The Personal Essay

I had met Frances Hesselbein when she spoke to my leadership class in business school but hadn't gotten to know her,

Frances rose from being a local Girl Scouts volunteer to serving as CEO of the national organization for 14 years, Turning the Girl Scouts around, among other achievements, won her the Presidential Medal of Freedom, 21 honorary doctorates, and more, She's now the president and CEO of the Frances Hesselbein Leadership Institute (renamed in her honor from the Peter F. Drucker Foundation for Nonprofit Management). In short, I could learn a lot from her.

As it happened, I got my chance while writing this book, a decade after she spoke to my class. I reintroduced myself to her at Marshall Goldsmith's book launch. He's my mentor. She is his. We chatted, and she invited me for coffee at her Park Avenue office. Of course I accepted. To call the place impressive would understate what you see there: Her books translated into dozens of languages are framed on the tops of each wall. Below them are photographs of her with U.S. presidents, many-starred generals, and heads of industry. Around eye level are military swords glinting in the sun above framed notes from the dignitaries who gave them to her.

She sat me on her couch. An assistant set up her chair beside me, putting maybe two feet away a woman whom great leaders have called the best leader they've met. The chat I expected could have felt heavy, even intimidating. Her friendly, disarming smile masked the challenge of what she asked when she sat and looked me in the eye: "So, what do you want to talk about?"

I felt like it was a command performance and I was onstage. What do you say when one of the world's great leaders asks you to lead?

I had wondered this question for weeks, since she had invited me. Our only interaction between her business school talk and the book launch was online, when she tweeted about a blog post of mine — a pleasant surprise. I couldn't imagine how she found it. Six months later, I saw her at the book launch. We spoke briefly. (Me: "How did you know to tweet about my post?" Her: "Oh, yes, I have a girl who does that.") She lived up to her gracious reputation, emptying her purse on a library table to find me her business card. People must have wondered who the young man getting her attention was.

I accepted the invitation for coffee enthusiastically. Only when preparing to go did I think about what to say — not so easy with a Presidential Medal of Freedom honoree. My first thought was to ask for tips on leading, but I didn't want to waste her time with what I could read in her books. What could I talk about when I barely knew her? Then I remembered, "Wait a minute. I teach this!"

My leadership course includes teaching how to make meaningful connections. I call the exercise, which is in this book, Meaningful Connection. I've taught and practiced it for years, maybe not with people who hang out in the White House, but I still knew what to do.

That's the value of technique. You can fall back on it when you don't know what to do, which calmed me — even in the high-ceilinged marble lobby when the guard reinforced her status: "Frances? Yeah, she's big. Four-star generals wait for her. General Shinseki waited over there."

If I did not have a technique, her question in that office would have made me nervous. Instead, I knew what to say. "I feel like leadership is a passion of yours," I began, leading into the exercise. The conversation lasted over two hours — well beyond the originally scheduled 30 minutes. She took me to lunch, where everyone treated her with reverence. We talked about leadership; service; passion; teaching; the "hallowed ground" of West Point, where she teaches and speaks regularly; and her friendship with Alan Mullaly, the former CEO of Ford. Eventually, her assistant interrupted us to insist we finish because her next appointment was waiting.

"I don't remember a more delightful conversation," she said as we wrapped up. She was fascinating, insightful, charming, and generous. Not only did she answer in few words questions that I had pondered for years — that's the value of experience — but she invited me to West Point; referred me to a retired general who ran one of its leadership programs; and referred me to the editor of her institute's journal, Leader to Leader. The technique worked. I knew what to say and how to behave to make the opportunity enjoyable and productive for both of us.

A decade before, such an interaction would have paralyzed me with anxiety.

In fact, one did, eight years earlier. The author of a book I liked was speaking at a panel near me. Business school had instilled in me the imperative to network, so I felt compelled to use the opportunity to meet him. I attended and worked up the nerve to approach him after he spoke.

I said, "Hi, my name is Josh. I wanted to tell you that your book meant a lot to me and I wanted to thank you for writing it."

"Thank you," he replied.

My mind then raced to find something to say — anything — but came up with nothing. We stared at each other awkwardly for 10 or 15 seconds that felt like a year.

Needing to end the discomfort, I said, "Well, great to meet you," and walked away. I didn't get anything out of the conversation, and he probably thought I was weird.

I had taken leadership courses at a top business school, but learning about leadership didn't mean learning to lead. For all the theory the school taught, I didn't have the skills or experience to handle my emotions or inner monologue. How many connections had I missed or flubbed?

What changed between my anxious failure with the author and confident success with Frances?

Three things. First, relevant experience. I lived the experience that the exercises in this book will give you. I learned what works and how to do it, not just to talk about it.

Second, I led hundreds of clients and students through the exercises online at NYU, Columbia...