The Quiet Power of Losing Oneself

There’s something about Sunday mornings that invites introspection. Perhaps it’s the gentle pace, the absence of workday pressures, or maybe it’s just the coffee — this Ethiopian blend that somehow tastes even better when paired with the soft light of dawn breaking over the water.

The pelican has returned today. He’s perched high up on the weathered piling at the end of the dock, looking somewhat prehistoric against the modern boats. I’ve been watching him for the better part of an hour now, his patient vigilance occasionally interrupted by hilariously ungraceful dives. For all his awkwardness in the air, he emerges successful more often than not. There’s a lesson there, I think.

The water is calm, and a mirror to the sunlit morning sky above. A few early fishermen have trolled by, raising their hands in the universal greeting of those who rise before the world demands it. There’s a fellowship among early risers that transcends background and circumstance — a quiet acknowledgment that we’ve chosen to witness the day’s beginning rather than merely catch it in progress.

I’m Honored

Several of you commented on last week’s post about finding peace in small moments. Sandra wrote about how she’s started taking her morning coffee on her front porch instead of scrolling through news. I applaud that. Michael shared that he’s teaching his grandson to identify birdsongs. His grandson will remember that when he’s an old man. These seemingly minor shifts create spaces where wisdom can find us.

Clothe Yourself

This morning, I’ve been reflecting on something that’s been circling my thoughts for weeks now — the transformative power of humility and losing oneself. In my morning quiet time I found myself revisiting 1 Peter 5, where the apostle writes: “Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for ’God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’ Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.”

These words pierce me because they expose the younger man I once was.

The Old Me

I wasn’t always the person who sits quietly with morning coffee, finding wisdom in pelicans and dawn light. For too many years, I was someone else entirely — someone convinced of his own importance, someone who entered rooms expecting to be the smartest voice with all eyes upon me, someone who confused confidence with arrogance.

Full of Myself

When I owned my first radio station, at age 25, the Salt Lake Tribune called me “the Steven Spielberg of radio.” I started believing my own press clippings, letting that early acclaim become the foundation of an inflated self-image rather than a challenge to earn such praise daily through humility and hard work.

Tense Moments

I remember a particularly tense budget meeting where I steamrolled over our finance director’s concerns. David had carefully analyzed our budgets and warned of cash flow issues, but I dismissed his expertise with a wave of my hand. Six months later, he told me we were three weeks away from bankruptcy and we were scrambling for emergency financing at terrible terms. I had mistaken his caution for lack of vision, when in reality, he simply saw what I refused to see. I fired him and ended up with a “yes man,” which was much worse.

A Minefield

That wasn’t an isolated incident. My professional life became a minefield of my own creation. I remember the day we were in a staff meeting when one of my employees threw a fit, started screaming at everyone, then went into his office and started throwing things. I walked into his office, told him he was being inappropriate, and fired him on the spot. In hindsight, decades later, I should have suggested he take a walk and cool down, then have a conversation to hear his side of things, but also firmly let him know this behavior wasn’t acceptable. I had cut my own throat and had to find a replacement, which took time and cost me money. My immaturity encouraged the swift exercise of power, just because I could.

Power Over Practical

I think about the first radio station I purchased. On my very first day, I instituted policies that made no practical sense, designed for no purpose other than to demonstrate who was in charge. The confusion and resentment were immediate, but I was blind to it, mistaking compliance for respect. I ended up dropping those rules later.

Deep Sadness

Perhaps most painfully, I recall when one of our team members passed away unexpectedly. It was sad, but we had work to do. While the staff grieved, I lacked the empathy to give them space and time. I pushed forward with deadlines and expectations as if nothing had happened. I looked cold and heartless, though I, too, was hurting. Within a day, most of the team resigned. I stood in an empty office, bewildered by what I saw as disloyalty rather than recognizing my profound failure of leadership. A little space and empathy could have changed everything.

Fired from My Own Company

In San Francisco, when my tech company began struggling after the World Trade Center was hit, my board hired an adviser — without talking to me about it — specifically to help right the ship. I was offended that I was not consulted, and that the adviser was coming out of my budget. I refused his guidance at every turn. “I’m the CEO,” I’d remind him, as if my title granted me superior wisdom rather than superior responsibility. My relationships with the board suffered, and ultimately I was fired from my own company because I was too full of myself to listen.

Arrogance got in my way. My marriage suffered under the weight of my overconfidence. Friends and employees gradually drifted away. I couldn’t understand why people wouldn’t simply recognize my obvious brilliance and follow my lead.

Gradual Change

The change didn’t come as a thunderbolt revelation. It was more erosion than earthquake — a gradual wearing away of my pride through accumulated failures and missed connections. It was standing alone in that office after my team walked out, the silence finally loud enough to hear. It was the former employee who, years later, told me he’d never felt so dehumanized as in that moment I fired him without discussion. It was the adviser I ignored sending me a kind note when my company finally folded, saying simply, “When you’re ready to rebuild, I’m still willing to help.” It was the dinner party where I realized nobody was engaging with my clever observations. It was the look on my son’s face when I dismissed his opinion without consideration; I realized at that moment that’s what my own father had done to me. Now I was repeating his behavior.

The most painful realization wasn’t that I had been wrong so often — it was that I had missed so much wisdom by being unwilling to listen.

There’s no doubt that leadership in business or parenting requires a certain amount of confidence. Often a leader or parent can see things others can’t see and needs to ask people to implement ideas that may not be immediately clear to them. But as Proverbs explicitly states, “in the multitude of counselors there is safety.” The Bible doesn’t tell us to avoid seeking wisdom from those around us — quite the opposite.

Surrounded by Stars

I’ve learned, painfully and gradually, that the people I’ve hired are usually better than me in their areas of expertise, frequently smarter than me in ways I need, and listening to them is invariably safer and wiser than simply telling them what to do. It’s hard — ego doesn’t die easily — but I’ve trained myself to listen first, to ask, “What would you do?” and “How would you solve this problem?” before offering my own solution.

50-50

Though committees can sometimes dilute speed and effectiveness, I now try to genuinely hear my team, and when possible, I ask my executives to vote on certain solutions. There have been times I’ve overridden those votes and been right, leading to success. But truthfully, at least half the time when I’ve ignored collective wisdom, I’ve been wrong.

Hiding Out

Humility manifests in unexpected ways. For 22 years, I drove the same small Honda Element, well past the point when I could afford something more luxurious. Though I often daydreamed about a sporty upgrade, I resisted because I didn’t want my employees to feel I was showing off wealth or setting myself apart. And I did not want my kids to think we were even slightly wealthy, because I wanted them to be grounded in humility. When I finally did purchase a new car, I found myself hiding it in the garage whenever team members visited my home office. It seems like such a small thing, but these daily choices reflect our deeper values and how we position ourselves in relation to others.

Community

I often wonder what insights, what connections, what growth I sacrificed on the altar of my own ego. Peter writes that we should clothe ourselves with humility “toward one another.” This suggests humility isn’t just an internal state but a way of positioning ourselves in relation to others. It’s an orientation that says, “You might see something I don’t. You might know something I need.”

True humility isn’t self-deprecation or false modesty. It’s the honest recognition of our limitations alongside our strengths. It’s understanding that wisdom accumulates in community, not in isolation. It’s knowing that even pelicans — ungainly as they appear — have mastered skills we can only observe in wonder.

Let me share what I’ve learned about what humility is and isn’t, in case it helps your own journey:

What Humility Is:

• Being confident enough to say “I don’t know” or “I need help”
• Acknowledging others’ contributions before your own
• Listening fully before responding
• Being willing to change your mind when presented with new information
• Admitting mistakes quickly and completely
• Celebrating others’ successes as enthusiastically as your own
• Making decisions that benefit the team, even at personal cost
• Seeking feedback, especially from those who report to you

What Humility Is Not:

• Downplaying your strengths or accomplishments
• Avoiding necessary leadership decisions
• Refusing to share your expertise when it’s needed
• Letting others treat you poorly
• Being indecisive out of fear
• Speaking negatively about yourself
• Avoiding healthy competition
• Surrendering your convictions when they truly matter

The balance isn’t always easy to find. Some days I still catch myself slipping into old patterns — interrupting someone’s insight with my “better” idea or dismissing a concern that feels inconvenient. But awareness is the first step toward change, and each Sunday morning reflection helps me recalibrate.

Humility in Parenting

One of the hardest transitions I’ve experienced is going from dad of small children who need constant guidance to father of adult children who don’t want to be told what to do. I’m resisting the impulse to offer unsolicited advice and trying to listen more and guide them with questions. It’s so hard.

These Sunday Coffee sessions have become, for me, a practice in humility. I share not because I have all the answers, but because in articulating questions, I often find others walking similar paths. I try to force myself to be vulnerable, to bare all, though it’s often an embarrassment. It’s part of my strategy to remain humble. Your comments each week remind me that wisdom emerges in conversation, not monologue.

When have you recognized arrogance operating in your life? 

What were the costs? And how did you find your way to a humbler approach to the world and others? 

When have you had to balance the necessary confidence of leadership with the essential wisdom of listening to your team?

As you sip your coffee this morning, consider these questions:

1. What is one area of your life where practicing more humility might heal a relationship or improve a situation?
2. Who in your life demonstrates true humility in a way you admire, and what specific qualities can you learn from them?
3. What’s one step you could take this week to “clothe yourself with humility” in your interactions with others?

Perhaps that’s the truest humility — the willingness to be exactly what we are, neither more nor less, and to trust that it’s enough for the work we’re meant to do.

Humbly,

Eric Rhoads