Fire Burns, But Water Erodes
Some forms of harm are obvious. Others are not. Fire, for example, doesn’t hide what it is. It’s immediate. Visible. Intense. You know when you’ve been burned. Water is different. Water moves slowly. Quietly. It doesn’t demand your attention in the same way. But over time, water reshapes everything it touches. I’ve always had a more fiery personality. I tend to notice things quickly. I ask questions. I feel reactions clearly and in real time. For a long time, I thought the goal was to contain that—to keep it controlled, acceptable, less visible. And there is value in containment. Like a fire in a fireplace, structure matters. Without it, intensity can become destructive. But over time, I’ve come to see something else more clearly: Fire, for all its intensity, is honest. It shows itself. It rises, it burns, and—when it’s allowed to settle—it often makes space for clarity, reflection, and change. Even wildfires, as destructive as they can be, eventually clear what i...