By Joe Byerly
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the various roles we play in life—and the responsibilities, behaviors, and costumes that come with them.
Every role, from parent to spouse to commander to CEO, comes with a contract. Sometimes that contract is explicit; written in rules, laws, or job descriptions. Other times, it’s unspoken but widely understood.
But either way, it’s on us to figure out what that contract says.
To do that, we have to study the role—like an actor preparing for a part. We watch others. We read. We observe. We learn what the role demands.
Because when we step into it, we’re not unlike an actor stepping onto a stage. We begin to carry ourselves in a way that fits the role. We behave as the plot demands.
Just as we expect the hero to act heroically (not like the villain) and the wise old mentor to offer wisdom (not unintelligible rants), we should view our real-life roles in the same way. Every role comes with requirements. Not artificial ones, but functional ones. They’re necessary for the story to make sense to our teams, our families, and our communities.
It’s what the plot demands.
When I became a parent, I took on the responsibility to feed, clothe, guide, and love my kids. When I was a commander, I wasn’t just Joe, I was Lieutenant Colonel Byerly. And that role came with a different script. I was responsible for preparing my Soldiers for combat and for holding them accountable under the Uniform Code of Military Justice
Because each role comes with responsibilities, they also require certain behaviors. Around my kids, I’m “Dad”—which means I watch my language (I often fall short), do my best to watch my alcohol intake (could probably do better here too), and give them hugs when they have a bad day. Around Soldiers, I was more direct, more decisive, and definitely didn’t hold back on cursing.
Less hugs.
Same person.
Different role.
And then there’s the costume—the outward symbol of the role. Sometimes it’s a uniform, a suit, or a chef’s hat.
I think the costume serves two purposes. First, it signals to others what they can expect from us. When the CEO walks into the office in her suit, everyone knows she’s ready to lead. When the chef shows up in their white jacket, we know we’re getting omelets. The costume sets the tone.
But just as importantly, it signals something to us. When I was a commander, I’d change out of my uniform at the end of the day as a way to transition—to tell myself that LTC Byerly could take a break, and it was time to just be a husband and dad again. The act of changing clothes helped me shift mentally and emotionally between roles.
These days, my costume is a From the Green Notebook T-shirt and athletic shorts. But it still marks the role I’m stepping into—writer, thinker, entrepreneur. When I “suit up” each morning, I’m doing it not for show, but to remind myself: it’s time to get to work.
I’m not saying we should stop being ourselves or fake it. It’s important not to drift too far from our inherent nature—but it’s just as important not to ignore the responsibilities, behaviors, and costumes that come with the role we’re in, just as an actor can’t ignore those aspects of the character they’re playing.
When I was a commander, I absolutely brought myself to the role—my values, my personality, my perspective. But I also adjusted my behaviors to meet the expectations of the position. For instance, I didn’t joke around as much as I normally would. I carried myself with a bit more seriousness.
That wasn’t inauthentic. It’s what the organization needed from me.
When we don’t play the role, we create chaos—not just around us, but within us.
Kids don’t know what version of mom or dad they’re getting today. Our teams are left uncertain, unsure whether we’ll rise to the occasion when the pressure’s on. In the business world, I imagine shareholders and board members feel the same when a CEO fires off a thoughtless post on social media, something no one expects from someone entrusted with that kind of responsibility.
But it’s not just about how others experience us. When we fail to assume the responsibilities that come with the role, we confuse ourselves. We erase the boundaries and guardrails that keep us in check. We stop reminding ourselves who we’re supposed to be in a given moment.
I’ve watched leaders crash and burn, not because they lacked talent, but because in a moment of weakness, they forgot they were the one in charge.
While they were “just keeping it real” and cracking a joke at someone’s expense, that person didn’t see a peer trying to be funny, they saw the commander putting them down. And in that moment, trust was lost.
At social functions, I’ve seen leaders drink so much their spouse had to drag them out to the car. The people watching didn’t see a person having a rough night—they saw their commander being dragged out. The costume may have been off, but the role was still on.
They stepped out of the role, and the cost was real.
There were many moments in my command when I didn’t act based on what Joe the dad or Joe the podcaster would do—but on what Lieutenant Colonel Byerly was expected to do; what he needed to do. That role came with responsibilities that demanded a certain level of discipline, professionalism, and presence. I wasn’t being fake, I was honoring the role and what it required of me.
This stuff is hard. I don’t always get it right. More often than not, I fall short. But I try—every day—to keep in mind the role I’m playing and what the plot demands of me.
So, if you’ve made it this far, I’d like you to think about the roles you play—the responsibilities, behaviors, and costumes that come with them.
Are you playing the part?
Are you doing what the plot demands of you?
Joe Byerly is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel with 20 years of service, including tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and command of a cavalry squadron in Europe. He earned numerous prestigious awards, including multiple Legion of Merits, Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, and General Douglas MacArthur Leadership Award. In 2013, Joe founded From the Green Notebook.
A passionate advocate for self-knowledge through reading and reflection, he authored The Leader’s 90-Day Notebook and co-authored My Green Notebook: “Know Thyself” Before Changing Jobs, a resource for leaders seeking greater self-awareness. If this post resonated with you or sparked any questions, feel free to reach out to him at Joe@fromthegreennotebook.com.
