The Vineyard, the Vanity Appointment, and the Value of Trust

There’s something oddly profound about a colleague thanking you for letting them take a day off to go to a vineyard - or to a vanity appointment. Not because the request is groundbreaking, but because the honesty behind it is. No cover-up, no excuses, no medical emergency inserted to justify time away. Just truth, offered with respect, and met with trust.

That’s the story that landed in my inbox. A warm thank-you note from someone who didn’t lie to take a break and didn’t feel the need to. And it reminded me - yet again - of what leadership should be anchored in. Not control, not optics, not appearances. But a very human, very conscious form of trust.

We spend so much time in the workplace navigating the politics of presence. We contort to be seen as productive, committed, loyal. Even when we’re exhausted. Even when we’re burnt out. Even when we just want to get our hair done or drink wine on a patio with someone dear. And so often, we lie. To others, and worse, to ourselves. We hide behind sick days when we’re just trying to feel alive again. We say “doctor” when we mean “downtime.” Because somewhere along the way, we’ve learned that truth in the workplace needs a reason. And rest doesn’t count.

But what if it did? What if truth was always enough?

The honest answer is that it should be. Because trust isn’t a reward for performance. It’s the soil from which performance grows. When someone tells you the truth - the real, vulnerable, no-costume version of their truth - they’re giving you something far more valuable than just information. They’re giving you a reason to trust them back.

And this, in my view, is where leadership begins. Not with KPIs or cascading goals or inspirational speeches. But in the quiet moments when someone decides they don’t need to misrepresent.

Leadership has many dimensions. There’s the strategy and the execution. The clarity and the vision. The ability to guide, to scale, to inspire. But underlying all of it is the way we treat people when they show up as themselves. It’s what we say - explicitly or implicitly - when someone chooses to be real with us.

People don’t remember policies. They remember moments. The moment when their boss said “go enjoy that vineyard day.” The moment when a request for honesty was met with a nod, not a raised eyebrow. The moment they realized they didn’t need to pretend.

These are the trust signals that shape teams and cultures. They’re small, often invisible, but they carry weight. And if you string together enough of them, they form the scaffolding of something strong. Not rigid, but resilient. Not perfect, but human.

What makes this kind of leadership work isn’t just generosity. It’s a recognition that we don’t come to work as robots. We come as people - whole, messy, trying, tired people. And we owe each other the dignity of being seen that way. We say it often: bring your whole self to work. But we rarely stop to ask - does the environment truly allow it?

There’s a difference between stating values and embodying them. Between tolerating humanity and celebrating it. In too many workplaces, we expect people to be honest, but we reward them for being strategic. We ask for transparency, but we teach them to manage optics. And then we wonder why people don’t feel safe.

But safety doesn’t come from declarations. It comes from daily evidence. It comes from leaders who don’t need a reason to trust. From teams that normalize candor. From cultures that make room for people - not just their output.

This doesn’t mean anything goes. It doesn’t mean we let go of accountability or excellence or high standards. Quite the opposite. It means we pursue those things by starting with the belief that people are trying. That honesty is a sign of engagement, not laziness. That taking care of oneself isn’t a liability - it’s a prerequisite for sustained contribution.

And if that sounds idealistic, it’s only because we’ve spent too long settling for less.

The truth is, I don’t really care why someone needs a day off - whether it’s for a funeral or a facial. What I care about is whether they feel safe telling me. Because that moment of truth-telling is worth more than a hundred slick presentations or hollow compliance. It tells me I’ve done something right. Not because I allowed it - but because I created the space for it.

That’s the work. That’s the real work.

So yes, to all I work closely with, it will always be this way - for you, and for everyone else. Not because it’s a perk or a benefit. But because this is what being human at work should look like. We come to work as people. We are expected to be people. And we deserve to be treated like people.

And if that sounds radical, we’ve forgotten what leadership is for.