How Letting Go of Your Ego Makes You a Better, Stronger Leader

At the start of a session, I would sometimes ask people to do something slightly ridiculous. Turn to the person next to you. Bump them. Say, “I am a legend.”

There’s always a moment of hesitation. A few nervous laughs. Some people comply instantly; others look around, checking if this is really happening. And that moment tells me almost everything I need to know.

We have been conditioned to believe that seriousness equals credibility. That the more important we appear, the more competent we must be. That if we loosen up even slightly, we risk being seen as unprofessional, unserious or worse, unqualified.

In reality, the opposite is almost always true.

One of the biggest barriers most people face in their careers isn’t a lack of skill, intelligence or effort. It’s themselves — specifically, how seriously they treat themselves. We tend to confuse gravity with value, believing that projecting intensity makes us more impressive, but what it actually does is make us harder to connect with.

And connection, whether we like it or not, is the currency of leadership.

Managers don’t hire roles, but people. They don’t promote job descriptions. They promote individuals they trust, enjoy working with and feel safe around. Skills and capabilities matter, of course — but very rarely are they the number-one qualifier. More often, the deciding factor is this: how easy is it to work with you?

And here comes the part many people struggle to accept: You can be technically brilliant and still be playful. You can be highly competent and still laugh at yourself. Those things are not mutually exclusive.

In fact, they’re often inseparable.

I’ve worked with leaders at the very highest levels — CEOs of global organizations, senior executives managing thousands of people, individuals whose decisions affect entire industries. And I can tell you with certainty: The higher up you go, the less seriously people tend to treat themselves.

That surprises people. We’re taught to believe that senior leadership is all about gravitas and authority. But in practice, I’ve found that the leaders who have real influence — the kind that lasts — are remarkably comfortable making fun of themselves.

I once worked with a CEO who ran a multi-billion-dollar company. In a board meeting that had gone sideways, tension thick in the room, he stopped mid-sentence, smiled and said, “Well, that went exactly how I practiced it in my head… just not in the order I expected.” The room laughed. The pressure broke. The conversation reset. That wasn’t accidental — it was leadership.

Contrast that with what you often see in lower or middle management. There, seriousness becomes armor. Titles are defended. Status is emphasized. Small decisions are inflated. You can usually tell someone is insecure in their role not by how little they know, but by how tightly they cling to being taken seriously.

When you get right to the top, something shifts. People begin to understand what they can and can’t control. They stop emphasizing their importance because they no longer need to. If anything, they understate themselves. That’s what true confidence looks like.

“I don’t need to show you how good I am,” the posture says. “I already know.”

That internal certainty frees people up in ways that are immediately visible — they become less reactive, less defensive and far less attached to how they are perceived in every moment. And because their egos are settled rather than fragile, they are much more willing to laugh, especially at themselves, without feeling that their credibility is somehow at risk.

Another leader I worked with used to open strategy off-sites by sharing a mistake he’d made that year. Not as a performance, not wrapped in a lesson, just plainly. “Here’s where I got it wrong.” It signaled something powerful: psychological safety. People spoke more honestly afterward. They took smarter risks. Performance improved — not despite the looseness, but because of it.

Research backs this up. Studies consistently show that leaders who demonstrate humility and approachability create stronger teams and better outcomes. Jim Collins famously described “Level 5 leaders” as those who combine fierce resolve with personal humility — quiet confidence rather than self-importance.

Similarly, Harvard Business School professor Amy Edmondson’s research shows that psychologically safe workplaces — where people feel they can speak up, take interpersonal risks and admit mistakes without fear of negative consequences — are a critical component of successful teams and leadership effectiveness, not just a “nice-to-have”, highlighting how psychological safety drives engagement, innovation, learning and resilience across organizations.

This is where many people get it wrong. They think not taking yourself seriously means not taking your work seriously. That’s a misunderstanding. The best leaders I know care deeply about the work. They just don’t confuse the work with their identity.

When your sense of worth is tied to appearing important, everything becomes personal. Feedback feels like an attack. Disagreement feels like disrespect. Humor feels dangerous. But when your ego is settled, you gain range. You can play. You can listen. You can connect.

And connection is what moves people.

So yes — be competent. Be prepared. Be excellent at what you do. But don’t make seriousness your personality. It won’t make you more credible. It will make you less human.

Sometimes leadership starts with something small. A laugh. A moment of self-awareness. Or bumping the person next to you and saying, without irony, “I am a legend.”

Because the people who truly are legends don’t need to convince anyone of it.

At the start of a session, I would sometimes ask people to do something slightly ridiculous. Turn to the person next to you. Bump them. Say, “I am a legend.”

There’s always a moment of hesitation. A few nervous laughs. Some people comply instantly; others look around, checking if this is really happening. And that moment tells me almost everything I need to know.

We have been conditioned to believe that seriousness equals credibility. That the more important we appear, the more competent we must be. That if we loosen up even slightly, we risk being seen as unprofessional, unserious or worse, unqualified.