The past few weeks I have been overwhelmed with headlines,
news stories, and the pictures of men I have worked with in the past. Men I
have sat with at tables, on their couches in their homes, and men I worked with
in prison. We discussed their desires, their
goals, their want for a different kind of life. I encouraged, guided, held
accountable, challenged, and kept pushing them forward. We shared pain, hope,
dreams, and desires. We exchanged anger,
frustration, and resistance. We looked for a common destination. I watched as
the joy, the relief they were finding began to erase the pain in their eyes. I
was visitor in their lives, a brief moment to share. I learned many years ago
that success was a very subjective idea. In the work I do success is a constant
measure being adjusted and critiqued. I let go f many my preconceived notions
about success long ago. I began to look at true success through a lens of
quality of life. Had the moments I shared with others enriched their lives somehow?
Had I expected the best from them? Will they remember how I tried to help, to
look out for them? I reflect on my times with them and wonder did I forget
something? Did I not tell them something they needed to hear? Did I show enough
care, empathy, and compassion? As I examine my conscience and feel joy for the
time spent with them I know that at certain moments their lives were better.
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