Foundations That Matter

What Rome—and one lasting team—taught me about beginning again.

A quick note of thanks for your patience—Between returning from travel, starting a new job, and feeling a bit under the weather, I needed a little more time to put together this essay. Thank you for bearing with me. I hope you enjoy it!

---

The Colosseum towered above us, the ancient limestone, volcanic rock, and brick glowing golden against the indigo night sky. The largest standing amphitheater in the world—completed in AD 80—was constructed by the Roman Emperors Vespasian and Titus for the people, replacing the private lake Nero constructed. The Colosseum hosted entertainment—the gladiator games that we’re familiar with, but also staged animal hunts and public executions.

Entertaining.

My little family recently returned from a trip to Rome, and the Colosseum was a 15-minute walk from our Air BNB along city streets teeming with traffic and sidewalks jammed with people, souvenir shops, and cafes. It was a return trip for me, having visited with my parents about 30 years ago. What stayed with me all those years and what struck me again this time are the ancient veins running through Rome, waiting for discovery at the turn of every corner.

Major archeological sites, like the Colosseum and the Forum, nestled among the hustle and bustle of 21st-century life.

Temples to Roman gods overlooking city thoroughfares.

Excavation sites fenced off along busy sidewalks.

Walls of ancient brick. Everywhere.

The foundations of these structures are so formidable that Romans of the past often used them to build new structures on top of them. On our tour of the Forum, an ancient site adjacent to the Colosseum, the guide pointed out that the Rome town hall is built on top of the ancient Roman archives. She also noted that they don’t do that anymore.

The city has endured through emperors, eras, and modern traffic woes, each layer building onto the other, much like the layers of brick and mortar and limestone that make up a structure as enduring as the Colosseum. Not all went well, of course. Ancient Rome had its share of terrible emperors, and I don’t know that I would call what happened in the Colosseum entertaining so much as barbaric.

That’s how it always goes, though. We don’t always learn as we go. Sometimes we build wisely, sometimes disastrously—sometimes despite our best intentions.

In Rome, I found myself reflecting on building things that endure. All I’ve ever built are teams. I wasn’t always good at it, and I mainly learned from trial and error, and watching others—those who do it well, and those who don’t. I’ve learned there are some key ingredients to building a strong team.

Self-awareness is the foundation. Not just knowing who you are, but knowing you have blind spots—and being willing to ask yourself, “Am I the one being a jerk here?” Empathy and vulnerability are the building blocks that create the psychological safety for team members to ask for help, admit when they’ve made mistakes, and share when things aren’t going well. Trust is the mortar that holds everything together. Without it, teams fall apart. Culture is the infrastructure—how teams work together, solve problems, address conflict, celebrate wins.

Culture and trust together create endurance. They can put a team on a path of lasting, growing strength, or on a path to destruction or implosion. With a strong culture and trust in place, the leader is building something else, something bigger than a team, larger than a leader.

Rome, after all the eras and emperors, still stands.

Through this period of unexpected transition in my career, I’ve had time to reflect on what I achieved at my last institution and how I feel about it all. Like any grieving process, it’s ongoing. I have to say, though, I’m pretty proud of what I did. The writing, the publications, the events and, yes, even an exhibit installation create a significant body of work. I’m also proud of the many relationships I developed and that continue. But most of all, I’m proud of the team I built, the way we worked together, and the community we’ve formed.

My career spans nearly 30 years (and counting), and I’ve been fortunate to have learned much from every job I’ve had and to have developed several deep and meaningful friendships along the way. I’ve never remained so attached to a team as I have to this one, though. Maybe it’s because of all the technology available now that wasn’t years ago.

But I think it has more to do with the time we put into learning to be empathetic and vulnerable with each other, learning to trust, and building our culture. Because I’m not their leader anymore.

I’m just one of the gals.

Yet here we are.

Cracking each other up with Instagram reels.

Sharing kid and puppy photos on the text thread.

Meeting up here and there for lunch or coffee. Sharing book recommendations and recipes. Still celebrating our wins and supporting each other in our losses.

And we’re not a team anymore.

We’re something bigger, more enduring.

We’re family.

It may seem a bit of a stretch—even a bit of a grandiose stretch—to compare the Eternal City to office team building. Being in Rome, though, watching my son marvel at the Colosseum and pointing out every temple, every ancient-looking wall, reminded me that to build anything lasting takes intention. The bricks laid in just the right pattern, to hold weight but also to withstand the tremors of an earthquake, or from passing traffic centuries later.

The Colosseum has stood for nearly two thousand years. Thousands gathered inside it to watch the spectacles of their time. Now, Romans and tourists from around the world mingle on the terraces around it in the evening, staring up at its magnificence.

The Colosseum stands not because every emperor was wise.

Not because every era was kind or easy.

But because someone laid bricks and mortar with intention, foundations meant to hold.

This week, as I begin again, I’m thinking about foundations.

Here’s to what’s next,

Judy