Stop Chasing

There was a season of my life when I thought I was looking for "the one."

Looking back...

I wasn't.

I was simply chasing the wrong things.

After years of crushing on the wrong girl, making questionable decisions to impress girls (if you've read Stationary Objects Always Win, you'll know exactly what I mean), and finding myself in a relationship that was taking me away from the person I wanted to become, I reached a point where I'd had enough.

I gave up.

Not on relationships.

On chasing.

Year 12 exams were approaching.

Life was busy.

I had bigger things to focus on than trying to convince someone to like me.

So I made a decision.

Instead of chasing a relationship, I would spend my energy becoming the kind of person I hoped someone would one day want to build a life with.

At the time, it didn't feel like a profound life lesson.

It just felt like growing up.

Looking back now...

It changed everything.

An Unexpected Hello

Around that time, I was playing piano in our church worship team.

The fact I was even playing the piano was a miracle in itself after everything that happened with my childhood piano teacher.

(That's a story called The Piano Lid for another day.)

One Sunday morning I was standing behind the keyboard, looking rather fashionable—or so I believed—in a pair of bright red corduroy jeans, boots and an oversized jumper.

It was the late '90s.

Let's just say the Backstreet Boys had a lot to answer for.

After the service, a girl walked over and introduced herself.

I introduced myself.

That was it.

No trying to impress her.

No pretending to be someone I wasn't.

No mountain bikes.

No steel poles.

Just...

"Hello."

Sometimes the biggest moments in our lives begin with the smallest conversations.

This Time Was Different

Over the following weeks, "hello" became conversation.

Conversation became friendship.

Friendship eventually became dating.

But this relationship felt different from the beginning.

Very early on, we made a decision.

We wouldn't date simply to see where things went.

We would only continue dating if we believed we were moving towards marriage.

For some people, that probably sounds intense.

For us, it brought incredible clarity.

It changed how we communicated.

How we handled conflict.

How we treated one another.

It reminded us that we weren't trying to consume a relationship.

We were trying to build one.

Looking back, I don't think that commitment made our relationship perfect.

It made us intentional.

There's a big difference.

The Motorola Years

There was one small challenge.

I owned one of those tiny Motorola flip phones.

Unlike today's smartphones, it had one glaring design flaw.

No caller ID.

If someone called me, I had absolutely no idea who it was.

So when I finally learned her phone number, I actually had to memorise it.

The alternative was accidentally sending what I thought was a heartfelt romantic message...

...to Mum.

Thankfully, that disaster never happened.

But it was a simpler time.

One where relationships weren't built through read receipts, emojis or endless text messages, because 160 characters was never enough to build a life together.

They were built through conversations.

Time together.

Shared experiences.

And a lot of learning.

Love Doesn't Build Itself

Over the next four years, we grew together.

She was studying journalism.

I was studying to become a teacher.

Ironically, neither of us works in those professions today.

Life has a funny way of rewriting your plans.

During those years I learned more about leadership than I realised at the time.

I learned patience.

Then more patience.

I learned communication.

Not simply talking...

Listening.

Really listening.

I learned forgiveness.

Because when someone knows you deeply, they also have the capacity to hurt you deeply.

Not because they want to.

But because you've trusted them with the parts of your heart nobody else gets to see.

I learned resilience.

I learned how two very different people slowly become one team.

I learned that love isn't sustained by grand gestures.

It's built through thousands of ordinary decisions to keep choosing one another.

And yes...

I also learned that hugging your new wife while she's fast asleep and lying dangerously close to the edge of the bed is a poor leadership decision.

Especially when your immediate response is to roll over and pretend you're still asleep.

Apparently accountability begins at home.

Leadership Starts at Home

People often ask me where I learned leadership.

Some of it came from great leaders I worked for.

Some from incredible mentors.

Some from books.

A surprising amount came through failure.

But some of the most important leadership lessons I've ever learned have come from marriage.

Because marriage has a way of exposing the parts of your character that nobody else sees.

You can't lead with charisma forever.

You can't hide behind a job title.

You can't rely on a polished LinkedIn profile.

At home...

You are simply you.

Leadership begins long before anyone gives you a title.

It begins in the everyday moments.

Choosing patience when you're tired.

Choosing forgiveness when you've been hurt.

Choosing encouragement over criticism.

Choosing to apologise instead of defending yourself.

Choosing to serve instead of being served.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that leadership isn't first tested in the boardroom.

It's tested in the lounge room.

In the kitchen.

Around the dinner table.

In the quiet conversations that nobody else ever sees.

If we can't lead well in the relationships we've already been entrusted with, it's worth asking whether we're ready for greater responsibility elsewhere.

Because public leadership is simply the overflow of private character.

Looking Back

We've now been married for many years.

We've raised children together.

Walked through seasons of joy and seasons of uncertainty.

Celebrated victories.

Carried disappointments.

And through it all, she's continued to make me a better man than I would have become on my own.

Sometimes I think back to that Sunday morning.

A young bloke in red corduroy jeans, convinced he looked impressive.

I smile because, for once, I wasn't trying to impress anyone.

I was simply becoming more comfortable being myself.

And perhaps that's the lesson.

The best things in life often arrive when we stop chasing them.

Not because we've stopped caring.

But because we've started growing.

Instead of asking,

"How do I find the right person?"

I began asking,

"How do I become the right person?"

That question changed the trajectory of my life.

Not just in marriage.

In leadership.

In coaching.

In faith.

Because the people who leave the greatest legacy aren't usually those who spend their lives chasing success, influence or recognition.

They're the ones who quietly become the kind of people others can trust.

Reflection

Before you chase your next opportunity, ask yourself:

• Am I spending more energy pursuing outcomes than becoming the person who can sustain them?

• Where in my life am I chasing instead of growing?

• What relationships have been entrusted to me that deserve greater intentionality?

• Does my private character reflect the leader I aspire to be in public?

• What would change if I focused less on finding the right opportunity—and more on becoming the right person?

Because leadership doesn't begin with a title.

It begins with character.

And the greatest leadership you'll ever demonstrate probably won't happen in the boardroom.

It'll happen at home.