Michelin stars go to restaurants. Sure, it’s “Le Bernardin has three Michelin stars.” But we also say, “Eric Ripert has three Michelin stars.” The chef gets the glory. Not the dining room. Not the owner. The chef.
Why? Because ownership of the outcome sticks with the person who made it happen.
That’s the mindset that separates contributors from accelerators in any team, especially in startups.
I once worked with a brilliant sales leader—title didn’t scream “executive,” no shares, no direct reports. But every deal that slipped, every bug that blew up a demo, every missed quarter? You’d think it hit his personal balance sheet. He owned problems before they hit the pipeline. He fixed things no one asked him to. And when something failed, he didn’t say, “Not my job.” He said, “Let’s sort it.”
Customers saw the effort, he was trying to tie up loose ends himself. He was taking ownership of the client’s problems and genuinely trying to solve them. Fast forward, he invited me to his own venture. We were closing deals with a pilot because the market knew him as an “owner”.
Compare that to the more common shrug: “Not my job. I don’t care.”
That mindset is a silent killer—not just of productivity, but of opportunity.
This isn’t about glorifying overwork. It’s not a call to be the hero or work through weekends. Ownership doesn’t mean martyrdom. It means presence. Care. Initiative. You spot a broken workflow? Raise it. See a better way to onboard clients? Share it. Even if it’s not “your job.”
Because here’s the truth: people who act like owners get treated like owners. Not immediately. Not always by the book. But the leaders who matter notice. They remember.
Equity might be on paper. But ownership starts with posture. And the people who posture up—who bring the same care to a Monday task as they would to their own side project—those are the ones who move fast, get promoted, get backed.
Act like it’s yours. And one day, it might be.
Why? Because ownership of the outcome sticks with the person who made it happen.
That’s the mindset that separates contributors from accelerators in any team, especially in startups.
I once worked with a brilliant sales engineer—title didn’t scream “executive,” no shares, no direct reports. But every deal that slipped, every bug that blew up a demo, every missed quarter? You’d think it hit his personal balance sheet. He owned problems before they hit the pipeline. He fixed things no one asked him to. And when something failed, he didn’t say, “Not my job.” He said, “Let’s sort it.”
Compare that to the more common shrug: “Something happened. Not my job. I don’t care.”
That mindset is a silent killer—not just of productivity, but of opportunity.
This isn’t about glorifying overwork. It’s not a call to be the hero or work through weekends. Ownership doesn’t mean martyrdom. It means presence. Care. Initiative. You spot a broken workflow? Raise it. See a better way to onboard clients? Share it. Even if it’s not “your job.”
Because here’s the truth: people who act like owners get treated like owners. Not immediately. Not always by the book. But the leaders who matter notice. They remember.
Equity might be on paper. But ownership starts with posture. And the people who posture up—who bring the same care to a Monday task as they would to their own side project—those are the ones who move fast, get promoted, get backed.
Act like it’s yours. And one day, it might be.
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