We were anchored in the middle of a lake when the storm rolled in.

A group of us had been jumping off rocks, floating around, doing exactly what a summer afternoon is supposed to look like. Nobody was watching the sky. By the time we noticed clouds building on the horizon, they were already moving fast. The air had that thick, electric feeling that tells you the weather has already made up its mind. We just hadn’t been paying attention.

We got everybody back on the boat. Someone pulled the anchor line. It didn’t budge.

We took turns diving down trying to dislodge it. We repositioned the boat. We tried every angle we could think of, but nothing. The storm was getting closer, and we were burning time on a problem that had no good solution, only a decision.

What I remember most isn’t the anchor. It’s the faces of the people on that boat. Nobody was panicking. But everyone was watching—every failed attempt, every wasted minute, every repositioning that changed nothing. They weren’t saying much. They didn’t have to. The storm on the horizon was saying it for them. I could feel their patience thinning. They had trusted us to get them home, and we were still down there diving on an anchor. It was time for a decision.

Stay and ride it out. Or cut the line and go.

We cut it. Left a perfectly good anchor on the bottom of that lake and ran. And I remember thinking, as we pulled away, how strange it felt to abandon something that had served us well—something we paid for and that was ours—just because holding onto it had become the most dangerous thing we could do.

I think about that anchor a lot when I look at organizations.

Most of you reading this already know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve felt it: that slow, grinding sensation of an organization that should be moving but isn’t. A situation where decisions take longer than they should, where workarounds have become part of the job description and where everyone on the team privately knows what the problem is, but nobody is saying it out loud.

It’s tricky, though. The anchor is rarely dead weight. More often, it’s something that genuinely worked—a process that got you to where you are, or a belief that powered early growth. Sometimes it’s a person who was absolutely the right hire at the time—talented, loyal and someone you respect, who has simply become the place where everything slows down now. Decisions stack up waiting for them. Information only moves through them. The team has quietly built workarounds just to get things done.

I’ve had to cut that line more than once.

At FlexScreen, we had to let go of the way we’d always done things several times as we grew. Every single time, it was scary. Every single time, the other side of it was faster and better. I’ve also had to let go of people who were talented and loyal and still anchors to where we needed to go. That is a harder decision than letting a bad employee go. There’s nothing to point to. Just the honest truth that the organization can’t move the way it needs to move with them in that seat.

And here is the part that never gets easier: You already knew. You knew for months, maybe longer. And every day you waited, your best people were watching you not decide. That’s the cost nobody puts in the spreadsheet.

Leaders talk a lot about credibility. Most think they lose it by making the wrong call. The truth is, you lose it faster by making no call at all. Your team doesn’t need you to be perfect. They need you to be decisive. Every week that the anchor stays, they’re not just frustrated with the situation. They’re losing faith in you.

But here’s what leaders miss: Your team already knows what the anchor is. They’ve known longer than you have. They’re sitting on that boat watching you dive down again, trying one more reorganization, one more coaching plan, one more conversation that changes nothing. Every failed attempt isn’t just wasted time; it’s a withdrawal from an account you can’t afford to overdraw. Their patience isn’t unlimited. And the best ones—the people you most need moving fast with you—they’re watching the storm and quietly deciding whether this boat is going to get them home.

The moment we cut that line and opened up the throttle, the boat moved. No drag. No resistance. Just open water. Your organization will too.

You already know what the anchor is. So does everyone on your boat.

What are you still waiting for?