I hurriedly came out of the convenience store with my chocolate milk and sausage biscuit. My truck was parked at the gas pump where I had just filled up, and I was headed to Eagle Lake for a day of wade fishing. As I rounded the front of my truck, I immediately saw the problem.
There was maybe eight inches between my truck and the truck that had just pulled up beside me at the other pump.
There was no way I could get in. I felt the redness coming into my face.
What in the world is this guy thinking?!
I looked up and saw this obvious idiot leaning against his truck while his tank was filling. He casually turned his head toward me, and it was obvious I was hot. For some reason, I kept my mouth shut and simply looked down at the space between our trucks when he looked my way. Then he smiled. My face got even redder.
How could anyone be this arrogant? Now I have to wait on this clown.
Then the words came that stopped me in my tracks.
“Son, you sorta pulled out in the middle of the bay, didn’t you?”
I quickly looked at my truck. And there it was. Plain as day. In my hurry to get inside the store, I had parked right in the middle of the bay, leaning over into his side of the pump.
It wasn’t him. It was ME who was the problem.
All my righteous indignation drained from my face in one big gulp. I swallowed hard, hung my head, and said, “Yes, sir… I did.”
He was very gracious. He quickly finished filling his tank and pulled out so I could squeeze into my truck. I felt so low I could almost climb in through the crack in the door.
What a leadership lesson for me that morning.
Righteous indignation is often built on incomplete information.
How many times have we done exactly what I did at that gas pump? We jump to conclusions. We see a situation and immediately assume intent. We write that story in our head. Of course, we are the victim, or we are right, and they are wrong. In leadership, this happens every day:
“He dropped the ball.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“They aren’t committed.”
But often the truth is much simpler. We rarely even know the whole story. Great leaders slow down long enough to make sure they are solving the right problem before reacting to the wrong one. They start by giving people the benefit of good intentions. They seek to understand before they judge. I missed on all accounts this morning.
Grace is a powerful leadership gift.
That gentleman had every opportunity to embarrass me. He could have lectured me.
He could have made a sarcastic comment. Instead, he was gracious.
He finished pumping his gas, pulled out, and let me off the hook. Grace does something powerful in relationships and cultures. It lowers defenses and invites growth. We all need grace at times and great leaders lead with grace because they remember they’ve needed it too.
As I drove toward Eagle Lake, I had to laugh at myself. A few inches in a parking bay exposed something bigger than a parking mistake. It exposed how quickly frustration can outrun humility. Leadership has a funny way of teaching us lessons when we least expect them—sometimes at a boardroom table… and sometimes at a gas pump with a chocolate milk and a sausage biscuit in hand.
Today’s reminder for me was simple.
Slow down.
Assume less.
And be quick to admit when you’re the one parked in the middle of the bay.
That’s how we continue to learn, grow, and #beBetter.
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