On a Walk & Talk session once, we wandered the cwms of Llanwenarth Breast.
From pine, to beech, to oakโฆ new growth everywhere, dappled light shifting constantly in the breeze.
Like thought.
โThereโs an abandoned village in here somewhere,โ my client informed me.
I knew there were ruined habitations, but had never linked any of them together. It became a game, every wall we saw โmight be part of it?โ
Then we came to this place. A full collection of buildings, perched at the head of the valley, almost completely reclaimed by nature. The notion of a street headed up between a few of them, but the human built structures had long been outpaced by the natural world.
Almost at the door of each ruin stood a hulking sycamore. Like a sentry.
It was sobering. A stark reminder of our impermanence. Compared with this landscape, weโre little more than mayflies, dancing fleetingly with life.
Weโre here, we create for a while, and weโre gone.
It focused the mind.
Conversation turned imperceptibly towards the nature of our own creations. What did we really want from our time here? What would be cool to bring into existence? What were we kidding ourselves about? Where were we holding back?
By the end of the walk, weโd knocked down some walls of our ownโthe invisible, โWTF is that doing there?!โ kindโand there was a plan. Some next steps to take.
Nothing big, because nothingโs big, taken in isolation. Just enough to get the machinery moving with intention.
One, small, imperfect step, taken in the moment.
Later that evening came the feedback. The steps had been taken.
Ripples had been made, and in some cases had already achieved resonance โ troops were mobilised!
Weโre all the same.
We all tell ourselves stories that hold us back.
When these are gone, well, then thereโs just the work to do. So do it.
Because in the words of Napoleon Hill,
โDonโt wait. The time will never be just right.โ
๐
Giles
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