The River

January 30, 2026

I was talking with a friend this morning about life, transformation, and the inner fears we carry.

He is in the business of transformation, and we talked about how easy it is to get caught up in the weeds of the minutia—the mundane—and the belief many of us carry that we aren’t good enough yet. That our experiences, knowledge, and wisdom still need to be added to, increased, refined before we can make an impact.

I have been guilty of all of these things.

I think they are simply part of being human.

As we were talking, it reminded me of a saying I learned years ago:

Be a river, not a lake.

It was said to a room of 2,500 people—leaders, coaches, speakers—people who genuinely wanted to impact lives in meaningful ways.

A group of people deeply committed to lifelong learning and self-improvement. People who attend seminars, read the books, take the notes. People who can, without realizing it, start believing they need to learn more before they are allowed to give anything back.

And sometimes what happens is this:

People become so focused on filling themselves up that they forget to let anything flow out.

Fear gets mixed in.

Inadequacy.

The quiet belief that “almost ready” is safer than ready enough.

So the lake gets fuller and fuller.

I’ve been guilty of this—especially when I ventured out on my own in leadership consulting. I consumed information everywhere I could find it. Wisdom, frameworks, ideas. All valuable. All meaningful.

But I was afraid to step fully into the flow.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

This blog—this writing—is my river.

It’s my willingness to let my thoughts, experiences, and hard-earned clarity move through me and out into the world, trusting that it will reach who it’s meant to reach.

And just like a river, some people will pass by without noticing.

Others will stop and watch.

And some will lean in and take a drink.

Lakes accumulate. They hold. They build over time.

They have value—but only if the water moves.

Because when water stops flowing long enough, it stagnates.

Rivers, on the other hand, stay alive.

They don’t ask if they’re full enough yet.

They don’t wait until every drop is perfect.

They simply move—carrying what they’ve been given forward.

And I think that might be the point.