Is it the grass—or is it our gaze?

I wonder if there is any being more destitute than a human at birth.
And yet, in that very destitution, our eternal dignity is already written.
To be for another. Dependence, after all, is another name for love.

We all know our own victories and defeats yet remain blind to those of others. That blindness deepens and becomes timeless amid the crises of family and human relationships—without a gaze that pauses long enough to truly meet our own.

Today, the phrase “I don’t have time” seems to elevate us, as if it were proof of our importance—yet without time, there is only the bar at the corner.
Why do we run so fast? And toward what?
We need one another.

No organization collapses merely for lack of talent, but because of invisible defenses.
The group mole appears when the need for control replaces trust. Sometimes we call it prudence, sometimes strategy. Almost always, it is shared fear.

The Human Question

Here lies the central question of modern humanity, which has cast philosophy aside as a source of wisdom. Let us speak—metaphysically—about the difference between being and existing.

Being is the essence that endures through change; it is the foundation.
Existing is the way that essence unfolds through time; it is its manifestation.

When existence becomes separated from being, doing turns automatic, soulless, and the work itself is corrupted.
When being and existing are reconciled, action gains direction and life regains meaning.
Doing while being expresses authenticity—acting from the truth of who one is.

The first sign of a mole in a team is the loss of joy. When people stop celebrating good work, something underground has begun to crack.

And doing while being reaches its fullness only when it is with and for others.
We are not things to be used or discarded; we are someone for someone else.
Freedom lives in that daily decision—to give of ourselves without turning others, or ourselves, into mere means.

The Subject and the Ends

The end does not justify the means.

Mature teams are not those that avoid conflict, but those that transform it into dialogue.
Imposed silence is as harmful as aggressive speech.
A group grows when it learns both to speak and to be silent—with respect.
When leadership serves and accompanies, rather than imposes.

We live in constant relationship. The responses of others matter to us. We exist in a continuous conversation—through both what we say and what we leave unsaid.
Acceptance, recognition, and approval form the positive feedback that sustains optimism amid the fatigue of remaining faithful to one’s essence.
Sometimes, a single kind word is enough to carry an entire day.

When the need for recognition takes center stage, servility appears.
Service seeks the good of the other; servility seeks itself.
The first builds and creates; the second complains and grows impatient.

Those who serve from a secure identity do not crave constant applause. They understand that the worth of their work is not reduced to a line on a paycheck or a pat on the back.

We are not made for solitude. One of the most gnawing fears—the burrowing mole within professional life—is the fear of being left out, of not being considered, of not being asked for an opinion.
We seek the tribe as refuge; the crowd blurs the sharp edges of fear.

The best antidote to abandonment is to bring value.
In healthy teams, conversations revolve around shared purpose—mission, goals, and people.
But complicity within the tribe! that feeds on criticism of the absent breeds toxicity and distrust.

Trust as a Task

Leadership, management, and decision-making all bring us back to freedom.

In doing while being, responsible autonomy becomes the space where creativity dances with both success and failure.
Today, what we seek are people capable of thinking for themselves—of deciding wisely.

To manage well is to discern:
What can I decide on my own?
What should I decide after consulting?
And what is not mine to decide at all?

Inner freedom is not a trench behind which to hide with a “no comment.”

A shared garden needs conscious gardeners. Good intentions are not enough; consistent care is required.
Each person is responsible for the climate they create.

The virtues that fertilize collective life are simple yet demanding: humility, coherence, gratitude, and a sense of humor.

The experience of freedom is tested in both success and failure, in agreement and disagreement, in offense and forgiveness. It is a persistent “add and continue.”

Autonomy is not emancipation from truth and goodness; it is the maturity of one who aligns intelligence, will, and action toward an end worthy of life.

Such a person is neither stopped by criticism nor seduced by flattery.
They follow the voice of conscience and avoid the strategic duplicity that justifies everything by its outcome.

Coherence demands effort—and sustaining it over time is exhausting.
That is why learning to rest is essential. Caring for ourselves is necessary if we are to care for others.

In the rhythm of daily work, fatigue must be managed. Sometimes we love what we do so much that it is hard to put it down.
A coach once told me something that stayed with me:

“A work of art is never finished—it is abandoned.”

Self-Governance: Freedom in Growth

First, we learn to govern things: to know their nature, to respect it, and to put them at our service.
Not being possessed enables detachment when a greater good requires it.

Then, we learn to govern our decisions—and in doing so, we come to know ourselves.

Freedom, rightly exercised, makes transcendence possible: we give ourselves without dissolving, we offer ourselves without losing who we are.

Let us never forget who we are.
For the grass will always be, naturally, green.