I Felt Like a Kid, Who Was Trespassing in Someone Else’s Story.

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1989 EuroBike trade show in Friedrichshafen, Germany. I stood under the bright lights of the BIKE magazine show booth, waiting for my appointment with Uli Stanciu, the renowned editor and founder of the magazine.

I arrived in faded jeans with an inexpensive colourful, printed shirt, billowing wide over my slim torso. Uli was impeccably dressed in an open-collared crisp white shirt and dark blue slacks, exuded a breezy air of confidence.

Rocky Mountain’s latest model, the "Wedge," had just been named one of the “Seven Ferraris” of the mountain bike world by BIKE magazine. The Wedge design was bold, capturing new engineering elements in suspension.

After Uli’s assistant offered us coffee, we sat in the cramped meeting room, surrounded by magazines, tradeshow bikes and other samples. Uli jumped straight in: “So tell me, Grayson, how did you come to this Wedge design? What’s the process?”

I hesitated, unsure how to explain. ”It’s not really my design… The process starts with Research and Design or maybe with the welders, or one of our riders out testing prototypes in the North Shore mountains.”

Uli paused, and frowned, his steel grey eyes penetrating me, “Yeah, good, but what’s your role in shaping all these bikes?”

I stumbled, uncertain inside what my role was.

“Why?” I wondered, “Why do I deserve to be here? I didn’t do anything!” I made a vague, passing comment about the team; “Depends on the bike model. It’s Lance Bohlen, and Bill Bailey, and other designers and welders that shape these bike designs.”

Uli leaned forward, I could see he was getting frustrated – he peppered me with more questions;
“Okay, but how did you create a company that even thinks this way? This isn’t just about one bike, it’s a culture. This is leadership. So, are you leading?”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I dodged again. I didn’t feel I deserved the leading role. “I guess so.” I said quietly.

Feeling peeved, Uli raised his voice and asked; “What gives? Why can’t you give me a straight answer?”

That hit hard. I tried to match his tone to show strength, “What do you mean?”

What I felt was this: I'm an imposter. I'm making this up, and if I'm not careful you'll find that out.

At only 28 years old I had traveled the world and learned a lot about building bikes. But I was still searching for a sense of who I really was. I still felt like some inconsequential little guy. Somehow to me it didn't register, didn’t matter that I had championed Canadian-built bikes, or that I led a team toward one of the boldest designs of the early ‘90s. I was an owner. A leader. A grown-up. But I felt like a kid, who was trespassing in someone else’s story. I was so lacking in self assuredness.

The simple truth that Uli saw, and I didn’t, was that I belonged in that interview.

In leadership, there's a divide that I live with but don't like. I often diminish my role by not owning what I've actually done. But when I do want to talk about my accomplishments my ego rears up.

For many decades I've lived restlessly in this tension, feeling an angst, not really knowing what it meant to be at peace, leading projects and people.

These days, I'm calmer, feeling I don't have anything more to prove. Although I still ambitiously press forward as a leader, it is now with more internal freedom, living more restfully. I don't need to validate my contribution, but nor do I diminish it.

I seek the place of truth where, with an earned confidence, I can state; “Yes, I built this. Not alone. Not flawlessly. But with my whole heart.”

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I would love to connect with you on LinkedIn, Facebook, or Instagram​

See you next week,

Grayson

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