My first week on the maintenance team was full of instruction. The shift began at 4:30 am and as soon as you got your task list for the day, you were off and running. I had learned how to use the mowers that cut the greens (we had two), where to go to wash them off when I was done, and how to deal with the idiosyncrasies of each.
I learned the layout of the maintenance yard and where to find whatever tools were needed for the assigned jobs. Rakes, shovels, oil, sand, mulch.
One day during that first week the supervisor told me that after the lunch break he was going to train me how to use the mower that cut the rough. For those who might not know, the rough is never the place you want to hit your golf ball. It might be very thick, tall grass or weeds or a combination of both. It’s designed to be tough; to penalize golfers for not hitting a shot in the short grass of the fairways and greens.
This huge machine was designed to cut all of the not-so-pristine areas of the course and there was nothing delicate about it. It was big, it was loud, and it meant business. The blades were thick and capable of cutting through anything that the green and fairway mowers were not designed to deal with.
Since using this mower meant you were not dealing with lush, perfectly green grass, it tended to kick up a lot of dust and dirt and on windy days you’d find yourself covered in it.
The supervisor gave me a quick tutorial about the controls, the pedals, what to look out for, and how to approach the section needing to be cut. Then he had me fire it up and start working. I bumped into a tree or two but once I got used to the size of the mower and how much clearance I needed, things were fine. He gave me a thumbs up and sent me on my way.
I figured out quickly that using this mower required a different type of concentration. Whereas on the greens you were focused on straight lines and lifting and lowering the blades at the appropriate time, with this mower you had to focus on the unseen.
Precision was still important, but awareness was more significant.
On a green, you can clearly see what’s ahead of you. In the rough, not so much. You’re cutting thick grass and weeds and nestled down could be all sorts of things – rocks, tree roots, golf balls, holes, critters. And the mower blades don’t discriminate – they will destroy anything in their way. Several times I heard the unmistakable sound of a golf ball getting shredded before I saw the pieces shoot out from under me.
On the greens mower, once I had gotten enough experience, I could listen to sermons on my earbuds while cutting and that was not only enjoyable but an incredibly good use of my time. On the rough mower it was a different story. Even with hearing protection over my earbuds it was still loud and concentrating on what I was cutting and trying to listen to audio messages was a bridge too far. Trying to do both simultaneously required more concentration than I could muster.
If I cut greens at the beginning of my shift I felt rested and ready for more. If I spent the day cutting the rough, I was mentally drained and coated in a powdery dust, ready for a shower, some food, and a nap.
And it reminded me of what leadership was like for me.
On those days when I could see everything laid out before me, see the bumps in the terrain, and notice the obstacles in my path, leadership seemed easy. Too easy, almost. Waiting for something bizarre to happen. Going home refreshed instead of drained, almost as if I had done nothing all day.
But those days were few and far between. The reality was that you could never see everything. You might make informed guesses as to what lay ahead but it didn’t show itself until you were on top of it. And by then, you were already committed to a course of action; you couldn’t go back and do it over.
Instead, you were faced with rapid-fire decision making to course correct or overcome the situation you found yourself in.
And that is far more realistic. Leadership rarely happens under ideal conditions; it happens where information is incomplete and consequence management becomes a very real thing. After all, if the days are always smooth sailing, you’re probably not needed anymore, or your team may be stuck in a rut without realizing it.
Maybe as a new leader you were rewarded for getting things right and being super accurate, but as your span of control and responsibilities increase, awareness becomes your calling card.
I don’t view awareness as the tonic to make leadership easier. As a matter of fact, in some ways it makes it heavier. Clearer, not lighter. You begin to realize how much you can’t see and how little you really do know. How many second-order effects your decisions carry, and how often you are moving forward without the clarity you’d like to have.
But that’s the job. The tough parts, not the “rainbows-and-unicorns” types of days.
It’s pretty tough to be precise when you can’t see the edges or answer the question, “what exactly am I dealing with?” But a leader who is aware of strengths, weaknesses, warning signs, and potential pitfalls, and who keeps an eye on what’s ahead, is less likely to get bogged down by what has already happened.
Awareness doesn’t eliminate the uncertainty but is what allows you to lead effectively despite the weeds.
Here’s something worth considering: are you focused on precision when you should be cultivating your awareness as a leader?
If this reflection was helpful, feel free to forward it to another leader who might appreciate it.
If something in this reflection stirred questions or feels close to where you are right now, you're welcome to book a Leadership Strategy Call - a calm, pressure-free conversation designed to help you gain clarity and a next step.
Dan
Advisor to Leaders
A steady presence when the weight of leadership gets heavy