The Unexpected Legacy of Leadership: When Impact Circles Back

I wasn’t expecting tears at breakfast. But there we were—two women, twenty years and a lifetime of growth later—sitting across from each other at Good Morning Café in Las Vegas.

Nicci had picked me up from my hotel that morning. It was the first time I had seen her in fifteen years. She looked as beautiful as ever—not with the freshness of her twenties, but with the richness of a woman who had lived fully, worked hard, and grown into her strength. We hugged briefly. Then she drove, and I watched her in quiet appreciation. Something in me settled. She had always been a standout, but now there was a calm confidence in her that moved me.

Our breakfast was full of stories—laughter, memories, old colleagues, former staff, clients long gone. And then, near the end, her voice softened. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me I had changed her life. That my leadership had shaped her—had helped her grow into who she had become. I was overwhelmed. I had tears in my eyes too.

I first met Nicci when I was running hair care salons as a franchisee in Las Vegas. I had a team of 40 and was always looking for individuals who could strengthen the team. Nicci had called me from Illinois weeks before her move. She knew the brand and its systems and asked if I had a position for her. I told her yes on the spot—we needed someone just like her.

But when she arrived at my door, I paused. She was 22, with a shaved head and tattoos down her arms. My first thought was, Have I done the right thing? Not because of her talent—I had no doubt about that—but because of the team. They were, in many ways, more traditional. Would they accept her? Would her individuality strengthen our team—or stand in the way of cohesion?

That pause was brief—and unnecessary. Nicci proved herself almost immediately.

She was like a sponge—soaking up knowledge, eager for more than just skill. She wanted to understand people. Systems. Leadership. She wasn’t just learning; she was reaching for wisdom beyond her years. I admired that.

When the time came for her first management role, I placed her in a salon with a tightly knit Cuban staff and clientele. They were efficient, expressive, and deeply connected. I thought she’d thrive there—and eventually, she did. But not without a stumble first.

Within a few weeks, I received complaints. “We can’t trust her,” the staff said. I was surprised. She was capable, committed. But when I dug deeper, the issue wasn’t her performance—it was eye contact. Or rather, the lack of it. The team perceived her lowered gaze as evasiveness. When I brought it to Nicci, she was equally confused. “They’re always staring at me,” she said, clearly uncomfortable.

It was a moment of cultural friction. What felt normal to her felt disrespectful to them. And what felt natural to them felt invasive to her. But once the air cleared, something beautiful happened: they adapted. Nicci softened into more direct eye contact. The staff learned to see past first impressions. And together, they grew stronger. They served clients more effectively. That salon became a model of mutual respect—and the importance of asking, rather than assuming.

Later, Nicci and I were invited to speak at an industry event in Las Vegas. An audience of 1,700. The organizers asked me to share our leadership story and also asked if one of my managers would speak. I didn’t hesitate to put Nicci forward—she said yes immediately.

Then they turned to me. And I said no—just as quickly.

I could no more do that than leap over tall buildings, grow wings, or sprout horns. The idea of speaking on stage filled me with dread. So instead, the number-two franchise owner shared their success story while my team watched from our table.

I’ll never forget that moment. My managers looked at the speaker, then looked at me. I couldn’t meet their eyes. I felt like I had let them down. It’s one thing to disappoint yourself—it’s another to stay silent when your team is counting on you.

That moment hurt—but it changed me. Not long after, I walked through the doors of Toastmasters and vowed to find my voice. I would not let fear define me again.

And so, years later, sitting with Nicci over breakfast, I realized something: I had always thought I was the one shaping her. But in truth, we had shaped each other. Her boldness helped uncover my silence. Her courage helped spark mine.

A ripple effect

That’s the unexpected legacy of leadership: we are always impacting others, whether we realize it or not—and they are impacting us. Every encounter matters. Every story we tell—or don’t tell—can echo for decades.

It reminded me of a reflection often attributed to Emerson:

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better… to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived—this is to have succeeded.”

That morning at Good Morning Café, Nicci’s words touched me deeply. But what moved me more was the reminder that leadership is not a title—it’s a ripple. And sometimes, those ripples come full circle, bringing with them tears, gratitude, and grace over breakfast.