I was listening to the Coaching for Leaders podcast recently, and Scott Keller shared something that stopped me mid-stride: the six-word story exercise.
His example was the famous Ernest Hemingway line (though its true authorship is debated): "For sale: baby shoes. Never worn."
Six words. An entire world of heartbreak, hope deferred, a nursery that stayed empty. I must have read that sentence three times, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid.
And then Keller posed the challenge: What's your six-word leadership story?
I sat with my notebook open. Pen ready. And... nothing.
The power of constraint
There's something almost unfair about this exercise. Six words feels impossibly small. I've written mission statements, vision documents, strategic plans that span pages. I've crafted carefully worded emails, given presentations with dozens of slides. Six words?
But that's exactly the point.
When you have six words, you can't hide behind corporate speak. You can't use "synergy" or "leverage" or "stakeholder engagement." You can't qualify, hedge, or explain. You have to choose what matters most.
The constraint is the gift.
It forces you to ask: What is the essence of who I am as a leader? What story am I actually living, not the one I wish I was living? If someone had to understand my leadership in a single breath, what would they need to know?
Why this matters for leaders
We live in an age of information overload. Our teams sit through hours of meetings, wade through endless Teams messages, navigate competing priorities from every direction. As leaders, we contribute to this noise constantly—often without realizing it.
But clarity cuts through chaos.
When I think about the leaders who've shaped me most, they weren't the ones with the most detailed strategies or the longest speeches. They were the ones who could distill complex ideas into simple truths. Who knew what they stood for and could articulate it in a way that stuck.
Six words is an exercise in that kind of clarity.
It's also an exercise in honesty. Because your real six-word story isn't necessarily the one you want it to be. It's the one that's true right now. The one your team would write about you if you asked them. The gap between those two versions? That's where the growth happens.
My attempt (So far)
I've been trying to write mine for the past week. Here's what I've learned: it's harder than it looks.
My first attempts were too aspirational:
- "Empowering others to reach their potential."
- "Building teams that change the world."
They sounded nice. They weren't true. Not yet, anyway.
Then I tried being clever:
- "Coffee first. Strategy second. People always."
Too cute. Too clever by half.
I'm currently sitting with something more honest:
- "Still learning. Often failing. Always trying."
Is that it? I'm not sure. It feels closer. It feels true to where I am right now—leading imperfectly, figuring things out, committed to growth even when it's uncomfortable.
But I'm not ready to lock it in. And maybe that's okay. Maybe the value isn't in having the perfect six words. Maybe it's in the wrestling match to find them.
Your turn
I want to challenge you to write your six-word leadership story.
Not the one that would look good on a motivational poster. Not the one you'd put on your LinkedIn profile. The real one. The true one.
Sit with it. Try a few versions. Notice which ones feel aspirational and which ones feel accurate. Notice the gap.
Ask yourself:
- What do I actually do, not what do I wish I did?
- What would my team say about me?
- What matters most in how I show up?
- What story am I living right now?
If you're brave, share it with someone you trust. Ask them if it rings true. Their reaction will tell you everything.
And if you're really brave, share it with your team. Not as a proclamation, but as an invitation. "This is what I'm working toward. Hold me to it."
The unfinished story
I'm ending this post without my final answer, and that feels right. Because leadership isn't a destination—it's a practice. My six words today might not be my six words a year from now. Growth means the story changes.
But the exercise of distilling it down, of getting ruthlessly clear about who you are and who you want to become?
That stays with you.
For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.
Six words. A universe of meaning.
What's yours?