I guard my intentions. My ideas. My plans. I shield them from everything that has the potential to harm them.
You may have already made this observation about me. You may have noticed that when you ask what I've been up to, I am vague or dismissive.
I've lost one so-called friend because of my guarded intentions. This "friend" viewed my vagueness and dismissiveness as a lack of trust. It's not a matter of trust for me. It's a matter of appreciating that undeveloped ideas and plans are terribly beloved and frail.
I keep my intentions to myself until I have a high degree of confidence that they are robust enough to flourish on their own.
Think of intentions, ideas, and plans as babies born prematurely.
When a preemie is born, the parents and medical professionals focus entirely on tending to the baby. The baby must be protected and nursed in order for it to remain alive. Eventually, a turning point arrives when the baby can fend for itself in the world.
Likewise, an intention must be laboriously nursed at the time of its birth. Every minute it is safeguarded and coaxed reduces the risk of complications and increases the odds of survival. With time, an intention gains enough momentum that it takes on a life of its own.
I inwardly incubate my intentions so that they can grow as strong as possible. In order to assist in the survival of my intentions, ideas, and plans, I carefully guard them from the possibility of negative and discouraging influences.
It is true that sharing ideas with others can help strengthen the ideas. But this only happens when uncontaminated encouragement is provided. The truth is that most people carry unintended germs in their communication that can put premature intentions at risk. It is for this same reason that contact with premature babies is limited.
I very much want for my intentions to come to fruition. And so I guard them. Tightly. I will share my ideas and plans once they are strong enough to thrive on their own.