Glass Houses
I've reached a place where I ask myself:
What is this information going to produce in my hands?
If somebody tells me something about another person, what am I supposed to do with it?
Sometimes the answer is: Absolutely nothing.
My grandmother used to say: “A dog that'll bring a bone will carry a bone.” As a child, I remember wondering: What in the world do dogs and bones have to do with this conversation? Then Grandma broke it down. The person who continually brings you everybody else's business will probably carry yours somewhere too.
Everything I know doesn't require an audience.
Everything I hear doesn't require my opinion.
Everything somebody sends me doesn't require a forward.
And everything trending doesn't require my participation.
Before you pick up somebody else's stone, examine your own glass. — Maia Treleaven
I've got purpose attached to my name.
I've got gifts to steward.
I've got relationships to protect.
I've got my own character to continually work on.
Why would I exchange any of that for the temporary satisfaction of carrying somebody else's bone?
My Grandma already warned me.
And I've lived long enough to understand something else:
Be careful celebrating the breaking of somebody else's glass. Life has a way of reminding you that yours isn't shatterproof either.
So I'm learning to put the stone down.
Not because standards don't matter.
Not because accountability isn't necessary.
Not because everything should be excused.
But because another person's humanity doesn't disappear when they make a mistake.
Neither does mine.
We all live in glass houses. The cracks are just in different places. — Maia Treleaven