April 16, 2025
“And it will mindset shifts to see the limitations in being first on the call sheet.”
Everywhere you look, someone is walking slowly through a park with dramatic music playing over a Reel captioned: “Romanticizing the mundane.” The internet has collectively declared that it’s no longer enough to live your life. You must star in it.
The context here? Group scenes are out. The solo spotlight is in. Everyone’s starring and no one’s watching. And it will take mindset shifts to see the limitations in being first on the call sheet.
Don’t get me wrong, I get the appeal.
As someone who grew up secretly watching rom-coms and overly sentimental family sitcoms and once spent an entire summer pretending to be Uncle Jesse from Full House, I understand the allure of making the ordinary feel cinematic. Of turning the slow-drip absurdity of everyday life into a curated highlight reel where you are not only the protagonist but the director, writer, and entire audience.
If I’m being honest, I couldn’t shrink if I tried. I take up space. Sometimes more than I’d like. Whether I want to or not, whether I’m at my best or not. I’ve come to believe it’s part of what makes me useful. Helpful, even. I do run a coaching business after all.
I’m like the matzo ball that refuses to sink. Dense, but determined. But I’ve also learned to watch that part of me. To ask: Will this serve the moment? Because even if I’m wired for center stage, I’m not always the right main character for this particular movie to win an Oscar.
Sometimes taking a backseat means literally turning your back to the camera and letting someone else shine. See photo. Yes, that’s me. No, I didn’t stage it. Probably. Even when I try to take a step back… somehow, I still end up being the guy in the moody backlit photo.
It has me wondering: when everyone is the main character, who’s left to care?
This isn’t just a philosophical question. It’s an emotional one and it takes mindset shifts to fully grasp it’s power. Because in a world where everyone is the hero of their own carefully edited story, we lose something essential: the give-and-take. The ability to play a supporting role. The richness of observation.
And frankly, the joy of sitting offstage, if only for a moment, and not worrying if your hair is doing that weird thing again.
To be clear, I’m not against self-love. I’m not even against the occasional slow-motion walk to a Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve done it. Just… maybe not in flip-flops. Learn from my mistake.
What I’m suspicious of is the creeping loneliness masked as self-actualization. The pressure to constantly be compelling. The idea that being important means being central.
Because sometimes, growth looks like being backstage. Sometimes, healing sounds like asking someone else about their day and actually listening. Sometimes, the most main-character thing you can do is let someone else take the spotlight.
I coach leaders who are often praised for their ability to command a room. But I can tell you: the ones who build the most loyal, kick-ass teams are the ones who know when to get out of the spotlight. They make space, listen, and ask great questions. They don’t need to be the hero of every story.
And if you’re wondering. Yes, I did just main-character my way through that whole paragraph. See? I told you I take up space. The matzo ball floats again.
Unfortunately the workplace has not escaped this trend. We’ve got founders romanticizing the grind on TechCrunch, posting about their 5 a.m. cold plunges and 14-hour workdays as if they were Oscar submissions. One guy I know even hired a drone to film his Tuesday.
And yet behind closed doors, these same leaders are exhausted, disconnected, and privately questioning their purpose. When performance becomes your default setting—whether in your job, your relationships, or your feed—you might get applause, but you won’t get peace. And eventually, you start to forget what it feels like to simply be.
Here’s some cultural commentary for you: what’s missing in those moments is connection. Because connection is what makes the grind, the “leadership,” sustainable. And performance without connection is just burnout with a filter.
I don’t have a problem with people finding beauty in their lives. In fact, I encourage it. But what if instead of starring in every moment, we inhabited it? What if we traded “main character energy” for “mutual character energy”?
What if your purpose didn’t have to be proven on camera to be real and if being seen started with seeing?
Here’s a plug: if you’re tired of performing success and ready to actually feel it, come find me. I spend a lot of time with ambitious people who want to build something that don’t require an audience to be meaningful.
And in the mean time, remember that being second on the call sheet isn’t a demotion. It’s a relief. Sometimes the best role isn’t lead. It’s scene-stealer. Or scene-listener.
Just a thought.
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