This Too Shall Pass
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." - Louisa May Alcott
Kariba.
A beautiful man-made lake in Zimbabwe. 1979. My first houseboat trip as a young teenager. I was super excited. We arrived at the harbour later than expected, the light already fading as we boarded.
As we pulled away from the harbour, the horizon formed a menacing, bruised black-grey backdrop of cumulous nimbus clouds. Lightning flashed white against the dark. The sun was setting behind the hills that surrounded the lake.
It wasn't long before the waves built, the wind hit us, and the rain started falling.
We were in no-man's land; halfway to our destination, halfway back to the harbour we had left from.
The roar of the wind. The rocking, bouncing and juddering of the boat as it thumped into each growing, surging wave. The thunder angry — rock concert loud. The lightning aggressive - dazzling in its aggressive display.
And the nausea. I sat outside, clinging to the back of the houseboat and emptied my stomach of its contents.
The fear was palpable. Kariba is full of crocodiles. Will this boat stay afloat?
Yet another storm. Another situation entirely.
Boarding school. Rain hammering the ground. And somehow — somehow — that made for the most incredible game of fun baseball.
A wet tennis ball hurled at full pace whilst we ran, clad in shorts only. Sliding into base from as far out as you could launch yourself. Sliding. Soaked. Laughing. Alive.
Two different experiences. Same situation.
A storm.
What images does the word storm evoke in your mind?
Huge grey clouds? Raging rivers of rainwater? Massive waves crashing on the shore? Wind tearing through the leaves, trees bending in the raging gusts?
Or — adventure? Possibility? Something to chase, ride, learn from?
Some chase tornadoes. Others seek out the waves to ride the thrill. Others learn how to build better — structures that withstand future storms, bridges that connect communities separated by destruction.
Same storm. Completely different response.
Here is the truth you need to carry as a leader.
You will always have storms in your life. Some are beyond your control entirely. Others are the direct result of decisions you have made. In every instance — every single one — you always have a choice.
To own it. To take 100% responsibility in the storm.
Either acknowledge it is:
something you did
something you didn't do — and you knew you should have
or nothing to do with you at all — but you still own 100% responsibility in how you choose to face it
That last one is the hardest. The storm that isn't your fault — but lands on your doorstep anyway. 100% responsibility. Not for causing it. For facing it.
What I have learned in my 61 years on this spinning planet called Earth is this.
We will always have storms. More importantly — they all pass.
Some have echoes that bounce back repeatedly after the storm itself has gone. But the storm itself? It passes.
So, when you are in one — and you will be — remind yourself: "This too shall pass."
Then seek to do what you can whilst in it.
Ask yourself the question that changes everything: What is this storm teaching me?
Use it for growth. What can we do to mitigate the impact?
John Maxwell also said, “You cannot moan and lead at the same time” I can relate; I was not leading as I lay moaning with nausea on the rocking boat.
So, listen. Learn. Lead. That is how you build your leadership legacy on earth.
The storm passes. The lesson stays.
This week's reflection:
What storm are you currently navigating — and what is it trying to teach you that you haven't yet stopped long enough to hear?
Gary Good
Founder — LeaderLegacy