"Seriously? On safari again!?"

"Seriously? I suppose I have to go on safari again!" Yes, I said this. Not good, not classy. I'm even ashamed of it. I muttered it sourly to a colleague. We had just arrived at the hotel in Johannesburg; back then I was still flying with the blue swan. A beautiful trip; as crew we even had time to go on safari to Kruger Park for 2 days. Everyone was thrilled. I just stood there. Was tired. Dead tired.

My biorhythm was completely shot from all the long haul flights and mega time differences. From minus 9 in San Francisco, to plus 6 in Singapore, to minus 9 in Los Angeles, and so on. By then I felt like fries in the morning and muesli with fruit in the evening.

I didn't go along on the safari. Instead I locked myself in my hotel room. The distance from bed to bathroom was the maximum achievable that trip. I felt worn down. Empty. And no longer recognized myself. How I managed it I don't remember, but I flew home on sheer willpower and with a poker face on. Once there, I called in sick. I couldn't go on anymore!

During my trainings I run into them every now and then. Soured people. People who by nature actually aren't that way at all. Mr. X was one of them. Really a nice young guy, smart, and his looks were on his side too. But good heavens, was this man sour. A jar of pickles had nothing on him. It simply didn't add up. I had a hunch that maybe there was a bit more going on.

In our one on one conversation, he gave me permission to be completely honest. And then, of course, I went in studs up.

No, of course not! With care and kindness I shared my observation. He was simply too young, too nice, to be in the game so soured already. I thought that was a shame for him. And for the people around him. The jar of pickles I did not mention.

2 years later I ran into him again at a follow up training. "Well, I'm curious," I thought, to be honest, when I saw his name on the participant list. But X surprised everyone completely by honestly telling his tough male colleagues at the start of the day that he had come dangerously close to a serious burnout. What that had done to him. And to his home front. The group's reactions were unanimously lovely and heartwarming. X truly made that day a success. Wow, what a transformation this man had undergone.

That day, Mr. X and I had one more moment together. At the time he hadn't liked hearing that I found him so soured. But it was the kick up the backside he needed to start being honest with himself and to take steps. He had resolved to tell me this someday. How wonderful that our paths now crossed again.

Sometimes we just need someone to point out to us that we're no longer the best version of ourselves. Not for ourselves, but also not for the people around us. That there's work to be done. I wish someone had done that for me back then. Maybe then, in Johannesburg, I would have said: "On safari? Yesss! Of course I'll come along!"