Yesterday, my oldest daughter Eden (she's eleven) was fortunate enough to help a friend of ours with his Clydesdales. Not only was she thrilled because she LOVES horses, but she was also shocked to learn how delicate these monsters are. "They're so scared," she said.
After prepping the giants for the coming carriage ride, the owner of the horses offered her the opportunity to drive them. Shortly into their journey he handed her the reigns, and a bit of advice. "Whenever you come across a bridge or approach a tractor, the horses get scared,” he said, “They need you to talk to them, to let them know you are here and that they are not alone." My little girl was dumbfounded. "Like this," he said. They were approaching a large fence and the horses were beginning to slow their walk. "I see that fence," he said in a soothing voice, "I know it's scary, I'm scared too, but well do this together, okay?" To Eden's amazement, the horses picked up their pace and continued on their way.
As she shared this story with me, I couldn't help but think of how often we are terrified to express our fears. We want to be perceived like a Clydesdales: strong, confident, and extremely competent. The vision of those old Budweiser commercials, of Clydesdales running through snow or pulling giant loads is awe inspiring and we want to be more like that. Not scared. Being frightened or needing the coaxing from a petite little eleven year-old doesn't quite fit our ideas of what it means to Do Great Things!
But maybe it should.
There is something encouraging - convicting even - about how a Clydesdale lives its life. It knows what it can do and has all the confidence in the world that it can accomplish whatever task is set before it. At some point, however, it also needs to know its fears, warranted or not, are acknowledged as real. Most importantly though, they need to know they are not alone.
Humans are much the same.
Not only do we need to be strong enough to admit we need help, that we're afraid, and that we can't do it alone, we need to be strong enough to know that admitting so isn't weak! It's brave. And it is completely okay.
We also need to be the kind of people that allow others to admit they need help or are afraid. And we do so by being strong enough to not fix their fears or concerns for them. When the moment of fear approached for the horses, their owner didn't hop off and take control of the cart and do their job for them. Nor did he show them that their fears we're unfounded, making them feel weak or foolish. He simply acknowledged their fears and reminded them that he was there. Then, they continued on. Together.
Take a lesson from the Clydesdales and share your concerns, your fears - invite them into your world - so you can continue carrying your heavy load and doing Great things, fully confident that you are not alone.
And neither are they.