We Have Don Henley

Hey, it's Sunday Morning,

When we were kids, my brother and I used to fight over the one transistor radio in our small house.

After lunch, the air would fill with duplas: radio shows that played back-to-back hits.

One radio frequency played Latin ballads, while the other played American artists. Think Michael vs. Prince.

I had no interest in the English station. The words meant nothing to me.

So I'd usually leave the room, and my brother would stay, stretched out on the cool tile floor, lost in his foreign tunes.

Until one day, something stopped me.

A melody, for sure. But more than that: a voice. Low and resonant. Steady.

It drew me in before I could understand a single word. I didn’t know who it was, only that I wasn’t leaving.

It was Don Henley.

Years later, I came across a story I've never been able to verify, but I've chosen to believe it anyway. Glenn Frey, co-founder of The Eagles, once explained why he wasn't singing as much on their later albums:

"Well," he said, "we have Don Henley."

He didn't storm out, or sulk in silence. Frey knew when someone else was the right person for the moment. He stayed, and let someone else sing.

That’s leadership most of us never practice.

It's easy to confuse leadership with always being at the forefront. To think that being the most visible means being the most valuable.

But leadership is modulation, not volume.

Maybe you've been that person: the one with something to say and no standing to say it. Waiting for someone to ask.

So the question becomes: Do you see them?

Because we all have a Don Henley in our lives. Someone at the edge of the meeting. Already carrying the answer.

Maybe they've been there all along. Stretched out on the floor, lost in their own frequency. And they're not asking for the spotlight. They're asking for a chance to be heard.

Who's your Don Henley?

And do you have the courage to sing backup?