Why Your Best Team Members Can't Fake Authentic Care

I can still smell those biscuits and gravy.

As a kid, there was nothing quite like walking into my grandmother's house on a Saturday morning.

She'd be up before dawn, sleeves rolled up, flour on her apron, creating what felt like magic in that little kitchen. The smell would hit you the moment you opened the door—warm, comforting, like a hug you could breathe in.

But it wasn't just the food. It was how safe I felt in that space. How cared for. How she'd look me in the eye when I walked in, like I was the most important person in the world at that moment.

There was something about being welcomed into her home that made everything else fade away.

I think that's what many of us in hospitality are trying to recreate—those moments where someone feels truly safe and cared for. But recently, I've been thinking about what made those experiences so powerful.

And it led me down a fascinating path to the very origins of hospitality itself.

When I dug into the etymology of hospitality, I discovered the word comes from the Latin "hospes"—and here's what's fascinating—it meant both guest and host. Not one or the other, but both.

Think about what this reveals: thousands of years ago, hospitality wasn't seen as a one-way transaction where someone serves and someone receives. It was understood as a mutual exchange between two people who were, in essence, the same.

This was about travelers passing through town who needed care, and hosts who opened their homes. But both parties were entering into something vulnerable.

The host was letting a stranger into their most private space. The guest was placing their safety and comfort in the hands of someone they'd never met.

It was what I've come to think of as a mutual exchange of vulnerability.

Here's the thing: you can't mandate this kind of authentic connection.

You can't force someone to genuinely care, just like my grandmother couldn't have faked the warmth that filled her kitchen. It emerged from a place of confidence, safety, and presence—from someone who felt secure enough in themselves to truly open up to another person.

This mutual exchange of vulnerability still happens today, though we don't always recognize it.

Picture this: you're at a hotel front desk, and the person checking you in has clearly had a rough day. Their guard is up, they're going through the motions. Maybe you've had a rough day too, and you're just hoping someone will look you in the eye and give you a genuine smile.

But then something shifts. Maybe they notice you seem tired and ask if you're okay. Or maybe you sense their stress and offer a kind word. In that moment, both of you drop your defenses just a little. The interaction transforms from a transaction into a human connection.

I've seen this countless times—when a frustrated guest approaches the desk with a problem, and instead of the team member putting up their guard, they open up and truly listen.

Once the guest feels heard and seen, once they sense their problem genuinely matters to the person helping them, something beautiful happens. The situation dissolves, and together they can creatively find a solution.

As leaders, our job isn't to script these moments—it's to create environments where our teams feel safe enough to be authentically present with our guests.

I'm curious about your own experiences with this ancient art of mutual vulnerability.

Where do you see opportunities for more authentic exchange in your leadership?

What would it look like to create space for your team to feel confident and safe enough to truly connect with guests?

Have you ever experienced a moment—either as a guest or host—where dropping your guard led to something unexpectedly meaningful?

The beautiful thing about understanding hospitality's origins is that it reminds us we're not just in the business of rooms and services.

We're carrying forward a tradition that's thousands of years old—creating space for strangers to become something more to each other.

Reply and let me know your thoughts. I'd love to hear your perspective.

Take care,

Josh