One of the paradoxes of life, is how even though I yearn to write... My right hand threatens to perish if I continue to use it. Perhaps human hands were not meant to be this efficient.
Frankly part of me dreads writing this, I do not wish to come to terms with the reality that surrounds me.
Part of me craves the safety of my comfort. The peacefulness I've come to care for. The middle ground that does not challenge me, merely entertain my days away.
It's not a bad way to live.
I've of course known that leadership goes beyond getting to work all together as allies. As friends to have fun with. As a team that can know joy in each other's victories.
So color me surprised when a good amount of effort has to be routed to making sure the people above play their part as pieces of the board... Ones that believe they're in control of the movement too yet offer little value to the strategy.
This idea that a boss is meant to be your facilitator falls flat of the reality built by numbers and commodity. I do not blame them for reaching this comfortable middle ground, yet it is exasperating to see the lament of so many and be left wanting by these numbers that justify their inaction.
Mayhaps authority in itself is a value. Yet all I can think is the unused potential.
I hope I can be surprised. Embarrassing as it is, it is always a joy to know surprise and be able to learn.
My heart is shaved to pieces. The reality laid out before me is molded into a sensible shape yet one that disgust me to my core.
I hope I am being harsh. That this too is a consequence of my cruel standards that impose greatness on all. Yet I refuse to give up the tiranny of my belief.
We are all incredible. This I fully believe. And I believe it so strongly I always seek to bring out the best in everyone, because I know we too can shine bright... All we often need is a friendly helping hand.
It's so much work for such little time. To believe I could make a memorable impact in people's live... is arrogance I crave to savour.
I know it's sweet embrace. I've seen the smiles it can bring, the unity it can foster, the warmth it can present, the impulse it can manifest. It is intoxicatingly beautiful.
It was mine to hold and by the heavens it was painful to lose. Yet all I know it's gratitude and fear.
I don't wish to be guided by fear any longer. Though I'm grateful I've lost the team that we fostered as, even I, with my doubts and sabotage... feel a touch of dare and misplaced belief, that I could rebuild it again.
From ashes let it be built another, for if magic can be replicated.... Then why not build gardens for hearts to flourish?
It's a foolish endeavour, far more effort being spent than being given back.... For something as fleeting as our well being, as quiet as our experience, as personal as our life-- there is no reason to ever try.
And yet it is precisely because it is fleeting, that pointless effort we call life becomes etched in the patterns of our awareness.
I am but a candle navigating a sea of beads and wax. I am inspired by pictures on a screen. I yearn the comfort of their wisdom as the loneliness of my journey begins.
For I have chosen happiness and I fear what steps do my paintings look like to you?
Hello, hello.
Mr Armstrong. I hope this small step of ours is in the same direction as yours.