That’s a tricky one.
I’ve never been the “stand at the front of the room, point at a chart, and make people clap” sort of leader. I’m allergic to spotlights and committee meetings; they cause me to break out in hives. But I have always been the black sheep, the one who drifts off the well-trodden path, with a dog at my heels, and a few curious souls following behind, wondering, “Does she know where she’s going?” (Answer: not always, but the view is better this way.)
For me, leadership isn’t about telling people what to do. It’s about refusing to be told who you are. Sometimes that means standing alone in your muddy wellies while everyone else is marching in neat rows. Other times, it means speaking your truth when silence would be easier, and yes, riskier.
And let’s be honest, leaders come in all shapes. Darcifer, my old black lab, was convinced she was a general. She would march ahead, barking orders at cows who didn’t care and foxes who pretended not to hear. Sir Percival, the smug tomcat, on the other hand, led by sheer arrogance, everyone in the house revolved around his feeding schedule, whether they liked it or not.
So, do I see myself as a leader? Not in the conventional sense. But if leadership means living stubbornly by your own compass, taking tea breaks in the middle of the march, and occasionally inspiring others to ditch the herd and wander too, then yes. I’ll take that. Quiet leadership, with a wink and muddy boots.
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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