And he was a good man. I say this because I feel it to be so. In his typical style, he once challenged me to stop wrestling with the definition of what is ethical. "Well, you simply know, don't you, if it feels right or wrong. Isn't that enough?" As with all John's answers, it typically arrested me with its simplicity while prompting me to continue thinking. Intentional, I am sure. A skill I valued in him, where conversations left me feeling in equal parts enlightened and confused.
I was lucky enough to meet John when I was selected for an ethical leadership program. With his characteristic humour and honesty, he told me that we'd all been selected not because we were outstanding but because we all had flaws. Looking somewhat astonished (especially after the competitive interview process and elation at being selected), he elaborated. "We didn't pick people who were leaders without need for development - we picked people who we saw had potential and could benefit from the program."
Benefit I did. I benefited most of all from the contact I had with John. While many of the things I experienced have been important chapters of my history, it has been the few conversations I had with John that encouraged me to develop a new acquaintance with myself. In one extended role play, he asked me why I had left the table. I replied that I had wanted to be useful to the group. He said simply "but you missed what was going on". With that one comment, I knew immediately what he meant. Wanting to please others or be useful is not a reason for making decisions about what to do next.
John had a knack for challenging others. Observing, reflecting, commenting. Simple unchallenged faiths that we all hold to be self-evident. He left you wondering whether something you had never seen but immediately recognised was indeed something to trust or believe in. Where did it come from? How was it holding me or us back?
Most of all I remember his ironic, playful smile, his generous spirit, and kind heart. A man who loved to give people the rope he knew that they were already holding, and a few words of advice to help them make their own choices about how to use it. I feel immensely sad at the thought of him drowning in an ocean far away, but I also sense that he would have seen the moment for what it was and accepted it, even while he strove to stay alive. For John had a deep capacity to be in the moment, and to accept it for all its foibles and fears. And likely a deep faith too.
I do not intend to romanticise him, just honour the impact he has had on me. I am left with the challenges he gave me, the doors he opened, and reminded of the advice he gave me in my last assignment.
Even though it is too late to say it, I nevertheless want to acknowledge it: thank you, John.
