Stepping into the Flames

I should’ve known the minute I walked into the boardroom. It was like stepping into a burning building, the heat already unbearable, but no one seemed to notice the flames licking at the walls. The air was thick with the smoke of denial—but they all carried on as if the fire wasn’t inching ever closer. Papers were strewn across the table like kindling, and the execs sat there, eerily calm, adjusting their tailored suits while the room slowly turned to ash. I had been called in as the so-called “firefighter,” the one meant to contain the blaze, but judging by their faces, they weren’t interested in saving anything—they just wanted to pretend the fire wasn’t real.

Sir Cedric Crumble, the CEO, sat at the head of the table like a modern King Canute defying the tide, his throne embodying authority. His arms were crossed so tightly that he seemed on the verge of transforming into a pretzel. His piercing gaze made me feel as though I had proposed something as ludicrous as renaming the company "Fluffy Bunnies Inc."

Then there was Clarissa Cloudhop, the Chief Marketing Officer, who was more interested in her phone than in the future of the company. She was probably scrolling through some influencer’s post about the latest trend in dancing with avocado toast while I tried to convince her that the business was sashaying toward the drain.

Colin Cramble, the Chief People Officer, shuffled papers nervously, like he was trying to solve a Sudoku in his head. And at the far end, Constance Construct, the only one who seemed vaguely connected to reality, sat quietly, fingers tap-tapping on the table. She might actually get it, but even she looked worn out, like she’d spent too long trying to fight this losing battle.

I cleared my throat, launching into my now-familiar spiel. “The company’s on the edge. If we don’t make significant changes—”

Sir Cedric cut me off with a sigh that could’ve blown out a candle at 20 feet. “We’ve been through downturns before. This is nothing new.”

I blinked. Nothing new? This wasn’t a simple market downturn; it was in a full-on nosedive, and Sir Cedric was acting like we could coast through it on good vibes and nostalgia.

Stubborn Walls

I pressed on, refusing to let Cedric’s indifference derail me. “If we don’t adapt, we won’t survive. The market has shifted, and we haven’t kept up. Our strategies are outdated, our customer base is shrinking, and employee morale is at an all-time low.”

Sir Cedric waved a dismissive hand, like he was swatting at a fly. “What you’re suggesting is change for the sake of change. We’ve been profitable for decades. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

I could feel my frustration bubbling up. “Because it is broken, Sir Cedric. We’ve lost a third of our customers in the last year. The employees are disengaged, and we’re…” I looked around the table, “we’re running on fumes.”

Clarissa glanced up from her phone, her eyes sparkling with a new idea. “Ooh, maybe we should rebrand! How about neon colours? Or no, wait—we could pivot to influencer marketing! Everyone’s doing it these days.” She was enthused, alive with the brightness of her own brilliance.

I stared at her, half-expecting her to suggest we all start co-ordinated TikTok dances instead of our selling the actual product. “Influencer marketing isn’t going to fix this.”

She pouted, and rolled her eyes before turning them back to her phone and with a petulant sigh, “Well, you don’t have to be so harsh.”

Colin was still rummaging through his pile of papers, perhaps searching for a magical survey that would tell him why half the workforce was ready to jump ship. And Constance? Constance looked at me with those tired eyes that said, I’m sorry you have to deal with this.

I took a deep breath, remembering something I’d read about the brain and change. Neuroplasticity, that’s what it was called. The brain resists change because it’s wired to stick with familiar patterns. Comfort zones are cozy ruts, and Cedric was deeply nestled in his. If we wanted to break out of this mess, we’d have to disrupt the old patterns, like plowing over a field to plant new seeds.

But Cedric? Cedric, like a stoic ship’s captain, would rather go down with his sinking ship than swim for the shore.

Speaking Truth to Deaf Ears

Every word I spoke felt like I was throwing gravel at a brick wall, hoping it would crack. But the wall was reinforced with layers of stubbornness, fear, and denial. I could see it in Cedric’s eyes—he wasn’t going to budge. Not today. Not next week. Maybe not ever. Each meeting had become a painful exercise in futility, and I was running out of steam.

I felt a tightness in my chest, the kind that builds when you’ve been fighting the same battle over and over, only to see no progress. I felt like screaming, to shake them and make them see the reality that was staring them full in their faces. But I knew that wouldn’t work. Not with them.

My mind wandered back to something I’d learned about in a Psychologist’s TED talk about how the brain’s default response to overwhelming change ban be to shut down completely, to retreat into familiar territory. Cedric’s brain, it seemed, had built itself a fortress of complacency, and no matter how many times I tried to break through, I was just one person against a wall built over decades.

I felt like I was alone in this, like Sisyphus trying to push a boulder up a hill while everyone else was busy watching from the valley below.

Then, just as I was about to wave the white flag, Constance—quiet, steady Constance—spoke up.

“Maybe we’ve been too focused on staying comfortable,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Maybe it’s time we embrace a little discomfort.”

The room went still. Cedric’s eyes narrowed. Clarissa, predictably, looked horrified. Colin looked like he’d just heard someone suggest they set the building on fire.

But Constance didn’t flinch. “We’ve been avoiding the hard stuff because it’s scary. But maybe that’s exactly what we need. Maybe failing a little now is better than failing completely later.”

For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Finally, someone was echoing what I’d been saying all along. Change is uncomfortable. Growth is painful. But it’s necessary, nay, essential. “There is no growth without change, no change without fear or loss and no loss without pain.” I reminded myself of that famous Rick Warren quote.

Of course, I should have known better. Cedric leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a dismissive smile. “Discomfort? This is business, not philosophy class. We’ve survived worse times without needing to suffer. I didn’t get where I am today by suffering.”

And just like that, the flicker of hope was extinguished. I remembered a Bible verse my old mentor used to quote whenever I hit a wall: “Some seed fell on rocky ground, where it didn’t have much soil. It sprang up quickly, but when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root.” (Matthew 13:5-6, paraphrased).

I could feel the truth of it. Cedric’s mind was rocky soil—any seed of change that tried to take root was scorched before it even had a chance. It was almost as if he wanted to tease us with believing he wanted change and then snatching it away like a cruel joke.

Wrestling Resistance

I left the meeting feeling like I’d been run over by a bus, survived and hit by another bus just as I got to my feet again. Constance caught up with me in the hallway, her face apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I tried.”

“You did,” I replied, forcing a smile. “But Cedric’s mind is like a fortress. He’s not letting any new ideas in.”

Constance sighed. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting this. I’m not sue it’s worth it.”

I didn’t know either. Over the next couple of days, I tried to regroup, going over my notes, reworking my presentation, searching for something—anything—that would get through to Cedric. But each time I thought I had a new angle, it felt like I was just patching holes in a sinking ship.

Facing Failure

After that meeting, each day felt like I’d been sucker-punched. Every ounce of energy I had left was drained, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to keep fighting. But quitting wasn’t an option—not yet. Not when there was still a sliver of a chance to turn things around.

A few days later, the call came. Cedric wanted to see me in his office. My heart sank. This was it—the final showdown. I was to report to his office.

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His expression when I was ushered into the corner suite was unreadable, but I knew what was coming. “The board is considering other options,” he said flatly. “You’ve got one more chance to convince us. Otherwise, we’ll be moving in a different direction.”

I didn’t have to ask what that meant. If I didn’t pull off a miracle, I’d be out—and so would the company, eventually. The stakes had never been higher.

The day of the final meeting arrived, and the air in the boardroom was thick with tension. The weight of expectation pressed down on me, but I knew this was it. I’d either sink or swim.

At the front of the room, I stood with my sweating palms by my sides, but my voice steady. “We are failing,” I began, locking eyes with Cedric. “Not because of the market, not because of the economy—but because we’re too afraid to change. We’ve been clinging to old habits because they’re comfortable, but comfort isn’t going to save us. Growth requires discomfort. It requires pain.”

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