When I lived in London in my early 20s, I took up juggling. The city was a hot spot for the best jugglers in Europe, who could make a lot of money as street performers in Covent Garden, the South Bank, and Camden Market.

I discovered that these elite jugglers practiced in a sports center in Blackfriars, at a weekly event sponsored by Max and Susi Oddballs’ Juggling Shop. I’d go every Saturday and watch a colorful cast of characters manipulate balls, clubs, rings, cigar boxes, devil sticks, diabolos, hats, eggs, and knives.

I’d practice on the periphery, watching other jugglers and trying to imitate their simplest tricks. Occasionally I’d gather the nerve to ask one of the pros to show me a pattern or give me feedback on my form.

One world-class circus clown took a break from juggling 11 beanbags (he was going for a world record) to give me pointers on Mills Mess. Another helped me change the angle of the clubs I was double-spinning to reduce the incidence of bloody lips.

But my favorite moments were when one of the professional jugglers took a few minutes to pass clubs with me.

We started with the simplest format: two jugglers passing six clubs back and forth in a simple “every other” pattern. That is, one toss from my right hand goes to my left hand, and the next to my partner. Add in two self-passes, and you get the pattern: 1-2-3 pass.

The goal is to send each pass the perfect distance, at the perfect height, and with the club perfectly vertical when it reaches their open hand. When a toss is perfect, catching becomes trivially easy. The club hits your palm and your fingers automatically close around it.

The hard part about clubs, compared to balls or beanbags, is that clubs are not symmetrical. If you put too much or not enough spin on a toss, your partner has to catch the wrong end, or contort their arm to compensate.

That in addition to the other challenges of distance, height, and speed.

So here’s what happened.

When I passed clubs with a pro, they caught every shitty pass I made. They bent, they scooped, they reached. And with ease and dexterity, they flipped the club back to me in the perfect arc, so that I just had to hold my hand up and catch it.

We could pass this way for a couple of minutes — that is, an eternity — until I dropped one or made a throw so errant that there was no way to save it.

But when I passed with a regular old juggler, the pattern never formed.

There was too much instability, with neither of us able to compensate for the flaws in the other’s technique. We’d start over and over again:

1-2-3 pass. Oops, dropped it. 1-2-3 pass. Oh, sorry.

Neither of us would learn much.

As I improved, this shifted. I no longer needed to bother Max Oddball or Charlie Holland or one of the Russian street performers who practiced at the gym when they cycled through town.

I could work with the skilled amateurs, and they had to make fewer and fewer heroic saves as my passes grew more consistent.

Eventually, I became a stabilizing node of the system, and started to work with beginners who could juggle clubs but hadn’t yet been initiated into the mystical art of passing.

This Article is Really About Emotional Co-Regulation

We’ve all been in relationships that feel like two amateurs trying to pass clubs; good intentions lead to errant throws, drops, and frustration. No matter how hard we try, every move ends up making things worse, until it feels like we’re just pelting each other with clubs instead of creating a beautiful back-and-forth dance.

And we’ve been in relationships where the clubs spin back and forth smoothly and accurately, seemingly without effort.

What’s the difference?

It’s how much buoyancy each of us brings to the interactions.

If I’ve learned how to shrug off triggers — and everyone gets triggered — and return to a stable neurological state, I can catch your fears and frustrations and insecurities and pass back to you curiosity, compassion, and confidence.

And vice versa.

The Essence of Leadership

Leadership these days is all about bringing out the best in the people around you.

Because any other manifestation of leadership eventually makes you the bottleneck, where your team and organization rely on your vision, knowledge, expertise, and inspiration to get things done.

Bringing out the best in others is how you scale your leadership. And helping others bring out the best in others is the exponential form of scaling.

So a big part — I’d argue the biggest part — of your leadership journey is going from beginner to expert at neurological co-regulation, the relational equivalent of club passing.

When you’re Max Oddball, you can bring out the best in people who have not yet learned how to regulate their own neurological states, and get them to a place where they can. And once they have the skills and capacity to self-regulate, they can in turn contribute positively to the teams to which they belong.

Your Mission

This week, notice which role you're playing in each challenging interaction. Are you the stabilizing node, catching wobbly passes and sending back clean ones? Or are you the beginner, lobbing errant throws and hoping the other person can save the pattern?

Pick one relationship, at work or at home, where you know the clubs keep dropping. Instead of trying to fix the other person's technique, focus entirely on the quality of your own passes.

Catch what they send you, however awkward, without flinching. Pause (you can do this in conversations, if not in literal juggling). Flip it back with curiosity and compassion.

Do that for a week and see what happens to the pattern.

And see what it does for your ability to stay buoyant when the waters around you become choppy.

And I discovered that these elite jugglers, as they came through the city, would practice every Saturday morning at a local sports center in Blackfriars. It was a weekly event sponsored by Oddballs Juggling Shop, the only juggling shop in London and one of the first in the UK. So I would go every Saturday, and I would watch this colorful cast of characters manipulate balls, clubs, rings, cigar boxes, devil sticks, diablos, hats, eggs, and knives.

Another helped me change the angle of the clubs I was double-spinning to reduce the incidence of bloody lips. But my favorite moments were when one of the professional jugglers took a few minutes to pass clubs with me. We started with the simplest format: two jugglers passing six clubs back and forth in a simple every-other pattern.

When a toss is perfect, catching becomes trivially easy. The club hits your palm, and your fingers automatically close around it. The hard part about clubs compared to balls or beanbags is that clubs are not symmetrical. If you put too much or not enough spin on a toss, your partner has to catch the wrong end or contort their arm to compensate, and all that in addition to the other challenges of distance, height, and speed.

There was too much instability, with neither of us able to compensate for the flaws in the other's technique. We'd start over and over again. One, two, three, pass. Oops, dropped it. One, two, three, pass. Oops, sorry. Neither of us would learn much. As I improved, this shifted. Eventually, I no longer needed to bother Max Oddball or Charlie Holland or one of the Russian street performers who practice at the gym when they cycle through town.

I could work with skilled amateurs, and they had to make fewer and fewer heroic saves as my passes grew more consistent. Eventually, I became a stabilizing node of the system and started to work with beginners who could juggle clubs but hadn't yet been initiated into the mystical art of passing. So this article is not about passing clubs.

And we've been in relationships where the clubs spin back and forth smoothly and accurately, seemingly without effort. What's the difference? It's how much buoyancy each of us brings to the interactions. If I've learned how to shrug off triggers, and everyone gets triggered, and return to a stable neurological state, I can catch your fears and frustrations and insecurities and pass back to you curiosity, compassion, and confidence, and vice versa.

Bringing out the best in others is how you scale your leadership, and helping others bring out the best in others is the exponential form of scaling. So a big part, I'd argue the biggest part, of your leadership journey is going from beginner to expert at neurological co-regulation, the relational equivalent of club passing.

When you're Max Oddball, you can bring out the best in people who have not yet learned how to regulate their own neurological states and get them to a place where they can. And once they have the skills and capacity to self-regulate, they can in turn contribute positively to the teams to which they belong.

Pick one relationship at work or at home where you know the clubs keep dropping. Instead of trying to fix the other person's technique, focus entirely on the quality of your own passes. Catch what they send you, however awkward, without flinching. Pause, you can do this in conversation if not in literal juggling, and then flip it back to them with curiosity and compassion.

Do that for a week and see what happens to the pattern, and see what it does for your ability to stay buoyant when the waters around you become choppy. I'm Dr. Howie Jacobson. If this sounds interesting to you, I'd love to tell you about the workshop I'm developing on the Buoyant Leader Experience. You can reach out to me at howiejacobson.com.