A crowded airport, mid-afternoon in São Paulo. At Congonhas, the “lower level” is quite distinct from the “upper level,” from the space itself to the availability of chairs and coffee shops (the greatest solace of tired travelers). Noise, restless people, lines, rushing, calls here and there, some simultaneous: a sophisticated kind of antechamber to hell.

Book in hand, I scanned for a corner to wait. I was quite pleased because, thanks to very kind service, I had managed to move my flight earlier. Light soul and ears protected by music, I went hunting for a chair... I almost bet I would find one. The day was moving especially smoothly, and the mentor who lives in my soul was nourished by the dialogues with sensational people I had interacted with in recent days.

As guessed, there was a chair, almost hidden, in the middle seat of one of the two rows facing each other.

As soon as I sat down, a loud voice pierced the protection of my headphones. Curious as ever, I paused Piazzolla to follow the talk. It was a manager recording messages of encouragement for people on his team. Kind, he described his observations about some project that, unfortunately, I could not identify. With each remark, he validated the subordinate’s action and qualified their efforts.

And he went on, recording after recording, in this script of a developer manager. I was delighted! Of course, if they were in person, those remarks, a powerful recognition, would complete what I see as very relevant in high-performance team relationships. I celebrated alone and came very close to expressing my appreciation to the animated gentleman seated to my right.

My eye was drawn to a pretty young woman pushing a baby stroller. No smile, with a tired air, she approached very slowly the squeezed-in group I was part of. She stopped, looked, and that was when I almost died of fright.

The polite, developer manager yelled a swear word (a big one!) and ordered her to get away: “Look, I’m working, you’re only getting in my way!” he went on, gesturing aggressively.

The young woman stepped back, moved away, vanished. With my heart nearly stopping, I exchanged glances with the other four gentlemen, as shocked as I was. Then the furious man resumed his kind face and went on recording for the people on his team.

I had to move away. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in a corporate version: that gentleman had exhausted all his capacity for kindness on the team. For his partner and the baby, what was left was the soot, the shadow, the violence.

I imagined that, at the company, he perhaps also assumes, now and then, this frightening face. A grammar of communication that terrifies. That pressures. That humiliates.

That afternoon in Congonhas, he attacked wholesale, and all of us in that small group were affected by the unwarranted, absurd violence. The biochemistry of my brain, so calibrated until moments before, was flooded by the stress cycle. I walked a bit to calm down, breathed a little of that smoke-filled oxygen. I went to the line, boarded and traveled deep in thought.

I arrived home accompanied by silent wishes. Living our potential means giving each piece of our lives (ourselves included) generous attention and care. May the sad young woman find the courage to free herself from toxicity and protect her baby. May this tormented gentleman manage to see himself and ask for help, so that he can live lovingly with his own little baby.