A hero is responsible every single day. Anytime they are confronted with an obstacle or decision, no matter its magnitude, they address everything in their line of sight. They fail, because a hero is human, and they understand it is an unavoidable gift from reality. A hero is wise and giving, but even more importantly, they know when to ask for forgiveness. They build the path in front of them brick by brick with calloused hands and salted skin. They know they can walk away at anytime; it’s their god-given right to do so, but they just do not have it within themselves to leave. If they did, they would never see where their masterpiece brings them.
But the heroes, the real ones, are dismissed in spite of their own authenticity. Instead the maverick, society’s fetishized conception of greatness and achievement, has become beloved and idolized; propped upon a pedestal like a classical statue, embodying unfathomable depth and wonderment. The maverick is inherently selfish and absent. They do not abide by a path in the conventional sense. They leave their loved ones behind or drop them along the way, since those around them do not possess the physical talent or mental disposition to navigate the dense forest beyond neatly laid bricks. One way or another the maverick runs, jumps, or trips into the unforgiving twister of mother nature, a storm so notorious, there is not a single ear, alive or deceased, that has not heard tales of its fury. But the maverick does not regard these stories as a warning. The maverick glorifies its unwavering stakes and swims into the eye of the storm. After battling and scraping, the high stakes risk taker is spat out.
This is where the hero finds the woefully forsaken traveler, sitting ass over head at the edge of a short brick walkway. The hero’s long looping path has lead them to this pitiful looking individual. As always, they do what a hero must. They help the maverick, building a neat little square of brick shared by both trails. It is, at this point, the hero has done all they can do. They move on, allowing the maverick to flourish on their own. But there will always be that piece of influence, permanently built on the floor of the wilderness for the maverick to stand on.
The maverick moves forward with the construction project alone, but it is difficult because the maverick’s hands are weak and soft. Eventually, the maverick will put down the bricks and their tools. They run back into the wilderness, newly trusting friends and loved ones again falling to the ground behind them. The maverick inevitably finds their way back to the storm it had once known and jumps inside of it. Again, the maverick is spat out onto its truncated brick road. And again, the struggling cowboy is met by a hero, and again the hero builds a shared square of progress, adding to the maverick’s path.
This is a gnawing, swirling, dangerous pattern. The only way to stop it is for the maverick to finally commit to building the brick path every single day, every single day. The maverick will either die in the flame or live on cool rock. Their journey will be praised and eulogized by onlookers who wish they had the courage to make the maverick’s bold deviation, and scoffed at by conceited faceless builders chastising their misgivings. But the truth in perspective is found in the words exchanged between hero and maverick when they are laying that shared square of brick.