing this week actually building toward that, or just toward getting through it?

I'd love to hear where this lands for you.

Reach for the Sky, Lisa

I was at a leadership retreat in Connecticut once, in a room full of very senior bankers, listening to a man named Marshall Goldsmith.

He said something I'd never heard anyone say in all my years in corporate life: when you change your own behaviour, other people change how they respond to you.

I sat very still. Around me, people were taking notes and moving on. I couldn't move on. I'd spent most of my career adapting, to the room, to the circumstances, to whatever the environment seemed to want, working harder and louder to fit it. I had never once tried changing my own behaviour to change how the environment responded to me.

By then I had a title, a salary, a team, a track record across three continents. On paper, it was all working.

It took two years from deciding to leave to actually leaving. Two years of retraining as a coach alongside a senior executive role, and being honest with myself that walking away from a Managing Director salary takes real courage, whatever else is true.

I left before I turned fifty.

It didn't stay tidy after that. Two years later I said yes to a CFO role, which is an entirely different story. But that retreat is where it actually started. One sentence, in a room I nearly wasn't paying attention in.

Reach for the Sky,
Lisa

You've been meaning to have that conversation for six weeks. The one where you tell someone on your team the role isn't working, or push back on a decision that's already been made, or admit to your own boss that the plan isn't going to land on time.

Every week there's a reason it isn't quite the moment. The team's under pressure. It's nearly year end. You want to see how next quarter goes first.

None of that is exactly false. It's also not exactly true.

There's a question worth asking yourself in moments like this: what is the lie I'm telling myself? Not to be dramatic about it, just to notice the story you've built to make waiting feel sensible, instead of what it actually is, which is avoidance.

The lie is rarely "I'm too scared to do this." It's dressed up better than that. Not the right time. Not enough information yet. Better to be prepared than sorry. All reasonable-sounding. All doing the same job, buying you another week.

Facing the actual truth usually means acting on it, and acting on it is uncomfortable. The lie is comfortable. That's the whole appeal of it.

Worth considering: what have you been putting off, and what's the story you've told yourself about why now still isn't the moment?

Reach for the Sky,
Lisa

You're in the meeting. Someone floats a decision you don't actually agree with. You could push back. Instead you nod, add a small qualifier nobody notices, and let it go through.

Nobody clocks it as anything. You've just been reasonable. Flexible. Easy to work with.

Do that enough times, in enough rooms, over enough years, and one day you're leading a team, running a division, sitting in the seat you worked for, and you can't entirely remember when you started editing yourself to fit the room instead of shaping it.

That's not the same as being adaptable. Adaptability is a genuine strength, arguably the thing that gets most senior people promoted in the first place. Self-betrayal is what adaptability turns into once you stop noticing you're doing it.

The difference isn't whether you flex. It's whether you still know where your own ground is when it matters, and whether you're willing to stand on it.

A couple of questions worth considering:

Where are you currently being flexible because it's smart, and where are you being flexible because pushing back feels like more trouble than it's worth?
If you looked at your last six months of decisions, whose room were you actually shaping, yours or everyone else's?

I'd love to hear what comes up.

Reach for the Sky,
Lisa

Does leadership feel more complex than it used to?
More competing expectations, more managing
reactions, more holding things together for others, often without the authority to match
the responsibility.
I'm hosting a 90-minute Leadership Roundtable for exactly this. Small, curated, online,
complimentary.
Two dates to choose from:
Thursday 9 July, 15:30 CET
Thursday 10 September, 8:30 CET
Places are limited. Link to apply in bio.
Reach for the Sky,
Lisa

Does leadership feel more complex than it used to?
Not technically harder. Just heavier. More competing expectations, more managing
reactions, more holding things together for others, often without the authority to match
the responsibility.
I'm hosting a 90-minute Leadership Roundtable for exactly this. Small, curated, online,
complimentary.
Two dates to choose from:
Thursday 9 July, 15:30 CET
Thursday 10 September, 8:30 CET
Places are limited. Link to apply in bio and first comment below
Reach for the Sky,
Lisa

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘄?

Perhaps it's this one:

"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭."

It's a question many experienced professionals wrestle with. Not because they lack confidence or expertise, but because there seems to be a fine line between making your contribution visible and making yourself the centre of attention.

The interesting thing is that visibility isn't about talking more. It's about helping other people understand the value you bring. That's a very different mindset.

Like many leadership challenges, there isn't one right answer. It depends on your organisation, your stakeholders, your role and your style. They're the kinds of questions that sit in the back of your mind long after the meeting has ended.

That's exactly what the BlueSky Leadership Roundtable is for: a confidential thinking space where experienced professionals can think through real leadership challenges with peers.

𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳?

Are you good at politics?

It's not a question many people enjoy being asked.

In fact, when I ask coaching clients about influence and visibility, I often hear some version of:

"I don't want to play politics."

When we explore that statement further, it usually turns out that politics isn't the real concern.

What they are really saying is:

"I don't want to be someone I'm not."

"I don't want to self-promote."

"I don't want to manipulate people."

"I don't want to compromise my values."

That's a very different conversation.

Many experienced professionals have built successful careers by being competent, reliable and delivering results. At some point, however, they realise that results alone don't always create visibility, support or momentum.

Ideas need advocates. Change requires buy-in. Decisions are influenced by relationships.

The challenge is not choosing between authenticity and influence. The challenge is learning how to exercise influence authentically.

To communicate what matters. To build support for an idea. To help others see a possibility they may not have considered.

Without becoming someone you're not.

When you hear the word "politics", what does it mean to you?