Oh. I guess it’s me.

My mother died last month, and now I’m confronting the strange sensation of being the eldest generation in my family. Along with my sister and brother, I’m suddenly the person at the top of the tree, the elder. It’s an odd feeling, and one I haven’t quite grown into.

Does anyone? How hard it is to realize you’re the one now. I’m well into my 60s and still have the reflex of looking up. I know, intellectually, that some people look to me: because I’m older, or because I’ve done something they’re still learning to do. But my default is still to feel like the bystander.

I suspect most of us feel this way. We’re more likely to see ourselves as part of the crowd than the one leading it. The teammate, not the captain. The friendly colleague, not the person who can shape the room. Until, of course, someone formally authorizes us.

But the truth is: stepping into leadership is what’s required of us. Martin Luther King Jr. was 26 when he was called to lead the Montgomery Bus Boycott. Thomas Jefferson was 33 when he wrote the Declaration of Independence. They didn’t wait for age or seniority but responded to a moment.

And why should we wait for a crisis? Why not step in when you have an idea, when something needs to be said, when you see a better way forward?

The long transition from subject to citizen, from monarchy to democracy, isn’t just historical or political. It’s psychological. Shifting from “I hate what’s happening” to “What can I offer this situation?” is hard. What’s easier is to roll your eyes or send a “head-explosion” emoji to your friend when the meeting drags on, the conversation cycles, the point is being missed.

We’ve all been there. We don’t feel we can change things because, well, these are peers. We participate in the group but don’t feel responsible for shaping it. Leadership feels natural when we’re managing a team or responding to a boss. But with peers, we default to friendship or rivalry instead of intentional influence. We think, Who am I to say that? It’s not my place. And the risk is real. Speak up and you may be criticized, challenged, or told you’re not going along with the group.

But we have a choice to be leaders in the moment, to be active citizens, even and especially when no one has handed you authority. It’s using whatever influence we do have to say something. To try to move things forward. To see ourselves shaping the conversation, rather than being steamrolled by it.

It’s a muscle, something to develop through small, daily risks. Starting small. Offering a perspective. Asking a question. You don’t need a title to:

• Map your influence, to notice where your insight or action could make a difference. Not everywhere, just one place where you can nudge things forward.
• Observe and name what you see, to point out when a group is drifting, with curiosity and compassion: “Did we finish the last point?”
• Notice your own dynamics, to pay attention to when venting, gossip, or silent compliance pulls you off center. Pause. Give yourself an opportunity to choose a different way.

These small acts, like daily sets of reps at the gym, compound over time. And that’s how we build that muscle of eldership. It’s simply a matter of acting as if the outcome matters, and remembering that your contribution makes a difference. Because it does.

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​Thanks for reading.