Tags:
Journalism of Courage
I ambled between stalwart oaks during my mid-morning walk. Acorns torn off their boughs by the winter rain were strewn all over the gravel. A curious tableau played behind me: an interrogating father and a recalcitrant son. The boy appeared to be in acute discomfort, while the man sounded demanding. Finally, the boy balked: 8220;Don8217;t push me!8221;
Thirty years later, the boy could well be inquisitor and his son, the young man shuffling alongside. People don8217;t like being pushed for results. Strangely, results don8217;t like being pushed either. We push, they balk; we pursue effort, results pursue us. My friend, Krishna of the Gita, knows this well. Therefore, karmanyevadhikaraste 8212; you are obliged to act, not to produce results. What a relief!
But wait, there is a corollary. Suppose it is not a duty but a desire masquerading as duty, how does one know? A check is in order. Suppose my decision turns out to be a disaster, pushes the targeted result beyond my reach, will my enthusiasm also ride away with it into the horizon? Then, unmistakably, it is an impostor of a desire strutting around in purple robes as a duty. But, if my spirits remain upbeat despite the failure, I don8217;t get stuck singing a dirge at the funeral of a lost venture, then I am safe within the duty design.
I move ahead to another task, another decision, another action, and the grand dame 8212; what if? 8212; florescent in red, can keeps rolling her doleful eyes in dismay. I shall pass her by, waving cheerily as I make my way ahead, tossing my desires in the care of my friend K-of-the-G to handle them as He sees fit. As for me, I do my duty with my capability.
