Just Because You Can Grow There
This summer, I spent several weeks working in Southern California, delivering keynotes and workshops to educators at various school districts.
When friends heard that I was heading west, their first question was often, “Oh, California! What beach will you be at?”
It has taken me a few trips to realize that most of California is not the beach, and I am beginning to appreciate that. Within a short drive, the landscape shifts. You can go from ocean waves and sandy beaches to a city with mountains in the distance. An hour more and you’re in the dry, desert heat. Keep going and you’ll find some snow-covered peaks.
As someone who grew up in the flat, predictable landscape of the Midwest, I’m captivated by how dramatically the scenery can change within a single state. But the place that has made me reflect the most is the desert.
On my last trip, I spent several days in very dry areas. The air, the heat, the landscape, and the plant life were all so different from what I’m used to. I was fascinated by it. As a Midwesterner, I can tell you, corn would not grow there!
And yet, things do.
One morning while walking from my hotel to my rental car, I noticed a single flower pushing its way through the sand. I took some pictures, not because this was the most beautiful flower I’d ever seen, but because it was even there in the first place.
I knew that plant had adapted to grow there. As I walked, I thought, “But just because you can grow there, should you? And if you do grow there, you better have a trusted source of water.”
I’ve had seasons in my life when, on the outside, it may have looked like I was thriving, but on the inside, every ounce of growth was hard-fought and exhausting. I know what it feels like to modify your life just to survive in challenging places. Maybe you do too.
I’m not talking about physical locations. We certainly need communities and industries in dry climates. Instead, I’m talking about the soil of our lives. The environments we choose to plant ourselves in. The relationships and responsibilities that either give us life or make it difficult to grow.
For example, a job that pays the bills but leaves you feeling like a cog in a capitalist machine. A relationship that was once familiar but has lost its love. A friendship that once met your needs that just leaves you feeling drained. Four walls that were once a home that now feel like just a house.
Like plants, we can make it appear as though we’re thriving. We can decorate the pot and add just enough water to get by, and people will admire our growth. But without a healthy, consistent water source, we won’t survive for long. To thrive in harsh environments, you must know where your water source is and then choose to stay close to it.
As leaders, we need to pay attention to both the soil we’re planted in and the water source we rely on. Without a water supply, growth becomes a constant battle, and that is not a sustainable lifestyle.
We can’t lead well if we’re barely surviving ourselves. In seasons of life that are difficult, we must be intentional about staying connected to what nurtures us. For me, that means staying close to friends, connecting with my support system, and engaging in practices that feed my soul.
As you move into another new season, know that you can survive in the hardest or driest soil, but only if you have a deep and constant water supply.
Stay close to your wells.
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