You can lead a horse to the water, but you cannot make it drink.
I used to think the problem was the horse.
Stubborn. Egoistic. Unwilling to change.
Until one day, I realized… maybe the problem wasn’t the horse.
Maybe it was me.
I have a manager in my team. A few times, feedback came from top management about the way he communicated during meetings. The message reached me, so naturally, I took it upon myself to guide him.
I shared what I knew.
What to improve.
What to avoid.
How to structure his message.
I gave him tips—many tips. Perhaps too many.
Communication and leadership are topics I’m deeply passionate about, especially after my journey with Toastmasters. I’ve seen how it transformed me, so I was excited—maybe overly excited—to pass that knowledge on.
One day, after our monthly meeting, I gathered a few staff members. I introduced them to a simple Toastmasters-style exercise.
A three-minute speech.
A timer.
An “Ah-counter.”
After the speech, I gave my evaluation. Then others followed.
It felt productive. Structured. Meaningful.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Then I asked him,
“What do you think about this session?”
His response stopped me.
He said he had worked in many companies before, and no one had ever criticized the way he spoke. He felt uncomfortable—disappointed, even—with the amount of feedback he was receiving now.
“What is the real issue?” he asked.
His words hit deeper than I expected.
I paused.
That night, I went home and thought about it. For hours.
Lately, I had been hearing something similar from people closer to me.
My children said I talk too much.
That I “nag.”
That not everything I say is easy to accept.
My wife, too, would point out that when I speak, I often drift away from the main point.
Different people.
Different settings.
Same message.
That was not coincidence.
That was a mirror.
It was time to reflect—not on others, but on myself.
Maybe not all advice needs to be spoken.
Maybe not all knowledge needs to be shared immediately.
Maybe… advice that is not asked for often carries little value.
Or worse, it creates resistance.
I began to see it differently.
Perhaps I had been trying too hard to make the horse drink.
Standing there, pointing at the water.
Explaining how clear it is.
How important it is.
How thirsty the horse should feel.
But I never stopped to ask—
Is the horse ready?
So now, I choose a different path.
I listen more.
I speak less.
I ask before I advise.
Because sometimes, leadership is not about giving the best answers.
It is about creating the space for others to discover their own.
And maybe…
When the horse is truly thirsty,
it will drink on its own.
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