We’ve all heard the phrase: “Ready. Aim. Fire.” It’s the classic formula for careful, deliberate decision-making. But what happens when we don’t know what to do? Too often, we end up stuck in the “Ready. Aim. Aim. Aim.” cycle—aiming so long that we forget the target altogether.
On the other end of the spectrum, there’s the “Ready. Fire. Aim.” approach—charging ahead without a target. Each extreme has something to applaud. Initiative matters. Deep thinking matters. But aim too long, and you stagnate. Fire too soon, and you waste energy.
The danger, I’ve found in working with individuals, teams, and organizations, is not in over-aiming or over-firing, but in the quiet persistence of stagnation. Among all the progress and motion, there are always things that sit idle—constraints that quietly drain our energy and attention. Like weeds pulling down a flower, these stagnant places tug at our momentum, our hope, and our sense of forward motion.
Think about it:
- The project that’s been sitting unfinished for months.
- The papers that never get filed.
- The relationship that lingers, going nowhere, but still consuming space in your heart or mind.
Flow is the opposite of stagnation. Flow is movement, circulation, elevation. It is the process of something evolving from less refined to more refined, from a lower state to a higher state, from “just existing” to “fully becoming.” Flow is always moving—from the past, through the present, toward the future.
That’s why stagnation comes at such a high price. Even if most of your life is moving forward, the stagnant areas—the weeds—sap your energy. They send the quiet message: “You’re not making progress.” And little by little, that message can erode your motivation and your belief in what’s possible.
Here’s the invitation: Make a list of your weeds. Don’t confuse them with distractions. Distractions move fast and scream for attention. Weeds don’t. They sit still. They choke. They quietly hold you down.
Now, pick one weed. Just one. Pull it up by the root. Maybe it’s a nagging task you’ve avoided. Maybe it’s a tough conversation you need to have. Maybe it’s a commitment you need to release.
Even the act of removing one small weed can be motivational. It creates space. It allows the flowers—the things that truly matter—to breathe and grow.
Progress doesn’t always start with bold leaps. Sometimes it starts with pulling one stubborn weed. And when you do, you’ll remember:
Life is meant to move. To circulate. To elevate. And every weed you pull makes more room for flow.