A lot of leaders are good at telling people what to do (and honestly, they're often not wrong). Some of them have sharp instincts, deep experience, and a clear vision of what needs to happen. But here's the thing: giving instructions is the easy part. The harder, far more valuable thing? Building the kind of team environment where good work happens again and again, without needing someone to bark out orders every hour. A place where people actually want to do the work. Not out of fear, or survival, or obligation, but because they feel a sense of meaning, momentum, and yes, joy.
I know “joy” feels like a lofty word when we're talking about work. But I believe it matters. Joy doesn't mean laughing through deadlines or turning everything into a team-building game.
It means feeling alive in the process.
It means working with people who see each other as more than roles, who care about the outcome and each other. It means knowing you're building something that's not just useful, but worth doing.
And here's where I get personal: I genuinely believe that work and purpose can live together. Not in a fairy tale way. I don't think every spreadsheet needs to change the world. But there is real dignity in doing something well, especially when you know why it matters. The best teams I've been on weren't driven by ego or urgency, they were led by someone who knew how to hold the line during chaos and knew how to protect the culture that made good work sustainable. Especially when things got critical (and political, lol).
The kind of leader who doesn't just tell people what to do, but actually takes the time to build the habits, rituals, and psychological safety that allow people to rise. The kind of leader who doesn't micromanage but designs conditions where people can trust themselves and each other.
But here's the tough part. A lot of workplaces don't get to experience that kind of leadership.
To be honest, this personal essay came from my own thinking after reading Lenny's Newsletter about how tech workers really feel , understanding the takeaways, also my own experiences and conversations between colleagues.
In too many teams, especially the ones made up of “common people” (for lack of a better term—maybe everyday workers is more fitting?), work becomes a survival game. It's just a place to clock in, keep your head down, and hope you don't get blamed when things go wrong. It becomes less about purpose and more about politics. Who's in the right rooms, who speaks the loudest, who can protect their image while the rest carry the load. In that kind of environment, apathy grows. Burnout isn't a season, it's a strategy, even. People stop caring because caring gets you hurt. Or worse, it gets you noticed… and punished.
And the saddest part? When joy dies at work, it doesn't just affect performance. It affects people. Their confidence. Their growth. Their belief that they're capable of more than just surviving.
I've worked with people who had amazing potential but were crushed under the weight of bad systems and worse leadership. Not bad because they lacked talent—but bad because they didn't care to create the kind of space where others could thrive. Some leaders are so focused on being right that they forget what they're supposed to be right for.
And then we wonder why nothing scales, why quality drops, why people leave or quietly disengage. It's not because they're weak. It's because the environment taught them not to try.
I still believe in good work.
I still believe in the kind of leadership that doesn't just chase outcomes but takes responsibility for the conditions that make outcomes possible.
I've seen it work.
I've seen people do incredible things under pressure, not because someone told them to, but because someone believed they could and made sure the path was clear enough for them to try.
So, yeah. Telling people what to do has its place. But building the kind of culture where people want to do the right things, consistently, with pride, even during the hard times? That's where the magic is. That's the kind of leadership I aspire to follow. And someday, hopefully, to practice.