Many people approach collaboration cautiously because they fear the moment sparks fly. They think if there’s resistance, something must be wrong. The reality is direct. Sparks don’t mean failure. They mean contact. They mean two forces met with enough energy to reveal friction. That is often the earliest sign that something real is happening.
My gut still interprets disagreement as a problem to solve quickly. And feel too instinctually that efficiency requires alignment. If a colleague pushes back on timing, process, or logic, I’d assume they didn’t understand the pressure. Over time I’ve started to see I’ve been protecting momentum at the expense of refinement. The most painful missteps in my career didn’t come from visible conflict. They came from a silent agreement where no one challenged the strike. The absence of sparks is not peace. More often, it’s actually just disengagement.
One time I pitched a strategy to a leadership team. One of them openly questioned the viability of a key assumption. I felt annoyance rise immediately. I pushed through the meeting by justifying harder. Later I learned that their hesitation came from a recent shift in student behavior I hadn’t seen. I was building based on old heat. They felt the current temperature. My resistance had been covering insecurity, not accuracy. That spark was the sign I needed to recalibrate. But at the time I treated it as something to extinguish. I was wrong.
In the forge, when metal is heated and struck, sparks often indicate that the outer layer is shedding what no longer serves the shape. If the internal temperature is right, that shedding refines the material. If you stop every time you see a spark, you’ll never reach your final form. The craft requires enough confidence to stay engaged through friction. Enough humility to recognize when sparks point to material that needs removal.
Sparks don’t tell you the work is breaking. They tell you the work is becoming.
Today, think of one place where friction has shown up with someone you work alongside. Instead of interpreting it as a sign of breakdown, ask what component might be shedding. What is being revealed that wasn’t visible when heat was low. Stand near that contact point without defensiveness. Let your spark speak, and let us know in the comments or DM me. What was that one thing? And how did the project, and your relationship grow from this approach?
Walk with steady rhythm. Don’t avoid the grit underfoot. Pressure without retreat often shapes what silence never will.
And that’s The Ember Walk. The forge is yours now. Go make something worth the heat.
