Making It Real

I had yet another experience of making something public and feeling that power surge within myself because I’d authorized my courage to collide with my vulnerability. I was reminded of  witnessing and its importance – of having someone hear or see you in such a way that it can’t be undone. It becomes real. YOU become real. Or in this particular case, I did.

Over the past month, I’ve been participating in a pilot group of women that are taking my new writing experience for a test spin. We’re kicking the tires, seeing how it feels on the open road, and if it will get us where we want to go. If I had a Crazy 8 Ball (remember those?) to shake, it would be saying, “All Signs Point To Yes” right about now.

The real treat for me has been in actually participating in one of my own experiences – to the degree that’s possible. For sometime now, I’ve avoided writing, which feels ironic considering that some days I feel like that’s all I do. But it’s for my business, not just for my own consumption. A friend who knows me well recently called me on it: “Write!”, she said. “No one can listen long enough for me to find out what I want to say – that’s why I write. It’s for me to figure myself out.” Like I said, this friend knows me well.

So I started to write. And in the process I discovered I wasn’t the only woman who was resisting the whole writing thing. That discovery was the seed for the idea that became In Her Words, which is a five-week writing experience for women that will “officially” begin in early March.

So here’s where it gets ubber personal. Yet another notch in my leap-of-faith-I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this belt.

I’m now in the third week of this five-week writing experience and I’m feeling the stretch and pull of me being stretched and pulled – much more so than I ever expected. I’ve surprised myself – with words and comments and images and instruction popping onto the paper unbidden, kind of like blurting out a core truth when speaking without thinking.

This week’s theme was “Choosing” and the question I chose to sit with for the week was this: “What IS it that you want?” (gulp.)

The process is to come at that question from three different angles in writing: jouraling (1st person), correspondence (2nd person), and storytelling (3rd person). What follows, in that order is an audio track of me reading each of my entries for this week (gulp.) And here’s why:

Aside from my personal discoveries in going through this process, my greatest learning has been about appreciating just how profoundly powerful it is to give voice – literally – to one’s own words. To bring something that has lived inside, up and through to the light of day. And to have others bear witness to that act. In debriefing with my pilot group, we’ve come to the conclusion that knowing we were going to actually be reading what we’d written to each other actually increased the potency of what we wrote.

There is a positive and direct correlation between potency and publicity, it seems.

So without further ado, I offer to you a glimpse of my personal journey – from the inside out. Because I want it to be realer than real and sharing this with you makes it so. So thanks for bearing witness.

My journal entry: 1st person

My letter: 2nd person

My story:3rd person

Falling Into The River

…and now for something completely different.

What follows is a short story I wrote as part of the preparation I am doing for my women’s writing experience I’ll be offering this March. I’m taking the questions for a spin, if you will – to see if they hold water and lead me somewhere. They did. I had no idea this story was in me and out it came. I’m still figuring it out what it means, but thought I’d offer it up as a testament to the power of writing for revealing what’s inside.

A woman looked down at her bare feet and saw how they stood firmly on the ground. She felt rooted. Strong. Powerful. She knew the tribe admired this about her. People would gather to watch her stand by the river. Young children would imitate her.

But it was hard to be good at something for long periods of time. And it was boring. The woman grew weary of people watching her and began to resent their stares and admiration. What once was so satisfying was now falling flat. The dirt which used to feel so rich and textured and most under her feet, felt dry. Like talc. The dust irritated the lining of her nose.

She looked out at the river with longing. It would have an answer for her. It always did.

She watched the eddies swirl with envy. She watched how the water danced among the rocks and between the low hanging branches. “It’s living”, she thought,”it’s alive and celebrating its ability to move.” Even the daylight joined in, sparkling off the ripples on the surface.

The woman looked down once again at her feet and noticed something she had missed before. They were webbed. Her breath caught in her chest with the realization that she was born to live in the water.

She looked back at her tribe, knowing they wouldn’t understand what she would do next. A little girl caught her eye and smiled at her.

With that, the woman fell into the water and the cold, luscious movement of the liquid washed away all her dryness. She felt more alive than she ever had before. She understood the water and how she no longer needed her feet to hold her on land.

Picking Rocks as Therapy

I’m a believer in therapy. But recently I doubted its efficacy. It felt forced, invasive and energy-sapping. I almost gave up, but as I said, I’m a believer. Practically speaking, as a coach it’s essential that I continue to do my own work if I am to engage whole-heartedly with my clients.

So I asked myself: What do I want therapy to be like? The answer came to me on our last visit to my beloved’s homestead – a potato farm in Aroostook County, Maine (which is SIX hours north of Portland, if you can believe that…)

I’ve come to appreciate that my optimal approach to therapy is an organic one. It’s not about digging deep down into the bowels of my past or psyche, but simply looking down at my feet and noticing what rocks are blocking my path. That’s what I want – the organic, the noticing, the patience to wait for something to be revealed from my inner earth.

Now, if you’re anything like me, this whole farming metaphor is making you go, “Huh? Picking rocks?” Let me explain…

My husband grew up on a potato farm. Woe unto anyone who groans about work being hard or tedious, for his response is most often: “You want to know what hard is!? Picking rocks on your birthday EVERY year, that’s what’s hard..”

Being from NJ, I grew up believing potatoes were something that just magically appeared in supermarkets, so this “picking rocks” concept needed a fair amount of explanation when he first uttered the phrase to me.

Here’s the deal: every year, about a month after the seeds have been planted, but before the potatoes  really start to grow, the whole family (and all their friends and neighbors) would head out into the fields (typically RIGHT on his birthday in June) and would pick rocks so that when the potatoes grew up through the earth, they wouldn’t get bruised by bumping up against a rock. They did this EVERY year.

“Didn’t you get all the rocks the previous year?” I’d ask.

Silly me. Apparently the earth just keeps pushing up more rocks, resulting in an endless cycle of churning and picking, churning and picking.

So you see? There isn’t any need to mine deep down for the riches, the earth will bring them to you and deposit them right at your feet. And then you can just pick it up and go, “huh, look at that one!” and chuck it on the flatbed with the other rocks.

I like this because it’s seasonal. There is a time for picking rocks, and there is a time to let the soil do its work. That was the answer to my question: I don’t want therapy to be about digging around in my soil with a sharp metal prong. I want it to be an organic process that stems from within.

But in this age of “just do it”, wherein we have built alters to technology and our machines, this “let the earth bring it to you” approach can sound like a cop-out because of  its implicit ease and slower pace. That’s okay. I’m cool with that.

I trust my rocks will come to me. And in the meantime, I’ll be walking my fields, breathing in the rich smell of fresh dirt at my feet and marveling all the expansive blue sky above.

I’m living above ground from now on. And I happy to report my new therapist is driving a rockin’ flatbed next to me to keep me company and help carry my rocks.

Enough.

Last month I got a series of frantic calls from Verizon. “You’re about to go over on your minutes! We need to act NOW so you won’t go over…We can easily just upgrade your plan to take care of that…”

Or, I thought, I could just talk less.

Honestly, with all the other urgent issues in the world – global warming, domestic violence, a failing economy, a WAR – was the fact that I was approaching my limit of cell phone minutes for the month THAT much of a crisis?

Apparently so.

More. Better. Faster. Newer. Unlimited. Super-size. Value-pack. High-Speed. Anytime. Mega. Supercalifragilisticexpilodocious.

The bottomline for me is I want to stop. I need to stop. And if having fewer minutes forces me to reign my busy little self in, then so be it. I want to put down my phone and play Rukus with my kids instead.I want to be “out of range”  and not have access to wi-fi sometimes. I want to hear a “ding” and know that it’s not my phone that’s calling to me. I don’t want to be available as much as my technology would deem appropriate.

I want to deem what’s appropriate.

I don’t want to buy things in bulk. I don’t want to have extra stuff kicking around in case I need it. I’d rather have my space back. I don’t want to be told I’m a fool to pass up an offer to get two for one or all you can eat. I don’t want to super-size my life, thank you very much.

I just want to have what I need. Enough.

But it’s so damn hard when I am constantly made to feel like I’m a throwback to the Richie Cunningham days. Yes my phone is still 3G. Yes we are stubbornly clinging to the basic cable package with only 12 channels. No, we don’t have call waiting. No, we don’t have unlimited minutes on our phones. Yes, we finally let our BJ’s membership lapse when we  no longer had the excuse of buying diapers.

Do I think this makes me a better person than other people who have all these things or make different decisions? Absolutely not. Make no mistake about it, I’m not self-righteous. I’m desperate.

I’m drawing my line in the sand. I’m keeping my minutes just where they are, Verizon. Thank you for your concern for my well-being, but I’ll work with what I’ve got.

And maybe I’ll bring back poodle skirts while I’m at it.

Taking It For A Long Walk

I had a scare this summer that rocked my world. It was the perfect storm of fear, imagination and anticipation. I was shocked when it had a happy ending, and used that fresh intake of oxygen to learn about myself and my apparently limited capacity to live in the present moment.

Here are the facts of the story: my husband had an MRI for an injured knee and learned that he had some weird cycsts growing in his knee joint. Upon further testing, one the “growths” (they were careful not to call them tumors) had actually grown through bone. Because of his family history (his two sisters and mom have had breast cancer), his surgeon referred him down to an orthopedic oncologist at Mass General for a closer look.

Here’s what I heard: Todd has cancer. We’re just finding it now, but it’s actually metastasized and now it’s in his bones. It’s going to be bad, ugly, and hard. He’s going to die. Your boys will be devastated and will never recover. You will be left alone and will need to shut down your business as result. Get ready.

Fear takes center stage.

All of this went down over our two week vacation this August. Lots of time and space to think, which most definitely did not work to my advantage (enter stage left: imagination). We camped out with the kids, while Todd left for the morning and got an MRI. I made mental lists, Googled bone cancer on my Blackberry, and made a note to write down his social security number I can never seem to remember. We rented a cottage on Lake Winniepesaukee in New Hampshire and swam and played with the kids. And waited for the phone call from the surgeon (enter stage right: anticipation) with the results from the second MRI that took days to come and then more days to actually connect while we played phone tag. I took pictures of Todd with the kids, all the while thinking of how much they would treasure these when he was not around.

It’s embarrassing to admit now, but there is is. Totally raw and uncensored.

Here’s an even more embarrassing admission: I began to distance myself from my husband. Here is my life partner, my beloved, the light of my life – and the very time he needed me most, my initial reaction was to detach emotionally. I began thinking about my mom and all the other single moms I knew. What’s more pathetic, I began to identify with them. It feels awful and painful to admit this, but there you have it. Raw. Real.

But here’s when it all turned around: At the appointment with the oncologist at Mass Gen, the doctor takes one look at my husband’s MRI results and pronounces it, “nothing for us to worry about.” I burst into tears – uncontrollably sobbing, snot running, the whole nine-yards. The doctor looks at me knowingly and says, “Oh, you took this one for a long walk, didn’t you?“

I stopped cold. Yes, it’s true, I had played out the worst case scenario in my mind – not as a possibility, but as a foregone conclusion. I cringed, given what I believe about the Law of Attraction and how our thoughts can shape our reality. But as I sat in that doctors office, holding my husband’s warm hand, I had another shocking realization: I had been taking things for long walks my whole life.

Shit.

The aftermath from that event this summer has been both intense and extremely illuminating. I have always considered myself comfortable with being vulnerable. I see it as a strength, a gateway to learning, and an immensely powerful tool for connection and intimacy. Yes, all that is true for me, but this last lesson revealed to me that I was just scratching the surface of my capacity to make myself vulnerable. So I watched Brene Brown’s TED talk on the Power of Vulnerability again and gained some insight as to where I might be getting hung up in my underwear.

I soon learned that I had fallen into the trap of numbing vulnerability, rather than opening myself up to the full-monty impact of vulnerability. Instead of letting myself be really, really scared, I got defensive and ready to fight. Instead of allowing myself to feel vulnerable, I clamored for control. An understandable human response? Sure, you could make a case for that. But if I’m honest with myself, those are my trademark go-to responses when I’m running away from something. I was desperately tying to  “selectively numb emotion”, as Brene Brown shared we have a tenancy to do in our society. I had some emotions on my “yes, I’ll feel that” list and some on my “no way in hell will I feel that” list. Nice try, huh? Um yeah.

What I’ve come to realize, is by numbing the bad stuff, I was inadvertently numbing the good stuff. Apparently it’s a package deal.

Brene Brown talks about her own journey into exploring her capacity to be vulnerable as a “year-long street fight.” Vulnerability pushed, she pushed back. She admits she lost the fight, but “probably won my life back” as a result.

That’s what I want – not the street-fight (although anyone who knows me well is chuckling right now because I’m thoroughly stubborn and a Scorpio to boot…) – but the winning my life back. That’s what I want. And deep down, I know I’m capable of so much more. than I allow myself to feel.

I want the full-monty life. I want to live whole-heartedly and access the limitless joy that is just beyond my reach and waiting for me.

But most of all, I don’t want to be wasting my precious life energy by taking any more unnecessary walks. I’m not sure how that looks, but I’m pretty certain it begins and ends with staying put and resisting the urge to flee the scene.

Dancing with Change

What if you approached change as you would a potential lover? You know, flirted with it a bit? How might that be a different experience for you?

I’ve been thinking about various approaches to change because, well, that’s what I do. But this “flirting with change” perspective hadn’t occurred to me until I saw this picture about this event. The woman pictured is Jamileh and she was one of the featured dancers at the Multicultural Dance Festival in Biddeford sponsored by University of New England. Women who have attended my Homecoming retreats in year’s past might know her better as Jeanne Handy, one of my retreat team leaders. Jeanne was born into a family that told stories through dancing – specifically, women’s  dances: “It is a celebration of living sensually – really being in your body no matter where you are in life. And you can’t age out of it. There really is something to honor at every stage of life.”

When I first met Jeanne, she came to my home to celebrate my rite of passage into motherhood by teaching a very-pregnant me and two of my friends the basics of belly dancing. At the time Jeanne was a new mom herself, having just given birth to her first child two weeks prior. I was struck by how comfortable she looked in her own skin, and how that grace must have been a fabulous companion to have on board during the whole pregnancy and birthing bit.

It wasn’t until I took a class with Jeanne that I came to appreciate what belly dancing was truly about. It is about telling a story – your story – with your body. I listened in wonder,as Jeanne told tales of her own childhood, when a night of dancing would build up to the final crescendo, and the eldest woman would come out to dance. Her story was the richest, according to Jeanne, and the crowd responded accordingly.  You  can’t “age out of it”, indeed – apparently your ability to tell a story just gets better with age.

So how does all this relate to change? Perhaps it doesn’t, but I’m sure as hell gonna try to make it. Because I want to live a life of dancing with change.

If you really think about it, all stories are about change. A change of circumstances, a change of perspective, a rite of passage or a new chapter. I held an event back in September that featured the stories of five women and as each one of them took to the stage to share their story, sure enough, they were all about navigating change in their lives. Over the course of the night, the audience (filled with men and women) seemed to experience a whole range of emotions – laughing, crying, yelling out loud, being deep in thought, and being totally present. It was like seeing Jeanne’s dance, only hearing it in words.

And aren’t our bodies deeply connected to every change we make? Indeed, if we are talking about “navigating” change, doesn’t that make our bodies the vessels which we ride it out? So it’s not a huge leap in logic to consider that one of the best ways to relate to change is to move with it – literally and figuratively; sometimes letting it make the moves on you and sometimes having you take the lead. Like flirting.

What if navigating change would be like moving to music? And Change were your really sexy dance partner? How might you approach it then? Would your eyes meet across a crowded room? Could you feel the magnetic pull of two forces drawn to each other? Would you resist it then?

Now envision the tempo of the music picking up. You’re aware that the moves that had been working for you moments before now feel somehow off and awkward. Closing your eyes, you let the music guide you, move through you, until you once again find your rhythm and you open your eyes. You find you are face to face with Change as your partner. And you kind of like how it’s checking you out. Rather than going back inward, you make eye contact with Change and marvel at how your body is moving effortlessly in sync with this partner who is essentially a stranger. You are dancing together with the music holding you as one.

Feeling playful, you switch up your dance, curious to see how your partner responds. Change does respond, but you are unsure if it is because of you or its own moves. Who is leading and who is following in this dance? And then it occurs to you: you both are. Like the partners you are, you assume the lead or you take the other’s lead in turn. It’s almost seamlessly, thrillingly so.

There is no angst here, no struggle for control. There is only music and movement. And power. A perfect dance between will and surrender.

Dancing. Flirting, Moving my hips. The potential of knock-your-socks-off intimacy. I don’t know about you, but when it comes to approaching change, that’s a hell of a lot more appealing than making lists, strategizing, agonizing and bracing.

Bring on the music. I may not be JLo, but I’ve surely got some moves to make that will get this party started. And according to Jeanne, they’re only going to get better.

Just Move The Tree!

I am convinced we all have one thing in our lives – a simple thing, not a huge task – that if addressed, would free up boundless energy and get things moving again. Kind of like a log jam in a river. Sure, you could look at ALL THOSE LOGS crammed up in that tight space and think, “What a mess… I’ll never get through all this…I wonder what’s on Hulu…” and put it off some more. Guaranteed next time you come back to it there will be more logs piled up.

But here’s the thing…If you take the time and really look closely, there is often one item that, if removed, would have the others fall away with little effort, like the keystone that holds up a stone arch. And that one thing is often not glaringly obvious. That one “log”, the thing that holds the greatest power to getting you unstuck, might be right under your nose, but because you see it so often, it seems fairly innocuous.

Here’s an example. A client of mine was stuck. She was in a time of transition and was feeling the rub of it. She was in the process of growing her business while she was also working another job, sorting out some past relationships and taking stock of her life and what she truly wanted for herself. She was overwhelmed and rightfully so.

She had run into a log jam in the river of her life. She wanted to flow, baby, flow, but was feeling frustrated by this mound of mental clutter and literal tasks that had piled up around her seemingly overnight.

During one session, she mentioned “the tree” as an example of one of the items on her list. Apparently there was a ficus tree in her living room that she walked by countless times during the day. Every time she walked by it, she made note of the little white lights on it that she hadn’t taken off yet from the holiday season. It was June. It bothered the crap out of her. The challenge was, if she took off the lights, then she’d need to move the other stuff and box it up, and then…and then…and then. So the tree stayed put. And won.

It soon became clear the tree was the key. It was sucking a little bit of her energy each time she walked by it. So we tried an experiment. Rather than set out to completely redo her space as she had envisioned, I asked her to just move the tree outside. Get it out of her line of sight. So she did that night.

And everything changed.

The floodgates opened, and suddenly she found this wellspring of focused energy that had her tossing out the clutter, and moving around her life – literally and figuratively – to better suit her. And here’s the thing: it didn’t take a lot of effort.

She had removed the right log in her jam. It wasn’t the biggest log, mind you, but it was the most critical because it was holding all the others in place. Once the tree was removed, she could focus and the water of the river could once again flow freely.

Want other examples?

In my own life, I have found my “tree” lives on the stairs of my home. Specifically, it’s the billion little papers, books, socks, bills, games and STUFF that we slide in between the balusters of the stairs to remind us to take them up. But we never do, it seems. So they just serve as a little mail slots of distraction, a trail of reminders and to-dos that nag you as you go up the stairs…and then down the stairs. Remove them, I’ve found , and I can focus freely. And I’m not talking about taking each item and putting it away in its proper place. I’m talking about grabbing it all in my arms and stuffing it on a shelf behind a closed door or a drawer. Until later, when I have time or the energy to deal with it. Or better yet, someone else needs something from “the stack” and deals with it. What I discovered is how much lighter I feel afterward. Seems like such a simple (silly, even!) act, right? But it has an amazing impact

Another client of mine has “the office”. Specifically, she had this massive pile of papers that needed to be filed and sorted.  And then there were the photos to be scanned and organized. And the old tax records and bills and…and…and. You get the picture. She never went into the office, but you could tell it weighed on her like a lead balloon. It mocked her and called her disorganized, lazy, and a procrastinator. So one day, she went in with a big box. She took her arm and just did a sweep with it on all the surfaces, shoving all the clutter into the box. And then she gathered up all the piles on the floor and tossed them in the box. She took the box and tossed it in the closet. A task for another time. You should have heard how giddy she sounded at the quick and easy way she reclaimed her space.

Call it cheating. Call it procrastinating. But out of sight IS out of mind, and sometimes the mind is where it’s at for us.

So find your tree – whatever IT is for you – and just simply move it. Spend no more than five minutes doing it. Be vicious. Don’t hesitate. Take back the night and watch how that one simple act can release your flow of energy. Flow, baby, flow.

Tricks for Rabbits

Here’s a confession: I can gobble up a chunk of time with meaningless shit faster than a Carolina crocodile can snarf down a toy poodle on a golf course. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

I suspect it’s because of my on-going love affair with busy. Okay, so it’s OUR affair – I realize I’m not the only one with this crush.

And yet I know better. I crave slow. I’ve written about slow. I’ve read books about slow. I create space for others to discover the gift of slow’s sweetness, like a fine chocolate on the tongue. But at the age of 42, I’ve come to appreciate – as my friend Karen Wyman most recently said of herself in SheSpeaks, “I’m just not that woman” that comes naturally to slow.

I’m a rabbit. I like my bushy tail and zig-zagging around open fields, diving in and out of burrows with a catch-me-if-you-can grin on my face.

And yet you and I both know what can happen to rabbits that aren’t paying attention….yeah, they can get smushed crossing the road or picked up for a light supper by a hawk. Clearly, rabbits need ways to escape the open fields of life so they can stay safe, smart and bushy. So what to do?

One look through my past blog posts and you’ll quickly learn that finding the answer to this question is a theme in my life. But here’s the cool part: with every visit to that well of learning, I’ve grabbed another nugget – proof that I have, in fact, been learning and, yes, paying attention. Here are the highlights.

I make friends with how I’m hard-wired
Let me be clear: I like the side of me that crackles with life and moves like a comet. Sure, it can be a bit much at a dinner party, and I’m well aware I’m not for everybody, but I kind of like that woman. She’s someone I’d be friends with. So I am. Good friends.  I stop expecting she’ll be someone she’s not – give her lots of allowance, permission, time and space to zip around, and know that she is doing her own particular brand of dance through life. Be loving with her, not judging. Help her to weed out all the shoulds that encourage her to play small, to fit in, and to be moderate. Give her high-fives and way-to-gos when I see her. That’s what being a friend to myself looks like. And notice I said “make friends”, not “made”…this is a daily endeavor I’m talking about here. I suspect it always will be.

I yank the friggin’ plug outta the wall
Unplugging is the most obvious (and the most difficult) way for me to recharge and rest my bushy tail. I go through regular bouts of just turning it all off – computers, phone, TV, Facebook, Twitter. Even the front porch light. I let everyone know I’m not home – literally and figuratively. One of my consulting colleagues used to call this act “making yourself unavailable” and I come back to it frequently to remind myself – and others – that I am not accessible 24/7. It’s a radical act, and it always makes me queasy for the first day or two. I’m sure you can relate…that sensation of possibly missing something (whether it’s a call, an e-mail, an inside joke, a worldly event) But the other side of it is such sweet territory.

I say “no” with wild abandon
On my sassier days, I’ve often joked about getting a t-shirt that just reads “no.” I realize it’s not popular – heretical,even. But I believe in “no” because it creates the space for something else to move in. Some people call it setting clear boundaries, some say it’s simply being honest. Yes to all that. But I also see “no” as a place and a space, not necessarily an act. “No’s” are the entrances to my burrows as a rabbit. They allow me to go underground from time to time, so I can make the most of my “Yes’s” when I’m above ground. Having dodged raised eyebrows, hints at being selfish, and boatloads of guilt, I’ve actually become quite adept at “No.” I no longer surround it by explanation or chase it with an apology. I also don’t ask for permission or expect that others will understand. I simply head into my burrow, leaving others to make of it what they will.

I consult my Five Words and my Three Questions
In my burrow(s), I’ve got Five Words and Three Questions that anchor me. The Five Words represent the way I want to feel (ie. “like a powerhouse”, “inspired”, “proud”, “free”, “plugged in”) about everything – my actions, my life, my decisions, my direction, my choices. They are a result of an exercise I went through as part of Danielle LaPorte’s Fire Starter Series for entrepreneurs. Her belief – and I agree – is that EVERYTHING we do is ultimately in service (or not) of those feelings. So I make sure I’m clear on what they are. The Three Questions all have simple yes/no answers and help me to gauge how I am in relation to what I want for myself. They plug me back into what’s important to me (ie. “Are you being gentle and loving with yourself?”, “Are you connected to the Divine?”) Asking these questions helps me to practice noticing myself without judgement and invites me to course-correct. So that’s why I’ve got them in my burrow(s) – so I can see them and reflect on who I am and what I’m choosing as it relates to what I want. If I get stuck, if I falter, if I get lost…they guide me home.

I get outta dodge
For those times when simply unplugging is not enough, I go to a burrow that’s off the beaten path – one where someone else does the laundry and brings me fresh carrots for dinner. I find this is a seasonal jaunt for me – taking me out of my familiar surroundings for one night or even a week so I can not be distracted by the familiar. And luxurious as it may seem, it is terrifying for this rabbit to be completely alone with the sole intention of listening deeply to what I have to say. I don’t fill my hours with yoga classes or massages or guided meditation. It’s just me and my pen and my journal – and typically a glass or two of wine, a handful of chocolate and a cord of wood to burn. I hunker down and literally hold my furry little rabbit ass to the ground until I start to recognize the sound of my inner voice speaking my truth. Then I write it down so I won’t forget it.

I will always be a rabbit – I’m very clear (and proud) of that now. But I have tricks to keep my tail bushy and I’m not afraid to use them. Tricks are for rabbits, not just for kids.

Holding Court

Do you ever get overwhelmed? Yeah, me too.  I’m not talking about being buried underneath piles of things to do or a list of intentions to hold as much as I’m talking about the THOUGHTS and FEELINGS we have about all those things. To me, that is where the rubber meets the road when it comes to feeling overwhelmed.

And it goes something like this:

What the hell am I doing? You don’t know what you’re doing…
Yes, you do! Hold the faith, don’t lose focus.
When did Milo get his rabies shot last…isn’t he due? That dog needs much more love than we give him…
Is my kid too confident? Shouldn’t he be more humble? Am I humble enough?
 I don’t know what I’m doing..I’m totally messing him up.
No one knows what they’re doing. He’s your first child, cut yourself some slack.
Our educational system needs major reform…I need to get more involved…
I really like that chocolate brown skirt in the Sundance catalog…
But really don’t you have enough long skirts?
There is too much stuff in the world! Too much stuff in our house! We’ve got to purge…
And I haven’t spoken to her in a while…I should really reach out to her. But I don’t want to. Why is that?
Are we out of paper towels again?
You’re fine. Go for a run. Sit on the beach. Write.
I don’t have time.
I have too much time.
Sigh.

Welcome to my brain on any given day. So this is what I mean by overwhelmed – the constant churning of thoughts and emotions that can conspire to knock you out of whack and keep you off center, unplugged and spinning like a top.

I’m a runner. So naturally, my first instinct is to run. Let me tell you from experience, you can run, but you can’t hide from Overwhelm. It will be the dog that hunts you down like you’re wearing Milk Bone underwear. So scratch that strategy. It’ll just make you sweaty.

Give this one a try instead – trust me, it’s much more fun.

Imagine that you are Queen of your Castle, Mistress of your Domain. You oversee a large kingdom with lots of townspeople who demand your attention. You’re a very busy woman, with loads of important stuff to do, so naturally making yourself available to the townspeople 24/7 is not a realistic option. So you decide to “hold court” on certain days, during certain times. Rather than travel out of your kingdom hither and yon, you stay put – you sit in your throne and ask that all interested parties form a single file line outside the door. When you are ready, you receive your first visitor. You hear their complaint, idea, saga, and then respond accordingly. Then you have them ushered out.

It goes something like this:

Oh, Anger, it’s you again…what say you now? Yeah, that still bugging you? I can imagine it is…sounds like you’re going through a pretty rough patch, there. Yeah, that’s right…more room out than in, I always say. Feel better? Ah, good! Well,off you go!

Worry! Long time no see! What is it this time? Oh, I see…yes, well that is concerning, isn’t it? I’d be a mite bit anxious about that myself. What do you plan to do about that? What is it you need from me? Oh, well that’s not too difficult. I can certainly honor that request… Good to see you, again, too!

Ah, Creative Spirit – you’re looking a little ragged today! Stop much? You seem to be frothing at the mouth a bit, why don’t you try swallowing. How I do love your enthusiasm, it’s charming, really, but I can see how it takes a toll on you. What do you think you need most at this moment? Ah, wise choice! I highly agree! Off you go to it then!

You there! Speak up now, what’s that? Oh Hurt…I don’t believe we’ve ever met, but it’s a pleasure. I’m sorry, you’re going to have to speak louder, I’m having trouble hearing you. That’s better. Oh, I see. Well, now. That is quite a story! I don’t blame you one bit…I’d feel the same way, I suspect. Now, now,there here’s a tissue. It’ll all work itself out, you’ll see…Next!

And so it goes. You receive “visitors” in this fashion until you either get bored or you get to the end of the line. Because here’s the thing – all these thoughts and feelings? They often just want to feel heard and acknowledged. Like the irate customer that calls a technology support line, they simply require being heard and validated as true. Dismissing, dodging, denying, debating… it will just prolong the battle.

Try holding court like the benevolent and wise Queen you are. Wear a crown if it suits you. Set a timer if need be, but take care to create and hold order. Insist on a single-file line.

It’s your domain. It’s your castle. These are your townspeople. They just might have something valuable to offer.

The He in SheSpeaks

Back in September, I hosted an event called SheSpeaks. It was a women’s speaking series that was designed to celebrate and honor women – our power, perspectives, voices, wisdom, and relevance. The event was essentially an evening of storytelling and featured five courageous women. I got to play emcee.

It was a tremendous success by all accounts – the feeling in the air that night, by the sheer numbers of women and men that came out that rainy evening to attend, and the number of rave reviews that were shared with me afterwards. I was honored. Moved. Inspired. And totally jazzed to do it again (and I will February 2, 2012).

But here’s the most curious thing that happened: following the event, I began to receive several tweets, e-mails and calls from men asking if I would consider doing a HeSpeaks. It was suggested that having such an event would “balance out” the perspective of the genders.

This is where I got stuck.

I thought we were already out of balance. Last I checked most platforms for public speaking (think politics, corporate CEOs, wallstreet, board chairs…) were already pretty much stacked with men. So how is it that having an event focused on women’s perspectives would add to that imbalance? Silly me, I thought SheSpeaks actually might address it.

I know what these men are suggesting, so before you skewer me as “anti-male”, let me just clarify… What I think they’re asking for is a forum of storytelling in the way that women did at SheSpeaks – brutally honest, deeply personal, filled with heart and soul, and radiating the raw power and strength that comes from making oneself vulnerable.

I totally get it. I also get that we’re not really talking about men and women here. We’re talking about the masculine and the feminine, which in my eyes, is related, but fundamentally different. One is gender, one is energy. Most of us only identify with one gender, but many of us can identify with both the energies. They’re in us – the yin and the yang, the animus and the anima, the sun and the moon.

I watched as a number of men approached me sheepishly at the conclusion of the SheSpeaks event and said, “you know, I actually related to a lot of the themes from tonight’s stories. I know they were women’s stories, but I totally related…” Of course you did. Because their stories were about the human condition – being afraid, being with the unknown, being angry, being in awe – but they were simply told through a feminine lens.

So while I don’t see myself ever hosting a companion “HeSpeaks” event, I do see how women’s stories will continue to offer women and men a much-needed  infusion of the feminine in an otherwise masculine-laden culture.

Call it re-balancing, call it unfair or exclusive. I call it SheSpeaks.