It’s 6am and I’m standing over a pot of tomato soup.

We’re having grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch at work today. I’m making it from scratch — not because it’s fancy (it’s not) — but because this is how I show I care. If we’re trying to build a culture where we actually take care of each other, this is the best way I know how to start.

While the tomatoes simmered, I threw on a podcast. It was the CEO of Alaska Airlines, Ben Minicucci, talking about his leadership style. One line stuck with me:

“It’s okay if your idea isn’t the best one — what matters is that you help the group get to the best one.”

That hit.

Because being wrong — publicly, loudly, and confidently — is something I’ve had to work on. A lot.

The fear of being wrong

As a kid, I hated being wrong. Like, actually hated it. If I raised my hand in class and said the wrong answer, I’d feel a pit in my stomach the rest of the day. I’d stew in shame and silence. (Classic first-gen overachiever behavior, right?)

That need to always be right — to always look competent — stayed with me for a long time. I think it held me back more than I realized.

But here’s the thing: I’ve learned that getting things wrong is actually a sign of forward motion. Mistakes aren’t the opposite of progress — they are the progress.

What Ben said reminded me…

He talked about growing up in an Italian immigrant household where loud disagreements were normal — even encouraged — if it meant getting to the best idea. And now, working in the Pacific Northwest where people tend to be a little more… polite, he’s trying to draw people out of their shells. To speak up, even if it’s messy. Even if it’s wrong.

I related to both versions.

We’re not always raised to be comfortable being wrong. But it’s something I’ve grown into — and honestly, I’ve come to like it.

Because when I put effort into something and it still doesn’t work, that’s okay. When someone else has a better idea, that’s great. What matters is that I’m part of a team that cares — and we’re trying to get to the best idea together.

So yeah. Tomato soup.

I can’t always give my team the right answers. But I can give them warm food and the promise that I’m focused on the outcome, not being right.

We’re all learning out loud. And that’s what makes the work — and the people — worth showing up for.