Heavy is the Crown
We are living in an era of thrones. Everyone wants one. The influencer's platform. The founder's title. The corner office with the big window. The blue checkmark. Essentially, everyone is looking for a seat at the table where someone finally has to listen. This desire isn't new, nor is it inherently bad. There's something natural, even entrepreneurial, about wanting to be the ruler of your own domain. We all want control over our lives. It's the sacred truth of personal fulfillment; maybe even the American dream. What's changed is the speed at which we can now audition for that power. Today, you can perform authority before you've earned a single lesson in carrying it. And so people skip the line. They chase the visibility of leadership without ever apprenticing in its weight. They’re in pursuit of The Throne. The recognition, the title, the power people can see. They want what leadership gives —respect, control, the settling of old scores where they weren't seen— without ever submitting to what leadership costs.
I enjoy reading Tao Te Ching. In it, Lao Tzu warns of chasing power: “fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill.” Basically, grasping is what breaks the thing you're trying to hold. The leader who needs to be seen has already lost the thread. The person who has to constantly announce their authority has none. Power, without discipline, corrupts even the purest of intentions. And when you chase the title for the sake of the title, the pursuit begins to reshape you. You start believing your own audition. You mistake the performance for the substance. And slowly, quietly, you become the very thing you once despised in those who held power over you.
Throne and The Crown are not the same thing.
The Crown, by contrast, is what you carry. It's the burden, the discipline, the quiet accountability. Real power isn't seized; it's accumulated silently through the kind of tending that no one applauds. It's the early morning when no one's watching. It's the emotional regulation when it would feel better to lash out. It's the slow, invisible work of building something before it ever builds you back. The Throne pursued for its own sake will empty you. The Crown carried quietly will fill you. Not, “which one looks better at the reunion or on the resume,” but which one actually has your heart? Your early mornings? Your private thoughts when no one's applauding? Because the Throne will validate you. It will give you the title, the audience, the moment. But the Crown will transform you. It will reshape what you value. It will teach you to carry weight without needing credit.
The question you’ll need to ask yourself: which one are you chasing?
