By Ross Romano
What is the heaviest burden you or your organization carry? What could you do to manage it—or remove it entirely? How much more effective might you become once that burden is gone?
As the year ends, many of us review accomplishments and set new goals. Those reviews often focus on familiar business metrics—financial results, market expansion, organizational change. Those are useful reflections, but this season is also an opportunity to ask deeper, more foundational questions about purpose, direction, and constraint.
Consider asking yourself: what important questions about my company or career do I currently lack the perspective to answer? What assumptions, obligations, or traditions are preventing me from gaining that perspective?
These questions can be clarified by a few practical prompts that encourage honest, strategic thinking about leadership, motivation, and freedom:
- Are you surrounded by leaders and colleagues who expand and enable your potential, or by people who limit it?
- Are your daily actions moving you toward your long-term goals, keeping you in place, or pulling you away from them?
- When circumstances are difficult, is your personal or organizational “why” clear and consistently acted upon?
- If you’ve spent time building strength while carrying a burden, do you have any sense how far or how high you could go without it?
Stories can be a powerful catalyst for reflection. Earlier this year I began writing short allegories I call “leadership parables” to help leaders examine assumptions and choices through metaphor. The following parable captures the questions above—and is especially relevant when you’re deciding whether to keep or release a long-held burden.
The Bird Who Knew
by Ross Romano
“My wings are tired,” the middle-aged bird said, speaking with a weary, matter-of-fact tone.
“Your wings are strong,” his friend replied. “It’s the weight that wears you down. You know my view—let it go.”
It was easy for his friend to say. The weight had been a long-standing tradition in their tribe, and the psychological hold of that custom was heavier than the physical burden. The middle-aged bird struggled to see why he should opt out of something everyone else accepted.
“Stone,” he said, using his friend’s name, “this isn’t my destiny. I’m a capable flier. I have flown, and I will fly again. Maybe in different conditions I could be great. But the weight keeps me grounded and, honestly, it’s not so bad.”
No one could tell how the tradition had started. There were no legends or records explaining it. The weight simply existed, passed down from generation to generation.
“Rubbish!” Stone shouted—he loved that word. “You are one of the finest fliers I know. The weight slows you, sure, but you already go farther than most. Imagine flying at full speed and, for a change, catching a worm for yourself.”
Stone’s comment hinted at a private truth: early catches of the day routinely went to others—children, elders, partners—while only later meals were for the fliers themselves.
“And I know what you’ll say,” Stone continued. “I’ve never removed mine either. But my situation suits me. Yours could be different.”
In their tribe, every adolescent received a weight. Nothing legally prevented a bird from taking it off at any time, yet most kept it until old age when, by necessity, they removed it because they could no longer lift off otherwise. Only a rare few discarded their burden earlier.
“Once I do that,” the middle-aged bird said, “there’s no turning back.”
“That’s exactly why you should,” Stone answered.
For some birds, parents removed the weight almost immediately after adolescence; for most, social pressure and perceived lack of community support kept the weight on. Removing it became a public statement: I will go faster, farther, and take control of my life. Come along if you wish, but I will go regardless. Those declarations demanded courage, so most birds delayed or declined to act.
Little by little, a few birds did remove their weight as they matured and sought freedom or change. They became exceptions—examples of what was possible when tradition no longer dictated performance or purpose.
“I want to see how high you can fly,” Stone said.
The middle-aged bird paused for a long time. He had known Stone was right for years, but hearing it so plainly from a friend felt different. He inhaled deeply, collected himself, and made a choice.
He reached up, removed the weight, winked at Stone, and launched into the sky.
Stone tried to follow but the sun was setting and his friend headed straight toward the horizon. He soon lost sight, but felt certain his friend was finding the freedom he’d long imagined.
About the Author
Ross Romano is CEO of September Strategies, a consulting firm that helps K–12 companies and nonprofits move from vision to decision. He is an experienced organizational leader and strategic advisor, frequently engaged in thought leadership strategy and content development, team and talent evaluation, business development and marketing strategy, and audience-specific messaging. Ross often writes about human-centered, empathic leadership and the power of storytelling for company leaders and founders. Connect with him on social platforms or through professional networks.
This article was originally published by The Learning Counsel, a research institute and news media hub focused on the transition to digital curriculum in education.