As they step into the maelstrom of public policy creation, may we never lose sight of our decision to participate, and may they never lose sight of why they started or the people who sent them there.

My Story:

When I was young I thought following Mom and Dad’s rules and doing good deeds – keep my bedroom neat, take my muddy shoes off outside so I didn’t track mud inside, wash the dishes without complaining – would result in smiles, and hugs, and touches like I saw other parents do with their kids.

It didn’t work. Even when I tried harder, it didn’t work.

Eventually I learned that true connection, smiles and hugs and came after I revealed a piece of myself – allowing others to actually know, understand, and appreciate who I was. Trust then love only came followed awareness.

I wrote “Who Am I” to capture that moment of realization:

Who Am I?

Invited by an artist
to draw a self-portrait I picked up a black Sharpie Gel Pen

and drew a stick figure
with ten thin elongated fingers ten thin elongated toes

a circular head, no eyes nose, mouth or hair.

It floated
adrift
in the lower right corner on a sea
of white flip chart paper.

No one will love an unknowable.

Your story?

Do you remember a time when you realized that performing and pleasing might earn gratitude but not love? Have you ever had to set aside a need to have all the answers so others could truly see you? What happened when you did?

📖Read more reflective essays on leadership, transformation and poetry at rmtobias.substack.com

📚Who am I is a reflection from my poetry collection, What Lives in Me. It is available now through major online retailers.

My Story:

In the summer following my sophomore year in college, I worked on a Chevrolet assembly line putting together Corvairs to pay for my tuition. I was a young may in a real man’s world trying to do my job in one minute, 480 times a shift.

Some of the jobs on the line required fine manual dexterity, others required strength. Mine required both.

I was given three days to master the job or be fired. My trainer and I split the duties: half for him and half for me on day one, alternating on day two, and on day three, I took the lead and he stepped in when I fell behind.

On the fourth day I was on my own. I kept pace for about two hours, until the pace overcame me. As I fell behind, panic set in. I tried to move faster from the bench where I picked up the parts to the car where I installed them, but precision slipped, and the gap widened.

Suddenly the worker across the line doing the mirror image task of inserting a headlight and taillight into a Corvair – stepped over. While continuing to do 100% of his job, he picked up half of mine to help me catch up.

He saved my job and made it possible for me to return to college for my junior year.

In my poem “Maybe One Day” in my What Lives in Me collection, I thanked Jim for his help and asked why did you step in and save me?

“He looked at me, ‘Maybe one day
my kid
will go to college too.’”

It was an unanticipated, undeserved pay it forward gift of love, an act of generosity from a real man to a struggling young man.

Your story:

Do you remember someone in your life who offered you an unexpected, unearned gift of grace or help when you needed it most?

📖Read more reflective essays on leadership, transformation and poetry at rmtobias.substack.com

📚My poetry collection, What Lives in Me, is available now through major online retailers.

My Story:

Removing a mask that provides protection seems counterintuitive. Why would anyone do it?

For years I wore an invincibility mask to hide what I feared most: a secret belief that I was a failure. It looked so much like me few could tell the difference. Over time it became me.

Think of the heroes who wear masks: The Lone Ranger, Superman, Spider-Man, and Zorro. They put on their masks and became bigger, stronger and more invincible than the human behind the mask. Who would choose to be Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent?

The answer: Superman needed to be Clark Kent to truly connect with Lois Lane. Superman vanquished villains but couldn’t build intimacy while wearing the mask. Only the human behind the mask had that opportunity.

I had been writing poems for several years and had identified my invincibility mask but was terrified to take it off. Then I met someone who offered unconditional generosity and support with no strings attached. He just did it.

His quiet kindness gave me the courage to remove my mask. I wrote about that moment in my poem, Can I Remain Naked? in my What Lives in Me collection.

His generosity fed my courage

to remove my failure mask, hiding

my scars, scabs

and unhealed wounds,

my shame and pain of actions

taken and not taken.

. . .

I opened his door, I felt naked in the cold.

My challenge was to remain naked and available to be loved and love.

Your story:.

Do you wear a mask that once provided needed protection that now keeps you from getting what you need?

📚 My poetry collection, What Lives in Me, is available now through major online retailers.

Whenever I ask an AI Bot for a simple technology fix, “Why can’t I send an email,” the process requires a certain level of technical expertise I don’t have.

First comes the back-and-forth volley of Bot questions just to narrow my focus. Then I send requests for definitions of specialized terms in the answers followed by quiet acceptance the Bot will not be held responsibel for giving me a completely hallucinatory response.

I started writing “Rich Guys” while stuck on hold with a corporate help desk, listening to unmutable elevator music selected by an automatic system.

Rich Guys

The rich guys say

the cashmere smooth voice

of a Customer Service Bot

is a great deal.

Available 24/7.

They wave off glitchy nonsense,

We will fix it soon.

A Bot never asks for a raise.

Never complains

about work life balance.

Always speaks

in the calm level tone

of an airline gate agent

announcing an indefinite delay.

Meanwhile the Bot

can’t help me

send an email.

To reach a human,

I needed a sacred key:

username, password,

two-factor code,

facial recognition

then the hold music.

Finally, the wall opens.

A live voice says,

It’s not the software

call your hardware representative.

Or:

It’s not the hardware,

call your software representative.

The rich guys get richer.

I still can’t send an email.

Your Story:

Am I an old guy outlier, or have you found yourself caught in the same dead-end trap? How do you navigate the wall between the Bot world and human help?

📖 Read more about everyday leadership challenges, personal growth, and major life transitions, subscribe at rmtobias.substack.com

📚 Order What Lives in Me through major online book retailers to discover the full story about finding thecourage to challenge my Dad’s “you’re a failure voice” and finally discover my own.

My Story:

My first love occurred in the seventh grade. I stared at Rosemary, two years older than me, whenever I saw her: walking down the street, riding her bike, or sitting behind her on the bus ride to school.

No hands held. No words exchanged. It was all one-sided.

One day I was riding my bike, fell to the ground, scraped my knee and saw Rosemary:

I saw her

kissing a boy.

I thought

she loved me.

I bled

all the way home.

“I Love You Rosemary,” from my What Lives in Me collection.

Your Story:

What do you remember about your first love?

📖 Read more about everyday leadership challenges, personal growth, and major life transitions, subscribe at rmtobias.substack.com

📚 Order: What Lives in Me is available now through major online book retailers to discover the full story about finding the courage to challenge my Dad’s “you’re a failure voice” and finally discover my own.

My Story:

My Grandfather introduced me to the family ritual of parking cars on his property and attending University of Michigan home football games. His home was originally a farmhouse on the land the University of Michigan football stadium was built. It was placed on log rollers and pulled by donkeys to its current location a half block from the stadium.

My grandfather took me to my first football game when I was five as I explain in “Family Rituals”:

“Grandpa held me on his lap

and poured

all his football secrets

into my ear.”

His father took him to his first football game in 1900. And I took my son and later my granddaughter to her first football game in her cheerleader outfit when she was five.

It was a gift from one generation to another. I was pleased to be initiated and pleased to pass it on.

Your Story:

Did your family have a pleasing ritual in which you were initiated? If yes, will you pass it on? If no, will you create a new one?

📖 Read more about everyday leadership challenges, personal growth, and major life transitions, subscribe at rmtobias.substack.com

📚 Order: What Lives in Me is available now through major online book retailers to discover the full story about finding the courage to challenge my Dad’s “you’re a failure voice” and finally discover my own.

Perhaps My Story Will Help Shape Your Story

My Story:

I want to return once again to “Grandma’s Kitchen.” (If you haven’t read or listened to the poem yet, you can find it and my prior comments on my Substack newsletter, Connections, at rmtobias.substack.com.)

As a child, I felt completely different in Grandma’s Kitchen. I never wanted to leave. At the time, I couldn’t put it into words why it felt so special, but years later I found: belonging. I felt that I belonged with her in her kitchen.

In Grandma’s presence, all my anxiety about what might happen to me if I misspoke, laughed too loud, or spilled a glass of milk simply disappeared. I felt deeply connected to her. Her purpose was clear: she engaged me in learning, challenged me to be my best self, and when I met her expectations, she simply said, “Congratulations.”

Decades later, when I began teaching leadership at American University, I realized Grandma had instinctively practiced every single element of effective team building.

· She created a psychology safe environment.

· She showed genuine care and compassion.

· Her purpose and expectations were explicit.

· She challenged me, held me accountable, and gave immediate, honest feedback.

Because of the environment she built, I felt engaged, valued, and deeply motivated to achieve the goals she set for me.

I believe these lessons apply to every leader – formal or informal - who seeks to build an inspired, committed team. People are far more willing to strive toward shared goals when they feel safe, valued, challenged, and supported. Grandma was a remarkable teacher and leader.

Your Story:

Reflecting on your own life – whether at home, in the workplace, or in your community – which of these core elements of team building could you nurture to help those around you thrive?

Join the Conversation

If this post resonated with you, please Restack or share it with others who might find it useful.

To explore how the themes in What Lives in Me connect to everyday leadership challenges, personal growth, and major life transitions, subscribe to my Substack newsletter, Connections, at rmtobias.substack.com.

You can also order a copy of What Lives in Me here to discover the fuller story behind Grandma’s Kitchen and learn how it helped me find the courage to challenge my Dad’s “you’re a failure voice” and finally discover my own.

Reflecting on “Grandma’s Kitchen” (a poem from the What Lives in Me collection posted at rmtobias.substack.com), I now realize how much the certainty of that ritual helped prepare us for the main event: teaching me reading, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and more. Everything roaming in my young mind disappeared as I focused on watching those crackers float.

It reminds me of how often, when pressed for time, I would jump straight into a meeting and dive immediately into solving the problem at hand, only to fail. We were all still carrying the lingering thoughts, stress, or distractions from our previous meetings.

To bridge that gap, I started using short “check ins.” Giving each person a moment to share what was on their mind allowed us to clear out the past and fully arrive in the present.

Your Story: If you have had the experience of distracted team members at the start of a meeting, what ritual might you develop that provides you and your team with the opportunity to flush what happened before, and be prepared to work with you in the present?

Join the Conversation

If this post resonated with you, please Restack or share it with others who might find it useful.

Pick up a copy of What Lives in Me here to discover the fuller story behind Grandma’s Kitchen in my journey to develop the courage to challenge my Dad’s “you’re a failure voice” and find my own voice.

Seeking refuge, I built a “fort” in the rafters of our garage. I’d climb a rope ladder to the loft, then crawl hand-over-hand along a narrow board to a tight storage ledge above the garage door.

In my poem “I Need Friends” from What Lives in Me, I write about the terror of that crawl; imagining my bashed bleeding head on the cement floor below.

Risking the fall was worth it. Up there, lit by candlelight, I’d read my comic books over and over. They told the same story every time, and they never broke a promise to show up.

Your story: Did you have a safe place to retreat to when you felt lonely as a kid? A “fort” where you never felt alone? How about now?

Join the Conversation

If this post resonated with you, please Restack or share it with others who might find it useful.

Pick up a copy of What Lives in Me here to discover the context of I Need Friends in my journey to develop the courage to challenge my Dad’s fear of failure voice and find my own voice.

My Story: In a recent post, I discussed how grateful I was to be “Noticed” when I wasn’t trying to be noticed. It was a gift. Today, I want to share a situation where I desperately wanted to be noticed and try as I might, it just didn’t happen.

One of my first poems about my relationship with my Dad was “Do Dreams Come True.” It was a poem about feeling invisible, and it ultimately appeared in my debut poetry collection What Lives in Me published by Finishing Line Press.

When I was seven years old, I spent every summer weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day hanging around my Dad and his four friends as they built his dream: a two-car garage with a loft on our postage stamp-sized- back yard. I tried my best to help by sweeping up sawdust.

They were WW II vets all working in Detroit auto plants migrating to the suburbs into one of 900 new three-bedroom, one bath, and unfinished basement homes. Each of them carried big dreams for the future.

Mine was small and immediate: I just wanted my Dad to put his arm around my shoulder, tousle my hair and say, “You did a good job.”

It didn’t happen.

You can listen to me read Do Dreams Come True here.

Your story: Think of a time when you wanted to be noticed, worked hard to be noticed, and it didn’t happen. How did you feel? What memories are associated with the feeling?

Join the Conversation

If this post resonated with you, please Restack or share it with others who might find it useful.

If you haven’t read What Lives in Me yet, I hope these glimpses into the journey whet your curiosity. You can order your copy here.

If you have already read the collection and these reflections resonate with you. I invite you to restack this post and/or share your thoughts with those in your network.

What Readers Are Saying

“Tobias writes in plain, restrained language and never asks the reader for sympathy. His short lines and spare construction resemble the workings of memory. . . What Lives in Me is quietly devastating, deeply intimate and remarkably honest.

-David Altman

“What Lives in Me is far more than a collection of poems—it is an invitation to open your heart . . . In a world that often emphasizes division and discouragement, it offers something far more enduring: hope.

-Alan

“Writing this book and exposing his lifelong feelings and inner demons to public scrutiny is a risk that many would not have the courage to take . . . It is truly a hero’s journey.”

-Chuck L.

“A pleasure to read, this book is an invitation, especially but not only to men, to explore the powerful inner spaces that we inhabit.”

-Steve Penningroth

“In these poems, uniquely accessible and vulnerable, I discovered the boy that lives in that heart

. . . The book reads like an autobiography, and is a page-turner, not usually the case with poetry.”

-Neu Hemingway

“In a time when it can be easy to feel despair, What Lives in Me shows that with patience, determination, and an open heart, you can discover forgiveness, love, and true connection.”

-Scot M

“Through his poetry he has found a way to examine the past, acknowledge it, and free himself of the fear that he carried for so long. The reader is swept along with him and invested in the outcome.”

-Deborah Koehle

“Anyone who thinks they simply are not ‘into’ poetry has not read this book - one of the best I’ve read in a long time!”

-John P

“These poems not only reveal the poet at work making meaning of his life but also invite the reader to dig deep into his or her own psychic wounds to see what lives in them.”

-Dorothy Pam

“As with a poet like Robert Frost, there is more to these poems if one wants to look for it.”

-LF

“I especially appreciate the opportunity he provides me to witness the interior of a man’s life openly described through many ages, stages and circumstances. Each of these poems opens my heart, and gives me more hope for us all.”

-Judith G.

A Real Man

She stood thigh high tall

in her diaper expanded purple tights

and hoodie jacket, leaning forward

knees slightly-bent, hands parallel

to the ground, her blond slippery hair

once tightly wrapped in a top knot

now springing out in all directions.

She saw him, started jumping up

and down like a cheerleader, Daddy.

He walked toward her, bent over

picked her up, and like a warm puppy

she snuggled into his neck.

Robert M. Tobias

Your Story: Think of a time when you observed giving and receiving love. What did you think? What did you feel?

I’d love to read your reflection in a comment.

After a brief interview, I was hired as a janitor at a women’s clothing store, working two hours every day after school. My tasks were simple: empty wastebaskets, clean the bathroom, vacuum, and polish the mirrors and glass display cases.

While working, I noticed how my boss, Judy, effortlessly connected with her customers. At the same time Judy noticed my female classmates coming into the store to talk to me while I worked. One day she said to me:

“You’re ready to make a sale

and get a commission.”

She believed in me even before I knew how to believe in myself.

Your Story: Recall a time someone unexpectedly noticed your effort or potential. What did that moment feel like?

Conversely, think of a time when you noticed and commended someone else’s good work. How did acknowledging them shape your connection?

I’d love to read your reflection in a comment.

If this post resonated with you, please Restack or share it with others who might find it useful.

If you haven’t yet picked up a copy of What Lives in Me, you can purchase it here.

Then came the afternoon I decided to make it official.

“Elect me leader,” I announced.

In my poetry collection What Lives in Me, the poem “I’m Still the Leader” captures the moment the room turned:

I lost 1-2. They said they didn’t like me.

I simply pretended the vote had never taken place, and life went on. They kept following me, and I kept leading.

Looking back, that was the very first time I can recall being entirely blind to the impact of my own behavior. I had walked into that vote expecting a unanimous 3–0.

To turn to them in that moment and ask, “I’m curious—why don’t you like me?” would have required a level of awareness and courage I simply didn’t possess at eight years old. I was too young then.

I am certainly not too young today. Yet even now, it takes a quiet, deliberate courage to ask a question when I know I might not like the answer. Even though I know that asking is the only doorway to real self-awareness, the only way to truly understand how I am moving through the world and decide whether I want to show up differently next time, I often fail to take the opportunity.

Your Story:

Think back to a moment in your own life where someone’s reaction caught you entirely off guard; where you expected warmth or agreement but received the exact opposite.

If you could go back with the courage you have today, what question would you ask to understand the mark your behavior left on them?

With money I earned myself, I bought a white windowpane suit and tie during a January inventory sale at upscale men’s shop.

When we walked in, I was greeted by a sea of navy blue. I had a fine suit, but I was wearing it in the wrong season. East Side West Side, a poem in my What Lives in Me collection, captures what happened next:

George shouted

You’re from the West side

that suit proves it.

Everybody laughed.

Paralyzed by shame, I had no words to defend myself. I simply lowered my eyes.

I don’t believe I’m alone in freezing when a response is needed most.

A friend later shared a four step practice to use when those moments strike:

Step 1.

Stimulus: The paralyzing words are spoken.

Step 2

Pause: Take a deep breath and exhale. Notice where the paralyzing emotion lands in your body. It is the physical reaction the blocks your thoughts. For me, it was in my face burning red. For you it could have been a churning stomach or tightness in the back of your neck. The goal is to locate where it lands and name it. For me it was shame. If you name it, it will be easier to identify it when it comes again.

Step 3.

Reflect: When the immediate feeling passes, your mind comes back online. Ask yourself, what do I want to say?

Step 4.

Response: Speak it.

After Steps 1, 2, and 3, the goal is for your response to appear in real time. Reaching that point requires revisiting old moments where you were left speechless, hearing the words over and over again until the old emotion, for me shame, loses its sting.

Your Story: Recall a story when you were left without words. Applying the practice now, what would you say if you could go back?

If this post was helpful to you, I ask you restack or repost it to those you think may find it useful.

Finally, for those who have not purchased What Lives in Me it can be purchased here.

Joy bursts from Sally

The grizzly retreats

But today’s ritual dance

buys no protection

for tomorrow.

At breakfast

the grizzly returns.

No time to rest.

He offered a gentle perspective: “Joy is right outside your door. You’ve been just too busy to open it.”

He offered a simple practice:

· In the morning: Look at your schedule, identify one or two challenging discussions, meetings, or encounters. Consider how you plan to navigate them.

· At the end of the day: Sit down, pause, and take a breath. Evaluate your plan. Did it work?

· For what fell short: Pause, take a breath, and reflect. What did you learn? What will you try differently next time?

· For what went well: Pause, take a breath, and let yourself smile. Open the door. Joy will smile back.

It has worked for me most of the time.

Reflective Question: Are you too busy to notice?

I ask you to consider joining my Substack, Connections, at rmtobias.substack.com to see how the themes in What Lives in Me connect to the challenges we all face today.

And for those who have not purchased What Lives in Me it can be purchased here.

Thank you in advance for your help.

That deeply embedded capacity is why I am still here. It helped me outrun a neighborhood bully, swerve around a deer leaping onto the road, and pull through a rip tide to reach the shore.

For years, whenever I thought about failing, that same mechanism kicked in. My brain often released enough fear to drive me toward success but didn’t stop. The excess fear paralyzed my ability to measure what I’d accomplished, let alone feel it. To me, success wasn’t something I’d earned. It was a random strike of lightning; a quick burst of luck that helped me dodge disaster.

I captured my mindset in Feeling Lucky, a poem from my in the What Lives in Me collection. Writing about a game-winning single, the piece ends:

I didn’t deserve joy.

Just lucky.

It wasn’t until I began writing the words and feeling the childhood pain embedded in my poetry that I understood what generated my fear of failure. Processing it freed my brain to recognize past successes and allowed me to feel them. I realized I was never a failure; I was simply a man who made mistakes.

Reflective Question: If you experience the fear of failure, what action might you take to reframe failure from an identity to useful feedback?

I ask you to consider joining my Substack, Connections, at rmtobias.substack.com to see how the themes in What Lives in Me connect to the challenges we all face today.

And for those who have not purchased What Lives in Me it can be purchased here.

Thank you in advance for your help.

That persistence is how I survived working on an assembly line putting Corvairs together, as I describe in “Assembling Corvairs,” a poem in my What Lives in Me collection:

. . .

I had only sixty seconds

to do my job

one car after another

four hundred and eighty times a shift

never stopping always starting over.

. . .

Lately, however, my persistence has been blunted by modern technology: “Please change your password,” directives to “please click here” when I can’t find “here” anywhere on my screen, or the daily focus required to dodge endless scams.

I have been adopting a bit of self-talk: “Be calm,” “Slow down,” “Take a breath,” “You can do this.” It has helped, but it is not a sure thing.

Reflective Question: How do you increase your persistence when you need it?

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