The Proof Showed Up Uninvited

Original post written for Substack on 4/17/2026

What a baseball game taught me about the trace we leave behind

There’s a certain kind of validation you can’t manufacture. You can’t script it, you can’t prompt it. It just lands, usually when you weren’t looking for it.

The invitation arrived out of nowhere. My former company’s annual outing (a Braves game) and I was on the list as a plus-one. The kind of event I used to organize around, show up to, be fully present at and then one day, simply wasn’t part of anymore.

When the invitation came, I hesitated for a moment. Should I? Would it be strange? But then I reminded myself: I left on my own terms. Good terms. And some of those people, my former direct reports, my colleagues, had become something closer to real friendships over time. Several of them had since been promoted or moved into broader roles. I was genuinely proud of them. I said yes.

The timing was interesting. That Tuesday at the game, the following day I had a meeting that could shift the direction of my next chapter. I didn’t know yet how it would go. But Tuesday wasn’t the day to think about that.

My friend met me at the entrance to the private section. And before I even made it ten steps inside, it started. Big eyes. Wide smiles. Hugs. What are you doing here? Wait! Did you rejoin? Am I missing something?

I spent the first hour just walking around. Saying hello to the VP team, catching up with people I’d worked closely with, connecting with others I knew less well but had always liked. Everywhere I went, there was warmth. More than I expected, if I’m honest with myself.

And then something surprised me.

I was being introduced to a newer employees, people who joined after I left, who had never once worked with me. And the response when they heard my name: Oh my god, I’ve heard so much about you. I saw your photo in the directory.

I didn’t know what to do with that. I stood there for a second, genuinely surprised.

A few weeks earlier, I had written a piece about leading without authority, about how the real measure of leadership isn’t the title, it’s the trace you leave behind. Whether people move differently because of how you showed up. Whether the culture carries something of you in it, even after you’re gone.

I always struggled to say that out loud about myself. It felt presumptuous. Like claiming something I hadn’t fully earned the right to claim.

But that afternoon at the ballpark, I didn’t have to say it. It was just there. In the hugs, in the introductions, in the face of someone who knew my name before we’d ever met.

The next day, in that important meeting, the question came up. How do you lead people? What does that look like for you?

I didn’t reach for frameworks. I didn’t explain my philosophy or list my methods. I told the story of walking into that room.

Because sometimes the proof arrives right when you need it. Quiet, unhurried, wearing baseball caps and holding beers. And all you have to do is receive it.