On the lake this summer, I’m learning about wind.
There’s a tailwind that speeds your boat along with extra verve. There’s a headwind that braces you upright and makes the strokes feel more solid in the water.
And then there’s the crosswind, which wreaks rowing havoc with its sideways push.
One morning, the crosswind came up on us as a surprise – although geometrically inevitable after turning 90 degrees from a headwind! With the boat swaying from side to side, nothing was working. Our rowing strokes were choppy and labored.
So we stopped.
Sitting there in the wind, I felt a huge sense of urgency that something had to happen.
But, this wasn’t objectively true. We were in no immediate risk, under no major time pressure, and we had the confidence and equipment to manage the conditions.
But the urge to act remained.
So in a counterintuitive move, I took a few deep breaths and didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, my rowing partner and I discussed the situation. We had a choice to make – battle the wind or turn back early to the dock. But whatever we decided, I’d already changed the narrative by pausing instead of leaping right into action.
It reminded me of giving talks and workshops. There’s always something unexpected that happens – an unusual question, a technology glitch, the exercise that doesn’t land.
These moments are largely unavoidable. How we respond to them isn’t.
A coaching client once described how a presentation to a large audience was going well until one moment when the setting suddenly felt overwhelming. We reconstructed what had happened – what they thought and felt at the time – and brainstormed possible interventions for when this type of moment happened again.
That made me realize that preparing for a talk, or any another important encounter, isn’t only about preparing the content. It’s also preparing what you will do when something unexpected happens.
The answers will be different for each of us. Maybe it’s pausing before speaking. Maybe it’s taking a breath. Maybe it’s having a phrase ready that helps you settle and think.
I know I tend to speed up when I’m surprised. I’m learning, on the water and on Zoom, that sometimes the most useful first move is to wait. And then choose.
What encounters do you have coming up that could use a protocol for the unexpected?
P.S. While I can’t yet replicate the experience of rowing over Zoom, we can practice communication moments together. I’m hosting another Leadership Communication Lab in October.
