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Lead Yourself First by Kethledge & Erwin: Why I Schedule Silence

A federal judge and an Army officer make the case that solitude, not more input, is what separates leaders who see clearly from leaders who just react. It changed how I structure my week.

Why I picked this one up

I run a real estate company, I train for triathlons, and I've got a phone that never stops buzzing. Somewhere in the middle of all that I realized I hadn't had an original thought in about six months — just reactions to other people's texts, emails, and opinions. A friend who's ex-military recommended this book, and the title alone stopped me: Lead Yourself First. Not lead your team, lead your company, lead your family. Lead yourself. That's the part nobody teaches you.

The authors — a federal judge and a West Point-trained Army officer — aren't wellness gurus. They build the case with hard historical examples: Eisenhower, Grant, Lincoln, MLK, Churchill. Their argument is simple and it landed on me like a gut punch: the leaders history remembers all carved out solitude, and the ones who didn't tend to crack under pressure.

Solitude isn't about being alone in a cabin

The first thing the book fixes is a wrong definition I'd been carrying around. Solitude here doesn't mean isolation or silence retreats. It means freedom from input from other minds — no calls, no texts, no opinions, just your own head working on a problem. Eisenhower took solitary walks before D-Day. Grant wrote his memoirs in longhand, alone, dying of cancer, because it was the only way he could think straight about his own life.

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That reframe mattered because I'd been telling myself I didn't have time for solitude. Turns out I already had it — I just wasn't using it. My long training runs and open-water swims are solitude. No phone, no one talking at me. I used to treat that time as pure physical training. Now I treat it as thinking time, and I don't waste it scrolling a podcast just to fill the silence.

Clarity beats more meetings

The idea I've applied hardest: big decisions get worse, not better, the more people you loop in before you've formed your own view. The book calls this clarity — the capacity to think through a hard problem without ten voices in your ear. Eisenhower didn't invade Normandy by committee vote in the room; he made the call after time alone with the facts.

So on any deal over a certain size now, I block 30 minutes solo before I bring it to my team. No calls, no Slack, just me and the numbers. I write out what I actually think, not what I expect them to say. Half the time my gut call from that quiet 30 minutes holds up better than the group discussion that follows.

Moral courage requires being alone with your convictions

The chapter on Martin Luther King Jr. writing his Letter from Birmingham Jail is the one that stuck with me longest. He was completely alone — no advisors, no staff — and that isolation is exactly what let him write something that unpopular and true. You can't borrow moral courage from a group chat. It has to be settled inside you first, alone, before you say it out loud.

As a Catholic and a founder, I feel that one directly. Standing on a principle at work — walking from a deal that's technically legal but not right, or holding a line with an investor — never happens in the room with everyone watching. It happens earlier, alone, when you decide what you actually believe. The book just gave me language for something I already sensed: you have to do that work before you're tested, not during.

Who should read this

If you're a founder, an executive, or anyone whose calendar is booked solid with other people's priorities, read this one. It's not a productivity book and it's not a self-help book — it's a case, built on real leaders under real pressure, for why the quiet 20 minutes you keep skipping might be the most important part of your day.

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