A team of researchers have been following a group of Harvard and non-Harvard men for over 60 years to understand source of human happiness. What makes us happy? Fame? Wealth? Achievements? According to their research, it boils down to one thing: healthy relationships with quality people.

The happier we are, the longer we live.

Is it possible that unhappy people die early because they have nothing to live for? They no longer have a reason to exist. No one to share their lives with. No one to greet in the morning. No one to call when something good happens. No one to fall back on when everything breaks down.

Because when we get older, we care less about what people think of us. We care more about how we feel in our own skin. We care more about spending time with people we choose. Maybe unhappy people have burned too much bridges. Or didn’t invest enough time on relationships that mattered. Wasting time on frivolous things and throwaway people. Or maybe they let their egos control their lives.

Who am I spending the most of my time with? The ones I treasure.

Truth is born from a place of discomfort. To be true is to thrash and search for the very thing staring back at us. It is revealed in layers. It shows itself only when we open our eyes. It will break precious narratives borne from basic survival instincts. It must be caught before it can be released.

It means we embrace discomfort. It means we don’t run away from ourselves. It means we dig deep until our last breath. It means we surround ourselves with those who love us and challenge us.

I am grateful for the people in my life that fill me with love, laughter, pain, healing and acceptance.

It is a roadmap to lead me back to where I was and remind me who I used to be. I am leaving a trail of bread crumbs so when I find myself lost again, I won’t get as scared. I won’t get as lost. So that I can find my way back to myself.

I used to wake up in the middle of the night looking for someone to comfort me. Fill the hole in my heart. Take away the loneliness. Take away the pain. And of course, I would be alone with no one to soothe me.

I am crafting a set of lenses to reflect upon past struggles, triumphs, and paths to bring me back into the present before searching for a brighter tomorrow.

My writing is a gift to myself. It is my self care. It is my way of dealing with my painful past.

I seldom wake up like I used to. But when I do, I know who to reach out to and what I must do. I reach out to myself. I soothe and embrace the frightened child until she falls asleep. I am all I needed. I am all I need. I didn’t know this until I grew older and wiser. Perhaps I wasn’t ready until I was older and wiser.

Writing is what I do when no one is watching. It is what I do without pay. It is what I do without recognition. I do so with diligence and care. I do so with brutal honesty. It makes me uniquely me. It makes me happy.

My laptop is in the ICU after I advertently deleted critical system files.

I have been able to work without it. I dare say more effectively and efficiently.

I spent more time speaking to colleagues and coaching my team on what they are working on. I had the team print out their projects so I can review without digital distractions.

What I thought was absolutely necessary was actually a value detractor.

Where do we spend the majority of our time? Are we in the right place doing the right things? Is it adding value or is it robbing me of my precious time?

We embrace for the very first time. I look into your eyes and tell you the hidden truth. “You know I love you, right? I have loved you for a long time but was too afraid to say it.” Then your eyes turn misty. You say you feel the same.

I whisper so no one else can hear, “you know, you deserve all the love and happiness in the world. I love you. I love you.”

Then we embrace once more.
I have always been with you. I will always be with you.

If we say goodbye now, my heart will wither away, like it did many times before this moment. I’d like to give ourselves a fighting chance to thrive before I shut you out again. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? This is not the first time, nor this will be our last. I wish this was our last, but I’m learning to let go of the things I cannot control. See how far we’ve come? See how big we’ve grown?

I love you. I have loved you for a long time. I have loved you without expectations. I have loved you wholeheartedly. But also with hesitation. I have loved you in my shadows. The love never saw the light. The love was too afraid to come out.

Today and forever, I will love you willingly. This time will be different. I will love you and tell you so. I will let the light into this love. The person I adore. The person I respect. You are worthy. You are beautiful. You are enough.

I will let the love feed and nourish your frail soul. I will open the windows wide open to let the sunshine in. I shall let the love flourish despite the tears. Because I know now what not to do. Because I know now what to do.

I hope you see how wonderful your imperfections are. You deserve love and kindness, more than you are used to. You give so much. You must learn to receive.

You will do great things. You’ve already done so much. Remember, things never work according to your master plan and that’s okay.

You’ve been looking for me in all the wrong places. All you had to do. All you have to do now and forever is to open your eyes to let the truth in. The person you seek has been with you since the beginning of time occupying different parts of you. The unconditional love you seek lives within you.

You and I are one. I have grown big and strong to protect you and embrace you. You don’t have to hide anymore. You don’t have to run away. You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to be afraid. Remember, you don’t have to be afraid. The fear that’s kept you safe is no longer required to keep you alive. You don’t have to stay quiet. No harm will come your way.  You are no longer a small child. You no longer have to shed your tears in solitude. You have done your best. You have earned your rest.

I am you. You are me. We are one.

And I love you. I love you with all of me because you are all I have. I am all you have. And this is enough. You are and I are enough. Together, just as we are.

My lips are dry. I step into Loccitane to pick out a product.

Nicole greets me, and we start a casual conversation. She moved from Port Alfred a year and a half ago and her sinus is killing her from both the altitude and the dryness. I tell her I hang a wet towel next to my bed as I find humidifiers too much of a nuisance to maintain. I had similar issues and it went away after two years of acclamation.

She wants to be a teacher. Her Dad was one, and he had abundant quality time with his family. She wants the same lifestyle and was faulted by her friends for not having a better reason for choosing the profession. I like her honesty. Qualified teachers are in short supply. I tell her so and she’s surprised. She says people don’t appreciate her honesty. Her friends don’t get her. I tell her that I used to hang out with people I didn’t enjoy spending time with, after growing tired of doing everything myself. Eventually, I found people who love and appreciate me for who I am.

Johannesburg is full of transplants who are looking to expand their friendship circle. Behind the bustle are people like you and me not from here. Everything takes time. For me, 3 years exactly.

I moisturize my chapped lips. I thank her for the conversation. I tell her I will drop by again to say hi. We hug each other goodbye. She shouts, “you just made my day. Thank you so much.”

Ditto, Nicole.

Thanks.

Imagine a group of young black men pumping their fists high above their heads with sweat and tears down their muscular faces. They look hungry for more.

What do you think is happening? How do you feel about this situation?

What if I told you this picture was taken in South Africa, on the day of Nelson Mandela’s inauguration?

Now, what do you see?

Context is the frame in which we fill the content. Without context, the content can be interpreted in million other ways away from the truth.

With limited time and competing attention for our time, we often jump to the content without spending enough time framing and contexualizing the big picture.

No context, no content.

The best teachers don’t tell us the answer. They help us to see what’s already inside us. They are the gardeners of the truth.

It beats and beats, inaudible to those who can only see. Deaf to the true treasure buried beneath its bosom of masculinity, too often mistaken for its ostensible beauty. Too often sold as a magazine cover.

Dismissing the soul too deep, too old, too layered, too soft.

Tempered to withstand the application of hot and cold…. forged in the streams of time, by those who came before him. The ancestors from the world bordering violent enemies once before, now neighbors on the same page facing extinction of fragile humanity in the name of modernization.

We are the sum of the flames of the forgotten past. We are shaping something greater than ourselves before our own fire is extinguished. Without them I am nothing. Without us they are lost forever.

The treasure trove of your creativity is inked in black and surreal.

The sun’s spotlights are focused on a set of trees. The wind gyrates their branches adorned with bangles of scattering leaves. Mother Nature’s symphony commands my attention.

I obey blindly to see the things invisible to the sight. The shadows dance on the trusting eye lids, to let the wind sprinkle magical sawdust to join the nature’s dance with the beat of my footsteps.

Slowing my pace as it glides along the path with the eyes shut to welcome the beauty of the fleeting moment. I count to ten before the lights enter my pupil, and I rejoin the world. Behind me, I leave the secret wildness of my imagination.

Your skin is like leather.

Not because it’s rough because it’s smoother than the finest marble.

Not because it’s aged because it feels softer than the baby’s bottom.

Your skin is like leather because underneath your tough hide, the softest side of you is opened to a few and privileged.

You lips open the door. The tenderness of your strong heart. The wisdom of your noble mind. The freedom of your old soul. I fuse my body to yours, connecting the heart, mind and soul during the process. A special experience is locked in this window of time, revealing bright rainbows from past thunderstorms. Once fearful and destructive is now beautiful and nourishing. The shadows are soft and inviting as they are colored with children’s imaginations full of delight, marshmallows and cotton candy.

She was emotional. I was not. I apologized for my logical and effective action that resolved silly escalations that had spiralled out of control for two months. But she felt that I stole credit and did not acknowledge the good work done by her team. She also demanded fairness and said we shouldn’t help someone who didn’t follow the process.

I did what I did to stop the email wars because principles don’t make the noise go away.

I said I was sorry and meant every word. I wasn’t sorry for what I did. I was sorry that she was upset. I was sorry for the miunderstandings. If I had to do it all over again, I would take the same action.

I thanked her for the honest and frank feedback. She thanked me for being always open to feedback.

Being a leader isn’t about being right. It’s about listening, understanding, and accepting. I also learned that the best way to motivate her is to acknowledge her team for the hard work they do. She wants recognition of the effort that went into their work day.

Effort is important, yes. But I measure and value outputs. I now understand how she wants to be treated, and so, I will adjust my approach.