Leading with Conviction, Listening with an Open Mind

Mustafa Torun — Tue, 06 May 2025 17:00:00 +0000

A piece of feedback that reshaped how I think about conviction, consensus, and presence when you're the most senior person in the room.

Originally published at mustafatorun.me

A few years ago, I wrote a design document outlining a few different options. It was for a group more experienced than me—not in the domain, but in the industry. I knew the problem well. I had done the work. But still, I softened my position. I showed the tradeoffs, invited discussion, and held back from saying with confidence, “This is the direction I believe we should take.”

In a pre-review, someone I trusted — someone more experienced than me — called it out. The document lacked conviction. It read like I was asking the group to decide for me. They reminded me that I was the expert in this domain — not them. What they expected was something else: my thinking, clearly stated and owned. Not rigid, not defensive — just grounded in the work I had done.

That moment stuck.

I’ve found myself giving this advice ever since — to engineers, to peers, to new leaders. If you want real collaboration, don’t just open the floor. First, show your thinking. Then invite challenge.

Because consensus doesn’t mean staying neutral. It doesn’t mean showing up and asking, “What do you all think we should do?” and hoping clarity will emerge. It means doing the work, forming a point of view, and bringing others something solid to react to.

Consensus starts with conviction.

What’s harder is holding that conviction while staying open. You walk in with a recommendation—and a willingness to change your mind. That’s always important, but it becomes even more critical when you’re the most senior person in the room.

That’s when the room starts tilting toward you. People hesitate. They defer. And when you get that wrong, the cost is hidden. People stop pushing back. They start clapping along. What looks like alignment is often just fear in disguise — not because people agree, but because they don’t feel safe to disagree.

Leading in that moment means doing both: showing clarity and making space. Saying, “Here’s what I think,” and meaning it — while still being the kind of person others feel comfortable challenging.

That’s the real work of the most senior person in the room: bringing conviction without shutting down dialogue. Creating clarity while leaving room for disagreement and change.

It’s a balance. And that’s the job.

Cover Image: Lime Kiln Point Lighthouse. A guidepost that didn’t move — just made things easier to see.

Off the Pedestal: What We Leave Behind

Mustafa Torun — Sun, 20 Apr 2025 15:49:28 +0000

A quiet statue. And a reflection on legacy, impact, and what we leave behind - the story that made me start this blog.

Back in the days when I was a PhD student, I was closely collaborating with a professor of mathematical finance at New York University - the late Marco Avellaneda. NYU is right by the great Washington Square Park, perhaps one of the most beautiful in the city. Sometimes, I'd walk there by myself or with my advisor, Ali Akansu. It was his favorite park, too - a small shared ritual during those years that I still remember fondly.

There's a statue there that's easy to miss. It's not in the center, not on some grand pedestal. It sits off to the side, quietly. You can pass by it dozens of times without noticing. One day, I did notice it. It's a bust of Alexander Lyman Holley. I hadn't heard of him. But when I dug in to learn more, I realized how deeply influential he was in his field. Holley was a mechanical engineer and pioneering industrialist who helped bring the Bessemer steelmaking process to the U.S. He didn't invent it - he recognized its potential during a trip to Europe, and used his background in science and engineering to refine and adapt it. In doing so, he helped turn steel from a rare material into the backbone of modern infrastructure - making skyscrapers, and with them, modern cities, possible.

That alone would be enough to cement his legacy, but what struck me was the kind of impact he chose to have - not just technical, but institutional and systemic. That's what lingered - not just his achievements, but how he made others around him better through his generosity, leadership, and commitment to lifting the profession. He co-founded the American Society of Mechanical Engineers and other institutions. Holley brought people of different backgrounds together around ideas that mattered, laying the groundwork for education, professional standards, and disciplinary excellence in American engineering. That kind of legacy doesn't just grow individuals - it lifts the system around them. And for someone who's spent decades mentoring one-on-one and working hard to establish and maintain organizational cultures, this resonates deeply with me. This blog, in its own small way, is an attempt to scale that kind of work.

I don't expect to have achieved technical impact on Holley's scale. But I know the kind of work I want to do more of - the kind that lifts others. That's something I've come to see as worth building a life around. Not for recognition. Not out of ego. And not to chase some grand narrative of legacy. This isn't a midlife crisis either - just a quiet conviction that this matters. It's the most personal reason I'm starting this blog: a way to use the experience and some of the time I have outside my day job to serve a purpose larger than myself.

That experience - walking by this statue so many times and never truly seeing it - taught me something I didn't expect. You have to notice. You have to stop and wonder. You have to carry a kind of curiosity with you to really appreciate and learn from what's around you. As I mentioned earlier, Holley didn't invent the Bessemer process - he was traveling to study the railroad industry, but he paid attention, saw something others didn't, and recognized its potential. That kind of perception isn't loud. It doesn't announce itself. And that's part of the point. In a world that constantly pushes noise at us - information, opinions, answers - it's easy to forget how to look. How to slow down, notice, and wonder. But curiosity is where everything meaningful begins. Growth, understanding. Even connection.

That's another reason why I'm starting this blog. I've spent more than two decades in engineering, and the more I learn, the more I see how much still depends on curiosity and human connection. At Amazon, where I've spent a significant part of my career, "Learn and Be Curious" wasn't just a leadership principle - it became a habit. This blog is a way for me to stay curious, a little uncomfortable, and open to learning in public.

To reflect. To explore. To wander. About what it means to lead. About how people grow. About how I still need to grow. Writing helps me pay attention - to the ideas that pass by quietly, the moments that might get overlooked, the questions that don't always have answers.

This blog is a place for me to think out loud and maybe, occasionally, to offer something useful to someone else walking a similar path.

If you're here, I'm glad you found it - and I hope it makes you pause, however briefly, to reflect.

So if you're early in your career or even just feeling early in your thinking, here's a thought: pay attention to the quiet things. Ask questions even when you're not sure what you're looking for. And when you find someone who makes you better - thank them. Or better yet, try to do the same for someone else.

That's how this starts.

Cover Image By: Can Pac Swire

DEV Community: Mustafa Torun

Leading with Conviction, Listening with an Open Mind

Off the Pedestal: What We Leave Behind