Darth or Obi-Wan?

Yet when the moment comes, when clarity or courage or wisdom is needed, who shifts everything? I choose Obi.

I've been thinking about being formidable. Formidable people. Formidable leaders.

When we hear that, we imagine someone imposing, looming large, striking fear, commanding. But there is another kind, isn’t there? This version appeals to me more: the kind of formidable you might miss or overlook entirely until the moment strikes.

Think of the difference between, say, movie villains and heroes: Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Or better yet, Darth and Yoda.

Vader announces himself dramatically. Heavy breathing, flourish of cape, the room reordering around his dark presence. He leads through intimidation, defaults to physicality, works relentlessly to impose his will and shut people down. He's formidable in the way many may understand formidable: loud, threatening, impossible to ignore.

But Obi-Wan? You might walk right past him. An old man in a cloak, bent over, unassuming. And Yoda? Small, odd-looking, (green!) speaking in riddles. Easy to dismiss if you don't know what you're looking at.

Yet when the moment comes, when clarity or courage or wisdom is needed, who shifts everything? I choose Obi. I choose the Yodas. I choose the ones who hold steady, persevere against the odds. The are truly formidable, aren’t they? Not through domination but through depth. Not by forcing compliance but by embodying something so grounded, so centered, so present that others naturally orient toward it. I choose the force, that force.

This understanding of leadership feels especially important to call out right now.

We are living in an era where the loudest voice seems to be winning, where crassness gets rewarded, where name-calling passes for strength and obscene gestures masquerade as authenticity. Leadership increasingly seems to mean dominating the conversation, crushing opposition, collecting followers who kowtow rather than think. We're confusing volume with vision, aggression with authority.

Short-term gain has replaced long-term wisdom. Personal aggrandizement and gilding “trumps” (*intentional word choice) collective good. And grace? Presence? The ability to hold space for nuance and complexity? These qualities feel quaint, like relics of a time now past.

But formidable doesn't have to mean what we're all witnessing. Nope.

The kind of formidable I choose doesn't announce itself. It doesn't need to. It's the person in the meeting who says nothing for twenty minutes, listening, observing, and then offers one sentence that reframes everything. It's the leader who doesn't raise her voice, but when she speaks, everyone leans in. It's the colleague who maintains boundaries so naturally, so calmly, that testing them doesn't even occur to you.

This formidability comes from depth, not volume. From self-knowledge, not self-promotion.

Wise ancient elders teach about balance, keeping mind, body, heart, and spirit in harmony. The most formidable leaders I've known embody this kind of integration. They've done the inner work. They know their shadows, their triggers, their wounds, and they've made peace with all of it. That self-knowledge becomes an unshakeable foundation. When storms come, they bend but don't break. When provoked, they respond rather than react.

They don't need to prove anything because they've already done the proving to themselves.

Men and women who are truly formidable model the presence of integrity married to competence. Being soft enough to connect deeply and strong enough to hold the line. Teaching the capacity to be both vulnerable and unshakeable, to listen with genuine openness while remaining anchored in your own center.

In a culture that rewards spectacle over substance, why not deliberately pull out this kind of “light saber”? Resist with that kind of force and power. Refuse to participate in the race to the bottom. Commit to understanding that real influence requires that our leader earn our trust. Show us that their true strength, if they actually have it, doesn’t rely on intimidation.

We need more Obi-Wans. More Yodas. Yes, we do. More leaders who understand that you can be both kind and formidable, both compassionate and clear. Who know that the opposite of loud isn't weak. Who remember that the most powerful people in the room are often the ones you'd never suspect until the moment demands their presence.

Formidable leadership is showing up with quiet consistency. Holding your center when everything around you is in chaos. Offering wisdom without needing credit. Making space for others to discover their own strength. Trusting that presence speaks louder than any words you could force into the conversation.

So that’s my take on formidable leadership. Which one are you, Darth or Obi?

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, all.

May the force always be with you.

What does formidable mean to you?