True Gold

While watching the Milano Cortina 2026 Olympics, I was left thinking, “I couldn’t even begin to do that”—with “that” being almost everything I was seeing. These individuals have put in years (a lifetime, really) of practice. It takes a level of commitment and dedication I don’t possess to eventually have the opportunity to be the very best in the whole world at something.

I imagine that those athletes, at some point, were pretty good. Maybe even really good, but not Olympic gold medal good. To reach that level, they had to refine every aspect of their performance. They had to fix things they couldn’t see themselves in order to be the very best. Someone else had to point out where there was opportunity for improvement.

The coach sees what the athlete cannot. Not because the athlete is incompetent or unaware, but because you literally cannot see yourself from the outside. You can’t watch your own form while you’re executing it. You can’t observe your own blind spots. This isn’t a character flaw—it’s physics.

Niccolò Machiavelli wrote that a sign of intelligence is an awareness of one’s own ignorance. The smartest people know what they don’t know. But there’s a deeper layer. The truly intelligent recognize the limits of their perspective. They understand they can’t see themselves clearly, and they actively seek people who can.

The best leaders operate like Olympic athletes. They surround themselves with people who will tell them what they can’t see. Not yes-men, but trusted advisors who will point out flaws in their technique, weaknesses in strategy, blind spots in thinking—and they’ve learned to receive that input without defensiveness.

But here’s where most leadership thinking stops short. We focus on the leader needing coaches and counselors and accountability partners. That’s true and important. But what transforms an organization isn’t just leaders who can receive feedback. It’s teams where everyone operates as both athlete and coach for one another.

The strongest teams function like training camps where every person has permission to help others see what they’re missing. Not to tear people down, but to genuinely help teammates get better. This is what we mean by calling people up instead of calling them out.

Calling someone out is about judgment and exposure—pointing at failure, often publicly. Calling someone up is about growth. It’s observing what could be better and offering it to help that person reach their potential. Same information, completely different intent.

This only works in cultures built on psychological safety. People need to trust that when a teammate points out a blind spot, the intent is to help, not harm. They need to know that admitting weakness won’t be weaponized later and that asking for help is valued, not punished.

Creating this culture requires two skills most organizations never practice. First, giving honest observations that serve growth rather than judgment. Be specific rather than vague, describe behavior rather than attack character, and offer feedback privately unless there’s a compelling reason not to.

Second, people have to practice receiving feedback without defensiveness. This is incredibly hard. When someone points out a flaw, our instinct is to defend, deflect, or counterattack. We want to explain why it’s not really a problem or why the other person doesn’t understand the context.

In recovery circles, there’s a saying, “Your best thinking got you here.” If you could see the problem yourself, you would have fixed it already. You need someone else’s eyes. The same is true in organizations. The patterns you can’t see in yourself are often the very patterns holding you back. But you’ll never see them without help.

Leaders set the tone by modeling both sides. When someone offers hard feedback, receive it with genuine appreciation. Don’t get defensive. Say thank you for caring enough to tell me. And when you see blind spots in others, offer observations with care, making it clear you’re trying to help them succeed, not to expose failures.

This is different from being nice. Nice avoids hard conversations. Kind tells the truth because growth matters more than temporary discomfort. Nice lets people stay in their blind spots. Kind risks awkwardness because you genuinely want to help.

Think about what becomes possible. Problems get identified early. Innovation increases because diverse perspectives are actively sought. Conflicts resolve faster. The whole team gets better because everyone is helping everyone else see their blind spots.

Those Olympic athletes earn gold medals because they’re willing to hear hard truths from their coaches and adjust. They don’t defend their current technique. They listen, adjust, and improve—that’s how you reach the podium.

Organizations that win do the same thing. They create cultures where people genuinely help each other see blind spots, where feedback flows in all directions, where calling each other up is normal practice, and where receiving that input is met with gratitude rather than defensiveness. That’s true gold—and it’s the Bison Way.