Schrödinger’s Work
I never did that in college. I really haven’t done that in any of my work-a-day life. And it has repeatedly bit me in the arse. If I have a new year’s resolution for 2018 it’s to take the advice from a PDF that’s online that advises aspirational and ambitious high school rowers to literally do the following (in the order of making my point and not in the order of the document):
- Face time! Be seen by the other rowers. Do not train by yourself or during “off hours.” It is important that the other rowers, especially the rowers who are in the upper boats, see you on the erg or in the weight room. They need to know that you are taking rowing seriously. They will play a role with the coach concerning your possible position early in the season
- “Face time”. Be seen at the boathouse or the gym with the other rowers. It is during the winter months that you start to build the trust of your teammates
- Speak with your coach early in the fall. Discuss your goals for the year, focus on improvement; 2K scores etc
- Write out your game plan on an index card for the test and hand it to a coach, coxswain, or teammate prior to the test so that they can coach you through the test
How On the Team are You?
If only I knew. I was the rower who is naturally gifted with height and natural strength so I would work out with the team and then go for jogs but I wouldn’t make a point of letting people know how actively I was running, doing sprints and calisthenics on my own. I would just show up when I was told to: Weekend workouts? I’m there! Twice-a-day workouts, happily! Three-time-day workouts, I’m your man. But I never hung out with any other rowers. I guess as an only child, I didn’t realize that what I needed to do was convert what I did as a sport in college: rowing, to who I was: rower. I really wasn’t a rower until I was actually an accepted and trusted member of the George Washington University’s Men’s Rowing crew team.
Show Your Work
I wasn’t popular and I didn’t pursue face time or male bonding. Every time I was tested on the erg or in a seat race, my natural size, strength, and my tendency to work out in absentia meant that I, the guy who really wasn’t part of the actual sanctum sanctorum of GW Men’s Rowing, was always able to earn my place in the best boats. Hell, I was too cool for that. I wasn’t a panderer. I just assumed doing all the hard work and studying my ass off and working my ass off in the library, in the dorm room, or on the National Mall running around the monuments late at night and on the weekends, was enough. It wasn’t. It isn’t.
Thanks, Coach
All this advice and more is thanks to Coach Eric Houston of the Kent School Boat Club. Remember, this advice is for High School rowers. Honestly, I could have used a document like this in elementary school, intermedia school, high school, college, and for the last 25-years in the business world. If I find this terribly interesting and instructional I assume that someone else might as well. I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. Good luck and let me know in the comments if you think this was helpful.
The Context I Wish I Knew Then
At 19, I thought it was noble to train in silence. I believed effort should be private, results should speak for themselves, and anything else was attention-seeking. But rowing—and later life—taught me something harder: if no one sees your effort, it doesn’t always count. Not in team dynamics. Not in politics. Not in business.
What I didn’t know as a college rower (and as a young professional) is this:
Being good isn’t enough.
You have to be trusted.
And trust requires visibility.
I thought being seen was pandering. I thought bonding was optional.
But high-functioning teams don’t just run on output—they run on shared struggle, mutual recognition, and a felt sense of who’s really in the boat with you.
How I’ve Started to Fix It
I’ve slowly learned to lean in—to show my work. I don’t mean bragging. I mean checking in. Saying out loud what I’m working on. Letting people in. That can mean being visible on Zoom. It can mean CC’ing the client even if the update is mundane. It can mean just being seen working, instead of disappearing into a private grind and emerging with a polished artifact no one saw being made.
In college, this would’ve looked like:
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Hanging out at the erg room during team hours, even when I was done training.
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Talking to the coach without being called in.
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Letting teammates see I cared—without irony or deflection.
Why This Matters Beyond Rowing
This is about rowing, but it’s also about life, career, community, and belonging.
Your coach, client, coworker, or creative collaborator can’t know what you’re doing unless you let them. Silent excellence is beautiful, but fragile. Without witness, it vanishes. And when you’re part of a team, it doesn’t just vanish—it breeds distrust, even if you’re killing yourself behind the scenes.
This is why so many “quiet grinders” get left behind while visibly-average-but-socially-savvy folks move up. It's not meritocracy. It's not unfair. It's human.
FAQ
Q: Isn’t this performative?
A: Only if you make it that way. Visibility isn’t about pretending to work. It’s about letting people in. You don’t need to be dramatic—you just need to be present.
Q: I’m introverted. Can I still do this?
A: Absolutely. This isn’t about becoming loud or fake. It's about showing up with intention. That can mean a short check-in, a quiet presence in the shared space, or a proactive message before a deadline.
Q: What if I’m actually doing more than others already?
A: That’s great—but it doesn’t count if no one knows. If your teammates, clients, or collaborators don’t see it, they can’t factor it in. You may quietly breed resentment while they simply remain unaware.
Q: Why is this such a big deal in rowing?
A: Rowing is brutally synchronized. Trust is oxygen. Your teammates need to feel that you’re committed. Coaches make decisions partly based on who they see grinding. If you're out of sight, you're out of consideration.
Glossary
Face time – Showing up where others can see your effort and investment. Not necessarily literal conversation—just consistent presence.
Coxswain – The strategist, motivator, and leader in the boat. Often the link between rower and coach. Also: your inner voice. Your guide. The one who knows where you're headed and whether you're really pulling.
Erg (ergometer) – The rowing machine where pain happens. Also: the metaphorical workspace. The solo grind. The proof of unseen effort.
Seat race – A competitive trial to test your direct impact on team speed. Swap rowers, test chemistry. In life? Think of this as any moment where your value gets stress-tested without warning.
Schrödinger’s Work – Effort that is both real and invisible until someone witnesses it. In the box, it’s everything. Out of the box, it might as well not exist.
Server room mindset – Quiet genius behind the curtain. Necessary, undervalued, and eventually bypassed unless you make your presence known.
Show your work – The gentle art of making your effort visible without self-aggrandizing. Think presence, transparency, communication. Not bragging—just existing where others can feel your fire.
Final Word
You can be strong, smart, and committed—but if no one knows, it won’t matter when it counts.
The truth? Sometimes it’s not enough to row hard.
You also have to look like you’re suffering.
You have to bleed where people can see it.
You have to “vomit performatively,” fall off the erg, writhe on the floor like you just donated your soul to the sport—because in some circles, pain isn’t real unless it’s part of the ritual.
That’s the lie.
And it works.
But now you know.
So if you’re already doing the work?
You’re halfway there.
Now let them see you pull.
Let them hear your voice.
Let them trust you because they know you’re in it.
And yeah—if you’ve got to collapse,
do it where it counts.
Now just turn the light on.
