The Third Coat

Can we agree that there is simply no good time to paint the inside of a house? I recently had a conversation with myself that sounded something like, “Look, self, there is no ideal time for this, but the house really needs to be painted. Let’s just do it now, and you’ll love it when it is done.”

I can be very persuasive.

Soon after that conversation, I hired a painter who, after looking at my home, said I needed to buy five gallons of paint. Five gallons. That felt like a major commitment.

While at my favorite hardware store, I began considering all the options. Rows and rows of every shade possible. I knew what I wanted, but suddenly this decision felt very difficult. I selected five color swatches and stood there for 10 minutes, just staring at them. They were similar, but also different.

I noticed a woman behind me waiting to pick up paint. I approached her and said something like, “Can I ask you a question? Which one of these looks best to you?”

She started laughing and said, “I’m sorry that I am laughing, but I said those exact words to another woman in this store last night!” She continued, “She told me to take the swatches home, tape them to a wall, live with them for 24 hours, and then make my decision.”

I smiled, nodded, and said, “That’s great advice. I’m going to do the same thing.”

24 hours later, I returned to the store to pick up five gallons of paint. Peasant Bread was my color of choice. I wanted something in the tan family–that looked more like sand–but not yellow. I felt good about my selection.

On day one, the painter finished the first coat, and honestly, I was disappointed. It looked very tan to me. Not “sand.” Just very, very tan.

I walked from room to room thinking, “Oh no. I think I made a big mistake.”

My confidence had disappeared as the paint color moved from a swatch to reality.

On day two, after the second coat, I somehow felt worse. Now the walls looked yellow. Not “sand.” Just very, very yellow.

At this point, I wasn’t just questioning the paint color. I was questioning myself. My thought process quickly moved from “I’m not sure about this decision” to “Maybe I’m not good at making decisions.”

But as the week progressed and the final coat had dried, I found myself thrilled. I really liked how it turned out. Not tan, not yellow, just sand.

Looking back, I can see that what I wanted was reassurance before and during the process.

I wanted someone to say, “You picked the right color.” “Trust the process.” “This is going to turn out fine.”

But that’s not how most meaningful things work. Sometimes peace comes when the work is done.  

After the first coat, I was convinced I had made the wrong decision. After the second coat, I somehow became even more convinced that I had made a poor choice. But neither version was the final version.

This desire to feel confidence in a process or outcome is true in life and leadership.

Most people are not reacting to the final version of something. They are reacting to the unfinished version. A new initiative. A policy change. A different role. A season of growth.

People respond to what something currently feels like long before they can see what it might become in the future.

Unfinished things can feel unsettling, especially for high performers who want to get it right. Unhealthy leaders often forget this desire.

Too often, leaders announce a change and are surprised when people hesitate. They introduce a new idea and become frustrated when people question it. They assume resistance means someone is difficult, negative, or unwilling to grow.

But maybe people are simply reacting to the first coat.

Leaders who rush people to force compliance often create anxiety instead of trust. I think part of the reason is that uncertainty feels personal to leaders. If people hesitate, question, or need time, we sometimes assume they are questioning us.

We want people to feel confident immediately. Confident in the plan. Confident in the direction. Confident in us.

But confidence does not always arrive at the beginning.

Healthy leaders remember what it feels like to doubt themselves. They remember standing in the aisle staring at five paint swatches, hoping someone would tell them they weren’t getting it wrong.

That memory matters. Leaders who stay connected to their own humanity tend to make more room for the humanity of others.

Human-centered leaders learn to stay present long enough for the work—and the people—to become what they are becoming.

Leadership invites us to recognize that just because something feels uncomfortable today does not mean it is a long-term mistake.

And just because people are struggling with change does not mean they are against growth.

Sometimes they are simply standing in the middle of an unfinished room, wondering if everything is going to turn out ok.

And the truth is, the third coat changes everything.