This article was first published in The Clarity Journal, our WyeWorks newsletter on leadership, uncertainty, and the craft of self-management. If you’d like to receive new editions as they come out, you can subscribe below.
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I’m sitting in front of my computer, writing this piece, and I can’t help noticing the contrast of sounds reaching my ears.
On my left, the melodic, precise song of birds blends with Bach playing through the speakers. On my right, coming through the living room window, I hear the roar of an excavator tearing up the sidewalk as part of a water pipe replacement. The rumble brings to mind a moment from “One,” Metallica’s anthem, when the drummer unleashes the double bass with relentless intensity.
Along with the cheerful birdsong drifting in through the window, a light, refreshing breeze comes in from the left—just cool enough to enjoy a hot coffee in a T-shirt without overheating. A perfect thermal balance. But the office door is half closed, which means that every minute or two an annoying slam echoes from my right. I admire the door’s persistence: it gathers momentum and, pushed by the air, tries to close itself—fails, takes a hit, and still decides to try again, over and over, without pause.
These contrasts surround us.
In front of me sits a glass of water, filled halfway. Half full—and at the same time, half empty. To its left rests a coffee cup, completely empty. The absence of coffee, but also the opportunity to brew a fresh one, better extracted than the last.
Noise… and silence. Anxiety… and calm. Pain… and pleasure. Uncertainty… and clarity.
I believe it’s dangerous to act as if contrast didn’t exist.
If we place all our bets on one end of the spectrum, we risk becoming allergic to the other—suffering intensely when it inevitably shows up. Those who move to the countryside to escape noise suffer when they visit a chaotic city. Those who live only in chaos become unable to tolerate even ten minutes of silence, alone with their thoughts. And those who relentlessly chase pleasure and happiness, trying to outrun their opposites, feel overwhelmed the moment they face even a small challenge.
Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake comes on—the perfect piece to close this reflection, reminding me that life is contrast. It can’t be otherwise. And by accepting this reality, we can be better prepared for the impact when it arrives.
So that contrast doesn’t catch us by surprise…
And so that when we hear drills breaking the pavement beneath our feet, we can close our eyes—and go looking for the birdsong.
— Rodrigo
Clarity & Leadership at WyeWorks.
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