I have been employed by different enterprises, large and small. I never had the ambition to be a wild duck 🦆. I typically ended up being seen, treated and described as one anyhow. How strange for someone habitually avoiding rather than looking for conflict. How strange to be the person that the powers that be would love to hate. It is hardly comforting that most people only get to the stage of tolerating me while ignoring me.
You can’t have friends if you have no enemies.
Wild ducks are “bad for business,” say the powers that be, enthusiastically supported by the business suits, the career hunters, the position addicts. Yet, every time I decided to leave an enterprise the drama couldn’t have been bigger. How strange that it was even worse “for business” to leave. Honestly, the expected disasters never actually materialized. No company ever went out of business over this maverick duck flying off.
Although I know a few people that prefer calling me a Scrum panda 🐼, wilfully going independent left me feeling more like a butterfly 🦋 today. Like a butterfly I flap my wings. I observe, I create, I share. Like a butterfly flapping its wings I do it because it is in my nature, not because I envision specific consequences, big or small. Most consequences are inherently unpredictable anyhow.
I am flabbergasted when I see my ideas used and re-used without consultation, citing or other forms of attribution. Likely unintended, but there is a smell of disrespect. Much worse is it when shared ideas are turned simplistic, changed into stereotypes, their sfumato masked and concealed, concepts twisted, cut up, even butchered. That is… theft. No words can describe my emotions over this.
Regardless the lost art of attribution, I keep flapping my wings. Observing, creating and sharing is in my nature. It makes no sense for a butterfly to stop flapping. I’m not sure how that is for a wild duck.
It took time to realize, accept and embrace that most things take time, especially creating who you are. Is the turtle 🐢 in me gradually taking control?
The toughest fight in life in the end is the fight of not having to turn bitter.
(Louis Paul Boon – “My little war,” 1947)