When Stuck is a Gift

I remember the first time I had the realization. I don’t remember the specific situation, but I remember exactly where I was: the parking lot of a Ralphs Grocery Store.

Something had happened—some situation that had "triggered" me—and I could feel my emotions boiling. It was like heating milk on the stove; that precise moment where it rises up the sides of the pan, about to spill everywhere.

In that moment, a small, gentle voice made itself known:

“Maybe this is telling you something.”

Of course it was telling me something! It was telling me that whatever had just happened shouldn’t have happened.

“Maybe it’s telling you something else,” the voice countered.

“Like what?”

“Maybe instead of being a ‘bad’ thing, this feeling is a signal. A warning system. Maybe it’s letting you know that something is off. Something isn't being tended to. Something needs to be heard.”

Standing there in the parking lot, I began to seek the wisdom of those "boiling" feelings rather than simply trying to shoo them away or clean them up. I realized that when I felt like I was "flying off the handle," it didn't come from nowhere. It was a messenger telling me I’d been neglecting something vital.

What I’ve realized many years later is that "stuck" is the same.

I don’t like feeling stuck. I’ve always seen it as a negative—something to be overcome, pushed through, resisted, or fought against. But what if stuck is also a sign? What if, instead of being something to rail against, it is providing valuable information?

The other day at the ranch, I went up to Fortuna in the big corral. It was time for the horses to go to their individual stalls for the night, so I walked up, put a halter on her, and turned to lead her in.

She did not budge.

I turned back around. “Hey Fortuna, it’s time to go to your casa,” I said. I’m always talking out loud to the animals.

She still didn’t budge.

Fortuna is normally quite willing, so this was out of character. I paused. I let go of my "plan" and really looked at her.

I will go with you if you take off the halter, she seemed to say. She’s a horse, so she doesn’t use words, but I had the distinct impression that this was the request. Knowing Fortuna, and knowing that stranger things have happened between us, I figured I had nothing to lose.

I took off her halter and began walking toward her stall.

She followed me. Without hesitation. It was as if she were showing me: See? I told you I would follow. We walked together, Fortuna at my heels, all the way into her stall. Just like that.

My mind was blown, but I wasn’t entirely surprised. This is the way with Fortuna. I often think of the movie My Octopus Teacher when I'm with her—the way the filmmaker gradually realizes he isn't the one "studying" the octopus; the reverse is actually the case.

Had I tried to force her, or cajoled her while she was haltered, it wouldn't have worked—first, because she weighs ten times what I do, but more importantly, because I would have missed the greater gift she had to offer: the gift of connection. By standing still, she gave me something far greater than had she willingly walked with the halter. 

That is what "stuck" does. It stops us in our tracks. It refuses to budge even when we try to force or cajole it. Stuck is an opportunity to listen and to learn.

When I have felt stuck in the past, my only goal was to escape—to get things moving again. But I think the real lesson is learning how to listen to the stuckness and see what it might be trying to teach us.

I am currently putting together a new 6-week toolkit called Like Water Through a Rock, focused on exactly this: the art of getting unstuck by learning to listen. I’d love for you to be a part of it. If you’re interested, let me know in the comments or hit reply, and I’ll keep you in the loop as it comes together.