While out in the field on a military operation (training), KidG woke up from sleep with a desperate need to pee. It was the dead of night. They were in the forest. The guards were at their posts and it was dark all around. Not wanting to wake anyone up, he walked out into the thick blanket of night, away from camp and straight into a deep mud pool.

Stuck thigh-deep in murky god-knows-what, he couldn’t move.

And he refused to call for help.

‘It was too embarrassing. There’s no way I wanted to live the rest of my life with this sad tale etched deep in my personal history,’ he said. ‘That’s all that the guys would talk about every time we meet… no, no, no.’

So for the next hour, he struggled in silence. And finally managed to get out of the mud, using his trusty rifle and a long branch. Miserable, he walked back into camp with brown pants. His story didn’t remain a secret though. How could it, when he was the only one with brown pants in a platoon of guys all dressed in green? Every one wanted an explanation.

‘I’d rather tell my story than have everyone run to my rescue,’ he smiled.

And I wondered… how many of us are like him in life? Faced with our personal stuck-in-the-mire moments, is calling out for help instinctive? Or would we rather suffer in silence, work things through and tell our tale thereafter?


I’m stuck tonight, between calling off a dance performance and disappointing several people whose trust I’ve worked hard to earn, and going on with the performance but with a different, smaller audience. It’s hard.

We started planning this in April and auditions were already completed, as well as massive coordination from various parties. Rehearsals had already begun but as of two weeks ago, I had to call them off because there was a problem with the music track we were using. We needed to change it. Since then, I’ve searched but nothing. Na-da. There’s nothing as great as the original one we were working with.


The first cut of an interview was submitted last weekend and promptly rejected. The entire angle needs to be re-worked and oddly, I’m not surprised. The feedback given is akin to what I felt earlier and all I want to do is beat myself up for not following my gut…

Looks like I’ll be working overtime again.

And be found wearing brown pants at the end of this week.


Asking for help isn’t instinctive. With the tight timelines I’m looking at, the only person I dare make work through the night is… me. Yes, I have a great team who has been working around the clock to produce and meet demands. But why would I pull someone else into the mud with me?

Would be nice if the earth didn’t have mud holes.

What are they for, anyway?


‘Take my hand kiddo.’ The Dream Maker reaches out to me. ‘I’m kinda huge, you know? And I doubt I’ll fall in.’

I smile.

So maybe there is that one Person I can run to for help.

Hope you readers have one too!