Leadership Without the Spiral

Down late. Clock running. Margin for error gone.

Again.

Six times during the regular season, the Bears found themselves in fourth-quarter holes and climbed out anyway. Six comeback wins. The nickname followed naturally: the Cardiac Bears. And then came the seventh — the one that mattered most — a playoff comeback over the Green Bay Packers that cemented the identity.

At the center of it all was Caleb Williams.

Calm. Unrushed. Unfazed.

By midseason, teammates and coaches had a name for it: Iceman. Not because he lacks emotion — but because he refuses to let it leak. When the game tightens, when the pocket collapses, when the moment demands clarity instead of chaos, he slows everything down.

Williams has said he likes the nickname. To him, it means being calm on the outside while carrying enormous energy inside — the way ice looks still, but holds power beneath the surface. That’s the part people miss. Ice isn’t empty. It’s contained.

Watching that run unfold, I kept thinking: this isn’t just football. This is what leadership looks like when it’s done right — not the absence of pressure, but mastery of it.

Anxiety isn’t the enemy. Spiraling is.

Leadership doesn’t erase anxiety. If anything, it amplifies it.

The stakes are higher. The decisions matter more. And the margin for error gets smaller.

My favorite depiction of anxiety actually comes from Inside Out. It’s surprisingly accurate. Anxiety isn’t evil. It doesn’t need to be destroyed. It needs to be managed.

I don’t think of anxiety as an enemy. I think of it as something I have to put my arms around and hold in place.

It isn’t inherently bad.

But it can’t be allowed to take over.

Because when anxiety starts spinning, it turns into a hurricane. And hurricanes don’t solve problems.

I learned that the hard way.

Life — and leadership — is a vertical game, like football. You move the ball forward, even a little, and progress happens. But when you start playing in the horizontals — replaying conversations, bouncing between worries, spiraling through what-ifs — you lose momentum.

That’s the difference between panic and poise. Panic scatters energy. Poise contains it.

That’s what makes Caleb Williams dangerous late in games. He doesn’t eliminate pressure — he contains it. He keeps it internal, where it fuels execution instead of wrecking it.

Good. Better. Best.

What struck me most about this Bears team wasn’t just the comebacks. It was the language behind them.

Early in the season, head coach Ben Johnson introduced a simple mantra that quickly became part of the culture in Chicago: Good. Better. Best.

Not flashy.

Not dramatic.

Just progress.

When something didn’t go right, the question wasn’t “What went wrong?” It was “How do we make the next series better?” And when the moment required it, how do we be our best?

That framework matters because it gives people something to return to when emotions spike. You don’t spiral after a bad play. You stabilize. You adjust. You execute.

That’s how you get six comeback wins in a season. And it’s how you get the seventh — in the playoffs — when the margin for error disappears.

Structure beats panic

That instinct — to simplify instead of spin — isn’t something I rely on only in the moment. It’s something I try to build into my days before pressure shows up.

Because when stress hits, you don’t suddenly become disciplined. You fall back on whatever structure you already have in place.

That’s why my leadership doesn’t start in a meeting room or at a dais. It starts early — quietly — long before the workday officially begins. The routines I keep aren’t about productivity for productivity’s sake. They exist for one reason: to interrupt the spiral before it takes hold.

That’s where intention stops being philosophical and becomes practical. That’s where habits stop being personal preferences and start functioning as professional tools.

The list that keeps me honest

Every day, before the noise shows up, I write things down.

Not everything. Not a wish list. Just what actually matters.

There’s one thing that absolutely has to move forward that day. If nothing else happens, that thing gets done. Beyond that, there are a few priorities that deserve real attention — not casual attention, but focused effort. And then there are secondary items that I’ll address if the day allows.

I don’t keep this in my phone. I don’t type it into an app. I write it out by hand — first in my journal, and then again on an index card that stays with me all day.

That part matters more than it probably should.

Writing it forces clarity. It slows me down just enough to decide instead of react. And once it’s written, it becomes a quiet contract with myself. I don’t have to remember what matters. I can look at it.

That index card does more than organize my time. It keeps me from lying to myself about what a “productive” day actually looks like.

If those priorities move forward, the day worked — even if it was messy, even if emails piled up, even if everything didn’t go according to plan. And if they didn’t move, no amount of busyness redeems it.

Good. Better. Best.

That’s what the list enforces.

What deserves my energy first

The first thing that deserves my energy every morning isn’t my job.

It’s my son.

Being a good dad isn’t something I try to fit in around work. It’s the obligation that outranks everything else. That’s the constant.

After that, work begins.

And when it does, structure matters. If I don’t decide what matters first, the day decides for me — and the day is usually wrong.

Preparation isn’t polish. It’s respect.

One of the biggest leadership mistakes I see is treating preparation as optional — something you do if there’s time.

I see it differently.

Preparation is leadership.

When you walk into a room prepared, you don’t create nervousness. You create confidence. You create calm. And calm is contagious.

That’s what you see with Caleb Williams late in games. His composure isn’t accidental. It’s built. Repetition. Film. Discipline. Trust in the system.

The moment against Green Bay — the throw, the timing, the lack of panic — wasn’t magic. It was preparation showing up when everything else was loud.

Instinct helps. Experience helps. But eventually, instinct without discipline fails.

We don’t rise to the level of our skills. We fall to the level of our practice and process.

Part of leadership is absorbing pressure

One thing that stood out watching this Bears team is how pressure never seemed to spread. When the leader stayed steady, everyone else did too.

That’s leadership.

Part of my job is absorbing stress so others don’t have to carry it. Whether it’s a client, a mayor, or someone on my team, my responsibility is to create space for solutions — not amplify anxiety.

You acknowledge the challenge. You name it. And then you move forward.

Solution-seeking compounds. So does rumination.

Busy isn’t the same as effective

This is one of the easiest traps to fall into.

Emails pile up. Meetings stack. Motion masquerades as progress.

But just like football, activity doesn’t win games. Execution does.

If the priorities move forward, the day worked. If they didn’t, no amount of motion redeems it.

That’s why the structure matters — and why I still carry that index card with me.

What a good day actually looks like

A good day, for me, isn’t perfect. It’s intentional.

It’s a day where, somewhere along the way, I make my son laugh. A day where I check in with my family — not out of obligation, but because staying connected keeps me grounded. It includes real conversations, not rushed ones.

Professionally, it means touching base with leaders to make sure priorities are moving and checking in with my team — not to hover, but to make sure we’re headed in the right direction. And no matter how chaotic the day becomes, it includes real progress on the most important work that needed attention.

At the end of the day, the reset matters as much as the start. I reflect on what worked, what didn’t, and what deserves attention tomorrow — so I’m not carrying it all overnight.

Steadiness, clarity, and restraint

If there’s a through-line between this Bears season and deliberate leadership, it’s this:

Steadiness is calm under pressure.

Clarity is knowing what you’re trying to accomplish.

Restraint is knowing your limits and respecting them.

You can’t be angry, afraid, and rational at the same time. Once you accept that, you stop reacting and start leading.

One deliberate day at a time

A lot of people wait for big moments to define their leadership.

But leadership isn’t built on one heroic drive.

It’s built the way this Bears team won — incrementally, deliberately, without spiraling when things go wrong.

Calm on the outside.

Energy contained on the inside.

Good days.

Better adjustments.

And occasionally, when it matters most, your best.

One deliberate day at a time.