Hippos and Leadership, Part II — Surviving the Drought

The river doesn’t dry up in a day. The edges start to harden. The cool places grow shallow. The current slows to a crawl until even the smallest fish begin to die. The hippo feels it before anyone else. Its skin starts to burn. Its body aches for depth. But the rains haven’t come yet, and moving too soon could mean death by distance instead of drought.

So it waits—wisely.

And it survives by changing how it lives.

Leaders go through this, too. Maybe you’re still standing in the same place, doing the same work, surrounded by the same people—but something in the air has changed. The inspiration that once kept you steady feels thin. The joy of building something worthwhile has given way to duty, then to fatigue. You start dreaming about escape, but the next step isn’t clear yet.

That’s the drought.

And you can survive it—but not by pretending the water’s still deep.

In seasons of drought, survival means learning to conserve what keeps you alive. The hippo doesn’t waste movement. It slows down, sinks deeper into the mud during the hottest hours, and saves its strength for nightfall when the air cools and the grass can still be reached. The same principle saves leaders: slow down the things that drain you and cultivate what restores you.

You can never fix a drought by force, but you can endure it wisely.

Start by protecting your water—the habits, relationships, and connections that refill you. Most likely, you aren’t seeking to just change your environment (certainly not immediately), but you can keep it from changing you.

Guard yourself. Protect your rest. Fatigue blurs discernment. It’s easy to start fighting battles that don’t matter just to prove you’re still strong. Don’t do it. Rest is what keeps you clear enough to know which fights are worth it.

Stay gentle. Drought seasons tempt leaders to become brittle, defensive, or — a very nursing word: jaded. Stay soft. One of the first things that dries up in a drought is empathy, and you’ll need that the most.

Remember what’s still alive. Actively look for beautiful, for green—anywhere you can find it. The teammate who still believes. The mentor who still calls. The small win that shows the mission isn’t dead. Hope doesn’t have to be big; it just has to be real.

Feed only on what’s living. Don’t nibble on the carcasses of negativity, gossip, or resentment. They’ll make you feel full, but they’re gonna leave you sicker.

If the drought lasts, you’ll feel tempted to leave prematurely—to run before you can see where you’re going. But a wise leader knows the difference between an exit and an escape. The hippo doesn’t move until it senses rain elsewhere. It conserves enough energy to travel when the time is right. If you leave in panic, you may only collapse in the next dry bed.

Instead, keep your instincts sharp. Watch the horizon. Listen for change. Maintain your strength so that when the rain finally comes—or when the next river opens—you’ll be ready to move with a clear mind, not a broken spirit.

And here’s the part few expect: sometimes the hippo outlasts the drought. Sometimes the water returns to the same bed, fuller than before, washing away what couldn’t survive. The angst and infighting that mocked its stillness is gone. The patient leader often remains—stronger, steadier, scarred but standing.

Every drought ends.

The rains always come—sometimes to the same place, sometimes to another. Are you going to be alive to benefit from the rain?

Leaders who survive drought seasons don’t come out unchanged. They come out tempered—aware of their dependence on depth, more disciplined in their use of energy, more compassionate toward others that are still stuck in the mud.

The hippo doesn’t waste time mourning what the river used to be. It saves its strength for the water that’s coming.

So should you.

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