Before the age of 13, my “leaders” were young adult novelists like Paul Zindel and Judy Blume; they made me feel less weird alone.

Some context: I was raised by emotionally disconnected adults, which left me unable to connect emotionally with myself and others. I felt like an alien who’d been abandoned on a hostile planet; the rules of social interaction were a complete mystery. So, perhaps, it’s not surprising that I preferred book characters to real people, and spent much of my time in imaginary worlds I created in my mind.

My earliest definition of leadership, if I could have defined it then, was someone who made it possible for other people, regardless of how different they were, to feel less “alien”, less disconnected and therefore “less alone”.

 

IMG_0144

 

In my teens, this idea of “feeling alone” took on a darker, angrier edge. I became attracted to rebellious, tormented creative types, such as James Dean and Edgar Allan Poe. I also aligned myself with the characters in S.E. Hinton’s “The Outsiders” to the point where I sometimes lost sight of the lines between story and reality. I remember once telling a classmate about a gang fight I’d been in where someone had died in my arms; in my mind, it was true. It had happened in my “story” life, which was very real to me at that time.

These “leaders” (as I saw them) wore their “aloneness” proudly, boastfully even. To me, it felt like they were saying “No, I don’t fit in with the tribe, but I don’t give a shit; I prefer being alone.” So, I “became” those characters. I wore a leather vest, skin tight jeans, aviator sunglasses and spiked hair, and usually had a cigarette–or a Ports cigar–dangling out the side of my mouth. You could usually find me at the pool hall or in the smoking area at school (we had one then), but rarely in class, unless you count the vice principal’s office.

 

 IMG_0140

 

In my 20s, this theme took a profound turn. Since I was a prolific reader, with an emphasis on biographies and autobiographies, it had become clear to me that my disconnected “aloneness” feeling was not just a Shawn thing, but a human thing. This drew me toward a whole different set of “leaders”—people who appeared fearless in reaching out to others so that they no longer felt disconnected and alone: Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi, the Dalai Lama and Lady Diana.

I especially loved Mother Teresa, even though many judged her for accepting money from criminals and, even more so, for not putting an emphasis on saving the lives of the people she helped. They missed the point.

She knew that lengthening someone’s life was not nearly as important as finding a way to show that person how valuable and sacred they are.

I believe she had seen with her own eyes exactly what I had read about in life story after life story, and experienced in my own life: that there’s an epidemic of people feeling disconnected and alone, and it is the root cause of the bad things people do to themselves and each other in this world.

“The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love.” ~Mother Teresa

And that became my new definition of a leader. Someone who shows others how valuable and sacred they are (and, maybe not incidentally, that is what I do now; I create a space and a framework for people that makes it possible for them to see and feel who they really are).

There was a problem for me with these “selfless” leaders though. While inspiring, they felt surreal: like gods. I saw them on TV and read their books, but I–a mere human motivated by a confusing mixture of emotional baggage and good intentions–could not identify with them. I yearned to spend time with a real leader, in the flesh, to know for myself what it looked and felt like. Fortunately, life gave me my wish…

 

motherteresa

 

When I graduated from university at 28 (that’s a whole other story), I flew to South Africa to do a journalism internship with an NGO. There, I met Khoarai J. Khoarai—nicknamed “British”—a proud, stubborn, Sesotho man, who ran 10 km every morning, rain or shine. At that time, he was the principal of a high school called Tsoseletso in a very poor South African township, in a province where more than 50% of all students regularly failed their final exams.

Meanwhile, his school had a grade 12 pass rate of 98.7%. Many of the educators I interviewed referred to him as the “Nelson Mandela of education”. Though he was strict, his students called him “ntate”—father—a term of love and respect. His wife and four teenage kids respected him as well. He was worshipped by the community, not only because he was giving their kids a real shot at life, but because when a storm tore the metal roof off their shack, he would show up to help rebuild it. Oh yeah, and in his spare time, he founded and coached a soccer club—the Young Tigers—to give the local boys something positive to do; the team went on to win the nationals (as far as I know, he’s still coaching that team, 16 years later).

Nelson Mandela and Khoarai

Nelson Mandela giving Khoarai an award for “Best Principal”

 

Not everyone loved him: there were government and education officials who were pissed he wouldn’t partake in their corrupt ways (and these types tried their best to destroy him a few years later). But, during the difficult apartheid years, he had already stood up to the white officials who could easily throw him in prison, and the black political leaders who threatened to throw a burning tire around his neck and kill his family if he kept his school open. So when I asked him if he felt troubled by these detractors, he nodded, yes, but shrugged: “I can’t focus on that. I have to stay focused on what I’m doing.”

I have to admit, I expected to find cracks in the facade. I dug for them. Because of my life experiences, I was a sworn skeptic of human beings in general; I never fully trusted anyone. But after three months of following him from morning till night, interviewing him, his family, his colleagues and even his competitors, I couldn’t find an ounce of ego or self-aggrandizement, no abuse of power, nothing. He openly told me stories about mistakes he had made, and what he had learned from them.

This was a guy who came up through the trenches. He grew up during a time when black people in South Africa had no rights; he had to fight for his own education.

 

He decided his weapons would be integrity, education and self discipline.

When he saw evidence in his own life that these led to self-respect, confidence and success, he concluded they were the keys to a better future for the whole country–and teaching this way of life to others became the motivation that got him out of bed every morning.

 

The key thing he taught me, which changed who I had been until that point (i.e. your average self-obsessed Westerner), is that there is another way to do life, a way that feels satisfying and makes the world a better place, a way that is not about stepping on others, taking shortcuts, kissing ass or trying to fit in.

And it is the same thing Gandhi taught the world: be the change you want to see. Don’t lecture other people to do it. Don’t judge them for not doing it. Just get up every day and BE the change.

 

There’s a price for this type of life: courage. The courage to continuously grow and discipline yourself, which includes forgiving yourself and recalibrating when you do fall out of integrity—we are all human, and it happens. But do we own it, learn and grow from it, and keep going…or do we use it as an excuse to throw out our original ideals and become what we despise in others?

Because, one thing is certain: when you attempt to live by a code of integrity, other people will watch you closely. The day you make even one mistake, you can expect that they will write off every other good thing you’ve done for them and anyone else. That’s when you will be truly tested to see if you are self governed. Were you doing it for their approval, or for yourself? Will you keep going, or give up?

Khoarai faced a few years of intense attacks from his detractors. He may have been framed, he may have made an honest mistake, or he may have faltered in his integrity. As far as I can tell, the conflict of interest charge was eventually dropped. Regardless, this is when a leader is truly tested. Who are you without the accolades? Do you use this as an excuse to give up, or do you learn something, and go back to getting up every morning to contribute what you can to the best of your ability?

He kept going. He stayed in his position for a few more years then returned to his community, where it all began. Incidentally, every other education official I met in South Africa moved out of their township into a mini-mansion in the city, surrounded by giant gates and barbed wire to protect his or her wealth. Not Khoarai. His house was smaller than the townhouse I grew up in, and it was always full to capacity—his wife, four children, and various other relatives and soccer team members who needed a temporary roof over their heads. He still lives there, supporting his family, cheering up local seniors, encouraging and celebrating the success of former students, and inspiring local boys to greatness as a soccer coach. According to an article I found on the Internet, he still delivers his famously rousing speeches at education events on occasion, as well.

I remember the power of Khoarai’s speeches—especially one in particular, which he delivered to about a thousand jaded, disengaged students at a so-called “bad” school (and, when I say “bad”, I mean there were tall iron gates around the teachers’ quarters that were always kept locked for their protection).

He said to them: “Where will you be five years from now? Ten years from now? Twenty years from now? I don’t know and neither do you, but I can assure you of one thing. You won’t be here at this school with your friends. When you leave here you will be alone. What happiness lies in your future has to do with you.

It has nothing to do with whether you live in a shack or a mansion. I came from a shack. Many of the students at Tsoseletso live in shacks and study by candlelight, and many have achieved distinctions. You don’t need books to learn. You don’t need to live in a house to learn. Learning comes from inside of you; it comes from discipline.

Leadership begins within yourself,” Khoarai told them.

 

And then, you know what happened? Those previously jaded teens gave him a standing ovation, and began fighting for their education.

With that speech, he achieved the very same thing Mother Teresa achieved when she went out into the streets and picked up abandoned and homeless people, to clean their bodies and stare lovingly upon their faces. Khoarai reminded them of their own inherent value; that they have a right to value and believe in themselves, no matter what they had been doing until that point, and no matter what anyone else thought of them.

 

We don’t feel disconnected and alone because we’re alone—we’re almost always surrounded by other people. Just hanging out with friends won’t cure this emptiness we feel inside. The problem is that we were not taught to recognize or explore our own inherent value, the value of our true self, which also happens to be our sacred or divine self. I don’t mean this in a religious sense, but in the sense that we are expressions of Life itself. So, regardless of whether other people like us or don’t, agree with us or not, label us as evil or angelic—we all still have equal value.

How others value us may change, and how we value ourselves may change, but our actual value never changes. It is always there. And our greatest potential as human beings lies in understanding and embracing this truth about ourselves and others.

All great leaders know this, and live it. Khoarai certainly did.

 

There is a ripple effect when leaders honour this simple truth. Khoarai made it possible for me to explore my potential in new ways that added immeasurable value and satisfaction to my life.

He was the reason I became a college teacher for two years, even though I was so terrified of speaking in front of people I had to fight the urge to throw up before every single class. The courage came from focusing on the work, sharing what I’d learned, not just about writing, but about the importance of being committed to excellence, and learning from failure, rather than punishing yourself or giving up. Those years are now a happy blur; countless late nights creating lesson plans that I hoped would help students grow and value their own abilities. There were days when the students hated me, when I pushed them to reach higher, beyond their perceived limits–and that was hard for a recovering approval junkie like me. But the thank you cards and letters I received at the end of the year let me know that it was appreciated.

He was also the reason that I co-founded and ran a children’s education charity for five years, and never took a cent from it to pay for my own expenses. The co-founder and I bought our own airfare and paid for our own accommodation when we flew to Laos to work on those projects. And the results naturally followed—we raised thousands of dollars and helped hundreds of children. Yes, when the local newspapers wrote articles about us and our fundraising music festival was featured on TV I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy the attention. It was, after all, my attempt at playing the role of Mother Teresa, because I thought that would give me more value as a human being (a preposterous idea, but I didn’t know that then). But, looking back now, it was as Khoarai had taught me:

The real reward was in the work…in getting up every day and choosing to be disciplined in be-ing good and do-ing good through my work. Living by my own integrity.

That said, there were other rewards. I have a ton of photos of those smiling children when we built them a new school, or a toilet, or created a food program, or gave them school supplies. My heart melts with joy every time I look at them. Sure, maybe we extended their lives, but that’s not what I’m proud of.

What matters to me is that I showed those kids that someone in this world gives a shit about them; that they have value. Just as Khoarai showed his students, and me, for that matter. That is what a leader does.

 

IMG_0146

 

Even though I haven’t seen him in years, I’m still learning from my friend, mentor and leadership prototype, “British” Khoarai. When I feel like staying in bed to hide from the world, I think of how he started his school in a shack with the students no other school wanted, and how often he must have felt like quitting. Yet, he showed up every morning to teach those students that they mattered—that they had value.

Regardless of whether people put him on a pedestal or judge him, it makes no difference.
A true leader should never care about such things. To be a leader, you have to get comfortable with the fact that most of the world is made up of professional critics who would much rather dedicate their time to judging and fixing others’ imperfections, than to doing their own work on themselves and growing their own integrity and self-awareness. It takes a lot of courage to look in that mirror.

I have learned this again and again and, by writing this article, I am reminding myself of it once again (BTW: everything I write for others is predominantly a reminder for myself): it is only the work that matters, not the opinions of others. Put all your energy into developing yourself and the results will follow.

Because Khoarai chose to develop his own integrity and self discipline, instead of judging or blaming others, he helped thousands of young people to recognize their own value and potential, and the ripple effect of that will continue expanding long after he’s gone. I am one of those ripples. My work strengthens and supports those leaders with the courage to stand up as themselves, so that, together, we can create the ever expanding ripples of a better world.

Those ripples began with you, Ntate. And they continue to spread. Thank you for showing me what leadership looks like in person. And for helping me to understand that we are all aliens, yet we all matter, and we all have untapped potential.

Opt In Image
Can a Vision Statement Motivate You to Take Massive Action?
Sign up to find out!
Get Access to my FREE "Do Big Things Faster: Focus + Motivation Vision Tool" now. It mines your deepest subconscious desires to craft a Vision Statement that lifts you up + pulls you forward.
  • It taps you into your purpose + life's calling.
  • This gives you focus + motivation + momentum.
  • It comes with a video tutorial + mini-course.
  • + 6 days of life-changing secrets on harnessing the power of your subconscious mind to do bigger things faster + happier.