I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been drawn to beach glass.
You know those smooth, frosted gems you find scattered along the shoreline?
Last week, walking along the beach here in Florida, I picked up a particularly beautiful piece of sea green glass and had one of those moments—the kind where the universe hands you exactly the metaphor you didn’t know you needed.
Here’s the thing about beach glass:
it starts as something sharp and broken. A discarded bottle, a shattered window, fragments that could cut you if you weren’t careful.
But the ocean doesn’t see it as trash to be avoided. The waves don’t try to fix it or change it back to what it was. Instead, they work with it, tumbling it gently, day after day, until something beautiful emerges.
The sharp edges don’t disappear overnight. It takes time—sometimes years—of being rolled by the waves, softened by salt water, polished by sand.
What emerges isn’t the original bottle trying to pretend nothing happened. It’s something entirely new: smooth, translucent, valuable in ways the original never was.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially when I work with leaders who are feeling battered by the constant waves of change, challenge, and uncertainty.
We’ve been conditioned to see our rough patches, the failed projects, the difficult feedback, the moments when we felt completely out of our depth—as evidence that we’re broken or not cut out for leadership.
But what if we’ve got it all wrong?
What if those challenging experiences aren’t signs of failure but the very process that’s creating our unique leadership strength?
What if the waves of difficulty aren’t trying to break us but to soften our sharp edges, helping us become the kind of leaders others actually want to follow?
The beach glass doesn’t fight the process. It doesn’t try to stay sharp or resist the tumbling. It surrenders to the transformation, and that’s where its beauty comes from.
I’m not suggesting we seek out hardship or that struggle is always good. But when those inevitable waves come—and they will—we have a choice.
We can resist and stay sharp and cutting, or we can let the experience soften us into something more beautiful than we were before.
The leaders I most admire aren’t the ones who never faced adversity. They’re the ones who let their challenges tumble them into wisdom, compassion, and authentic strength.
They’re transformed by their experiences, not broken by them.
What if the next time you feel battered by the waves, you asked yourself: “How might this be softening me into the leader I’m meant to become?”
Just something to think about as you navigate your own shoreline.
What’s one challenging experience that actually made you a better leader? I’d love to hear your beach glass story—just hit reply.
JoAnna
