Body of Work: Breaking Through the Ice

In this current season of evolution, I’m paying closer attention to my midlife body as a kind of body of work -- and the work it performs.

Our neighbor's ice chopper at work

In late January, my husband and I came home from a tropical vacation to find a solid sheet of ice covering our driveway. All local hardware stores were sold out of salt and shovels. The snow‑removal folks were backed up for days. A few years ago, after a similar storm, we tried to clear our icy front steps with what we had on hand: a plastic snow shovel and a broom handle as an improvised ice chopper. 

This time, we knew going in that we didn’t have the right equipment – and after a major storm isn’t ideal timing for procuring what one needs for snow removal. Thank goodness for generous neighbors with better‑stocked garages.

The front of our house is on the shady side of the street, so nothing was melting on its own. The storm and the shade were out of our control. What we could do was start where we were, borrow what we needed, and work together.

It’s too much to say it was fun, but I did enjoy the collaborative work as well as the time outside with my husband. There was something unexpectedly satisfying about it: finding just the right spot to wedge the tool, hearing the crack when one key piece loosened, watching a large slab of ice finally shift free. My nose was running like a toddler’s, my hands were bare (yes, I was gloveless), and I was bone cold. But I was determined to clear a pathway from the garage door to my car, parked in the driveway. 

With access to the right tools and in collaboration, I made it!

By the end, my arms were weak, my fingers numb, and my back tired in the familiar and satisfying way of real, necessary work — and I kept thinking about how much of leadership feels exactly like this.

What this taught me (and might teach us)

As I think about this “chopping ice” experience in the context of work and leadership, a few lessons stand out:

Sometimes the conditions are just the conditions.Shade is shade. Winter is winter. In schools and organizations, there are seasons and structures we don’t have the agency to change.. The question shifts from “How do I make this go away?” to “How do I work with what is?”

The “wrong” tools make work feel impossible. Those flimsy shovels and that broom handle years ago weren’t about effort; they were about mismatch. How often do we ask people to do serious change work with tools that are essentially broom handles in a sheet‑of‑ice situation?

The right tools don’t have to be yours to make a difference. Our neighbors’ equipment changed everything. Sometimes what we need is not to buy something new immediately, but rather to borrow a practice, language, or resources from someone else until we’re ready to invest.

Progress can be slow and still deeply satisfying. One crack at a time, one slab at a time, the path appeared. There was a visible “before” and “after,” even though we didn’t clear every inch. That’s often how culture work can feel: slow, repetitive, but markedly different when we step back.

Collaboration makes the hard parts more bearable. I might not have stayed out as long alone. Having someone beside me made the cold, the weight of the work, and the creeping monotony more doable. It reminded me that some tasks are designed to be shared.

If you’re responsible for people or projects – whether at work, at home, or in community – you might adapt consider these questions for yourself or your team:

• Where, in our current work, are we “chopping ice with a broom handle” – using tools or structures that don’t match the job?

• Who are our “neighbors” we could borrow tools from – people, programs, or practices beyond our immediate circle?

• What’s the equivalent of “buying an ice chopper” for us this year – one strategic investment that would make hard work meaningfully more sustainable?

• How can we make more of our hardest tasks collaborative, instead of assuming everyone has to chip away alone?