You Can't Snuff Me Out

Life is a series of ups and downs. None of us are exempt from that. In many ways, we only recognize the good times because we've lived through the difficult ones.

One of the hardest experiences, though, is feeling like you've become the target of someone else's actions. You work hard, dedicate yourself to a role, build something meaningful, and then suddenly find yourself fighting not to grow, but simply to hold onto what you've earned.

I've experienced that more than once.

If you've read Tightrope, you'll recognize the pattern. Much of my journey has been about trying to find my place, move forward, be accepted, and make a difference. You'll also know how my policing career ended, unexpectedly and without a plan. There came a moment when I could no longer accept a situation that conflicted with who I was.

Part of that decision was mine. Part of it felt like it wasn't.

Life has a way of moving us where we need to go, even when we don't understand it at the time.

Over the years, I've also witnessed something else. I've watched people who caused pain in my life eventually face struggles of their own, sometimes struggles remarkably similar to what I had experienced.

I don't say that with satisfaction.

In fact, when it happens, I usually feel empathy more than anything else. I know the sleepless nights. I know the uncertainty. I know what it feels like when your world suddenly shifts beneath your feet.

Maybe that's life balancing itself. Maybe it's simply a reminder that none of us are immune from hardship.

The real question is what we do with those moments.

Do we celebrate someone else's pain because they once caused ours? Or do we recognize our shared humanity and choose compassion instead?

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about revenge. Last week I wrote about it after hearing a story that stayed with me. Then, almost everywhere I looked, I saw more examples of it.

In organizations. In relationships. In politics.

So much energy is spent undoing what someone else built simply because we disagree with them. One group takes over and dismantles the work of another. Then the cycle repeats.

I've seen that firsthand.

There were times in leadership roles when I had the opportunity to contribute ideas and help shape a direction. Then a new leader would arrive, reverse course, dismiss previous work, or never even invite differing perspectives to the table.

The lesson I eventually learned is that leadership isn't about winning every battle.

It's about building something that can survive beyond your own time in charge.

If we believe our ideas have value, shouldn't we hope the next person will consider them fairly rather than automatically discard them?

And if that's what we want from others, shouldn't we offer the same respect ourselves?

The strongest leaders I've known weren't the ones who crushed opposition or sought revenge. They were the ones who built bridges. They listened. They found common ground. They created environments where different perspectives could coexist and strengthen the outcome.

Those people are rare.

Anyone can tear something down. Anyone can gloat when an opponent stumbles. Anyone can seek revenge.

But it takes real strength to rise above that.

No one can stop every setback that comes our way. No one can avoid being misunderstood, opposed, or hurt.

But they cannot snuff out your light unless you hand them the match.

Hold onto your character. Choose empathy over revenge. Build bridges where others build walls.

Imagine what kind of world we could create if more people did.

Photo was when I was the Officer in Charge of Ridge Meadows Detachment- a difficult time for me, this horse gave me a little peace that day.