The Loyalty Clause

There are two kinds of spines: the one that keeps you upright in the literal sense, and the other that people talk about in offices when they say, “at least he had the spine to say it.”

Mine, medically speaking, has a glitch in the wiring; Spina Bifida Occulta, the polite Latin way of saying your back might not always cooperate. In practice it means I walk with a cane and live with pain that comes and goes in ways I can’t always predict.

 Maybe that’s why I’ve always admired Gregory House, my favorite TV character; not just because he was brilliant, but because he carried his pain into the room and still did the work.

Most battles, it turns out, are invisible. Some of us carry them in our bodies; others in our minds or homes. You wouldn’t see them on an MRI or in a quarterly review, but they shape us just the same. I’ve found that HR is full of these invisible battles. You absorb other people’s struggles: layoffs, conflicts, disappointments and you start to see your own life reflected in theirs. Every resignation letter, every difficult conversation, leaves a trace. It’s impossible not to reflect on your own questions of loyalty, resilience, and what it costs to keep showing up.

In corporate life, loyalty is rarely simple. It can be strength, guidance, even strategy, but it’s never neutral. In HR, I’ve learned that loyalty is a moving piece in the larger puzzle of people, politics, and timing. The real challenge isn’t proving loyalty; it’s deciding to maintain it even when the stakes are unclear.

And loyalty isn’t confined to the office. Life tests it too: in friendships, families, and relationships... Through distance, misunderstandings, and silence.

 We all learn eventually that loyalty is less about grand gestures and more about showing up consistently, even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable.

My cane has become a quiet symbol of this truth. It’s not just support; it’s a declaration. I can’t pretend the weight isn’t there, but I can keep moving anyway. Maybe loyalty works the same way...not about pretending things are easy, but choosing to stand firm despite the weight.

Pain teaches endurance. It reminds me daily that showing up doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. House had his cane and his wit; I have mine and my coffee. Both are reminders that clarity often comes from carrying something heavy.

Maybe that’s the real loyalty clause: not flawless loyalty, but imperfect endurance. The willingness to stand or limp, or lean on a cane and keep going, even when it would be easier not to. Because spines, both literal and metaphorical, aren’t built for comfort. They’re built to hold us steady when the weight of the day feels heavier than it should.

And yet, in the end, most people will still rent theirs...

“Would you like me to suggest five ways to monetize your pain, like turning your cane into a personal brand accessory and loyalty into a side hustle?"

 And while we’re at it, can someone please tell me how AI is supposed to fix this?