Action isn’t just important; it’s the whole game. Like the guitar player who brings the house down, it’s not the chords he intended to play that matter, but the ones he actually strums. Intentions are the music notes on paper. Beautiful. Precise. Yet, eerily silent. Action, however, is the roar of the amplifier, the thump of the bass that gets the crowd on its feet.
Now, imagine our guitar player hits a sour note. There’s a wince in the audience, a grimace on his face. Yet, here’s the secret: that wrong note, that discord, has more value than a string of notes that were only intended but never played. In the mistake, there’s feedback, there’s learning, and the next strum carries the wisdom of that error.
Holding an intention, on the other hand, is like an unplugged amplifier. It’s all promise, no performance. It’s a song that’s never played, a dance that never begins. There’s safety in silence, yes, but also stagnation. The music of intention, in the end, is only heard by the person intending.
So, step onto the stage of action, no matter how raw the performance, no matter how loud the mistakes. In this theater of life, even a flawed performance is worth more than a perfect rehearsal. A failed effort is your backstage pass to wisdom, infinitely more valuable than an endless encore of intentions.
