When Marc and I first used the phrase “co-pilgrims on an unknown journey together, for an unspecified length of time,” we didn’t realize how deeply true that language would become.

We used it lightly at first — a poetic alternative to “dating.” Over time, it has become one of the truest things about us. Thirty years later, through marriage, parenting, partnership, and leading together, that phrase has become less a description and more a commitment.

This summer, it took on a new weight.

In July, my 48-year-old brother died unexpectedly in Maine. A week later, Marc’s dad died — also in Maine.

We found ourselves booking two sets of flights north, navigating two very different griefs, and trying to hold space for both families while still showing up for our work as leadership and business coaches.

There were moments when words ran out. When the losses and logistics felt like too much. And still, the work — the conversations, the clients, the leadership spaces — kept unfolding.

Through all of it, what I keep coming back to is this: we don’t do this alone.

Even when I’m the one leading a client through uncertainty, or facilitating a room full of leaders, I’m aware that I am standing because of the companionship that anchors me.

Marc and I are both wired to serve, to lead, to hold things together. But this season reminded us that sometimes leadership looks like leaning — on each other, on our communities, on grace.

There were days one of us had words and the other didn’t. Days one of us could carry the work forward and the other needed to step back. Days when grief was the quiet third companion at our table.

And yet, we kept showing up — for our clients, for each other, for the work that feels like calling.

That’s the paradox of leadership and companionship. We are responsible to others, but not for them. And at the same time, we are sustained by others — by those who walk beside us, remind us of who we are, and hold the vision when our own eyes are tired.

Leadership is not a solo trek.

The quality of our relationships determines the quality of our leadership journey.

Companions bring perspective when the horizon blurs. They hold accountability when we lose focus. They bring encouragement when our energy wanes.

And sometimes, they simply sit beside us and breathe, reminding us that presence is enough.

In coaching, we talk about “walking alongside.” It’s one of the core postures of our work. Coaches don’t instruct or direct — we  companion. We create space where clients can find their own wisdom, strength, and clarity.

That’s also what true leadership looks like. Not commanding from the front, but journeying beside.

This summer, I saw that truth again — not in a leadership retreat or a client breakthrough, but in the quiet, unspoken rhythm of two people sharing the weight of loss and the commitment to keep walking.

When I think about what sustains me most in this work— the teaching, the coaching, the traveling — it’s not the accomplishments. It’s the companions.

Marc, yes. But also the colleagues, clients, and communities who remind me that leadership is never meant to be done alone.

Who are your companions in this journey?