As he stared at me with glaring eyes, I knew the project manager Bart was about to make a bad decision. My problem? I couldn't find the words to interrupt the freight train of his plans. We were in the middle of the biggest of the many change projects we had going at the bank where I worked. Mergers, new software systems, reorganizing how we approached clients. All these changes and more were colliding as we watched our coworkers get fired or moved or demoted. Some were mysteriously getting promoted as well. But for what?

Sometimes it takes something as small and ordinary as a green bean to show us how quickly our assumptions take over. When Jen handed me that single bean and said she found it on the "boat dock," my mind immediately jumped to conclusions-about people, places, and even intentions. Only later did I realize she had said "boat ramp," not "boat dock." That subtle difference shifted everything. What looked like a mystery of intruders and misplaced vegetables became instead a lesson in how context shapes our stories-and how easily our brains fill in the gaps.

This last week marked one year since Hurricane Helene roared through Western North Carolina, taking with her homes, trees, and the illusion of safety. The last year has been a lot of things for all of us. Many of our critical roads are still YEARS from being open to the public. Businesses are starting to reopen, and some never will. Lake Lure is beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel on silt and debris removal, but it is still many months away from being usable again.

A few weeks ago, I began a blog on "depressure = depression. What started as a simple observation turned into a series. So many avenues offered insights worth exploring. Then I got stuck. Or maybe I just had to do some field research. After the second in the series, I found myself in a space with "no pressure".

As an avid water skier, I've learned over the years that my body position over the ski determines the ​acceleration of the ski from one buoy to the next.  Faster is better.  Watching a webcast of a ski tournament one day, the commentator (also a pro skier) summed up the "stacked body position" this way:  "It's important to have alignment before there is pressure."  And behind the boat, there is a ton of pressure.

This is Part 2 of a series on De-pressure = depression.

Here's where we left off in Part 1 (which I recommend you read first if you haven't already.)

Survival Mode puts us in a state I call the "Froth", which feels like the electrical charge I experienced in the story about the aspirational project above. It seems the difference comes down to what we do with the Froth. Do we escape it, using whatever behavior or medication we can get our hands on, or do we ride the wave of it, allowing it to elevate us?

In last week's podcast with Bernie Harberts, I found myself repeating the words "De-pressure = Depression". This connection first happened for me during the Journey On Podcast Summit in 2023, when Filipe Masetti Leiti spoke of his own depression after completing a very long ride from Canada to Brazil on horseback. He delivered one of the most inspiring speeches at that event, leaving us all in awe of the perseverance it took to ride through the pressures of 17,000 miles on horseback. Then he spoke of the depression he experienced when it was all over.

Pressure. It's a fact of life and it can either make you better or it can crush you. In the corporate world, being great under pressure is often called "Executive Presence."

Executive presence is one of those hard to define things, kind of like these other difficult-to-define words: Success. Happiness. Pornography. You get the picture.

Nothing bigger than a bread box! That was my guidance for Russ when we were building our house in Lake Lure. We were now living in the 1200 SF fishing cottage that we had purchased, planning to build a permanent residence "someday" in the future. That future happened quickly. We had moved from a 3600 SF house in Charlotte, putting most of our furniture in storage. To say the space was cramped is an understatement. So I made a rule: Nothing bigger than a bread box could come into our little abode until the big house was ready.

There was a time that I believed leadership meant having all the answers. I assumed straight A's, technical expertise, and an iron grip on control made for stellar leadership. Then one day, while working with horse trainer Bruce Anderson, he delivered a truth that would shatter my carefully constructed worldview: "If you can't give over control to the rope, I'm not going to let you work with my horse." It was a weird sounding statement that exposed a profound flaw in my approach to not just horsemanship, but to leadership itself. What I thought was masterful control was actually getting in my way - and not just with horses, but in every aspect of my life where I was trying to lead. I detail the story of my frustration with the rope in my book Dancing the Tightrope. We were working on my "control issues", which at one time, I preferred to think of as stellar leadership skills.

Yesterday, a client mentioned something that I said in a podcast interview had struck a chord with her. "My definition of retirement is to get up and do what I love doing 80% of the time." It's something I repeat so much I couldn't even tell you which podcast I said it on, and yet I still appreciated the reminder yesterday. I say it not because I label myself "retired", but because I've observed that the word retirement tends to carry with it a mindset of quitting, or not doing meaningful work anymore. I prefer to think of retirement as the freedom of mindset to see more choices, not fewer.

On one of my trips, I faced an unexpected dilemma: one of my favorite vests got stolen from the Centurion Lounge. Traveling alone, I made the mistake of leaving it on the chair as I went to the restroom. When I came back, it was gone. The best news was that my keys and wallet were NOT in the pocket! It was a splurge when I bought it, so I was super bummed to lose it. On the other hand, I already HAD a black vest, so I could argue this one was redundant. But I really missed this vest!

Every year about this time, I find myself wondering what to say about the avalanche of advice for turning the page on a New Year. Part of me wants to find something super new, exciting and different than anything I've said before. Part of me wants to ignore the whole thing. Notice the dichotomy? On one hand is overreacting and on the other is under reacting. The best answer is likely found somewhere in the middle of these two extremes, and most importantly, focused on why I write The Coaching Digest.

This week, someone asked me what I'm doing with the "survivor's guilt" from the storm. My first response echoed what I said in my blog a few weeks ago, where I've had to recognize that each of us is on our own journey. Our respective journeys are happening whether or not we have faced an epic storm. What I'm coming to recognize is that I'm wrestling with grief more than guilt.

The holidays are here. Thanksgiving is next week, and then we'll blink, and it will be Christmas, with New Year's right behind. Along with the happiness and joy, it seems every holiday brings a unique pressure to cause us over or under react. Thanksgiving is all about the food - and yet is it not the holiday where we seem to always over eat? Christmas seems to be a constant game of guessing. Who to buy for? What is too much? What is too little? Who did I forget? Then New Year's Eve offers a whole new level of ways to overindulge.

I heard musician Jon Batiste say recently "The moment calls for what it calls for. And you can't really dictate what the moment calls for based on your preparation." I'm pretty sure he wasn't directly talking about navigating a weather disaster, but his statement could not be truer of the moments we've been living. No one was truly prepared for Helene, and yet somehow, we are rising up to what the moment calls for.

It’s been four weeks since I last posted – and if you remember I wrote that piece on Thursday, September 26, the day before Helene hammered Western North Carolina. In many ways, it’s too early for me to begin to process all that has happened here. I’ve lived through a couple of natural disasters before, but this one is unmatched.