Ride into the unknown

Let's talk about the actual experience of leadership.

On some days, a subway ride here in New York City is just that, a jostling yet practical means of getting from one place to another.

But then there are other days.

A fellow New Yorker sits next to me and begins talking as if we've known each other for a lifetime. A wide-eyed tourist asks me questions that I, for once, have answers for. Lovers across the car sit hand in hand—one with face tattoos, the other with an opera tote bag.

For a moment, I feel it: the quiet of being surrounded by lives I didn't know I belonged to.

When I exit the train, I don't just enter another parts of the city. I enter different worlds. Different smells, sounds, lights, and stories.

There’s a verse in the Book of Psalms that says: “The mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.”

That's what happens when you come to New York City and have eyes to see. The buildings burst into song before you, and subway doors clap their hands!

And you enter worlds.

Celtic spirituality refers to thin places—those rare and resonant locations where the boundary between the world we think we know and the world as it really is becomes permeable. Places like rocky cliffs, mossy forests, caves, sea-carved fjords, or calming wells. In those storied spaces, they believed, you are welcomed into your transformation.

For my friend Ralf, a lifetime New Yorker, and me, the subway is a thin place, a portal into the worlds. We miss stops. Sometimes, there's just too much going on to track where we are.

Stepping into a new leadership role—or any meaningful change—is a lot like that.

You descend into the unknown. You ride into another space that comes with another emerging version of yourself. And when you surface, you're in a place you don't fully recognize.

But you will.

There’s fear in riding into the unknown, of course. Stuff can happen in the subway. However, something else also happens, which you don’t expect.

The unknown responds with a welcome too.

You’re met.

Not always in the way you want. But in the way you need. You’re met with help. With insight. With moments of kind strangeness. With allies. With curiosity that the unknown has about you--about what you bring and about who you are becoming.

When you don't control the world, there's an unexplainable resonance.

You are not an impostor. There is no impostor syndrome in the unknown. You are not required to perform success. You are not valued for your executive presence. If you breathe and are curious, you receive an invitation and permission to belong.

And this, I’ve learned, is the difference between a portal and a performance.

Change, real change, doesn’t come through an 'aha' moment, a three-step plan, or other tidy ways. Those are head events. Portals are traversed with the entire body.

When you step through a portal, you don’t just gain new insight. You dare to experience yourself differently.

This is why I love the subway. Every time I ride it, I remember: We don’t just move through the new world. The new world moves through us.

So if you’re on the edge of something new—starting a role, leaving a role, saying yes to something larger—pause, notice the trees and subway doors opening their hands to welcome you.

Maybe what you need isn’t a plan, strength, or strategy.

Maybe what you need is a portal and a ride.

Wherever this ride takes you, you are not alone. There's good out there. Hear the new mountains and buildings singing your name.

✨ Want to go deeper?

I'm offering a workshop called “How to Be Out of Control: The Leadership Skill That Changes Everything.”

In it, we’ll explore five portals that today’s leaders must walk through—thresholds that don’t just test us, but transform us.

Samir

Apply HERE now.