The Wagon Moves. We Carry the Story
This past weekend, I climbed onto a wagon at Lynd Fruit Farm with my kids and grandkids. The tractor started moving toward the orchard, and before we had gone very far, I was somewhere else.
I was remembering the tractor and wagon rides on my grandparents’ farm. I couldn’t have told you what brought it back first—the sound of the engine, the feel of the wagon moving beneath me, or simply being there with family. I only knew that, for a moment, I could feel both rides at once.
On one, I was the grandchild. On this one, I was Gramma.
We spent time among the apple trees, watching the little ones discover what was within their reach. Another part of the weekend took us to a Buckeye tailgate, where people of all ages were caught up in that familiar game-day excitement. We came home before kickoff. We still felt like we had been part of it.
Neither day looked exactly like the days I remember from years ago. They didn’t need to. There were new people beside me, new ways of doing things, and something familiar running through all of it.
Maybe I noticed that because I’ve had another kind of change on my mind.
At work, I’m helping lead changes that have not been easy for everyone to receive. I believe in why we are moving forward. I also hear the concern, and I don’t think it helps to call every concern resistance.
Sometimes people are afraid of the unknown. Sometimes they know exactly what they are afraid of losing—the ability to make decisions that they believe are right for their patients, a way of working that they’ve always known, or the confidence that their experience still matters.
And sometimes the loss of autonomy is real. We owe people the honesty to say that. Even a really good reason for change does not make the cost of it disappear.
I’m learning that honoring what came before takes more than telling people we value it. It means asking what worked and why. It means listening when someone closest to the work sees a problem we missed. It means protecting what we can, giving people a meaningful say in what can still be shaped, and being truthful about what cannot stay the same.
That won’t make every disagreement go away. It shouldn’t have to. People can understand the reason for a change and still need time to reckon with what it asks of them.
As a leader, I have to make room for both truths.
An afternoon at an orchard is not the same as a hard change at work. I know that. But the wagon ride reminded me of something I want to hold on to—moving forward does not require us to treat the past as a mistake or something less.
I could remember being a little girl on my grandparents’ farm and be fully present with my grandchildren at Lynd’s. I didn’t have to choose which ride mattered more. That past one was part of the reason the other ride ended up meaning so much.
Maybe that is what many are asking for when life changes around them. Maybe they don't really need a promise that things will stay exactly the same. Perhaps they need a chance to say, "What once was, really mattered to me." Maybe there will be peace in knowing--that someone heard them, and honored the past.
The wagon moves. We carry the story.
With love & light (and a dose of wagon-ride wisdom).
--Heather
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