The World As Half Full

Ever since I was three years old and wobbling around the Corporate floor, Mr. P would take me into his office for our special chats. Such a wise man he was; such a blessing to have had him as a bonus grandfather.

Sometimes he’d give me paints and allow me to cover canvases in brilliant color. He hung up my artwork in his offices across the world: framed the stick figures and put spotlights on the messy landscapes. This was a man who encouraged uninhibited creativity. This was a man who wanted to bring out the most in all of us.

Mr. P had lessons dripping from his kind smile. He oozed them into casual picnic lunches in the courtyard, let them overflow into passing conversation on the stairwells. “Share your bench always,” he’d tell me. “Never forget a person’s name.”

He didn’t know the linguistic theory for it – The Power of Language – but Mr. P knew that every word should matter. Don’t spend cognitive energy and physical energy and emotional energy on something that will only ever waste everyone’s time. So when he asked me, “Kathryn, is this glass half empty of half full?” when I was four years old, I knew he wasn’t playing a silly game with me.

I looked at him and then the glass and then his grin and I shrieked, “half full!” with the glee only a toddler can express.

I continued to give him the same answer, for years and years, every time he asked, and finally, two months before he passed, he chose to remind me, “never stop seeing the world as half full,” and that’s a promise I hold deep within my heart.

Never stop seeing the world as half full. Never stop seeing the greatness.


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