Deciding to make a change feels empowering. Actually making a change—taking that first step into the unknown—feels frightening. That’s why paralysis stifles potential.
One simple way to overcome the fear of taking action is to go back to the future. (Don’t worry, no DeLoreans required).
A few years ago, my three sons—aged ten, eight, and five years old—started their first day at a new school. Not just any new school. It was a Spanish-speaking school in Puerto Rico. Okay, technically, the school is bilingual. But from our family’s decidedly uni-lingual perspective, calling this school “bilingual” was sort of like calling McDonald’s a Latin Fusion restaurant because they now serve hot sauce with their McNuggets. It is Spanish with a little squirt of English.
So that morning, Rueben, Franklin, and Lincoln—my pasty-white English-speaking sons—climbed out of the minivan like Allied soldiers landing on the beaches of Normandy. Since I had moved a lot when I was a kid, I was prepared for their New Kid Nerves. What I was not prepared for was the feeling of knowing that my decisions were directly responsible for their distress.
Just like individual contributors don’t get to choose their department’s strategic plan, my kids didn’t choose to change their school. My wife and I did. Suddenly, I started to question our plan. I started wondering if all the projected growth and learning would be worth the struggle and heartache.
To make matters worse, I couldn’t even be there that morning, because I was giving a talk in Florida that day. So, I couldn’t wrap my arm around little Lincoln’s shoulder and walk him to the door of his kindergarten classroom. I couldn’t give Rueben and Franklin a big hug while I assured them that everything would be just fine. My virtual high-five on Facetime felt like a pretty sad substitute.
So there I was, the alleged expert on embracing change and bold leadership, and it was my wife who had to talk me off the ledge.
“Nick, it’s just one day,” she said. “In ten years, we are gonna laugh about this.”
Just like that, my mindset started to shift. My brain zoomed out from the anxiety of that one January morning, and I saw this uncomfortable situation for what it really was—one little hashmark on the timeline of a big and exciting story. It was just one teeny-tiny sliver on the pie chart of a lifetime. In comparison, my all-consuming worries about that one morning looked pretty small.
Psychologists call this “temporal distancing.” Distancing is about creating space between your thoughts and the present moment. Distancing works because what feels like a make-or-break decision on a 10-hour timeline often feels insignificant on a 10-year timeline. We intuitively understand that we can squeeze in a whole lot of do-overs and course-corrections into a period of ten years. We know that we can miss a lot of shots and still win the game. This one decision that feels like such a ginormous judgment right now, will barely register as a speed bump over the long haul.
In our best moments, distancing also reminds us of this truth: Growth feeds on moments of discomfort.
If you scan the history of your life and career, you’ll find plenty of evidence to support this truth. You’ll see that moments of fear and failure have laid the foundation for all your biggest achievements. Every. Single. One. Each success sits on a huge heap of scary moments that ultimately stretched and strengthened you into the leader you are today.
That’s true for you. That’s true for the people you lead. It was true ten years ago. It is true today. It will be true again ten years into the future. So, the next time fear tightens your throat or leaves you stranded at the starting line, channel your inner Marty McFly and pay a quick visit to your future self.
