Lately I’ve been playing with a label for myself and certain others, that of the Death Cultist. Death Cult has a cheeky ring to it. Surely it conjures up caricatures of robed men and women sacrificing virgins upon an altar. Maybe it evokes the famous banzai charge of the doomed Nipponese infantryman. What I’m using the term for, however, is quite simple – admiration for the man whose life is lived for death. Not indiscriminate destruction or wanton violence, but the unflinching gaze of someone who accepts death as fact of life. He plans around it.
I’ve worked with the dead in a medical setting. Death has lost its mystique for me. What we really fear is leaving our work incomplete when we exit the stage. An old adage says that if you want something done right you should do it yourself. Delegation isn’t easy by any stretch and few can do it effectively. Managers are paid generously for their ability to let go. Let us master ourselves and learn to trust our own judgement. Let us trust our will to impose upon others long after we depart. Superiority is earned.