A Wren Says

”Are you a poet?” I could tell it wasn’t a compliment, so I asked her to explain. She said that I used flowery language that was beautifully eloquent, but she had no idea what I was trying to say.

The truth was that I didn’t either.

I knew what she meant. I wasn’t trying to be eloquent. I was trying to be elusive. I was intentionally adding extra words because I was afraid of answering the question with my real thoughts. I used so many words when the real answer was, “I don’t know.”

The flowery language was a distraction from the underlying “I don’t know how to build out this venture. I don’t know what to propose to the stakeholders. I don’t know what to suggest to a potential client. I don’t know how to start. I don’t know what I want.” The fear of failure and judgement kept me from admitting that truth, so I was left to try and build a fence around it as I spoke.

If I could do the call again, I would admit the truth. I would say what I wasn’t sure of the right path to take and what answers I still needed. Perhaps the call would have ended there with an admonition that I go and figure it out. Or perhaps it would have pivoted to be more useful to the stage of the process I was truly in. Maybe she would have said, “I can’t help you.” Or maybe she could have supplied more targeted resources if only she knew what I really needed. I would have been pushed or pulled towards growing faster than my stalling language allowed. No matter the result, it would likely have been what I needed in the moment to progress. That’s despite how scary it would have seemed.

Sometimes, withholding the truth doesn’t protect us; it just keeps us further from where we really need to be.

What’s a truth you’ve been afraid to admit? What could change for the better if you let yourself be honest about what you needed?

If you could go back in time and give your younger self advice, what would it be?

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