Leadership Lessons Without Borders has unfolded city by city — from Schindler's conscience in Kraków, to the warning of Auschwitz, to the courage of Budapest's unification. Each stop has carried a different weight. Now in Vienna, I'm surrounded not by castles or battlefields, but by music — a different kind of leadership story, one that rises from struggle into transcendence.

In my last article from Budapest, I mentioned that I majored in music. That meant years of courses in music theory, orchestration, and music history. I lived inside the scores of Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven — the towering figures of the Classical era. I've performed and conducted their works, studied them, played Beethoven's sonatas, and sat in concert halls where his symphonies shook the room with majesty. I've even sung lead roles in their operas — including The Magic Flute and The Marriage of Figaro — some of which premiered right here in Vienna.

Vienna deserves two reflections in this series. Today's entry is about Beethoven — his struggle, defiance, and ultimate transcendence of limitation. Tomorrow's will turn to Mozart, whose story carries its own leadership lessons.

Among these composers, Beethoven has always held a special place for me. His music carries a different kind of weight — bold, disruptive, demanding. He didn't just continue the tradition; he expanded it, often through deep loneliness, illness, and conflict — costs he bore in order to create.

Vienna itself is alive with reminders of him. A short journey north brings you to Heiligenstadt, where at 31 he wrote his heartbreaking Testament — a letter to his brothers confessing despair over his worsening deafness and even thoughts of suicide.

Then came the pivot that completely changed his perspective. Instead of surrendering to despair, he reframed his limitation as something to be acknowledged and worked through. It was the kind of turning point leaders experience when they discover a personal purpose statement or when an organization rallies around a compelling vision. Suddenly, the energy shifts. Engagement rises, creative problem-solving sparks, and individuals take ownership in a way they hadn't before.

For Beethoven, that pivot came in a single declaration:

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"I will seize Fate by the throat; it shall certainly not crush me completely."

Every leader meets that kind of breaking point. What defines them is the fortitude they show to press on and move forward when the pressure is the greatest — not moving forward fearfully, but with a sense of faith and hope that things will ultimately work out, even if they may not be quite what was expected.

Back in the city, I passed by the Theater an der Wien, where Beethoven premiered Fidelio and conducted his Eroica Symphony. On one occasion, when slighted by aristocrats, he is reported to have said:

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"Prince, what you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I am through myself. There have been, and will be, thousands of princes; there is only one Beethoven."

At first glance, his comment feels like arrogance. But beneath it was a deeper truth: titles are temporary, art endures. Beethoven wasn't clinging to self-importance, but to stewardship. He knew that once music was born, it would outlast him or any prince — and he felt accountable to let it be heard.

Leadership is the same. Leaders come and go, but culture endures — for good or for ill. A tyrant can poison culture with fear; a conscious leader can elevate it with trust and clarity. The real measure of leadership is not the position we hold, but the kind of culture that remains when we're gone.

And then, of course, there is the Ninth Symphony. For many, its Ode to Joy is instantly recognizable — not from a concert hall, but from pop culture. Those of us who remember the original movie Die Hard will recall its booming orchestration in the background as Bruce Willis took on the bad guys. "Yippee-ki-yay….!"

The music is thunderous, triumphant, and unforgettable. But to really understand its power, you have to return to the night it was first performed in Vienna.

Walking past the Hotel Sacher today, just beside the Vienna State Opera, it's hard to imagine this was once the Kärntnertortheater. Here, on May 7, 1824, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was performed for the first time. By then, he was completely deaf.

The symphony itself is unlike anything that came before. Its finale explodes with drums and trumpets as chorus and soloists join the orchestra in Schiller's Ode to Joy — a thunderous call to brotherhood that still reverberates around the world. After nearly an hour of music, the last blazing chords crashed into silence, and the audience erupted. Contemporary accounts describe wave after wave of ovations, with handkerchiefs and hats waving in the air so the deaf composer could see the acclamation he could not hear.

And yet, Beethoven himself kept conducting. He had been onstage beating time, but the musicians were actually following Kapellmeister Michael Umlauf, who conducted discreetly behind him. When the performance ended, Beethoven remained fixed in the score, unaware it was over — until contralto Caroline Unger stepped forward, touched his arm, and gently turned him toward the audience. At that moment, he finally saw it: a hall on its feet, cheering with unrestrained emotion.

Even the strongest visionaries need others to help them see what they cannot on their own. Beethoven gave the world the score, but it took others to bring it to life — and to turn him toward its impact. Success is never a solo act. The ego says, "I must do it all myself." Presence knows otherwise: progress only happens when shared, and sometimes we need others to turn us so we can see what has been created through us.

This is also the value of a good executive coach. Just as Unger turned Beethoven so he could finally see the standing ovation he could not hear, coaches help leaders gain perspective on realities they can't see for themselves. They shine light on blind spots, unlock fixed mindsets, and free leaders from being prisoners of their own egoic identities.

Vienna is a city alive with music. From Mozart's marriage and funeral at St. Stephen's Cathedral, to Beethoven's symphonies still performed nightly, the message is clear: limitation is never the final note.

Beethoven's story is not one of avoiding limitation, but of working straight through it. He kept succeeding even when the very ability his career depended on — his hearing — was gone.

That's the leadership call: true greatness doesn't come when everything works, but when the limitations are real — and you still move forward.