Papa Smurf made a speech about joy.
Months later, he stared me down for referencing it.
This one’s for the leaders who actually live their stories.
Every morning, I dance.
Before the emails, before the meetings, before the mask of Professional™ is zipped up and polished, there’s movement.
A few minutes. A whole song. Sometimes just a shoulder roll and a shimmy while the coffee brews.
But always: motion.
This isn’t about fitness, and I am no dancer.
It’s not a productivity hack or a serotonin trick.
It’s an Activity—capital A—for a reason.
Because in the rhythm of those first few minutes of the day, I’m not just waking up my body, I’m waking up my soul.
Not the job title. Not the inbox. Not the thousand deliverables stacked in my calendar like Pringles.
Just me in motion. Loosening the grip of perfection. Making space for joy and presence.
Because what you do, repeatedly, anchors you when the world tilts.
I once had a leader who told a story to our HR team on his first day on the job, the kind that was meant to humanize him.
He stood in front of our team, cracking a joke about his outfit: blue vest, blue pants, blue shirt. His wife, he said, had asked him if he was trying for the nickname “Papa Smurf.”
We all laughed.
Then he got sincere. Shared how he stayed grounded in the chaos of life:
‘Every morning, I dance around the house while I get ready for my day. It resets me. It reminds me to smile. Try it sometime.’
And I smiled, because it resonated. Because I already danced every day. Because I believed he did too.
Months later, in a pressure-cooker moment; tensions high, faces tight, the air brittle with unspoken discontent… I tried to cut through the static.
“Maybe it’s time for an unscheduled dance break,” I said, with a wink and a nod. A gentle reach for shared humanity.
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.
Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition.
I mentioned the kitchen dance ritual, the Papa Smurf reference. Blank.
It wasn’t just that he’d forgotten. It was that he had never meant it.
The charming anecdotes? Window dressing. A mask.
And here’s the thing about masks: they slip. Especially under pressure.
Because what’s underneath always shows eventually.
Good leadership isn’t about the story you tell.
It’s about whether the story is true, and whether it’s true every day.
It’s in the Activities you return to.
The tone you set when no one’s clapping.
The congruence between what you say brings you joy… and whether your team has ever seen you actually live it.
I dance because it keeps me honest.
Because embodiment is integrity.
Because when I show up, I want to bring the same me to a crisis that I bring to a celebration.
So tell me—what’s your “dance”? What ritual keeps you real when the room gets tight?
Drop it in the comments, or just go take five minutes to move like you mean it.
Papa Smurf may be unimpressed, but I’ll be cheering you on!
