The Fertile Tongue: Leadership as a Living Language and Gift

Last week, I volunteered at Human Tech Week in San Francisco. I signed up for gift bag duty—not because it sounded strategic or high-profile, but because it felt familiar.

Years ago, I owned a toy store. In that world, the gift bag was never just packaging—it was experience. It carried thoughtfulness, imagination, and intention. It made everyone feel seen the one giving and the one receiving. And packaging the gift often took more time then selecting one, always. Ordering bags, tissue paper, printing branding stickers with already designed logo(more time) and then connecting all parts together and having the right amount of bags for set up time. Art in itself from one of many past lives.

Often, the gift bag was a gift in itself— a toy, a token of remembrance, an advertisement, yes, but also an invitation. A small curiosity that made someone wonder: What’s inside? Where did it come from? How can I get one just like it?

It became a portal of memory—a carrier of awe. It lingered. It connected. It was not just a transaction—it was an imprint.

And perhaps leadership is like that too. A living gift without shape or form. More atmosphere than object. Sometimes, it’s not even the gift itself— it’s the tissue paper that wraps it. Soft, quiet, often overlooked, but essential to the way the gift is held, revealed, and received.

That’s how I’ve come to understand leadership. It’s not a title. Not a performance. Not control. Leadership is a language. A living one. It’s made real in how we show up, how we speak, how we listen, how we offer.

Leadership Is Gifting

At its core, leadership is a gift. Not just a set of responsibilities or decisions, but a presence we offer others. And like gifting, it’s not just about what we give, but how we give it.

The tone. The timing. The care behind the offering. And just as importantly—the pause.

There is always a pause in gifting. A moment of not knowing. A space where we release assumptions and lean into attunement. We don’t always know what someone truly needs—and we don’t always need to.But in that pause, we offer something even more powerful:felt presence.

We don’t gift only when it’s expected. We don’t hold back care, waiting for the “right” moment to perform generosity. True leadership offers its gifts—time, attention, clarity, support—without needing to be seen doing so.

There is a release of expectation, and yet—a full presence. Nothing forced. Nothing withheld. Only an open hand, offered in rhythm with the moment.

Leadership, too, lives in that pause. In the space between words. In the decision to wait, to listen, to soften. It shows up in tone—firm but kind. It reveals itself in clarity—especially in moments of tension. And it steadies through the composure of diplomacy—knowing how to hold the charge of a room without overpowering it.

Leadership is also a gift we give to ourselves. We do this each time we declare a direction with our words— and then follow through with aligned action. Each time we choose clarity over comfort. Integrity over performance. Service over self-importance.

It is not a possession. It is not ownership. It is not status.

Leadership is an evolving continuum—a practice. A living experience made real only when we gift it again and again, moment to moment. Sometimes it comes through silence, sometimes through speech, sometimes through the way we hold a space or step back from it entirely.

It wears many faces. And yet we give it one name: leadership.

One Moment: Am I a Server?

As volunteering goes, roles shift constantly. One day you’re arranging bags. The next, you’re setting up food for hundreds.

On one evening, while helping with food on the rooftop, a guest approached me and asked: “Are you a server?”

It wasn’t the question itself—it was the pause it created. Am I a server? Not in profession. But in that moment, I was in service—to the organizers, the attendees, the environment.

I replied: “No, I’m not a server. I’m a volunteer. What are you looking for?”

In that moment, I took a leadership stance. Not a loud one. A quiet one.

I stated who I was—clearly, kindly—without defensiveness or ego. I set a boundary and offered care in the same breath. I responded to the moment with both clarity and presence.

Because leadership requires that we know who we are, and also remain unattached to the fixed idea of self. We lead best when we meet the moment with intention, not identity.

And something else lived in that moment: joy. The joy of being seen as someone who holds space. Not to control, not to dominate, but to help things flow. To care.

So I followed up with gentle instinct: “I would like to serve you. What would you like?”

Something shifted. The guest—tired and overwhelmed—softened. He looked at me and said: “Thank you for taking care of my needs.” A phrase my children did not say often enough when they were younger.

That moment stayed with me.

Leadership isn’t always about taking the mic or directing a team. Sometimes, it’s about standing still. Sometimes, it’s about offering presence with no attachment to outcome, and letting someone else feel safe, seen, and supported—without having to ask twice.

Leadership Is a Living Language

Leadership is not static. It is a conversation—spoken, silent, and evolving.

It requires that we pay attention. That we align our words with our actions. That we set boundaries with grace, and offer without ego.

The fertile tongue of leadership doesn’t just speak—it listens, adjusts, pauses, and invites. It shows up in the moments in between. It is not always loud—but it is always felt.

Leadership is being the invisible cheerleader in the room— the one who silently roots for others’ success without needing credit. It is being the steady hand— the calm presence in complexity, the grounding force when things get wobbly.

A steady hand is not violent, not performative, not superficial. It does not come from anger, regret, or unresolved frustration. It is the kind of hand someone can lean on to steady themselves, without fear of collapse or judgment. A presence that holds no attachment to the failures of past support systems, nor to the inherited pain of generations of societal injustice.

This hand does not carry the weight of reaction— it carries the wisdom of restoration. It sends a message—primal and clear: you are safe.

These are not glamorous roles, but they are sacred ones.

We don’t always know what leadership looks like until we feel it. But we know it when we do.

And when we lead like this—moment by moment, word by word— we don’t just build teams or companies. We build trust. We build connection. We re-build the future, we all deserve.