See show notes for this episode: S 02 | Ep 23 The End of the Hero: Why the Smartest Person in the Room is Often the Most Limited
Alex: Today's guest is Stephen Josephs. Stephen is a leadership coach and author of Leadership Agility and Dragons at Work. His work helps senior leaders recognize the inner lives and patterns that emerge under pressure, helping them learn how to lead with more awareness, agility, and choice when it matters most.
Most importantly, Stephen is also my coach, which makes this conversation very real for me and not at all theoretical. I'm honored to share this on our podcast, Experience-focused Leaders. Stephen's work goes straight to the heart of how leadership is experienced from the inside. So, Stephen, a huge welcome to the podcast.
Stephen Josephs: Great to be here. Thank you for that kind introduction.
Alex: I first discovered your voice by listening to a recommendation for Tara Brach. You were one of the first podcast guests that came up. I heard your voice and realized you have been Tara’s meditation coach, teacher, and friend for many years. I was so moved by your presence and humanity that I had a "When Harry Met Sally" moment—I thought, "I want to have what he’s having." Something deeply resonated. I want to share that experience with our audience because I think many people in demanding professional and family roles could really benefit from your work.
To start, if we were to create a "headline" for today's conversation, what would be the big takeaways you’d want to share with an occasional listener like I was a few months ago?
Stephen Josephs: Well, as I remember the title of that conversation I had with Tara Brach, she called it "Getting Over Yourself." Not everyone wants to do that; it’s only appealing to some. There are stages of our lives where it’s actually not appropriate to "get over ourselves" because we are riding on a specific kind of fuel.
Psychologically, that fuel is about establishing ourselves as experts and being the driving force in achieving goals. That keeps us going and helps us meet challenges, especially as an entrepreneur. However, in many big high-tech firms and established organizations, leaders eventually hit a wall. If you always want to be the smartest person in the room, you become tough to work for. Ideas presented to you are often seen as a challenge and ultimately rejected.
In that "hub and spoke" leadership model—where your brain is the hub and everyone else is a spoke—you end up complaining that no one cares as much as you do. You create a culture that focuses everything on you, which fails to harness the collective wisdom of the organization. Once you realize there has to be another way, you’re ready to move into "post-heroic" territory. Before, you were the hero: you led the charge, your ideas were best, and you were the first one in and the last one out. My coaching is about reaching that post-heroic place. But let me stop for a moment—are we talking about what you want to talk about?
Alex: Yes! It’s a joy to deep dive into this with you. I’m also looking out for our audience. Your book, Leadership Agility, introduces stages of adult development. I found that message inspiring because while we are familiar with how children develop, we often assume adults just progress naturally. In reality, many leaders get stuck on a plateau, unable to influence or engage their organization in a way that truly uplifts others. Perhaps you could walk us through the theory behind this and then get into the application? I’ve recently been through this myself, and I think the theoretical framework would help people recognize where they are on their own journey.
Stephen Josephs: You can tell where you are if, in a conversation, you are genuinely curious about what others think. You are ready to hold their ideas as legitimate—and perhaps even better than yours. When you collaborate in that way, life becomes much more enjoyable. You lose interest in being the "hero" or the smartest person in the room. I forget who said it—it was Disraeli or someone like that...
Alex: Oh yes, the difference between Gladstone and Disraeli!
Stephen Josephs: Why don’t you share what that is?
Alex: I’ll try! Apparently, Winston Churchill’s mother spoke to both of these Prime Ministers. She said that after dining with Gladstone, she was convinced he was the cleverest person in all of Great Britain. But after sitting next to Disraeli, she left feeling that she was the cleverest woman in all of Britain. Is that the feeling—making other people come alive versus showing off?
Stephen Josephs: Yes, exactly. And what comes with that is the capacity to...
Stephen Josephs: One way I can help people experience that in coaching is when they have a difficult, pivotal conversation or negotiation they are preparing for. I have a very specific way I help them prepare.
I listen to a description of what they want to accomplish in the negotiation and I ask them, "If you were talking to them right now, what would you say?" They tell me their points, their demands, and their ways of framing things. I write all of that down in great detail. Then I say, "Let’s do a role-play exercise." But it’s not the kind of role-play you would usually imagine. You are actually going to play your counterpart—the person you are negotiating with. Let’s call him Bob.
I want you to be Bob as much as you can. Sit the way he sits, use his vocal cadence, and even breathe the way you imagine him breathing. Be him as much as possible, like a method actor. Then, I interview you. I want you to portray him without it being a caricature.
I’ll ask, "What concerns are you bringing to this conversation on Tuesday with Alex, and why does that matter to you?" I might even ask about his home life—who is there? A spouse, kids, dogs, a goldfish? The client answers as best they can to get into that skin. I keep digging: "What is at stake for you in this conversation?"
Once I have everything that is bringing "Bob" to that moment, I say, "I happen to know what Alex is going to say to you. Would you like to hear it?" No one has ever said no.
I then read back exactly what the client (Alex) originally planned to say. Typically, the reaction from "Bob’s" point of view is, "Ooh, that’s not going to work so well," or "Yikes, that’s not good either," mixed with, "That’s a pretty good point."
Then I ask them to come out of the role. Usually, they have learned a lot and they rearrange what they were going to say. At that point, I ask, "Is there anything about Bob that is off-putting or annoys you?" They might say, "He’s a self-important jerk," or "I can't stand him."
Then comes the second part. I ask the client to settle into a meditative state. By then, we’ve been working on meditation, and they are capable of reaching a neutral, relaxed place. I say, "If you were behaving the way Bob does, what emotions would have to be driving it in you?"
They are capable at this point of feeling those energies in their body, which even affects their facial expression. They begin to understand the emotions driving this guy. There is a way—we don't have to go into detail—to help them feel where that emotion is in their body, dissolve it, and return to a neutral state.
This is important because when we are upset with someone, we often think, "I would never do that; I don't have that element in me." But we are all capable of a huge range of emotions. Often, I am secretly just like Bob.
Alex: I just can’t admit it to myself.
Stephen Josephs: Exactly. Or I don’t want to. But if you can dissolve that reactivity in yourself, it is much easier to have the conversation. At that point, they take their reconfigured strategy and, where appropriate, turn it into a collaboration.
You might start the conversation like this: "In preparation for this, I’ve been thinking about what it might be like to be in your shoes. I imagine you’d be concerned about X and Y. I’ll tell you what I’m concerned about, too. If we lay that on the table, can we arrive at an agreement that accomplishes what we both need? One that is fair and even-handed?"
This helps preserve the relationship. And I should say one thing: the things you imagine "Bob" feels are not necessarily what he actually feels. You aren't being psychic; you aren't getting an exact read on Bob. What you are getting is an exact read on you. If you can dissolve that projection in yourself, you are much more available to discover who he really is.
Alex: This is beautiful. To summarize a couple of things that are striking me: one is the idea of "trying on" the other person's shoes and wearing them long enough to really connect. That allows you to be "at one" with them. Often in difficult conversations, the narrative is "me versus them," but you are dissolving that divisiveness.
The second piece—and I really wanted to touch on this—is that we are treating a difficult interaction almost as a gift. It allows us to unlock things that might be holding us back. Most likely, as you said, there are subconscious or conscious triggers causing discomfort. If we didn’t have that internal reaction, we would probably be more accepting, and it wouldn't be such a difficult relationship in the first place. Am I getting that right?
Stephen Josephs: Oh, that’s perfect. You know, I’m also thinking that the purpose of meditation isn’t just to relax you. It’s often taught as a stress-reduction technique, and it does do that, but that’s not its main contribution.
I always think of it this way: imagine you and I are standing outside a room that is completely dark. We want to explore every corner of that room, but we don’t have a clear light. Instead, we have a slide projector under our arm projecting slides onto the walls. That is how we use the light to see what’s in the room. In our minds, that is generally how we perceive the world—through our own preoccupations and memories of past events.
Trying to see what is "real" is very difficult. It becomes much easier if you have a meditative technique that dissolves those slides. Perhaps the memory remains, but the "hue" falls away and more clear light can come through. Gradually, as you progress, fewer childhood experiences color your perceptions of the present.
I’ve coached people who, because of their reactivity to a colleague, ended up ruminating for weeks, unable to let it go or engage with the person who "slighted" them. There are ways to clear the decks—not just of what that person said, but of the childhood experiences that made you vulnerable to that moment in the first place.
Alex: I can definitely relate to that. Your slide metaphor makes me think of a modern take on Plato’s "Allegory of the Cave." While Plato spoke of an absolute truth versus shadows, you’re suggesting that our slides are our limited perceptions and that "dissolution" is the key.
How would you say these childhood patterns impact our holistic approach to life? We recently explored an instance where I overreacted to something with my son; you helped me realize I was reacting to a pattern from my own childhood. For many high achievers, it can feel "silly" to go back to childhood. How do you help people unlock those things that no longer serve them?
Stephen Josephs: It depends. I think of a client who received a 360-degree survey. One of the complaints was that he was highly sarcastic. You could teach him linguistically how to stop being sarcastic, but the more interesting reality is that a part of him needs to be sarcastic.
In coaching, you say, "I know that’s not all of you, but let’s talk to that part of you responsible for the sarcasm." You ask that part, "What do you want to accomplish through this?" He might say, "I want to set the record straight" or "I want to show I’m in charge." Then you ask, "What would you feel if you weren't able to be in charge?" If the client is in touch with their emotions, they’ll admit they feel threatened or afraid.
Then you ask that part of them, "When did you first feel it was necessary to come 'online' to protect Alex?" They might say, "When I was five." There are simple things you can do to take the "sting" out of that emotion. It’s not deep therapy, but it removes the reactivity.
I think of family life like being in a big rowboat full of people. The boat is sinking; it’s not completely sound. No family is perfect. You get put in the boat and handed a bailing can—that’s your role. Maybe you’re the "perfect child," or maybe you’re the "rebel" who steals hubcaps so your parents stop fighting each other and focus on you. Those roles stay with you.
When you bring those patterns up to date, you realize they are no longer necessary for the "dire" reasons they were created. The war is over; you can survive without that defense mechanism. You take the sting away, but you keep the coping skills you learned so you can use them positively when appropriate. You never lose anything; you just aren't compelled to use those tools in a destructive way.
Alex: If you’re listening to this, you’re probably an overachiever to some degree.
Stephen Josephs: We hope so!
Alex: Yes. Based on my own experience and patterns I’ve seen in classmates from business school and undergrad, many people "come out swinging." There is this intense need to prove themselves. For me, the journey involved escaping the Soviet Union as a refugee and then proving myself professionally in a new country. Others have different catalysts—family situations, loss, or other tragedies. But there is a common drive among overachievers to prove themselves to the world, to their parents, to everyone.
Eventually, they reach that acclaim—by hook or by crook—and land that leadership role. But then, either nothing is enough, or the success feels hollow. Often, there is a lot of "collateral damage" caused by applying that same relentless drive to get there. What is your advice for that person?
Stephen Josephs: Well, I hope they are dissatisfied, because that really helps. My toughest clients—though, truthfully, these people don't usually come to me because they aren't far enough along to want what we’re talking about—are the super-rich or celebrities. I’ve coached celebrities, and very few can manage the kind of "change work" we’re discussing.
If you have enough money or fame, you can’t necessarily trust the people talking to you. You don't know what they really want; they might just be thinking you could write them a check. We see this with world leaders—I can feel for someone like President Trump in the sense that people don't tell him the truth. If you lead a powerful country and no one gives it to you straight, your reality gets distorted. If you only accept "sycophancy," you create a bubble where people just "pour treacle on the biscuit" to get you to listen. You can’t be an effective leader if your reality is constantly distorted.
I have a story from my younger days. I was a classical guitarist and a singer-songwriter. One night on Cape Cod, a producer from New York was in the audience. It was one of those nights where I had everyone in the palm of my hand. At that age, I was quite handsome, and one thing led to another—I was driven to Sardi's in New York in a limousine. I sat there with four producers from Desilu Studios, and they said, "We’re going to make a series of five movies with you as the star. You’ll play a classical guitarist who loses himself in the rock-and-roll scene in Europe. It will be a vehicle for your stardom. What do you say?"
I said, "No."
They were shocked. I told them, "I’m 22 years old and I don't know who I am. If I do this, I’m never going to know who I am." They replied, "Well, just don't sign with anyone else"—proving they hadn't heard a word I said. Looking back, I’m so glad that happened. I chose instead to pay attention to the parts of myself that needed real friends and an honest look, so I could take the "slides" out of the projector and be real.
Alex: That's beautiful. I know you have amazing stories, like your time with Leonard Bernstein. But looking back at your own journey, are there other pivotal moments that provided the wisdom you now bring to your clients?
Stephen Josephs: Yes. Before the story I just told, I was madly in love with a young woman. I wanted to marry her; everyone was getting married young back then. I asked her all the time, and she always refused. One night, after a perfect day of developing photographs in our studio, we were in bed at 4:00 AM. I said, "This has been the best day of my life. Why won't you marry me?"
She finally said, "I will."
I said, "That’s nice," and started drifting off. She poked me and said, "I said I will marry you!" We hugged, kissed, and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke up, looked at her, and a voice in my head said, "Get the hell away from me."
I was horrified. That voice wouldn't shut up.
Alex: Was that your voice or her voice?
Stephen Josephs: It was an internal voice—spiteful, angry, and resentful. Our relationship fell apart. I decided to go to Japan to study Aikido. At the time, I didn't know where that voice came from. I was convinced I was insane and that I would never be able to love anyone. I was deeply depressed.
Later, through group therapy, I discovered the root. When I was three months old, my mother—who had lost her firstborn son at three months old—became terrified I would die of SIDS. My father suggested a vacation to calm her nerves. They left me with a nurse who turned out to be unkind. I began refusing food. By the time they returned two weeks later, I was being fed intravenously.
That experience embedded an incredible fear of giving and receiving love. Because it was "pre-verbal," there was no conscious memory of it. Pre-verbal trauma is particularly destructive because, at that age, there is no sense of "self" versus "other."
When something bad happened, it wasn't "something bad is happening to me"—it was just "the world is bad."
Stephen Josephs: At the time, I thought, "It must be me." That realization turned out to be a gift because it led me to practice meditation for two or three hours a day for 60 years. I’ve practically never missed a day. That is what led to my consciousness opening up. You don't have to be as severely disturbed as I was to benefit, but there is no remnant of that trauma in my consciousness anymore. Most people, had they not done the work I did, would still be suffering from a wild character disorder at my age. I’m 80 years old now, and I feel fine.
Alex: You’ve still got those movie star looks, too!
Stephen Josephs: Well, I don’t know about that, but I do look at all of it as a gift now. Most of my clients end up feeling that way about their past, even if it was rough. You really can let that go.
Alex: It sounds like that lack of love or acceptance as a child is what propels many people to achieve—to drive, to build things, and to "earn" love, so to speak. The irony is that it’s almost the wrong search, even if it makes you an expert.
Stephen Josephs: You can have both. You can achieve things in the world, but the real question is: what is the fuel powering it? Is it just trying to prove something? When that "stuff" goes away and is no longer the driving force, the desire becomes purely creative. It’s about creating something useful for millions or changing the world for the better.
It also extends to the culture you create. You no longer lead because you were "shot from a cannon" by the agony of your childhood; instead, you want to create a culture where people respect and support each other. You return to that idea of collective intelligence—where people are excited, love each other's contributions, and work because they want to make something great.
Alex: In Silicon Valley, it’s a bit trite to say, "I want to change the world." Some leaders do accomplish that, but they leave a trail of hurt souls and damage in their path. It feels like the ambition to have an impact can come from a very different place.
Stephen Josephs: I think so, and I think people grow along the way. I don't know what Bill Gates is really like personally, but I heard a podcast where he and Rashida Jones interviewed Yuval Noah Harari. Gates came across as very sane. He has changed over the years. In the beginning, he was ruthless—he "hollowed out" other people’s inventions. I don't think he’s that way now. People evolve.
Look at Warren Buffett. He still lives in the same three-bedroom house he’s always had. Think about his ideas on protecting his children from the distortion of growing up with billions of dollars. That kind of reality distortion makes it hard to stay sane. That’s a huge challenge to navigate.
Alex: When you look at the leaders who successfully make this transition to "post-heroic" leadership—the ones who get there a little quicker with fewer stumbles—what defines them?
Stephen Josephs: The real difference is that they are totally honest with themselves. They are relaxed, they welcome feedback, and they are humble. They have a good sense of humor and are willing to make mistakes and laugh about them. They just feel real.
My approach is essentially Taoist. In my book Dragons at Work, I quote the Tao Te Ching often. It asks: "Which means more to you: you or your renown? Which brings more to you: you or what you own? Which would cost you more if it were gone?"
There is another passage:
"Those who would take over the earth and shape it to their will never, I notice, succeed. The earth is like a vessel so sacred that at the mere approach of the profane, it is marred. For a time in the world, some force themselves ahead and some are left behind; some make a great noise and some are held silent; some are puffed fat and others are left hungry. But at no time in the world will a man who is sane overreach himself, overspend himself, or overrate himself."
That was written 2,500 years ago. It’s been part of the human condition for a long time.
Alex: I’ve put up this background for those watching the video to reflect my appreciation for uncovering that wisdom.
Alex: My mindset usually comes from a classical tradition of "progress"—where you push and force things to happen. It is fascinating to see that you can accomplish just as much, not through force, but by letting energy flow through you. Instead of dividing yourself from others, you see yourself as an extension of the broader space and the people around you. How do your clients, who may not be exposed to the Taoist tradition, react to this? What kind of mindset shift do you see?
Stephen Josephs: What I’ve found over the years is that many Taoist poems are impenetrable when we first read them; they are puzzling and paradoxical. Here is an example:
"The universe is deathless because, with no finite self, it stays infinite. A sound man, by not advancing himself, stays further ahead of himself. By not confining himself to himself, he sustains himself outside himself. By never being an end in himself, he endlessly becomes himself."
There is a lot to unwrap there. Unless you have experienced "dropping the self," it makes no sense. I introduce it through meditative experiences so people feel the self differently.
We can do a little of this now. Start visually: with your eyes open, expand your peripheral vision so it’s soft. Bring your awareness to your eyes—the tissue, the membranes, the lens, the optic nerve. Just rest in the experience of the eyes being space. You are resting in the space your eyes occupy, and then in the space outside your eyes. The space inside and outside is continuous.
Now, rest in the space your brain occupies in your head. Feel that space. The more familiar you become with it, the more it feels like a fundamental aspect of you. At a deep level, all matter is space, and the objects you look at are simply manifestations of that space. This is "non-dual awareness," where self and others are seen as the same.
The more you experience this, the more Lao Tzu’s poetry makes sense. In that space, you find stillness. Imagine a concert hall: the musicians are tuning up, the conductor stands at the podium, and there is a cacophony of sound. Then, the conductor taps the wand. Silence falls. But it isn't just silence; it’s a "room sound" pregnant with possibility. It is totally alive, yet there is no real sound yet. The orchestra plays over that, but the music is arising out of that energy of the universe.
You end up feeling the stillness within the motion and the silence between the sounds. Once that becomes available to you all the time, it is equal to any wealth you can imagine.
Alex: To use a metaphor for those who might not follow classical music: imagine walking in the snow during winter. You aren't surrounded by hustle and bustle; you are in a private space where you become part of the forest. You see the light glistening off the snow like brilliant diamonds. You hear the birds chirping. You are part of the landscape, whether it’s the Alps or the Rockies.
Or, for those heading to the sea, there’s the phrase: "You are a wave in the ocean, and you are part of the ocean at the same time." You start feeling that connectedness. It’s beautiful that meditation can teach us to have these awe-inspiring moments throughout the day. Instead of having a "happy place" you only visit in the summer, you can have that "open sea" feeling every day. It sounds like that is one of the greatest gifts you give your clients.
Stephen Josephs: You know, it’s funny—I’ve heard people say that Taoism is a kind of "quietism," where you just withdraw from everything. But if that were true, why would there be Taoist martial arts? You can be in a meditative space, and it actually makes you a better martial artist. There is no fear and no hesitation.
Alex: Let’s talk about that. You’ve mentioned this several times, and for those of us who haven’t studied martial arts, it’s a great insight. Can you elaborate?
Stephen Josephs: The first martial art I really studied was Aikido. In the world of mixed martial arts, an Aikido master might get his head clobbered, but that’s not really what I think about. To me, Aikido is about being so centered and skillful that whatever comes at you cannot penetrate your "sphere of energy" in a hurtful way. You meet whatever is coming. If a hand comes in, you connect with it, touch it, and lead it to a place where it won’t hurt anyone.
You practice enough so that you have a great deal of vital energy—Chi in Chinese or Ki in Japanese. Your movements have no tension, but they have a different kind of power running through them. The best way to understand this power is to imagine a fire hose: when huge amounts of water rush through it, it becomes very stable and impossible to bend. Without the water, it just flops on the ground.
That is why they are called "internal martial arts." You develop internal powers that allow you to meet another person's energy in a relaxed, skillful way without tension. Now, that is a level of attainment beyond me; I’m not a "real" martial artist, though I do practice Tai Chi and Bagua—a Chinese practice of walking in circles related to the I Ching. I’ve probably just said things that no one listening understands!
Alex: But it’s beautiful because every spiritual tradition has a way to reach this state. You found yours in Tai Chi. You’ve also explored yoga. You are finding what supports you at different stages of growth. One thing that touched me is that these meditative opportunities are everywhere. It’s great to get 30 minutes in the morning, but my goal is to draw on these moments throughout the day. How do you help your clients find the practice that responds to them?
Stephen Josephs: I think most of my clients, especially if you look back at their childhood, have an innocent feeling about the nature of the world. In the fifth grade, I was a terrible reader. I was standing at the front of the room reading a poem: "I think I will never see / A poem lovely as a tree / A tree that looks at God all day." I read it as: "A tree that looks like God all day." The class broke up laughing, and I was mortified. But underneath, I remember thinking, "Actually, I’m right. A tree does look like God all day." If you talk to most kids, they have moments—lying in bed looking at stars—where they feel that wonder. Whether a person goes to Mass or a synagogue, if they can quiet down and find the spirit behind the ritual, that ritual starts to mean something deeper.
Alex: It becomes a connecting experience rather than just a ritual.
Stephen Josephs: Exactly. Rituals can be dead if you aren’t feeling anything. You have to make yourself an "alive" instrument. Right now, my favorite thing to listen to is South African a cappella—gospel music with harmonies and rhythms that just take me away. Different traditions impact me; as long as they are sincere and the music is great, they get to me.
Alex: That’s beautiful, Stephen. You mention music, but the reality for most of us is that we are bombarded by the opposite of calm energy. We are hit with Instagram, negative news cycles, divisive "us versus them" rhetoric, and commercial entities trying to evoke unmet needs—the idea that "I’ll be enough once I have that luxury item." What is the counterbalance to that world?
Stephen Josephs: Each of us has to find the proper balance. You can tune the world out to a great extent if you decide to, but I don’t like to be totally divorced from the world. I like to know what’s going on.
Alex: Leaders need to connect to the world because they are in it. They aren't Zen monks away from everywhere.
Stephen Josephs: Exactly. Even the Dalai Lama knows what’s going on, and he still meditates. I always think of what Lao Tzu says:
"A sound leader’s aim is to open people's hearts, fill their stomachs, calm their wills, and brace their bones. They clarify thoughts and cleanse needs so no 'cunning meddler' can touch them."
There are a lot of cunning meddlers out there—Twitter feeds, endless video loops—that just catch you in a cycle. You have to find that center.
In this final section, the conversation turns toward the integration of the mind, heart, and nervous system, and the ultimate importance of self-trust. I have corrected the grammar, standardized Stephen's name, and cleaned up the conversational stumbles while preserving the heartfelt nature of the advice.
Alex: These "cunning meddlers" just suck out our vital energy. It’s destructive. I want to touch on the heart. Earlier, we talked about unlocking the mind—checking out your discussion with Tara Brach and learning these ideas intellectually. For many of us, the intellect is a very strong muscle.
But then you brought up the heart. That is a muscle we need to remind ourselves to use regularly. We have to ask: "Am I doing this from a place of love?" Then there is the connection to the nervous system and the multidimensionality you reach through meditation. If people are looking to make changes, it seems they need all three: mind, heart, and body. Where do you start? Is there a single right emphasis?
Stephen Josephs: It really depends on the individual. Personally, I like to help build a nervous system that is resilient enough to support everything else. When it comes to compassion, some people are very responsive to the idea of praying for the benefit of all people or projecting love.
I found that difficult initially, perhaps because of that early childhood experience I mentioned. Love didn't feel central to me because I felt a void there. What developed compassion in me was being able to take difficult emotions—like the deep sadness at the root of my experience—and find them in my body or energetic field. I learned to surround that sadness with that "bigger space" we discussed. It’s a way of having compassion for yourself, letting the layers of anger or resentment around the sadness dissolve. The more you dissolve those tensions within yourself, the more you automatically develop compassion for others.
Alex: In many traditions, the narrative is to start with compassion for others. That is socially acceptable—sometimes even a form of "virtue signaling." But what I’m hearing is that the real work is self-acceptance. Until you genuinely have compassion for yourself, it’s hard to be authentically compassionate toward others.
Stephen Josephs: That was certainly true for me, though it’s not true for everyone. Some people have a nature where compassion for others comes first. You have to work with what is arising. I don't have a "one-size-fits-all" way of working; I have to find out who the person is.
Alex: What are the biggest blocks for people when they start working with you? They might discover there are no quick wins, only side steps. I’ve had my own moments where I thought I was doing great, only to take a step back. How does that journey look for most people?
Stephen Josephs: I trust people to navigate that for themselves. At 80 years old, I’m not working with many people anymore. I usually have a conversation and do a little work with someone to see if they are responsive. If I feel I can be useful and they respond well to my direction, I’ll offer coaching. If they don’t seem to like the approach, I cheerfully refer them to someone else. At this stage, I want to work with those for whom I am most useful.
Alex: What advice would you give to your 50-year-old self?
Stephen Josephs: "You’re doing fine." I was probably worried back then, but I would just say: "It’s all going to work out. Trust yourself. You’re doing all right."
Alex: Many people listening are in that 50-year-old age bracket. They have teenage kids, their careers are peaking, and their energy might be dropping if they don't have a practice like Aikido or Tai Chi. There are demands coming from everywhere. It feels like you have to accept that you can't do everything. You aren't an Indian god with extra hands! Maybe that acceptance gives a sense of peace. What have you found for people carrying all those responsibilities?
Stephen Josephs: The main thing they have to develop is trust. Like I said, tell your 50-year-old self to trust yourself. In my coaching sessions, I want my clients to have the experience that—no matter what they bring to the table—by the end, they have another piece of evidence that they can trust themselves. It’s all right. You’re going to be okay.
What a resonant way to conclude the conversation. I have corrected the final section of the grammar, standardized the spelling of Stephen, and captured the warmth of this closing exchange.
Alex: Beautiful message, Stephen. Are there any other words of wisdom—beyond the reminder that we’re going to be okay and that we can build trust in ourselves—that you would like to share with our audience?
Stephen Josephs: Yes, I’d like to recite a poem, if I can remember it. This is from Lao Tzu:
"Existence is beyond the power of words to define. Terms may be used, but none of them are absolute. In the beginning of heaven and earth, there were no words. Words came out of the womb of matter. Whether a man dispassionately sees to the core of life or passionately sees the surface, the core and the surface are essentially the same. Words make them seem different only to express appearance. If a name be needed, wonder names them both. From wonder into wonder, existence opens."
Alex: Wow. You are leaving us with a sense of wonder and curiosity. Some of us are wondering if we will be able to remember and recite poems at the age of 80, when we struggle to do so much earlier in our lives!
Stephen Josephs: Well, that’s probably all I can remember!
Alex: It’s a pretty good advertisement for whatever you’re drinking and doing! It is beautiful—this sense of curiosity and wonder. In working with you, I’ve experienced how you use "dissolution." You bring up unspoken things, fears, or patterns that hold us back, and you bring a curiosity to them. You explore where we aspire to be and the alternatives available to us.
Throughout it all, there is an acceptance of the beautiful texture of human life and our connectedness. I feel it is such a privilege to have had this conversation and to receive this gift of wisdom. I’ve heard an expression that you want to have the wisdom of an 80-year-old and the heart of a five-year-old. You have that loving acceptance, but you also have the energy of a samurai—or a Tai Chi master. It is very special to see all those traits combined in you. Stephen, where can people find more of your magic?
Stephen Josephs: I guess you can go to stephenjosephs.com and see what’s there. I haven’t looked at it for a while, but that’s one way.
Alex: Beautiful. Stephen, thank you so much for sharing your wisdom.
Stephen Josephs: It’s a pleasure. This was a lot of fun.
Alex: There are lifetimes of learning and re-listening in this episode. Thank you.