The Question that Clears the Way
When leaders say they need clarity, they often mean they need more information, more time, more analysis, more certainty.
So they do what capable people do. They make a list; devise a spreadsheet; draw up options. They ask trusted people what they think; create scenarios; weigh up the pros and cons; and try to think their way to the answer.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of this. Sometimes it is what’s needed.
But sometimes where they get to is not clarity at all. It’s activity dressed up as clarity.
And, deep down, we know the difference.
The conventional approach to decision-making is built on a reasonable assumption: the answer is somewhere out there.
If I gather enough data, consult enough people, run enough models, read enough books, ask enough experts, I’ll eventually know what to do.
This is useful when the problem is technical: if the budget doesn’t balance, examine the numbers. Or if a strategic decision depends on market conditions, then carefully examine all the relevant facts.
Good leadership requires clear thinking. But not every leadership question is technical.
Some leadership questions aren’t looking for the right answer. They’re asking: “What is true?” Or “What matters most?” Or “What is really needed?”
And for these questions, more information may take us further from the answer, not closer to it.
The more options we create, the more scattered we become. The more opinions we seek, the more we dilute our own sense of what is right for us. The more we try to eliminate uncertainty, the more we lose contact with the quieter knowing already present within us.
In other words, a clear answer to these questions comes not from adding more, but from clearing what’s in the way.
Charles Davies’ Clarity Practice - a cornerstone of Mindful Command - does precisely that.
It begins from a simple premise: look at what you’re doing, and ask whether it is what you need (rather than what feels urgent, expected or easiest).
If it is what you need, carry on.
If it’s not, listen for what you do need.
That sounds almost too simple. But it’s not simplistic.
In Charlie’s process, the apparently small question “Is this what I need?” opens into a deeper enquiry. Is this what I want? Is this what I demand? Is this what I love? Is this what I wish for? Is this what I dream of? Is this what I live for?
The point is not to force an answer. The point is to test whether the idea rings true from different parts of yourself.
It requires you to slow down, look beyond your habitual thinking patterns, and turn inwards. And that may mean turning towards a whole load of inner noise you’d rather not hear.
You’re not trying to eliminate uncertainty, or create options, or seek others’ opinions. You’re clearing the way to the quiet knowing already present within you.
For a long while after leaving the Royal Navy I felt lost: disorientated and purposeless. What I needed was rest and recovery. By what I did was look for more things to do. Getting things done was what I knew how to do. It was easier than facing my feelings.
Eventually, I realised my purpose was not “out there”. It was “in here”. I needed to stop doing and start listening inside. The answers were already there, waiting for me to ask the right questions.
This is where we leaders often get stuck: by keeping on doing what we’re good at, even when it’s no longer what we need.
Instead of listening, we analyse, organise, and make another plan. When the stakes are high and the pressure is mounting, we default to seeking control and certainty. Our reactive self wants to avoid the discomfort of not knowing.
So we work harder, move faster, do more.
And all the while, beneath all the noise is the question we’ve been avoiding - waiting to be asked and answered.
Peter Drucker is often quoted as saying: “The most serious mistakes are not being made as a result of wrong answers. The truly dangerous thing is asking the wrong questions.”
A wrong question can send your whole life, team or organisation in the wrong direction.
In Mindful Command, I tell the story of a younger version of myself sitting under an oak tree in Plum Village with an Italian monk.
I’d asked him a hypothetical question about peace and violence. I wanted a clear answer to an imagined future dilemma. He asked me whether I wanted to harm anyone now. I said no, but what if…?
His answer changed my life:
“Keep to your practice. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”
I’d wanted certainty. What he offered me was practice.
Simple. Powerful. Exactly what I needed.
I’d been asking the wrong question.
So here’s the practice:
Take something you’re working on now: a project, relationship, decision. Some kind of commitment you’ve made to yourself and / or others.
Write it down in one sentence. For example: “I am planning our family holiday.”
Now pause, focus your attention on the area around your solar plexus at the base of your sternum (maybe place a hand there) and breathe gently in and out. Then ask yourself: “Planning our family holiday, is this what I need?”
Notice your first response.
If the answer is yes, feel for whether it’s a full yes. Notice any resistance. A “this is what I should be doing” yes is not a full yes.
If the answer is anything less than a full-bodied yes, ask yourself the open question: “What do I need?”
Then listen. Not just to your thoughts, but to your whole self. Your body. Your breath. Your instinct. Your heart.
Write down what comes. Then look at the whole answer: “I am planning our family holiday, at home, listening to music, with a cup of coffee and and my favourite snack.”
Now test it again: “Planning our family holiday, at home, listening to music, with a cup of coffee and and my favourite snack, is this what I need?”
Yes!
Once you have a full-bodied yes you can, if you wish, ask the other six questions in turn and test them one by one in the same way:
Is this what I want?
Is this what I demand?
Is this what I love?
Is this what I wish for?
Is this what I dream of?
Is this what I live for?
You can use this practice to get clear on anything you’re doing, big or small, in any context. Even one honest answer to any of these questions can begin to clear the way.
Clarity is not always dramatic. Sometimes it arrives as a small, unmistakable shift.
A clear “yes”. A solid “no”.
Something you hear yourself say and you know, as soon as you say it, that it’s true. It may be difficult, but it no longer feels confused.
What matters is that it’s a truthful enough answer to take the next right step.
With love from the mountain,
Sally-Anne