Every time I sit down to write, I remind myself of a simple truth: the first sentence is a promise.
It’s not just an introduction – it’s a commitment to the reader, an invitation to stay, and, most importantly, a signal that what follows will matter. Over the years, I’ve come to see writing not just as a skill, but as a mirror of how I approach life, leadership, and connection. Whether I’m building a strategy, teaching a class, or writing a blog, I know that the only way to earn someone’s attention is by proving that I value it as much as they do.
I’ve learned to assume that most people start reading with a degree of apathy. They’re busy, distracted, or simply unsure if what I have to say will add value to their day. And that’s fair – it’s the same approach I take when I’m the reader. This mindset has taught me to treat every word as an opportunity. The job of the first sentence isn’t just to pull someone in; it’s to respect their curiosity enough to make them want to move to the second.
But making that first sentence count requires more than clever phrasing or dramatic flair. It’s about clarity and intent. When I think about the most impactful writing I’ve read – or the moments when my own writing resonated with someone – it wasn’t because the language was flowery or the ideas were revolutionary. It was because the words felt real. They said exactly what needed to be said, without unnecessary decoration.
Writing, like leadership, is about trust. You can’t force someone to care, but you can create a moment where they choose to lean in. I’ve always believed that writing with authenticity – saying what you truly mean instead of what you think you’re supposed to say – is the only way to achieve that. Readers, much like teams, don’t respond to words that are hollow or overly polished. They respond to words that feel honest and human.
When I reflect on how this connects to leadership, it feels like a natural extension of the principles I try to live by. Making the invisible visible. Getting out of my own way. Meeting people where they are. Writing demands the same approach. Every sentence should reveal something meaningful, strip away unnecessary noise, and meet the reader exactly where their attention already is.
One of the frameworks that has shaped how I write and communicate is what I like to think of as the “Hook, Story, Offer” principle. It starts with the hook – the first sentence that earns the right to be read. Then comes the story, which creates momentum and connection by grounding the reader in something they care about. Finally, there’s the offer: a takeaway, an idea, or an inspiration that makes the reader feel their time was well spent. This isn’t just a framework for writing; it’s how I approach most of the conversations and decisions in my life.
What makes this approach work is respect. Respect for the reader’s time, intelligence, and experience. When I write, I’m not just sharing my thoughts – I’m asking for their attention, their trust, and maybe even a piece of their perspective. That’s a responsibility I take seriously. Every word needs to earn its place, not through complexity or length, but through relevance and impact.
The more I reflect on this, the more I realize that good writing and good leadership are inseparable. Both are acts of service. Both require humility, clarity, and the willingness to embrace simplicity without sacrificing depth. And both are anchored in a deep understanding that people don’t follow ideas – they follow the trust those ideas inspire.
This is why I believe the first sentence is more than just an opener. It’s a reflection of everything you bring to the table – your intent, your respect for the audience, and your ability to make them feel seen. It’s not about writing for everyone; it’s about writing for the ones who will see the value in what you’re offering.
Every word matters. Every sentence carries the weight of the one before it. So, write like it matters – because it does. Not just to you, but to the person on the other side of the screen who chose to give you their time. That’s the real promise of the first sentence, and it’s a promise I never want to break.
