There is Strength in Sweetness
Great Leaders are sweet.
I am dang near 40, and last year I really, really got into Dungeons & Dragons (don’t tell my mom).
I’m in the middle of my first-ever campaign with my husband and co-workers from a job gone by. I am a Level 4 Rock Gnome Bard from the College of Lore. For the uninitiated, basically it’s Bri Gerzevske had she been born into the D&D Universe. You don’t even have to Google it.
I actually got into D&D specifically after subscribing to Dropout TV*, initially for the improv shows. The streaming service also has a show called Dimension 20, which is season after season of Dropout comedians playing — you guessed it — Dungeons & Dragons.
(Yes, I binge two-hour episodes of strangers playing tabletop role-playing games. And honestly if that doesn’t check out to you, that makes me sad. And we should go get coffee sometime.)
KEEP READING THERE IS A POINT HERE I PROMISE:
One of the seasons of Dimension 20 is called “A Crown of Candy.” A campaign where the USDA Food Guide Pyramid meets Game of Thrones.
The story follows King Amethar of House Rocks and his family, with Sir Theobald Gumbar, Lord Commander of the Tartguard and Sworn Knight of the Order of North-Gumbia, and Chancellor Lapin Cadbury.
Y’all, respectively that’s a giant armored gummy bear and a chocolate bunny that is a significant figurehead in this universe’s leading church body. Ridiculous.
(I love it.)
Anyway, throughout the campaign, House Rocks faces all manner of trials throughout “A Crown of Candy” — a barrage of assassination attempts (and successes), coups, geopolitical intrigue — from others in the Kingdom of Calorum. Cheeses, vegetables, pastries. There is tribulation on every side for House Rocks, who seem to face constant retribution from everyone else in the kingdom, simply for being (mostly) righteous.
The motto (unofficial or otherwise) of House Rocks is “There is strength in sweetness.” And, like House Rocks, the same can be true for the Oddball Leader.
ARE YOU STILL HERE? GREAT.
Truth be told, leaders can be gentle and delicate, while wielding more respect and authority from those they lead, more so even than the loudest, harshest, and most aggressive leaders in our midst. In fact, I find that exhibiting sweetness as a leader myself — a genuine sweetness — elevates my accessibility as an executive, and creates a safe space where staff can speak openly about their dreams and their fears, and ask questions they wouldn’t otherwise ask. When I lead with sweetness, I can foster a deeper human connection with those who are a part of the team.
Seems like a no-brainer, but it’s tough. Because others — usually those in similar positions, who don’t consider sweetness to be a leadership trait — will push you around. Will railroad you. Will cut you off at the knees. Will work hard to ensure you fail.
It sucks to lead with sweetness sometimes — but that’s the risk you take as an Oddball Leader. It’s a risk I’ve taken. Truthfully, it’s a risk that has bitten me in the ass a time or two. And it’s a risk I will continue to take as I lead. Because at the end of the day, my primary responsibility as a leader is to make sure my team feels safe, heard, cared for, and fulfilled in their job. And I do that by leading with sweetness. Because there is strength in sweetness.
PARTING THOUGHT: SWEETNESS IN PRACTICE
Sometimes I think I’m a raven. I like little sparkly things and tchotchkes and tokens. I collect them when I find them, but I also knowingly give some away.
Every summer, my husband and I vacation to Sunset Beach, North Carolina, and I make it a point to visit a local souvenir shop to buy little trinkets for the people on my team. Cheap little tokens that are often so ugly that they’re cute.
I call it the Gerzevske Family Annual Beach Trinket (GFABT) Distribution.
I like doing this because these gifts are little gems that I hope serve as a reminder of sweetness. A reminder to be sweet to oneself, and a reminder to be sweet to others.