Courage Is a Muscle. Stop Exercising It Selectively.

Courage is a word I talk about a lot with my clients.

Everyone knows they need it.

Very few people consistently put themselves in situations where they actually have to use it.

That’s the problem.

We tend to think of courage as a personality trait—as if some people are simply brave and others aren't. But courage is a muscle. And most of us have gotten very good at exercising it selectively.

We are courageous where we are comfortable being courageous.

And then we protect ourselves with armor everywhere else.

Dr. Brené Brown’s seven-year research on leadership (referenced in her book Dare to Lead) found something important: the biggest barrier to courageous leadership isn't fear. It's armor.

When we're faced with uncertainty, challenge or discomfort, we often choose to protect ourselves instead of choosing to get curious.

We posture.

We judge.

We become knowers.

We defend what we've always believed.

We attack the person asking uncomfortable questions.

And Brown’s research found no evidence of courage without vulnerability, risk, uncertainty and emotional exposure.

If there's no risk, uncertainty or possibility of getting uncomfortable, it probably isn't courage.

And this is where I think we have a problem in agriculture.

Because I know a lot of incredibly courageous people.

People who will climb on a young horse. Walk into a pasture at 2 a.m. in a blizzard. Take physical risks most people wouldn't dream of taking.

Put everything they own into a piece of land, a herd, a business and a dream.

But that same person may avoid the conversation they desperately need to have with their business partner.

They may tolerate an employee who is hurting the organization because firing them feels uncomfortable.

They may refuse to look honestly at the numbers because the numbers might require a decision they don't want to make.

They may refuse coaching because being told they aren't perfect hurts their ego.

They may know their business model isn't working but continue doing the same thing because changing it would mean admitting that what worked for their parents—or their grandparents—may not work anymore.

That's not a lack of courage.

It's selective courage.

And we all do it.

Selective courage kills leadership

Courage is having the tough conversation.

Courage is asking for feedback when you know you might not like what you hear.

Courage is admitting you were wrong.

Courage is being willing to change your mind.

Courage is letting someone else do the job—even when you know you could do it better.

Courage is hiring someone younger who doesn't think exactly like you.

Courage is looking at the data instead of relying on the story you've been telling yourself.

Courage is setting a goal and being willing to discover that you aren't actually on track to achieve it.

Courage is questioning a tradition that no longer serves you.

Courage is saying, "This isn't working."

Courage is saying, "I don't know."

Courage is saying, "I need help."

Courage is telling the truth when the truth might disappoint someone.

Courage is leaving a job, business relationship or situation that is slowly killing your spirit.

Courage is allowing someone you love to skin a knee instead of constantly rescuing them.

Courage is trying something new when failure is a very real possibility.

And sometimes courage is incredibly small. It's getting out of bed when the warm blankets are winning. It's saying no to the second Dr Pepper.

It's writing down what you actually think and feel instead of keeping it safely contained inside your own head. Because once you put something on paper, you might gain clarity. And once you have clarity, you might actually have to do something about it.

That is where courage gets expensive.

A few weeks ago, I was reminded of what that kind of courage feels like.

I took my daughter, Brighton, to her first event as visiting rodeo royalty. She was riding a seasoned show mare who had never experienced the chaos of a parade or rodeo.

As Brighton climbed into the saddle and started toward the parade route, I watched a 1,000 pounds of nervous animal prance around and my heart started pounding.

Could B handle her? Was the mare going to bolt? Was there a wreck waiting around the corner?

And then B rode away from me.

There was nothing left for me to control.

I had prepared her. I had assessed the risk. I had chosen the horse. And then I had to trust them both.

When they turned the corner onto Main Street, the mare was walking calmly and Brighton was waving to the crowd—even with the marching band just a few steps behind them.

I was relieved.

But the bigger lesson wasn't about the horse.

It was about letting go.

Sometimes courage means doing the preparation, making the best decision you can, and then allowing someone else to take the reins.

That's true in parenting.

It's true in leadership.

It's true in business.

And it's true for an industry that desperately needs to evolve without losing what makes it worth preserving.

Agriculture needs more courage.

Courage to stop confusing tradition with strategy.

Courage to look at profitability instead of romanticizing the lifestyle.

Courage to confront the numbers.

Courage to challenge decisions that aren't serving producers.

Courage to bring people into the room who don't look, think or believe exactly like everyone already sitting there.

Courage to choose speakers who challenge an audience instead of simply reinforcing what everyone already believes.

Courage to admit that sometimes we are part of the problem.

Courage to stop accepting mediocre because challenging mediocre makes people uncomfortable.

Courage to ask better questions.

Courage to listen to answers we don't like.

Courage to try something different.

Courage to fail.

Courage to get back up.

We don't need an industry full of people who are fearless. We need an industry full of people who are willing to be uncomfortable long enough to do the right thing. Because courage isn't about having all the answers.

It isn't about being the loudest person in the room. And it certainly isn't about never being afraid.

Courage is being willing to take off the armor. To get curious. To ask the hard question. To tell the truth. To hear the answer. And then to act.

So here's the question I want you to sit with:

Where are you courageous—and where have you decided that courage doesn't apply?

Because courage is a muscle.

And if we're serious about becoming better leaders, better businesses, better parents, better partners and a stronger industry, we need to stop exercising it selectively.

We need to start using it everywhere it matters.