Double Dose Tribute: Stuck in The Mud?

“You can blast your way THROUGH mud, but you can’t blast your way OUT of mud.  You have to ease your way out, or you have to get pulled out.”

–     Dick Heston, who passed away ten years ago today, way too early

A second dose of Difference today — a tribute to an Iowa farmer whose approach to the farm plays as well in board rooms as it does in the field.

As Dad pulled up in the pickup to find me atop our old Massey Ferguson 165 tractor, which was buried up to its axles in the mud, he uttered these words.  I found myself sharing them with a prospective client this morning, ten years after Dad left us.  As a tribute to Dad, I figured I’d share them with y’all.

Shift back to circa 1973 or so.  Tractor in mud.  Me on tractor.  Mud flying everywhere.  Tractor not moving.

He told me to shut down the engine.  Then, we headed back to the barn to get another tractor.  I was gonna need to be pulled out of this one.

Sometimes, in business, we see some “mud” up ahead, in the form of a precarious deal, a soft market, a customer who’s slow to pay — anything that looks like we might get stuck.  Worried that we might not make it through, it’s tempting to ease off the throttle and slow down.  As I learned that day on the Massey — once we lose momentum, we’re done.

What about before that point, though?  What about when we see the “mud” ahead, in our path?  Well, we might be able to slow down and choose a different course.  Negotiate terms.  Hedge a market bet.  Shift strategy to take risk out of the deal or the business.  We might be able to avoid getting stuck at all.

There are times, though, as Dad pointed out, that a different course is just not an option.  And, if forward is our only choice, then we have to blast through the mud.

Now, if you’re already stuck, and you’re not all the way up to your axles, first try to ease your way out.  You don’t have any momentum, so “full throttle” is not your friend.  Finesse is called for if you’re stuck.  You gotta give the tires a chance to take hold.

It won’t take long to tell if you can get traction on your own.  If you can’t, then stop.  Head back to the barn.  Get help.  Get pulled out.

Dad would approve.  Heck, he’d be the first one to hitch up and pull you out — and that’s why I miss him most.

Rest in peace Dick Heston.  And thanks for making a difference.