By Duane Trammell
When a Hibiscus Teaches Servant Leadership
I love the showy flowers of summer hibiscus plants. So when spring arrived, I confidently marched into my favorite upscale nursery and bought what I was sure would be the star of our 25th-floor balcony. It was covered in buds — a clear promise of daily beauty as I sat outside with my morning coffee.
Or so I thought.
The buds grew, swelled, and looked ready to open… and then — thud — dropped off. One after another. Every single time.
Naturally, I did what any modern gardener does in a mild panic. I Googled. I consulted my plant-diagnosing app. I looked for bugs. I watered more. Then less. I sprayed baking-soda solutions. I moved the plant for more sun, then less sun. I hovered. I fussed. I encouraged.
Nothing helped.
Eventually, I accepted my fate. I owned a very healthy, very green hibiscus bush — with absolutely no flowers. It survived the brutal Texas summer, stubbornly leafy and bloomless, until December finally brought temperatures into the 30s. At that point, Steven and I carried it indoors and placed it near the window walls of our condo.
And then — miracle of miracles — the buds returned.
Not a few. Twenty-five. Thirty-five. They grew larger than ever before. And then they opened — spectacularly. Saucer-sized goldenrod blooms appeared everywhere. For weeks now, the plant has bloomed joyfully, producing one enormous flower after another.
Clearly, I needed answers.
So I consulted my wise and all-knowing friend — ChatGPT — who confirmed what I was beginning to suspect: my hibiscus simply preferred living indoors. Despite its tropical reputation, it did not enjoy 100-degree heat, dry air, or relentless crosswinds whipping across our northwest balcony. It wanted steady temperatures (72–76 degrees, thank you very much), humidity, and peace.
In short, Mr. Hibiscus was miserable outside — and thriving inside.
What struck me was how long I held onto my assumption. Hibiscus are tropical. Tropical plants like heat. End of story. Except it wasn’t. I hadn’t factored in wind exposure, reflected heat, or environmental stress. I was stuck in a belief that should have been flexible.
Which, of course, brought me back to servant leadership.
In my work, the best leaders I’ve known are those who can see potential — and who don’t assume that lack of flourishing means lack of ability. When someone struggles in a role, great leaders pause and ask: Is this a capability issue… or an environment issue?
Time and again, I’ve watched people who seemed stuck or mismatched come alive when placed on a different team, in a different role, or under different conditions. Like my hibiscus, they didn’t need fixing. They needed repositioning.
That kind of leadership takes humility and imagination — the willingness to set aside assumptions and try something new. Robert Greenleaf described servant leadership as “helping people grow taller than they would otherwise grow.” Sometimes that growth doesn’t happen through pressure or correction, but through a simple — and often brave — change of environment.
So here’s the question I’m holding:
Who in your care might already have everything they need to bloom — if only the conditions were changed?
And just as importantly:
Where might you be trying to bloom in conditions that were never meant for you?