This is the Myth of Right-Way Leadership, a modern myth I wrote on the bones of the Sisyphus story. It is for the leader who does everything the proven way, carries it alone, and still feels the rock roll back over them every morning. Listen to the whole thing, then look closely at the initials carved in your own rock.
The Myth of Right-Way Leadership
Inspired by the myth of Sisyphus
The gods of the “Right Way” built a hill and called it Success.
Some of them had sacrificed their families to climb it. Others had sacrificed their health. All in the name of success.
Then they carved the rules into stone. And the reason they carved them was to make sure everyone else sacrificed too. They had made the ultimate sacrifice, and they believed so must you.
It was by design.
They said: wake earlier, push harder, do it the proven way, carry it alone, and one day the rock reaches the top and stays.
So the leader pushed the rock up the hill, because they’d been told this was the only honest way up. Because everyone they admired was pushing too. Because they believed the top was real.
And every time the rock rolled back over them, they thought: I’m not strong enough. I’m not doing it right. Everyone else must be reaching the top.
Years of this.
Then one gray morning, the leader didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to push the rock up the hill to success, just to be rolled over and have to start again.
And a quiet, dangerous thought arrived:
“I don’t think I’m supposed to feel like this all the time. Like I never get anywhere. Like I’m failing, all alone.”
That last word snagged. Alone.
They walked down to the rock and looked at it closely for the first time. There were initials carved into it.
Not the leader’s initials.
This rock had belonged to someone whose leadership was criminal. Someone who sacrificed their family, their health, their people, and called it success. Crimes this leader had never committed. They’d spent their best years serving a stranger’s sentence.
So they did the thing the gods swore was quitting. They stepped off the hill from hell, the one designed for defeat, where help from others only made you a failure.
And they sought out and found their own hill. One shaped like the thing they were actually here to build.
The rock was still heavy. From time to time it still rolled back, but now for reasons that were theirs. Real ones. Their own.
And they weren’t alone on it. Hands landed on the rock beside theirs. People who believed in where it was going. On the right-way hill, needing help made you a failure. On your own hill, it makes you a movement.
The rock went up. And this time, it mostly stayed.
What the Symbols Mean
The hill: A definition of success. Which version of making it you strapped yourself to. Not the work itself, but the shape of winning you accepted.
The rock: The daily work. Your effort, your business, the thing you push. The rock was never the problem.
Pushing it up: Chasing that definition of success. Believing the top is real and reachable if you just push right.
The roll-back: When the work doesn’t stick. Progress that undoes itself. On the wrong hill, this is designed in, not a sign you’re weak.
The gods of the Right Way: The people who built the proper way to run a business. Not villains, but martyrs who sacrificed their families and health, and now can’t bear to see you refuse the same.
The carved rules: Conventional business wisdom. Wake earlier, push harder, do it the proven way, carry it alone. Carved in stone so no one questions it.
Carry it alone: The lie that real leaders don’t need help. The most expensive rule on the hill.
The gray morning: The moment of honest exhaustion. When you finally think, I’m not supposed to feel like this all the time. The start of waking up.
The initials in the rock: Proof it was never yours. The sentence belonged to someone else, someone whose leadership was actually criminal. You’ve been serving a stranger’s punishment.
Stepping off the hill: The move everyone calls quitting. It isn’t. It’s refusing a definition of success that was never yours to want.
Your own hill: Success shaped like your real mission. Still steep. The rock still rolls back sometimes, but now for reasons that are yours.
Hands on the rock beside yours: The right people. On the borrowed hill, needing them made you a failure. On your hill, they make you a movement.
Video Transcription:
The Myth of Right-Way Leadership, inspired by the myth of Sisyphus.
The gods of the right way built a hill and called it SUCCESS. Some of them had sacrificed their families to climb it. Others had sacrificed their health, all in the name of success. Then they carved the rules into the stone, and the reason they carved them was to make sure everyone else sacrificed too.
They had made the ultimate sacrifice, and they believed so must you. It was by design. They said, “Wake earlier, push harder. Do it the proven way. Carry it alone, and one day the rock reaches the top and stays.” So the leader pushed the rock up the hill because they’d been told this was the only honest way up, because everyone they admired was pushing too, because they believed the top was real.
And every time the rock rolled back over them, they thought, “I’m not strong enough. I’m not doing it right. Everyone else must be reaching the top.” Years of this. Then one gray morning, the leader didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to push the rock up the hill to success just to be rolled over and have to start again.
And a quiet, dangerous thought arrived. “I don’t think I’m supposed to feel like this all the time, like I never get anywhere, like I’m failing and all alone.” That last word snagged, “alone.” They walked down to the rock and looked at it closely for the first time. There were initials carved into it. Not the leader’s initials.
No. This rock had belonged to someone whose leadership was criminal, someone who’d sacrificed their family, their health, their people, and called it success. Crimes this leader had never committed. They’d spent their best years serving a stranger’s sentence. So they did the thing the gods swore was quitting.
They stepped off the hill from hell, the one designed for defeat, where help from others only made you a failure, and they sought out and found their own hill, one shaped like the things they were actually here to build. The rock was still heavy. From time to time, it still rolled back, but now for reasons that were theirs, real ones, their own.
And they weren’t alone on it. Hands landed on the rock beside theirs, people who believed in where it was going. On the borrowed hill, needing help made you a failure. On your own hill, it makes you a movement. The rock went up, and this time it mostly stayed.