RESERVED MATTERS - Floor 5

The Empty Chair

The Question

Who speaks for the long-term interests of the Association?

Observation No. 5

Stewardship requires the courage to place what is right above personal comfort, popularity, relationships, and convenience.

The Foundation

Every chair in a room has a reason for being there.

Boardrooms are no different.

There are chairs for Board members.

A chair for management.

A chair for legal counsel.

But over the years, I've become convinced there is one chair missing from almost every boardroom.

It doesn't appear on the seating chart.

No one is elected to fill it.

No one is appointed to it.

I call it the Steward's Chair.

It is reserved for the person willing to ask one question:

"What decision best serves the Association - not just today, but for years to come?"

Not,

"What do I want?"

Not,

"What will make the fewest people unhappy?"

Not,

"What is politically easiest?"

But,

"What decision best protects the Association long after we're gone?"

The problem is...

It's usually empty.

A View from the Floor

Several years into my career, the management company I worked for was awarded the management contract for a luxury high-rise condominium community that had once been regarded as one of the premier residential addresses in the city.

The building was beautiful.

The location was exceptional.

Its reputation had been well earned.

Yet beneath the surface, years of deferred maintenance had quietly begun to erode the community's future.

The decline hadn't happened overnight.

For nearly two decades, difficult financial decisions had been postponed. Reserve contributions failed to keep pace with the property's needs. Major repairs were delayed. Monthly dues remained artificially low while the true cost of maintaining the community continued to rise.

By the time our company assumed management, the consequences had become impossible to ignore.

Independent engineers, reserve specialists, and financial professionals all reached the same conclusion.

The community required significant investment.

Our recommendation to the Board was straightforward.

Increase the regular monthly dues so they more accurately reflected the true cost of operating and preserving the Association.

Implement a special assessment sufficient to address the years of accumulated deferred maintenance.

Neither recommendation was popular.

Some members of the Board, particularly the loudest voices in the discussion - lived on fixed incomes.

The financial impact was not theoretical.

It would affect them personally.

That reality shaped the conversation and made the decision extraordinarily difficult.

Ultimately, the Board chose a different path.

Monthly dues remained unchanged.

Not even a modest increase to keep pace with inflation or rising operating costs.

The special assessment that was approved funded only a fraction of what the independent professionals believed was necessary.

The issue wasn't whether the work needed to be done.

Everyone agreed it did.

The question was whether the people making the decision were willing to bear the personal cost of making it.

The consequences, however, would extend far beyond those seated around the Board table.

The decision would shape every owner's investment for years to come.

As the Association's financial condition continued to weaken, the effects became increasingly apparent. Prospective buyers found it more difficult to obtain conventional financing because of the Association's financial condition, significantly reducing the pool of qualified purchasers. Many owners discovered that selling their condos became far more challenging, with cash buyers often representing the only realistic option.

What began as an effort to avoid immediate financial hardship ultimately placed a far greater financial burden on every owner in the community.

That experience permanently changed the way I think about stewardship.

I realized that the greatest challenge in leadership is rarely identifying the right decision.

More often, it is finding the courage to make a decision that personally costs the people making it.

Stewardship

One of the most important lessons I learned in community management was that nearly everyone sitting around the Board table had a legitimate perspective.

A homeowner naturally advocated for their own interests.

Board members balanced fiduciary responsibilities with relationships they valued within the community.

The Association's attorney advised on legal risk.

The management company was entrusted with its own form of stewardship, navigating the responsibility of advising the Board while supporting the professionals entrusted with carrying out its decisions.

Like any professional service organization, management companies also have a practical reality to navigate: the Board is their client, and maintaining that relationship ultimately determines whether they continue serving the community.

It is in those moments that stewardship requires the courage to offer honest counsel, even when it may not be the easiest or most welcome advice.

Management focused on operations, execution, and the long-term interests of the Association.

Every perspective was understandable.

Yet I continually found myself returning to one question:

What is best for the Association?

Not one homeowner.

Not one Board member.

Not one management company.

Not even the current Board.

The Association.

Including the people who weren't in the room.

Future owners.

Future Boards.

Future residents.

Future employees.

That question rarely produced the easiest answer.

Sometimes the legally defensible decision wasn't the wisest one.

Sometimes the most popular decision wasn't the strongest one.

Sometimes preserving relationships quietly competed with preserving principles.

Sometimes convenience became more appealing than courage.

The true test of stewardship is not agreement.

It is the willingness to speak when silence would be easier.

The best management companies weren't defined by how often they agreed with their clients.

They were defined by their willingness to respectfully offer difficult advice when agreement would have been easier.

That isn't opposition.

It's stewardship.

The Conversation No One Hears

Most Board decisions involve three familiar conversations.

Can we?

The legal conversation.

Can we afford it?

The financial conversation.

How do we do it well?

The operational conversation.

Those conversations are essential.

But I have come to believe there is often another conversation taking place.

One that rarely appears in the meeting minutes.

What do I want?

Every Board member arrives with personal experiences, financial realities, friendships, priorities, and opinions.

Those perspectives are valuable.

The challenge begins when personal interests quietly become more influential than stewardship.

That is when leadership is tested.

The question is no longer simply,

Can we?

Or,

Can we afford it?

Or,

How do we do it well?

It becomes something much more difficult.

Should we?

And perhaps another question deserves equal consideration.

Who benefits most from this decision?

If the honest answer is the Association...

Stewardship is doing its work.

If the answer is ourselves...

Stewardship has quietly surrendered its seat.

This is not about assuming bad intentions.

Most leaders genuinely want to do the right thing.

It is about recognizing that every one of us is susceptible to the pull of comfort, popularity, relationships, and convenience.

That is precisely why stewardship matters.

It asks us to rise above our own preferences and ask a different question:

What decision best serves the Association - not just today, but long after every one of us has left the table?

Law establishes what is permissible.

Finance establishes what is sustainable.

Operations establish what is practical.

Leadership determines what is right.

A Matter Reserved

Stewardship asks us to look beyond today's discomfort and protect tomorrow's community.

Deferred maintenance doesn't disappear.

Deferred responsibility doesn't disappear.

Deferred leadership doesn't disappear.

It simply accumulates.

Eventually, someone must pay the price.

The only question is whether it will be today's leaders...

or tomorrow's owners.

The Empty Chair is never assigned.

It is never elected.

No title guarantees it.

No position requires it.

Someone simply chooses to sit in it.

That is stewardship.

And those are the matters that are truly reserved.