I’ve been thinking again about lobsters. It’s not a new theme, in fact, I explored it right here, a little over a year ago.

When a lobster grows, it cannot simply expand the shell that is already there. The very structure that once protected it becomes what now constrains it. So the lobster has to molt.

It splits the shell. Leaves it behind. Emerges soft, exposed, and vulnerable.

And then, slowly, grows into a larger form with a new, more expansive, protective shell.

And here’s the part I keep coming back to: lobsters don’t stop growing. They continue to molt throughout their lives. They are not technically immortal, of course, and predators and disease are real. But left to their own natural unfolding, they have an extraordinary capacity to keep growing.

It makes me wonder.

That we, too, might be designed for ongoing growth.

That we, too, might keep expanding throughout our lives.

Provided our fear doesn’t keep us small and in the same shell for too long.

I first learned about this metaphor from Dr. Ellie Drago-Severson, who used it in connection with adult development and the vulnerability we feel when moving from one way of knowing to another.

At the time, this image helped me understand the vulnerability I was experiencing in my own personal and leadership development.

Now, in this age of continuous change, it seems even more relevant. If we are being called forth to keep growing, then we may be spending a greater percentage of time in softer states that feel risky.

Our instinct is often to protect ourselves. To wait for certainty. To stay small so the old shell can stay on just a little longer. Or to stay hidden while waiting for the new shell to harden.

Which is so human.

So maybe the invitation, in leadership and in life, is not to force ourselves to be fearless in the molt. Maybe it is to be kinder in the in-between.

To normalize the discomfort.

To feel the stronger sensations.

To stay connected while something new is still forming.

Because we are all molting in some way.