The large rock sailed over my head and crashed into the water in front of me.
I spun around to face my grinning brother, who was standing on a ledge above me and wiping his muddy hands on his He-Man t-shirt.
“You are such a jerk!” I narrowed my eyes into the best seething glare I could muster and then turned back towards the lake. I had been lost in my thoughts, throwing tiny pebbles into the water and watching their ripples extend into the blueness. Sometimes, I’d throw a handful and observe as they rained down in tinkling wonderment.
It was a magical moment on a childhood camping trip, ruined in a way that only brothers know how to do.
* * *
The magic of flicking pebbles has always fascinated me… the subtle way they make their mark against an accommodating surface, interacting so subtly with the water, yet changing it forever.
Chucking boulders? Not so enchanting. I’m reminded of the “incident” at the lake so many years ago, when a beautiful moment was interrupted by an annoying, attention-hogging effort to do something bigger and better.
What does this have to do with business?
I believe there are pebble flickers and there are boulder chuckers… and there is a helluva big difference between the two.
Boulder chucking businesses like to make a big splash, gather up ALL the attention, make the biggest impact possible, and force people to spin around and ask, “What the hell was that?” They fill up social media feeds with their next big launch/program/service/thingamajig/six-figure business idea. Their impact spreads into the far reaches of your inbox, raking in people like you would fall leaves into a big, black Hefty bag.
Pebble flicking businesses understand the nuances of the lake. They capture attention in a subtle, singular way. Not everyone is going to notice a pebble flicker… and that’s okay. Not everyone understands the beauty of a small ripple. They’d rather be entertained by a big splash, The pebble flicker knows exactly where to toss the pebble. They know their audience is hanging out on the shady side of the lake, where the sunlight dances through the trees and glints off the water diamonds.
When I started my freelance writing company, I knew that I would never be a boulder chucker. Building a gigantic audience… one that I didn’t even know, where each person was merely a number on an analytics report… didn’t sit right with me.
I wanted a tight community, one where we wished people Happy Birthday with ‘I love you more than bacon’ postcards and gave people an escape from the dizzying “panem et circenses”… bread and circuses… being hurled at them full force from the other side of the lake. I wanted a deliberately intentional gathering of people who are all about the non-hustle, people who love purpose and meaning and odd humor. People who want to be cherished.
The thing about pebbles is that they stuff into pockets easily. You can carry them around with you wherever you go. And when you see the need to flick one, perhaps into a pristine pond or a hidden river, you can without hesitation.
Lugging a huge-ass boulder around with you in an XXXL Jansport backpack will eventually make you sag under the pressure. (Not to mention that you have to strap that damn pack onto your back wherever you go, just in case the moment arrives when you can finally chuck the rock.)
I prefer small… carrying the pebbles… not because I am afraid of a heavy boulder, but because I don’t want all of that extra weight limiting what I’m able to do in this life.
Pebbles skirting across the water, leaving tiny ripples in their wake, is one of the most beautiful things in the world.
To being small but mighty,