Several years ago, my son Mason decided he wanted to take karate lessons. His instructor was Sensei Doug, which sounds very official and slightly intimidating. I should also mention that his American name was just Doug.
At first, I had a very specific role in this whole karate adventure. I was the driver. I would bring Mason to class, sit on the nearby couch, watch him practice, and silently congratulate myself for being an involved father without having to stretch, kick, or accidentally pull anything important.
Each time we showed up, Doug would walk over and say, “You know, Tom, it’s really nice when the dads do karate with the kids.”
I would smile and say something deeply committed like, “That’s great, Doug,” and then take my place on the couch.
This happened more than once. Doug was patient, persistent, and annoyingly persuasive.
Eventually, I gave in. I said something along the lines of, “Fine. Give me a Gi. Let’s do this.”
That is how I began my karate career.
Since Mason had started before me, he technically outranked me. I had to line up by rank, which put me behind my seven-year-old son and a bunch of elementary school kids. There I was, a grown man, standing at the back of the line, trying to look dignified in pajamas.
Eventually, I earned my yellow belt, and I will admit something to you. I felt pretty good about it. I thought, “Look at me now. Moving up in the world. Standing ahead of those white belt beginners.”
That feeling lasted about one class.
Then Doug moved us into a different group, and I was right back near the bottom. To make matters even more humbling, there was a third-grade girl who regularly corrected my karate moves. The worst part was that she was right. She knew more than I did. She had practiced longer than I had. She had earned the right to correct me.
I eventually made it all the way to orange belt, which means I became what I like to call an advanced beginner. Please hold your applause.
Here is what karate taught me. If I had a problem with being a lower belt, there was something I could do about it. I could practice. I could listen. I could accept correction from Doug, Mason, and occasionally a third grader with better technique.
The problem was solvable.
That matters in leadership because many leaders treat solvable problems like permanent realities. We say things like, “That’s just how our team communicates.” “That person will never change.” “We are always bad at follow-through.” “This culture is just difficult.”
Sometimes those statements feel true because the problem has been around for a long time. But age does not make a problem permanent. Problems are, by definition, solvable.
If communication is a problem, it can be improved. If people continually fall short of your expectations, you can become more specific. If a skill can be trained, a process can be repaired, a habit can be changed, or a relationship can be strengthened, then there is something useful to do next.
That does not mean every solution is easy. It does not mean every person changes quickly. It does not mean every situation works out the way we want. But it does mean leaders should stop surrendering too early to problems that can be addressed.
This month, we are talking about the simple truth that problems are solvable.
A problem gives leaders information. It tells us where something needs attention. It shows us where skill needs to grow, where communication needs to improve, where expectations need to be reset, or where a better system needs to be built.
So, the next time you feel stuck, look again. Define the problem. Name what can be changed. Ask what can be practiced, trained, measured, repaired, or improved.
Then take the next useful step.
You may still be an orange belt for a while. That is okay.
Orange belts can improve.
Tom
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