I need to push you to push me.
So that I can do the work that I need to do. The stuff that’s clamors and clangs as it crawls its way out of my torso.
Here’s how that might work:
I’ve inclinations and suspicions of worth to be wrangled and put to work. These are things I’d like to do, like to be, like to see. They’re the fuller-bladed meadow opposite the postage stamp-wearing drab where my lawn furniture currently holds court. I’d much rather be on the other side of this thing.
So I tell you. And maybe a few others. You widen your eyes and give an approving grin. You see why this thing needs to be but it’s not your thing. Even if you’re involved in it you still aren’t going to lean as hard as I’m going to. So you say what you can say to fill my bucket with courage, lick your hand, pat down my cowlick and wish me luck.
Now I’m on my own to make it happen. You probably said to keep you posted or something like that. You do actually want to know. You might actually ask at some point how it’s going. But you might not. Not because you don’t care. But because you don’t care like I do. You might actually wait for me to bring it back up again. But what if I don’t? What if I’m waiting for you to ask? What if I got confused or scared or lonely or tired or lazy along the way? What if I’m hiding like a child under the coffee table hoping to be found?
It matters even more when you are a part of it. Those are the times when we’re counting on each other. You want it for both of us. You show me the way. I say, “That’s great. Let’s do it.” Now you have the runway. So, do I push you? Maybe. I probably assume you’re pushing yourself. Maybe that’s a mistake. You could confuse my lack of pushing as a lack of interest or confidence.
Sometimes we need to be pushed. Sometimes we need to push. Sometimes we need to push the people who push us.
The default?
If you think something needs to happen you need to push yourself. Seek out others who want it, too, but don’t wait for them to push back.
Photo credit: Wikipedia
