The Open Line

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The squeak I'll never forget

Squeak, squeak, squeak. My trimmers were speaking to me as I lopped off the dying daffodil leaves. Apparently, they were still pretty juicy at the bottom, right against the soil line. It was late spring, time for my beloved peonies to be blooming and those daffodil leaves were all up in the way.

Squeak, squeak, squeak. Another handful of leaves gone.

As I reached for the next bundle of leaves with my left hand, my right hand ready to start trimming, I heard the squeaking start up again. I glanced down at my right hand - no, it wasn’t me making the squeaking, so where was it coming from? And then, out of the corner of my eye, just inches from my left hand, the dark soil was moving. Wait, a minute. The soil has scales??

Oh $h!t!

I jumped up and back with my heart in my throat. That wasn’t the soil, it was a daggum snake!

A thick black snake coming out from under the daffodils, squeaking against the juicy leaves like it owned the place. And where in the h-e-double-hockey-sticks was its head? Did that move past my hand earlier without me even knowing it? Gives me the willies again just typing this!

I was so freaked out, I left my tools in the flower bed and instantly dropped all gardening activities from my agenda, and not just for the day, but like, for forever. That's it. I'm done.

Then the next morning, a brand new peony bloom enticed me back to that bed. It was gorgeous. Stunning even. Better than most. And I remembered why I loved gardening in the first place.

But what to do about the snakes? Here on our 16 acres they have plenty of room and resources to do their thing. They love it here. As do I. I had to find a way to deal.

A few weeks later I got my opportunity. I was just starting an evening walk in the pasture. I grabbed my trusty walking stick that sits by the gate and set off. Two strides later, out of the corner of my eye something made my mind scream SNAKE! I jumped the other way.

And then I got mad. Daggum it, I can’t let this hijacking keep happening. So I took a deep breath and turned toward the thing. Wait a minute, that’s no snake. It’s a snake skin! Shew. OK. Deep breath. Score one for me.

Five minutes later, a slither drew my side eye. This time it was the real deal. And luckily it was 4 feet away from me, not 4 inches. So I took a deep breath and stood my ground. No jumping out of my skin (one discarded body suit in the pasture was plenty), no discourse of cuss words. It was simply me standing there watching a snake. Me. Standing there. Watching a snake.

And it was actually pretty cool. It started slowly moving away. No rush. No big deal, just a chill snake doing its thing. I watched it ‘til it got into some taller grass, then finished my walk with a new leash on life and a new peace with Mr. No Shoulders.

I had a call earlier this week which turned this experience on its head. We were talking about why it’s such a panic moment when an executive asks us a question. We might know every little detail about a project, but the moment a VP is in the room, our brains seem to simply shut down. All logic goes out the window and we’re left scanning for threats. We have no idea where their head is. Or from what direction the VP will come at us. Or what question will come out of their mouth.

They could be chilling in the sun in one meeting, then hide under the daffodils in another, only to slither out when we least expect it, while we’re happily trimming leaves to make way for what’s next.

So when the questions do come at us, our brains start struggling. Do I know this answer? Will they eat me alive in front of all these people if I don’t? Wait a minute, it’s OK to just tell them I don’t know, but that I’ll find out! So if that's OK, why can’t I move my mouth and have words that make sense come out of it? All in the space of about 30 seconds. The side eye of the snake skin.

So now I ask, what would it take for you to turn toward the thing?

Truly,
Jackie

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Quiet Signal

When something catches you off guard this week — a question you don't know the answer to, a moment you didn't see coming — what would it look like to turn toward it instead of away?

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Feeling my golf swing instead of thinking about it. Love leaning into the senses as a companion to the techniques.

Hi there! I'm Jackie. I help thoughtful people influence outcomes without having to become someone they’re not. ​LinkedIn Website​