I Want to Be the Buffalo

Confidence, vulnerability and learning to run toward the storm

I heard something recently that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

When a storm approaches, buffalo are known for moving toward it rather than simply trying to outrun it.

There is something about that image that resonates deeply with me.

I want to be the buffalo.

Not because I enjoy storms.

I don't.

I don't want hardship. I don't seek out disappointment. I don't want to fail, lose people I love, make mistakes or have my plans completely derailed.

But I've lived enough life now to know the storms are coming anyway.

So I would rather turn toward them.

Let the storm do what it's going to do.

Learn everything I possibly can from it.

And then keep moving.

Something Changed in My 40s

Recently, I heard a discussion about the age when people stop making so many decisions based on what other people think.

Before I heard an age mentioned, I immediately thought:

45.

Maybe because that's roughly when I started noticing something changing in myself.

I cared less about proving myself.

I cared less about appearing perfect.

I became more willing to say, "I don't know."

More willing to admit when something hurt.

More willing to ask for help.

More willing to change my mind.

More willing to walk away from something that no longer fit.

And much more willing to simply be myself.

The interesting thing is that I don't think I've become less caring.

Quite the opposite.

I care deeply about people. I care about being a good wife, mother, daughter, friend, colleague and mentor. I care about doing excellent work. I care about how my actions affect other people.

What I've stopped doing as much is allowing someone else's opinion of me to determine my opinion of myself.

Those are two very different things.

Confidence and Vulnerability Can Live Together

Someone recently asked me how I can be so confident and also so vulnerable.

My answer was simple:

Practice.

That's it.

I practiced.

I practiced speaking up when it was uncomfortable.

I practiced sharing parts of myself that weren't perfectly polished.

I practiced admitting mistakes.

I practiced asking questions when I didn't know the answer.

I practiced walking into rooms where I wasn't sure I belonged.

I practiced receiving criticism without allowing it to define me.

I practiced trusting my instincts.

And after enough repetitions, something changed.

I realized confidence and vulnerability aren't opposites.

In fact, I think some of the strongest confidence comes from vulnerability.

Confidence isn't walking into a room believing you're the smartest person there.

It's walking into a room knowing you don't have to be.

I Don't Need to Be Great at Everything

This may be one of the most freeing lessons I've learned.

For years, I thought being successful meant becoming really good at everything.

Know the answer.

Solve the problem.

Be prepared.

Don't let anyone see the gaps.

I don't believe that anymore.

I have gaps.

Lots of them.

There are things I'm really good at and things other people can do circles around me.

Instead of being threatened by that, I've learned to intentionally surround myself with people who are great at the things I'm not.

And then I want everyone to know they're great at them.

Give them the credit.

Put their name on the work.

Let them present the idea.

Tell the room what they contributed.

Elevate them.

Their brilliance doesn't diminish mine.

It makes all of us better.

There is enormous freedom in realizing you don't have to be everything.

You just have to know who you are, what you bring and where you need others.

Stop Trying to Avoid the Storm

I think younger me spent a lot of energy trying to prevent storms.

If I worked hard enough, prepared enough, planned enough and did everything "right," maybe I could control the outcome.

Life eventually teaches you otherwise.

Sometimes you do everything right and something still goes terribly wrong.

Sometimes people disappoint you.

Sometimes you fail.

Sometimes your career doesn't go according to plan.

Sometimes your body betrays you.

Sometimes relationships change.

Sometimes life simply hurts.

I've had enough storms now to know that I survived every single one that once made me wonder how I possibly would.

More importantly, many of them taught me something I couldn't have learned during the sunny seasons.

That's why the idea of the buffalo resonates with me.

The goal isn't to pretend the storm doesn't hurt.

The goal isn't toxic positivity.

The goal isn't to immediately search for a silver lining while you're standing in the middle of something painful.

Sometimes the storm needs to be the storm.

Feel it.

Grieve it.

Be angry about it.

Ask for help.

Sit in the uncertainty.

But eventually, learn from it.

And move.

Maybe This Is What Getting Older Is Supposed to Feel Like

I used to think getting older meant accumulating answers.

I'm discovering it may actually mean becoming increasingly comfortable with the questions.

I don't know everything.

I don't need everyone to like me.

I don't need to be perfect.

I don't need to win every argument.

I don't need to hide every weakness.

And I definitely don't need to pretend I can do everything by myself.

What I do need is the courage to keep showing up.

To surround myself with good people.

To own my strengths.

To acknowledge my gaps.

To give other people room to shine.

To be confident enough to be vulnerable.

And when the next inevitable storm appears on the horizon, to remember everything the previous storms taught me.

At this point in my life, I'm not interested in spending all my energy running away from hard things.

I want to be the buffalo.

Turn toward the storm.

Charge into it.

Let it teach me what it's meant to teach me.

And then keep moving forward.