Stress Management Patience: The Peanut Principle
Learn stress management patience through a childhood gardening lesson. Discover why high achievers sabotage success by pulling up the sprouts too early.
I have a confession to make.
I am a recovering project killer.
For years, I had a pattern. I’d start something with a burst of passion—a new business idea, a creative project, a fitness goal—only to abandon it weeks or months later when the initial excitement faded, and the results weren’t happening quickly enough.
I’d tell myself the idea was flawed, the timing was off, or that I wasn’t suited for it.
It took me years to realize the problem wasn’t the projects. It was me. And the root of this self-sabotage started in my childhood backyard, with a handful of peanuts.
The Peanut Garden and the Impatient Gardener
Growing up, I loved peanuts. My mom would bring home bags of them from the market, and I’d devour them. But I was also a curious kid. One day, I decided I wouldn’t just eat them; I would grow them. I had the mindset of teaching myself new things from an early age.
I took a handful of raw peanuts, went out into the yard, and with the focus of a seasoned farmer, I dug small holes and planted my seeds. But I did it in secret. I chose a small, forgotten patch of the yard where no one would notice.
My mom, my sister, my brother—none of them knew about my little project. This was mine alone.
The crazy part? My siblings had their own gardens, out in the open. My sister planted vegetables that grew to fruition. My brother planted small patches of sugarcane that matured gracefully. Their success was public.
My experiment was private, which only added to the self-imposed pressure: theirs worked, so mine had to.
I watered them carefully, my heart full of the grand vision of a peanut empire. Or so I thought.
Every day, I followed a pattern. I’d rush outside to my little patch of dirt, watering can in hand, and inspect the soil for any signs of life. At first, there was only dirt, and nothing more. But I kept watering.
Then, one morning, it happened. A tiny green sprout, no bigger than my fingernail, had pushed its way through the soil. Success! My farmer’s heart swelled with pride.
The next day, another appeared, and then another.
But this is where my fatal flaw appeared. A harmful mix of impatience and curiosity started to form in my young mind.
“How are they growing down there?” I wondered. “Are the peanuts forming yet? How big are they?”
The need to see the progress became unbearable. So, I did what any impatient, curious child would do. I kneeled, grabbed the base of the most promising sprout, and gently pulled.
Up came the tender shoot, with a few flimsy roots attached. There was no peanut. Just a shriveled seed case, its job barely begun.
I had killed it. In my desperate need to verify the growth, I destroyed it. Of course, I didn’t learn my lesson. I repeated the process, each time hoping to find a fully formed peanut and each time only finding a dead sprout in my hand. I never harvested a single peanut.
Talk about a peanut empire!
The High Achiever’s Dilemma: Confusing Stillness with Stagnation
For decades, I continued to pull up the peanuts. Not in my garden, but in my life.
I’d start a new business venture, and if I don’t see explosive growth after a month, I’d pivot to something else. I’d begin a writing project, and if the words didn’t flow perfectly after a few weeks, I’d shelve it. I’d launch a new marketing strategy, and if I saw only mediocre results after two weeks, I’d declare it a failure and move on to the next shiny object.
Like my childhood self, I was confusing a lack of visible progress with no progress at all.
I failed to understand a fundamental law of nature and of growth: the most critical work happens underground, in the dark, where no one can see it.
This is a common trap for high achievers. We become hooked on metrics, feedback, and the dopamine rush from a chart climbing upward.
When we don’t see immediate results, our minds create a story: “It’s not working. You’re failing. This is a waste of time. You should be further along by now.”
And so, we pull up the sprouts. We abandon the project, the habit, the strategy, right when the roots are just starting to take hold.
The Peanut Principle: A Framework for Trusting the Process
Over the years, through my coaching journey and work with other professionals, I’ve created a framework to overcome this pattern. I call it ‘The Peanut Principle.’ It’s a method for shifting your focus from the outcome to the process, from validation to cultivation.
It starts by understanding the two mindsets:
Step 1: Define Your “Watering Can” (Focus on Process)
You can’t control when the sprout appears. You can control whether you water the seeds. Identify the daily or weekly actions that are completely within your control. These are your “watering can” metrics.
- Instead of: “Get 100 new subscribers this month.”
- Focus on: “Publish one high-quality article every week.”
- Instead of: “Close 5 new clients.”
- Focus on: “Have 10 meaningful conversations with potential clients.”
Focus on maintaining consistency with the process, rather than the fluctuations in the outcome.
Step 2: Set a “No-Peek” Timeline
Commit to a period—I suggest 90 days—during which you avoid obsessively checking the results. This is your “no-peek” agreement. For 90 days, your only responsibility is to show up and water the seeds. You are not allowed to judge the results, progress, or the project’s viability.
This forces you to detach your emotions from the outcome and find satisfaction in the work itself. It starves your impatience of the data it craves.
Step 3: Reframe “Failure” as Data
What if a sprout never appears? The Peanut-Puller sees it as a personal failure: “I’m a terrible gardener.” The Gardener sees it as data: “Perhaps the soil was bad, or it needed more sunlight.”
When a project isn’t successful, don’t view it as a reflection of your worth. Get curious. Is it the strategy (the soil)? Is it the execution (the water)? Is it the market (the sun)? Separate your identity from the outcome and analyze the process with the unbiased curiosity of a scientist.
Step 4: Find a Fellow Gardener
Share your project with a coach, mentor, or peer who understands The Peanut Principle. Tell them what you’re planting and your watering schedule. Ask them to be the person who, when you text them in a panic saying, “I think I should pull it up!”, replies with a simple message:
Don’t you, dear, do such a thing. Just keep watering.
I still feel the pull of impatience. The urge to check the stats, seek validation, or pull up the sprouts is a constant presence. But now I recognize it. When I do, I picture that little boy in the backyard, holding a dead sprout, and I remind myself of the most important lesson he ever learned.
Growth occurs in the dark. Trust the process and keep watering.
What is one “peanut” you’ve pulled up too early in your life or career?
Please leave a comment below—I’d love to hear your story.
P.S. Ready to develop the patience that leads to lasting success? Start with Download my free 5-Day Stress Pattern Discovery Guide and identify what’s really driving your impatience.
This story was originally published on Substack.
