“We’re such nerds.”
We chat more about the professor and his human factor as the lecture hall fills up. At a few minutes past seven-thirty, Doctor Phillips takes the stage. He’s your average fifty-something white guy in slacks and a button-down shirt, but his voice instantly has the whole room going silent. He speaks like a Shakespearean actor, every word crisp and rich, filled with weight and warning, with the deep waters of wisdom and a spark of wildness.
“What makes a leader?” he asks. “What does it really mean to lead? We talk about leading companies, leading countries, leading trends and systems. Yet what is a company made of? What defines a country? What does a trend indicate, and what does a system seek to control?”
We wait in silence, though I already know the answer.
“People. Human beings. Though we may measure economics through a host of other metrics, ultimately we are seeking to understand—and in many cases, profit from—people. Those who are able to do so successfully are the ones who emerge as leaders. So I ask again, with that statement in mind, what makes a leader? What does it take to lead?”
And that’s how I spend two hours of my life totally enraptured by a lecture about the economy. Doctor Phillips paints a picture of leadership in colours I’ve never seen before, never thought to consider. I’ve always seen being a leader as nothing more than a necessary part of my job. I take on that role because there’s no one else to do it and it needs to be done. It’s an item on a list of errands to run. It doesn’t define me.
But what if it did?
I spend so much time making sure everyone else is accomplishing their plans that I’ve never really allowed myself to come up with plans of my own. I’ve never put an idea up in front of people and asked them to fight for it, to fight for me.
I’ve also never wanted anything as much as I want to keep what Taverne Toulouse means to me alive, and as the saying goes: to get something you’ve never had, you’ve got to do something you’ve never done.
“So?” Julien asks, mimicking my question to him after the poetry slam.
“Well played,” I answer. “You’re working very hard to convince me you’re right about everything. I might just be starting to think your Machiavellian mind may not be totally evil.”
“I do not have a Machiavellian mind!” he protests. “That is an extreme statement.”
“Well tell me this: if you had to be loved or feared as a leader, which would you pick?”
“I mean...a healthy degree of fear is necessary for a successful professional relationship.”
“Ha!” I point a finger at him as students shuffle past us on their way to the door. “Just like old Niccolò himself!”
“I said a healthy degree!” Julien insists. “And I didn’t say I would pick it over love if it came down to it. I’m just not...sure. Both are important.”
“I don’t think my staff fears me,” I counter.
“Oh, I think they do.” I start to argue differently, but he forges on. “They love you, yes, but they also respect you and know you’re capable of enough ass kicking to not want to get in your way.”
I can’t help it; I start to giggle and it morphs into a full-on laugh attack.
“What?” he demands. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just...when you say ‘ass’...Like, normally your accent is subtle, but with ‘ass’ it’s like...”
I can’t finish my sentence.
“What’s wrong with how I say ass?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Of course, that just makes me laugh even harder.
“It’s like you put an ‘h’ in front of it,” I choke out. “It’s like ‘hass!’”
He shakes his head at me. “I do not sayhass.”
“Yes, you do!”
The few remaining students in the room are starting to stare at us.
“You arecomplètement fou,” Julien insists. “Let’s get out of here. Move your lovelyhass.”
He almost has to drag me up the stairs I’m laughing so hard.
