I have developed a new method for assessing leadership potential. Forget the 360 review. Forget Hogan. Forget the nine-box. Forget spending three hours in a windowless conference room discussing whether someone is “high potential” while everyone pretends they understand what “enterprise mindset” means. Take them through airport security. Then watch what they do with their TSA tray.
That’s it. That’s the assessment.
I’ve done absolutely no research on this, there is no peer-reviewed data behind it, and I am fairly certain HR would object to adding “tray-return behavior” to the annual talent process. But I stand by the methodology.
Group One: The Good Citizens
These people finish going through security, collect their belongings, pick up their tray and return it to the stack. Beautiful. Efficient. Thoughtful. They understand that there is, in fact, a world continuing behind them.
Their thought process appears to be: “I used this. I am now finished with it. I should put it back.” Revolutionary.
I like these people. I trust these people. I would probably put them on a succession plan.
Group Two: The People I Have Concerns About
These people collect their laptop, phone, shoes, headphones, belt, watch, coat, backpack and the enormous water bottle they forgot was full until approximately six minutes ago. Then they walk away.
The tray remains. Just sitting there. Empty. Abandoned. A monument to individualism.
And I watch this happen with a level of irritation completely disproportionate to the seriousness of the offense. You know where the tray goes. You literally picked it up from the pile approximately 90 seconds ago. This is not an escape room. Nobody has hidden the tray return location. There is no complex reverse-engineering required. You just put it back.
But no. Their personal security journey is complete. The next person can deal with it. The TSA can deal with it. Society can deal with it.
And I know what some of you are thinking: “Micheal, TSA employees are paid to manage the security area.”
PUT THE TRAY BACK.
I am completely unreasonable on this issue and have made peace with that.
And Then There Is Group Three
Me.
I put my tray back. Obviously. Then I notice that the person ahead of me has left theirs. So I pick that one up too. Then I notice another. And another. And suddenly I am not going through airport security anymore. I am running airport security.
I begin stacking trays. Properly. Not just throwing them on top of each other like an animal. Neatly. Aligned. Possibly grouped by size, even though I’m pretty sure they are all the same size. I push the bench back into place. I move the abandoned shoe bin. I create order from chaos.
And then, mainly because I’m a Virgo and apparently incapable of doing a nice thing quietly, I make a very large sigh. Not a normal sigh. A performative sigh. A sigh that says: “Wow. Good thing somebody around here cares.” A sigh designed to travel at least 20 feet.
Then I look toward the TSA agent.
I’m not asking for much. A nod would do. A subtle thumbs-up. Maybe: “Thanks, sir.” Ideally, if we’re being ambitious, some form of airport-wide recognition.
“Attention passengers. We’d like to recognize the gentleman at Terminal 4 who has just restored order to the tray area with absolutely no request or authorization from TSA.”
But nothing.
The TSA agent does not care. The other passengers do not care. My husband, if he is traveling with me, definitely does not care and is probably already 40 feet away pretending not to know me.
So I walk away carrying the quiet resentment of a man who has completed an entirely self-appointed task and received none of the praise he believes he deserves.
And unfortunately, this is where the whole thing starts to feel a lot like work.
The workplace has the same three groups
There are people who leave the tray. There are people who return their own tray. And there are people who spend their careers picking up everybody else’s trays.
I have definitely been that third person. Probably more often than I should admit. Something is broken? I’ll fix it. Someone hasn’t followed up? I’ll chase it. The deck isn’t good enough? I’ll rewrite it. The meeting has no clear outcome? I’ll send the summary. The process is a disaster? Give it here. Someone drops the ball? I’ll pick it up before it hits the floor.
For a long time, this can look like exceptional performance. And sometimes it is. People who take ownership tend to progress because organizations need people who can be relied on. They close gaps. They create order. They protect outcomes. They make things happen.
But there is a point where the strength can turn into a weakness, because there is a difference between taking ownership and taking ownership of absolutely everything.
And I think this is one of the harder transitions in leadership development.
Early in your career, a huge part of success is showing that you can solve problems yourself. Later, success increasingly depends on your ability to build people who can solve problems without you. Those are not the same skill. In fact, sometimes they are in direct conflict.
If you are the fastest person in the room at fixing something, the temptation is always to just do it yourself. You know you can get it done faster. You know exactly how you want it. You know that if you take over, the problem will disappear. And usually you’re right.
The problem is that if you do that every time, the problem disappears but the capability never develops.
You returned the tray. Again. And again. And again.
Eventually everyone around you learns a very useful lesson: if I leave the tray there long enough, Micheal will pick it up.
That’s not leadership. That’s an extremely efficient dependency model.
And it becomes exhausting.
Sometimes leadership means leaving the tray crooked
The leaders I admire most have learned when to step in and when not to. They know when a problem genuinely requires intervention, but they also know when someone else needs to struggle with it for a bit. They know when to give the answer and when to ask: “What do you think we should do?”
They know when to rewrite the document and when to hand it back and say: “This isn’t there yet. Try again.” They understand that developing people occasionally means tolerating work that isn’t exactly how you would have done it.
That one is especially painful for my fellow tray-stackers, because sometimes leadership means watching somebody stack the trays slightly crooked.
And leaving them that way.
I know. Horrifying.
The uncomfortable part: sometimes we want to be noticed
There is another part of the Group Three personality that is probably worth admitting. Sometimes we don’t just want to help. We want the help to be noticed.
Not in some enormous egotistical way. Just a tiny bit. A little recognition. A small acknowledgment that we are the person who always sorts things out.
And when that recognition doesn’t come, resentment can creep in: “I’m doing everything around here.” “Why does nobody else see this?” “Why am I always the one fixing it?”
These can be legitimate frustrations. But sometimes there is an uncomfortable question underneath them: did anyone actually ask us to pick up all those trays? Or did we build our identity around being the person who does?
That has been a useful leadership question for me.
Because being indispensable sounds wonderful until you realize that being truly successful as a leader often means becoming less indispensable.
Your team should be able to make decisions without you. They should be able to run the meeting without you. They should know how to solve problems without immediately escalating them. They should be able to put the tray back.
If every issue still requires you to personally intervene, that may feel like importance. But it may actually be a development gap.
And possibly a Virgo issue.
My refined leadership model
Return your own tray. Do not leave unnecessary mess behind for somebody else. If someone genuinely needs help, help them. If there is a problem that needs solving, take ownership.
But don’t automatically become the person who cleans up every single thing.
Sometimes the better leadership move is to stop quietly fixing. Give the feedback. Set the expectation. Hold the person accountable. Let them solve it.
And when necessary, simply say: “You left your tray.” Then resist every instinct in your body to pick it up for them.
I am still working on this. At work and at LAX.
Although, to be clear, if you leave six trays scattered across the security area in front of me, all leadership-development principles are temporarily suspended. I will stack them. I will straighten the entire area. I will make a massive sigh. I will look directly at the TSA agent.
And I will once again receive absolutely no praise.
Some leadership lessons take longer than others.
But seriously. Put your feckin tray back.
And next week, I’m coming for the people who don’t return their shopping carts at the grocery store.
You know who you are.
There’s a special place in hell for you.
And I’m coming for you.