If I am given responsibility for a project, it becomes mine. I have a definite idea of how I want things to go. There is a picture in my mind of how everything will play out, and when someone tries to erase parts of that picture and scribble in their own drawings, I get mad. This is not a piece of my personality I am proud of. I turn into an uptight, controlling, snappy monster whose motto is, “Do it my way or I will use very sharp words to stab at your soft, fleshy underbelly of a limbic system.”
When it comes to working in a professional environment, this is not an acceptable way to operate. But it’s hard not to. The temptation to latch on to the hot fire of anger and go for a thrillingly out-of-control ride is almost too much to keep me rational. Oddly enough, people do not respond positively to this kind of fiery aggression. Where I want things to run smoothly, they become rough and jagged. Other people get angry, and I just feel like a terrible creature, born from hate and darkness. Lose-lose.
And so, I have had to learn to let go. The embarrassingly simple revelation came to me as I lay flat on my back, blood draining from my body: it’s not about me and what I want. The thing that is actually important is the success of the Blood Drive for which I have taken responsibility. It is not mine. I am only the facilitator, and I must give of myself instead of clutching what I want to my chest. The work I do is about something larger and far more important than my personal satisfaction. If I can remember that, some good just might be done in spite of me.