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Change managehehe … managemuhahaha … ment!

C’mon now, seriously, everyone should know that there is no way to  m a n a g e  change. Right? Change just happens and then you either roll with it or you don’t. And if you don’t, you will find yourself as extinct as a Pig-footed Bandicoot.

Actually, the Pig-footed Bandicoot looks fairly cute, if you don’t count the front paws that look like pig’s hooves that are maybe 3 sizes too small for any serious pig business. It has bigger ears than British royalty and hind feet that are better suited for grooming than for locomotion. The timid look on its furry little face suggests that when things started changing, it decided against it. After all, it is such a messy business, it thought to itself. Just look at those hairless monkeys fiddling with sticks and stones. Trying to get that coconut open. Just plain silly. I like things the way they are. And then one day, there were no more Pig-footed Bandicoots hopping around on their miniature hooves.

Why didn’t the Bandicoot cross the road? Because it did not want to get to the other side.

Photographer: Peter Galaxy (wow, I’d like a last name with such universal appeal!)

Change is the only constant that you can rely on. Not the value of Pi of any such arbitrary poppycock. Change, that’s what you get to play with. “So. Change. Let’s play”, I say, “I will not try to manage you, if you promise not to crash my MacBook or mess with the world’s red wine production”.

All those consultants going round and round talking about change manahahahaha … (still unable to keep a straight face!) … with their triangle drawings and roadmaps and shit, they should just rip off their pinstripes and jump into the wave when the tsunami hits them. That’s my plan, always. Just to let the change come and wash you ashore somewhere. Most often than not, you will find a coconut within the first 24 hours. Or something to melt the ice with. Just look around for a bit, and you’ll be okay.

If you try to run away from the wave (on your tiny hooves … really … scroll up and take a look at those flimsy things!) or redirect the pure force of the tide with some clever sandbag business, you’ll just end up shacking up with moray eels. And those things BITE worse than alien zombies, you know.

Sometimes, after a huge wave of changes, when I wake up on a beach somewhere – with salt water all up in my personal business and my Hustler bikini on backwards – I meet people who pretend it did not happen. “Oh that, yes yes, that was just a bit of drizzle, I better get on with painting the fence”, they say. And I feel sorry for them, because they will gradually become mindless mimes, performing an imaginary dance of death. Forever living in a past that is no more.

As much as I would like to keep the blessed Bandicoot as a pet, it will never become my power animal. I’ll stick with the crow; it always seems to catch something, as you know. No matter which shore we land on, there are always furry critters to eat. And coconuts.

Jorn keeps singing into my ear: “But I won’t lose my faith, I never have, I never will. I won’t give up, I’m gonna find my own way home”. Amen.

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