Summer logbook #3 — the dandelion and what you sow without knowing it

The question came on an ordinary weekday, during a post-lunch break, just to get some air. A field of dandelions on the path. And a sudden, almost childlike urge to see if a single breath would be enough to send them all flying.

Some leave. Others hold on.

Some dandelion seeds left in an instant. Others held firm, gripping their stem, as if choosing to stay.

My own thoughts do exactly this: they scatter in every direction at the smallest disruption — a meeting, a message, a frustration. Even more striking: the words I say each day to my clients carry this same dispersing power. I never know which one will land somewhere and take root and which will disappear into the grass without a trace.

Words that take root years later

A few weeks ago, someone I have been coaching for a long time wrote to say she thinks of me almost every day — when she catches herself falling back into old patterns: justifying herself, not taking a position, hiding behind the idea of harmony.

Another recalled something I had said to her ten years ago about her next career step. A remark that had stung at the time. And that turned out, with time, to be the best advice she ever received.

What you sowed today without knowing it

So here is the dandelion question, in the middle of summer. What did you sow today without knowing it in a meeting, in a corridor, in a message sent quickly?

And rather than letting the wind decide alone where it lands ,what do you actually want to grow this summer, in someone else?