Wounded Healer - Grasshopper

I’ve been lucky in my life. I’ve crossed paths with more than a few truly gifted human beings — people I’d put under the big umbrella of “People Helpers.”

These gifted folks, from all walks of life, have contributed greatly to my life, and increased my abilities to help people – one idea at a time.

And here’s what’s interesting: every one of these incredible people had this uncanny ability to step outside the norm and do things in a way nobody else had ever thought to try. They brought something uniquely theirs to the table — a kind of secret sauce. 

But they all had something else in common too. They were wounded.

And that puts them right in there with the rest of us, because let’s face it — we’re all carrying something.

We all have our heroes and heroines. But the mistake we make is forgetting that they have their flaws just like we do. We put them up on pedestals no human being can balance on for long. Sooner or later, they wobble, lose their footing, and tumble right out of the world of perfection we’ve put them in.

When Muhammad Ali died, I wrote an essay about him. He was one of my boyhood heroes, and I wanted to honor him. I said a lot of wonderful things, but one line stuck with me. I truly didn’t mean it as a pun, but as a statement of reality. I wrote, “Muhammad Ali had ‘feet of clay.’”

No matter whose footsteps we choose to follow, there will be countless missteps. The key is to make every effort not to take the same ones they did . . . twice.

Something I’ve learned — later in life than I’d like to admit — is that every single person you meet is dealing with a wound of their own. When you really let that sink in, it softens you. It makes you kinder.

I’ll leave you with a story I’ve told before. I used to go to this dry cleaners and have my shirts done when I was part of the shirt and tie world. They did flawless work - the best I’ve ever experienced. The woman who did the pressing, and also served behind the counter, was, in a word, irascible . She was ill tempered with everyone . . . kinda like the “Soup Nazi” on Seinfeld. I always left with beautifully pressed shirts, but with a lingering bad feeling inside.

One day, I went the extra mile and just commented to her, “You seem to be in pain.” That’s all I said. She burst into tears and told me the story of her and her brother who were brought up in orphanages, but always managed to stay together. They were closer than close. And now . . . her brother was dying. She didn’t know how to face the idea of losing the one constant in her life.

My future visits to this shop were different. They were met with a smile and pleasant conversation with a woman who was both gifted and flawed. 

So here’s the takeaway: be kind. Everyone is dealing with something — even the ones you’ve placed on a pedestal.

All the best,