The sand was thick with dime-sized crabs.
They scurried around our feet, burying themselves in the sand one moment and emerging and scuttling away the next.
My three-year-old son S was terrified.
Faced with the choice between fight, flight, and freeze – he froze. He stood on me, as far from the crabs as possible, his sandals pressing down on my toes.
S was trying to walk to a paddleboard about twenty feet away — but he couldn’t do it.
He desperately wanted me to carry him, but I wouldn’t. Part of me was worried that he would panic once he was on the board.
Part of me wanted to play the long parenting game and help him work with his fear.
And if I’m honest, part of me — but only like 2% or so — was feeling stubborn.
After about ten minutes, things got too overwhelming, so I scooped him up and carried him back to the towel that claimed our spot on the rocky Pacific Northwest beach.
We took a break. S snuggled with his stuffie (bubba, a purple hippo).
We chatted about fear. About how noticing it can keep us safe. But about how paying too much attention to our fear can create barriers that prevent us from moving forward.
I feel afraid a lot.
I have a lot of advantages (privilege, network, resources, a great life partner, and a supportive community), but I often feel challenged by the path that I’m walking.
Unlike a consultant at, say, McKinsey, I don’t have strong institutional ties or a manager who teaches me in the business.
I’m not a professor at a prestigious business school with opportunities to showcase and commercialize my work (in addition to a steady paycheck!).
And that makes me afraid.
Afraid that my business will fail and that I’ll be destitute.
Afraid that my business will be too successful – that I’ll alienate others and lose touch with my purpose.
Afraid that I’m not working hard enough and afraid that I’m too busy to do the kind of slow, in-depth work that I want to do.
I’m afraid that people won’t read what I’m writing, listen to what I’m producing, and buy what I’m offering. (Often, they don’t!)
A lot of the work I do is about supporting leaders through transformational change, which is about moving toward the unknown.
An unknown that is often scary.
But just because something is scary does not make it dangerous.
That’s what S did. After getting his snuggles in, we played together in the sand. A few minutes later, my partner paddled back toward shore and again invited S and me to climb on.
We walk out toward the paddleboard.
This time, I helped S tune into what was happening around us. We listened to the splashes as we stepped through the water. We felt the squish of our feet pressing into the muddy ground.
My kiddo was still afraid. But he took one step, then another, haltingly moving to the paddleboard and climbing on.
Even though fear can be a barrier, it doesn’t have to be.
Realizing that is some of the most important work we can do. To move forward, even when we’re afraid. Not to settle for the safe, not linger in the comfortable — because that holds us back from the work we need to do.
It starts with a single step. What’s your next one?
Comment and let me know.
Thanks, be well, and stay curious,
Chris
P.s. I’m excited to announce a conversation and a collaboration with my friend and guide, Amba Gale.
I feel like I’ve known Amba forever, though she only showed up in my life a few months ago. For the last 40 years, she’s been doing the kind of transformational leadership work I’m growing into.
I’ll have more to share in a few weeks, but in the meantime, check out my recent conversation with her on the podcast.
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