There ought to be a sign whenever a major epiphany is about to take place. That way, you’re not caught, literally, with your pants down, i.e. while you’re taking a dump or shaving your pits in the shower. An epiphany deserves some dignity after all. But such is my life of gracelessness that my epiphanies have always taken place whenever I am at my most unglamorous. This last one happened sans underwear, my hands covered in paint. I even have camel toe photos to remember it by. Sweet.
My colleagues call it The Picasso Incident.
Suffice it to say that it was a test of will and vision. Mine against theirs. It was also my first test of true leadership. And I failed miserably. On the day my promotion became official. Mortified and contrite cannot begin to describe how I felt. Servant leadership died that day in Boracay. Sorry guys.
The thing is, I was prepared for people to get angry at me. That’s what happens when you’re fighting for your Big Idea. I was prepared to get bruised and bloodied for mine. What I wasn’t prepared to see was hurt and pain. As my boss chided during karaoke hour, “there’s no easy way to break somebody’s heart.”
It’s funny how we stumble on personal truths. I’ve been searching for mine for a very long time. Little did I realize that I would find it on that island where, a mere three months before, I had almost died.
And now I am alive again.
As Celie put it in the Color Purple, “I’m poor, I’m black, I might even be ugly, but dear God I’m here! I'm here!”
