Waddle They Do Without Me?

My front porch sits on the corner of a large pond. It’s a marvel to watch the seasons change from the steps of my front door. This year, with a toddler learning to be on the move, I’ve spent more time in my front yard than ever before. Coupled with being laid off earlier this year, there’s been more space to slow down and reflect. Life now moves at a gentler pace, and it’s become strikingly clear how the hustle and bustle of my old routine caused me to miss the beauty in the small things.

Every April, the pond comes alive. The mornings are crisp, and the afternoon heat wraps the day in a gentle warmth. New life thrives - ducklings, goslings, baby birds, and even litters of rabbits. (Fun fact: baby rabbits are called “kittens.”) My toddler’s fascination with the ducklings has made me pay closer attention this year. I’ve spent a lot of time observing ducks. My son's first animal sound was “quack, quack,” and every day when he gets home, he eagerly pulls me outside to search for the ducks.

Ducklings are born in a brood of eight to fifteen (they’re not called a “flock” until they’re older - like I said, I’ve learned a lot about ducks.) The mother hen fiercely protects her nest through the 28-day incubation period. Once they hatch, the ducklings reconnect with their mother. They learn to swim, to feed, to jump into the water, and eventually, they build the confidence to fly. In the early days, they never stray more than a few inches from her side. But over the weeks, inches become feet. Then feet become yards. One day, you’ll find them scattered on opposite banks of the pond. They’ve learned what they needed to learn, and now, it’s time for them to go.

The bank of the pond is a quiet and reflective classroom on leadership.

We hire, train, coach, retrain, support, give feedback, and walk alongside our team members as they grow. We celebrate their wins. We navigate hard conversations. We build their confidence and resilience. Eventually, we have to let them fly.

We want them to be successful. To leave the nest, to hunt for themselves, to take flight and thrive. But we also love them. So we cheer them on, from a distance, still offering support when they make it to the other side of the pond.

I remember walking into our annual leadership summit a few years ago and holding back tears as I saw three of my “ducklings” sitting in the room. Each of them had grown into leadership roles. They were strong, capable, and confident. They had worked so hard to reach that moment, and I was overwhelmed with pride. My boss walked up behind me as I stood still in the doorway, he knew exactly what stopped me, "it's a different kind of feeling when you see your people in here," he said. That night in my hotel room, I thought about everything we had experienced together: the high-fives, the tears, the one-on-ones, the big wins, and the losses too. Each of them had taken their own path to success, and in the process, each had helped shape mine.

Leadership has always given me a deep sense of gratitude. I’ve been lucky to serve in roles that allowed me to walk beside others on their journeys. I’ve been trusted. I’ve learned just as much from those I’ve led as I hope they’ve learned from me.

When I was laid off earlier this year, one team member messaged me, “I don’t know how to do this without you.” We had worked together nearly their entire sales career. That message was my first silver lining in the lay off. I may have walked beside them, but they had done the work. They were ready. It was their time to soar. Even if I couldn’t be there to watch. It was time for them to learn that they didn’t need me.

On the flipside, not all ducklings make it.

Less than 50% survive to adolescence. Even fewer reach adulthood. It’s a hard truth, and unfortunately, it’s a part of leadership too.

Not every team member will thrive. Some will struggle to find their footing, despite our best efforts. Sometimes the timing isn’t right. Sometimes life intervenes. Sometimes, we pour our hearts into people who aren’t yet ready to fly. It’s heartbreaking, but it doesn’t make the investment any less meaningful.

Leadership isn’t about the outcome. It’s about the intention. It’s about showing up anyway.

It’s about walking alongside people long enough to help them believe in their own wings.

These slow mornings on the porch have reminded me that great leadership rarely looks flashy. It’s quiet, steady, and patient. It’s standing on the bank, watching someone you once trained soar to the other side - without you.

Somehow, that is even more fulfilling.

To honest leadership, 

Natalie