Finding Your True North

This week on my Rounding the Bases podcast, I kicked off Black History Month with a conversation I won’t forget.

My guest was retired Army Lieutenant General Milford Beagle, Jr., or “Beags,” as he prefers. When it comes to leadership, there are few environments with more clarity, consequence, and accountability than the military chain of command.

At one point, I asked him if people treated him differently once he became a general.

He smiled and told a story.

As he was being promoted from colonel to one-star general, he was called into the office of a four-star general. Beags assumed he was about to receive congratulations and praise. Instead, the four-star looked at him and said:

“Just because you pin on a star doesn’t mean you’re going to be any funnier, any smarter, or any better than you were yesterday. It just makes people think you are.”

Beags told me that was the first time he really noticed what he called the distortion.

“Everything you say suddenly becomes brilliant,” he said. “Even the mirror starts lying to you. And that’s how you lose your true north.”

That idea stuck with me.

Titles change how people see you. The danger is letting them change how you see yourself.

I’ve experienced a much smaller version of that over the years. People are incredibly kind in how they describe me, and I’m grateful for it, even when it makes me uncomfortable. It’s always mattered to me to remember who I am underneath the labels, before the introductions, and away from the spotlight. Believing the hype can happen quietly. Staying grounded takes intention.

What made Beags’ story even more meaningful was the family history behind it.

His great-grandfather, Private Walter Beagle, trained at Camp Jackson during World War I. He served in a segregated Army, relegated to labor battalions, and was never allowed to serve the way others could. One hundred years later, Beags became the first Black commanding general of that same installation.

And yet, his great-grandfather rarely spoke about his service. There were no stories shared, no symbols of status, just a life lived with quiet dignity.

That’s Small Ball.

Question: How do you stay true to who you are?