Leadership [antikvár]

I have always loved to write. As a trial lawyer, I found that my favorite part of the work—and the part I was probably best at— was the final summation. In a way, that's what writing a book is: bringing together the threads of a complicated theme and weaving them into a clear, convincing story. I have also always loved to research. Mastering a subject and persuading an audience to interpret it as you do is akin to the art of politics. As I entered 2001, my last year as mayor of New York City, I still had much to learn about leadership. That's why I had long resisted offers to write a book like this. But I thought that the experiences I had accrued and the strategies I had developed had provided enough material to offer valuable insight to readers about leadership. I had no idea that I would soon face the greatest leadership challenge of my life. During the spring and summer of 2001, I worked on this book alongside my official duties as mayor, taking voluminous notes on a trusty legal pad. I spent countless hours with Ken Kurson and had him observe what I do, then we'd discuss why I did it. By summer's end, the structure of the book had taken shape. One of the reasons I found this process so satisfying was that it was not simply the passive activity of transcribing foregone conclusions: it was an active pursuit. Putting this book together forced me to consider my ideas more deeply, to challenge them in my own mind. By September 11,1 had been working on the book for months. It had become almost a seminar for me, a self-imposed program on how to run an organization. It was as if God had provided an opportunity