Not fear, but not fearlessness either

Yesterday afternoon my 10-year-old son discovered a red-belly black snake in our back garden. For non-Australian readers, a red-belly isn’t the deadliest snake in Australia, but it's not harmless either.

Bizarrely his instinct was to get closer — to move the box it was hiding under and get a good look. He is interested, not afraid. Of course, our little friend slithered away quickly.

My daughter, aged 12, immediately determined that "we can't live here anymore" (I enquired — by here do you mean Australia, or this house?!), whilst my son was all but dancing around the backyard, ecstatic with the discovery.

I was left in a precarious parenting position.

My first instinct: correct his fearlessness with fear. Snakes are dangerous … don't go near them … be scared.

But I stopped, because fear is not what I want for him either.

It’s a bit tricky— fearlessness isn’t necessarily admirable. If he'd been bitten, I wouldn't be telling this story with fondness. What I actually want isn't fear but it isn't fearlessness either. It's something else: enough real understanding of the snake to make a good decision about it himself. Balance. Groundedness. Rationality.

That's something that perhaps can’t be taught … it needs to be found within.

And it's the same thing I see missing in almost every organisation I work with.

Fear is a common and dominating yet usually silent emotion pervading most organisations. It’s not loud, but it’s ever present. It’s not about something real, it’s about something inherited. Stories told. Myths reinforced.

Fear of authority. Fear of upsetting people. Fear of being seen in a certain way. Fear of making a mistake and the catastrophic consequences. Fear of rejection. Fear of abandonment. Fear of losing your job. Of losing your money. Of being poor and desolate.

All these fears are present in organisations, and more.

It’s become the norm. People see themselves as lucky to have a job rather than realising the job is lucky to have them.

This fear does not see people meeting their potential. It keeps them small. It ensures they make safe decisions rather than bold ones. It ensures they reach for comfortable solutions rather than creative ones. It stops them from asking for what they want, sharing the truth and taking the risks that really move organisations forward.

The opposite of that fear isn't fearlessness, though. Fearlessness with a venomous snake is as unhelpful as terror of a garden hose. The opposite of irrational fear is understanding clear enough to make your own good call.

The work is presence to yourself. What am I afraid of? Is that consequence really real or perceived? Do I know that … or is it a story I’m carrying?

When you are present to the risks, not just unconsciously reacting to the fears you are unknowingly carrying around each day, you can make a better call on the path forward.

So. What do you really want to do? Or say? And if you get present to the fears holding you back, what are you actually prepared to do?

Meanwhile, I'm still working on how to give my son a healthy, informed respect for snakes — without either frightening him unnecessarily, or leaving him thinking it's fine to go pick one up.