"A cat pours his body on the floor like water."
—William Lyon Phelps
In crisis, we reveal our true character or something like that. I've heard this a lot over the last month or so, followed by some super great thing (or super-bad thing) someone is doing. Before this crisis, I used this idea as an example of my default approach to management decisions. When the pressure comes, I default to sales person mode, agree to anything, and try to please. Others might default to controller mode, saying no, and buying time. There's no right or wrong here, no judgement, just saying stressful situations tend to reveal glimpses of our true selves.
Most days I get up early enough that it's dark in the house. I've learned to take cautious first steps because you never know what's going to be underfoot. When the kids were little it may be a Lego, but nowadays it may be the new cat in our lives, Bianca. On this particular morning, she happens to be hiding on the first step of the stairs.
I'm a big guy and, as I head downstairs, all my weight comes down on some soft, furry part of poor Bianca. Instinct kicks in and I recoil my foot, flail about reaching for the rail, and slip down a few stairs. I make a huge noise, as does Bianca, and I end up on my ass, on the stairs, in the dark. Not moving. Wondering if this is how it ends. Taking inventory of body parts.
It's a dramatic moment.
My lovely bride jolts awake and charges into the room.
"Oh! What happened?!? Is Bianca alright?!?"
Yep. First thing out of her mouth. Time of crisis. True colors.
It's all good. I'm okay with it. At least I know where I stand. Just below the kids and pets, but still above the kitchen. (although there has been talk about remodeling. . .)
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