A Circle of Stones

Looking for Me? I've Moved!

2011-10-25T12:42:00.002-04:00

Come check out A Circle of Stones' new digs on Word Press! New look, new functionality, but still the same sweet and saucy content served up!

All the posts from my past five years are now there waiting for you, too.

Just another chapter the life of this writer...

So come on over...see you there!

Reflections on August: Go Big or Go Home

2011-08-31T14:51:00.010-04:00

There is something undeniably "in your face" about August. Let's face it - it's a bit of a bully. As the last official month of summer, it's the biggest kid on the playground prodding its pudgy little finger in our chests, saying, "Oh yeah, whataya gonna do about it?" We start getting feisty - panicked, even - and start our rebel yells about summer not being over until we say so. We find ourselves quoting movies from the 80s ("nobody puts Baby in a corner") and rally our friends and neighbors to suck the marrow from the bone of summer with us. We throw spontaneous barbecues and blow out parties. We stir up trouble and get naughty, using up all our extra fire crackers, marshmallows and laughing until our sides hurt. We grab random vacation days, long weekends, and stolen hours like little bits of candy spilling out of a pinata. Mother nature even joins in the rebellion, offering dramatic shows of lightening and yes, even a hurricane. And as the last days of the month draw to a close, we are spent and sagging with the exhaustion of a time well had. The bell rings and, with a sly satisfied smile to the bully, we make our way into the shade of the school.

Add Water And Mix

2011-07-20T09:30:00.021-04:00

What if it were easy and we were all bent on making it hard?

I saw Oprah speak in her Master Class series a while back and she told the story of a mother who was holding her son as he was dying. He had a terminal disease and these were his last moments. As he began drift between worlds, he got this big grin on his face and said, "Oh Mommy, it was all so easy!"

But we don't like easy very much, do we? I'm mean, we say we like it - we even say we want - but when push comes to shove, we don't buy stock in it...we're skeptical, we say things like we "got lucky" and we often brace and wait for the "other shoe to drop." It's ironic really. We're so busy dissecting the anatomy of easy, we miss the point entirely. Our enduring love affair with "hard" prevents us from noticing the wind is at our backs.

Listen to the language of our western culture and you'll hear our values: "sweat equity", "roll up your sleeves" and "pull yourself up by your bootstraps", "no such thing as a free lunch", "put some elbow grease into it", "no pain, no gain", "this is too easy..." You get the point, right? So no wonder we've been groomed for "hard". It's in our blood.

But there is a ground swell of change happening that is having more people relocate into the "easy" camp. It's got a bunch of different names. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls it "flow", Martha Beck refers to it as "steering by starlight" by using your "north star", and you remember the smashing success of The Secret, that expounded on the work of Abraham-Hicks and the Law of Attraction? It's all essentially pointing to the same thing.

Believe in Easy and it will Become Easy.

Now, I can hear a bunch of you saying, "That's all well and good, but it's not that easy..." Gotcha! You're more than entitled to hold onto your hard (so to speak), but here's a little trail of bread crumbs in case you're interested in heading down the easy path.

Danielle LaPorte, a rock star woman and author of The Fire Starter Sessions (I highly recommend these!) for entrepreneurs, recently boiled down the whole "easy scene" for me in a way that totally sealed the deal. She calls it "The Metrics of Ease" and "The Strategy of Desire". She begins by asking the reader to answer one simple question:

How do you want to feel?

Her premise is that knowing how you actually want to feel is the most potent form of clarity that you can have. That question is the answer to your strategy, your to-do list, your business plans, your prioritizing, your choices. Her philosophy of living puts a twist on Descartes "I think, therefore I am", moving us into the realm of "I feel, therefore I am." Her strategy is simple:

Know how you want to feel and do whatever it takes to feel that way.

She suggests writing three-five words or phrases (her words are connected, affluent, divinely feminine and innovative) on a sticky note that describe how you want to feel and let those words be the rudder of your ship. She gives the example of a handful of things she could do to feel affluent, for example: making a donation to a cause dear to her heart, wear her favorite cocktail ring, transfer fifty bucks into her savings account, buy a burrito for the homeless guy on the corner, sit in one of those Herman Miller Aeron Chairs that she's saving up for. Her message - don't delay. Feel the feeling now and it will expand - it will take root, find a home and grow in you. Now you try...

Ask yourself, "What can I do today or even right now to feel ____?" (insert your desired feeling here)

Sure, you can make it hard. We've got hard dialed in and perfected (which makes it kind of "easy", interestingly enough...). But what if that little boy was right?

What if it were easy?

I don't know about you, but I'm banking on that little boy and his wisdom. I'm banking on easy (not lazy, not lucky, not passive, but easy). I'm going to effort-less. Join me?

Front Row Seats

2011-06-14T12:30:00.065-04:00

I fell in love the other day. With a concept. It's not the first time it's happened, but it was sweet love nonetheless.

I recently had a fight with a family member. I left the exchange feeling invisible, misunderstood, and worse, judged. What made it even more difficult was that I recognized it was a pattern - something, sadly, I'd come to expect.

Needing to process my thoughts, I turned to a wise soul who, happily, lives two doors down. He listened to my story with the patience and presence of Buddha and nodded his understanding. Then he said something which rang so true for me it left me slack-jawed and deep in thought for days afterward. Intrigued yet?
He said:

"Some people aren't deserving of a front row seat to our lives."

When he said this phrase, he continued on with his other thoughts, but I found I couldn't move on. I just kept uttering that phrase, rolling it over and over on my tongue, liking the taste of it more and more. It was like I had been given a truffle.

In my mind's eye, I envisioned a theatre filled with blood red lush velvet chairs. The notion that I got to choose who got the front row seats was thrilling. It wasn't new, exactly, but more of a refreshed understanding - one that I had let slide a bit. I was at once aware of the fact that I hadn't taken inventory in a while. Did I know who occupied those seats? And were they there by invitation or out of a sense of entitlement or by default? Was there anyone squatting, assuming their front row seat was somehow a tenured position and couldn't be revoked?

The notion of "being deserving of a front row seat" underscored my belief in the privilege of intimacy. I have long-since believed that to share in the majesty, the mayhem and the magic of another person's life is an extremely privileged and sacred gift. It is by invitation only and must be treated with the utmost honor and respect, even in the heat of battle - especially in the heat of battle.

It is in the spirit of this philosophy that I will often say, "our children chose us" when describing how we came to be as a family. It's also because of this that I see "family" having not a lot to do with blood. I see each of those front row seats as a place of honor - not one of politics, "shoulds" or guilt.

To be honest, I'm still unpacking the full meaning of that phrase "deserving of a seat" and considering whom I wish to occupy those chosen spots in my life, but I offer you the concept to consider with this question:

Who do you wish to have seated in your front row - and are they there now?

Lightening Bugs, Not Bolts

2011-06-07T12:30:00.005-04:00

When we're stuck, at a crossroads or wanting some clarity on the direction of our lives, we often say we're waiting for those "lightening bolts" of understanding to strike us. Some of us might call them epiphanies - those transcendent moments when everything becomes clear and we know just what to do, what's most important, or how best to proceed. We wait for those moments for it to all make sense.

But here's the thing. What's the likelihood of that actually happening? You know the statistics on lightening right? How you have a better chance of winning the lottery than getting struck by lighting? And yet, I've fallen prey to this seductive notion time and time again and so have my clients - joining the legions of people wandering around the open fields of our lives waving a lightening rod, desperately hoping for that lucky strike. While I will always hold a soft spot in my psyche for this romantic notion, I've come to believe it's actually not a winning strategy.

Like love, you can't go looking for lightening. It's one of those things that finds you when you least expect it.

It also has us looking outside ourselves for the answer, which can be an easier and yes, I'll say it again - seductive - trap when seeking the answers to those burning questions. You've heard the infamous story of the guy begging at the feet of the statue, right? The guy goes to the statue every day begging, "please, please, please let me win the lottery!" Frustrated, the statue comes to life one day and says to the man, "please, please, please buy a lottery ticket!"

The answer (the clarity, the understanding), I've come to believe, does not live outside ourselves, but inside our daily choices and actions.

I use this example a lot with clients when they are longing for some clarity on "what to do" or "where to go" next. Standing at those crossroads is not for the weak of heart, and it's only human nature to want to plug in our "next" coordinates into the GPS and get going. So what to do in the meantime for those brave souls who want to hold true to their intentions and stay open to possibilities?

Here are some perspectives and strategies for navigating those times that have worked for me and my clients:

Stuck is the New Black

The ecstatic Sufi mystic Rumi once wrote a poem about the pain of being a "chickpea to boil" in the stew of life, continually being whacked down by "the cook's" wooden spoon so that it may soak up all the spices of life, even through it is so damn tempting to jump ship out of the pot (eventually the chickpea is grateful, but clearly the stewing part sucks). That's kind of the idea here - shifting your perspective of the "pot" (or stuck place you're in) from being purgatory to being a teacher, actually giving you something you need for your journey. Let me reassure you, it seems we are in a time of great universal stuckness. You are so not alone if you are feeling this way - I see it every day in my work with clients. People are questioning the constructs of their lives and are reorganizing them around what makes them happy, healthy and more fulfilled. Yes, even in this crazy economy. So you're not alone. Stuck is the new black.

Shaking Pennies In a Can

This can be a great time to mix it up a bit. Take a different way to work. Tackle that basement and get rid of the junk in the trunk. Go out with some new friends. Try something creative - start a blog, take a pottery or photography class, create a garden, build a labyrinth in your back yard. Surprise yourself. Say yes to wild and woolly invitations. The idea is to create some friction, some noise and agitation. If that sounds unappealing, consider the things that can be born out of friction - a single grain of sand creating a pearl, an incredible work of art, an orgasm (yes, I said orgasm). So mix it up by design. Let in some oxygen, shake off the dust bunnies and see what emerges.

Lightening Bugs, Not Bolts

While lightening bolts happen as a freak of nature, sudden and surprising, often destructive, lightening bugs are more common and certainly more tame by comparison. And they also offer light on those dark nights. Consider how easily it can be to track a lightening bug on a summer night, following its arc and gentle journey. Now imagine how luminous it would be if you were to collect a whole bunch of them in a jar. They would work together to light up the night. The same could apply to your individual ideas - those fleeting thoughts or images that waft in and out of your consciousness. If you were to capture each of those and hold them in a jar, they might work together to reveal a clearer image or picture that could light your way; answer your question, if you will. Perhaps it could be that easy, that organic of a process. And it would give you something to do in the meantime. Becoming a student of yourself - witnessing yourself - can be a powerful exercise in unearthing a personal vision.

Control Gets A Bad Wrap

The word "control" - and everything that's associated with it - comes up a lot in the work I do with women. Most often, it has the tinge of "bad" on it (as in "control freak" or "too controlling"). But here's the thing...it feels good sometimes - especially in those times we feel most out of control and adrift in our lives. It's human nature to crave some control in lives in response to chaos and turmoil. It helps us make sense of our world - to bring order to a corner of our lives, to offer some structure, some predictability in an otherwise disorienting time. So during these "crossroad moments" in our lives, give yourself lots of latitude when it comes to that instinct to create order and, well, control. Get some Rubbermaid containers, a label maker and go to town on your basement or that hall closet. Create a new filing system on your C: drive. Sort through and box up all those photos. Color code your spices or DVDs. The bottomline: scratch the itch. You can still hold your intention while you're scratching...it will just give your hands (and mind) something to do and will offer a reprieve from the heavy lifting of the "what should I do with my life" questions.

Right Foot, Left Foot

When an idea does strike, take a step toward it. It's not a commitment, it's just a step. Martin Luther King, Jr. once invited us all to "take the first step in faith," reminding us that "you don't need to see the whole staircase" to take that first step. The same holds true for being at a crossroads. Too often I see "analysis paralysis" kick in with clients because they might see that first step, but they can't see clearly where it will take them. A first step of a career transition, for example, might just be telling your beloved or a trusted friend, "I'm going to leave my job" or "I'm not happy at work and that's not okay any longer". It's making it public. Sharing your intention. Another example might be revamping a resume or populating an excel spread sheet with potential contacts or networks to tap into. It's not necessarily quitting the job you're in, as some might think. The key here is small movement toward something more meaningful - even if you can't see it clearly yet.

If you are at a crossroads and you're reading this, I hope you'll share your thoughts and experiences. It can be a lonely and terrifying place, those transitional crossroads (insert a mental image of tumbleweeds at a sign-less intersection in the dessert, sun beating down, wind whipping, vultures circling.) It's a insanely personal journey, I realize, but somehow it feels better to know that people are standing at those crossroads in another town or country. So lend your voice. Be a lightening bug for someone who may be craving some light.

Know What You're Worth

2011-05-24T15:30:00.018-04:00

Tired of the wage gap? I am. Women make seventy-seven cents for every dollar earned by a man who has similar experience, skills and education. Yes the organizational systems, paradigms and culture need to change in order for parity to be achieved, but more and more the conversation also includes an invitation to women to own their role in keeping the wage gap where it is.

The invitation, quite simply, is to do our own research, know our worth, and make the ask. The good news is, there is a whole generation of women entering the workforce that is already doing this. So find a woman who does it well, learn from her and let's tackle this puppy once and for all.

Get Your Growl On

2011-05-17T15:30:00.002-04:00

I do triathlons with a friend that growls when she swims. With every stroke she takes in the water, she puts so much into it, she makes this noise – like a bear that is fierce and focused, low and guttural. You can almost feel the water vibrate around her.

I’ve come to appreciate that’s her way of living in the world – making the most of every stroke, putting her whole being into it. More than attacking the water – or in this case the other swimmers in her way – she’s letting herself be known to the water. “I’m here”, her growls say, “and I’m committed.”

The fact is, it’s pretty hard to hide or be innocuous when you growl. You make your presence known – first to yourself, then to the water, then to those around you. I love swimming with her – often behind her – listening to the rhythm of her growls and watching how that inner focus pulls her through the water.

I’ve never asked her about the growl, because I don’t want her to ever stop or even tone it down out of self-consciousness. But I have a story about why she does it. I don’t think she does it for the “fear factor” that you might be guessing – although a growling swimmer in a wet suit might be cause for alarm for the novice competitor. Instead, I suspect she does it to hear herself – to be an auditory witness to herself, her power, her renewed commitment and determination with each stroke.

So I’ve tried growling. And not just in the water, but in other, seemingly odd locations, like the grocery story, at the keyboard, and in sessions with my clients. Now, before you laugh and brush me off, I say try it. Because here’s the thing, a growl is simply a voice coming from a deeper place, a more guttural and pure source.

A growl is about commitment – it’s got to be by its very nature because it just doesn’t happen by accident like a squeak or a squawk might pop out of someone. It requires some synchronization – some intention. You have to call the air in and then suck it down – way down – and then slowly, with constricted throat muscles (and face, if you want the added effect of looking the part), let it back up and then out. Go ahead and try it, I’ll wait.

The thing is, I’ve been working with women and accessing their voice for years. When clients come to me wanting a particular change in their lives, we’ll often discover there is a big (you might say, “bear of a”) longing that is driving that change. But it’s been covered up – for whatever reason – with some blankets, and maybe a plastic tarp, and just for good measure, it’s weighted down with one of those Wile E Coyote anvils from the Acme Supply Company. I’ve seen women light up with something, open their mouths to give it voice, and then snap their mouths shut before anything comes out.

I’ve done it, too. During the period I was first harboring my dream of leaving the corporate world to start my own business that focused on women and transition, I found myself at one of those gatherings where everyone goes around the table and introduces themselves – who they are an what they do. I surprised myself by sharing that I was starting my own business (growl), and then snapped my mouth shut before anything else could escape. Traitor! Everyone's interest was piqued, if not by my words, then certainly by my tomfoolery antics. The questions came at me like buckshot – “What kind of business?” “When are you doing it?”, “Who will you work with?”, “What will you call it?” And even, “Can I work for you?” Years later, I still am reminded of that moment. Of my growl.

It happened again, more recently. I went away for a night to an island to do something thinking about my business, reflect and do some writing. As I checked into the Inn, the proprietress ask me what I did and I said “I’m a writer.” Growl. Snap. Traitor! And yet here I am.

So you see, growls are harbingers of a force waking up in us – either by design, by accident or completely unbidden. Like a bear coming out of the cave after hibernation, it grabs our attention, can make our hair stand up on end and, yes, even climb a tree.

I pay close attention to the things clients share with me in “the voice” – that quiet, “just between you and me”, if-I-whisper-it,-it-doesn’t-really-count-as-saying-it voice. The kind that has us both looking over our shoulders to see if anyone is overhearing what is about to be shared, even though we know we’re alone. Sometimes it can take on a “cutesy” tone – one that is so out of character it almost makes you laugh. I’ve come to recognize that “voice” is actually a wolf in sheep’s clothing - it’s is actually a growl that’s been toned down, or altered, as if someone switched the language preference on the DVD remote to “buffoon." I pay attention to those voices, fleeting as they may be, and start to dig through all the paraphernalia and contraptions that are muffling it.

In my experience, that “digging” generally takes the form of blowing out the clog, kind of like a figurative Draino boring out a clean path from the back of your throat, down to your vocal chords, into your lungs and finally your gut. How this looks might be literally singing at the top of your lungs to 80s tunes in your car, to howling at the moon or laughing out loud. The idea is to open up the pipeline a bit so more sound – the growl that was meant to be – can actually come up and out. It’s like an auditory angioplasty.

So go ahead. Get your growl on. Find a safe space and let 'er rip. Open your mouth and see what comes out. Sing it loud and sing it proud. If only for your own ears. But I tell you, it sure as hell sounds good in water. Grrr.

Mastering Slow

2011-05-10T09:45:00.002-04:00

You know the fable about the tortoise and the hare? I’ve always secretly rooted for the hare. I know the turtle is wiser, more patient and certainly strategic, but the hare just seems like she has more fun. That bushy tail? The sassy attitude, the outward confidence, the witty banter? And the speed! Don’t even get me started on that…

But here’s the thing: at the age of forty-two, I’m beginning to change my tune a bit. I’m thinking the tortoise might have an interesting idea. I’m not thick – I get that that’s the moral of the story – it’s just that I never thought it would be remotely appealing to me.

Training for triathlons, I’ve often joked that my mind is writing checks my body can’t cash. In my mind, I’m that rabbit, moving from here to there and back again with grace and ease. But if you were to replay the video tape of the rabbit a bit, she looks a little tired, bordering on frantic. Certainly anaerobic. And who am I kidding, it’s not just about triathlons, it’s kind of a way of life. A hare’s way.

Most recently I’ve been working with a Master’s swim coach who has me training using my heart rate as a guide. Um yeah. My hare’s heart rate. Swim. Count your heart beats for six seconds. Swim slower. Count. Swim s.l.o.w.e.r. Seriously? Frustrated I asked, “so slower is better?” “No”, she responds (10 bucks she’s in the tortoise camp), “efficient is better.” Oh.

That did it for me. I’m giving it a try. Being a tortoise, that is. I’m all about efficiency these days, so maybe it’s time. I going to lengthen my strokes, keep it steady and smile my slow turtle smile. My only ask is that I keep my bushy tail.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Co-Creating a Life with the Universe

2011-05-03T12:45:00.002-04:00

For those moments when you feel like you're all alone... here's a slightly different perspective to keep you company. And an invitation to play a bit. Because life is too short to miss a chance to play.

I Pledge Allegiance to Myself

2011-04-26T12:24:00.001-04:00

I'm stepping out this year in big and bold ways. I'm writing a book, I'm creating new offerings and I'm stopping some old ones. I'm poking holes in my logic and challenging myself to get out of my own way. I'm going for the brass ring, taking myself more seriously and finding more joy and play along the way. I'm terrified and excited all at the same time - creating periodic bouts of nausea I've come to call "vomit moments". Having experienced these moments at key points in my life, I've come to recognize them as sure-fire indicators I'm on to something important. I pay attention to vomit.

I've been experiencing a lot of vomit moments lately. As is my process, I tend to "stop, drop and roll" in these times - putting my ear flush to the ground to listen for hoof beats on the earth and whispers (or screams) from my soul to give me direction. This used to be an intensely private experience for me. But now I'm taking it public and here's why: Brene Brown and her insanely good TEDTalk on the Power of Vulnerability. If you haven't yet seen this, I highly recommend stopping everything you're doing and watch it now. I'll wait...

I've decided to go public with my vomit moments for two reasons: 1) I'm a coach who works with women to take leaps into the unknown and I want them to know I share their courage and walk my talk and 2) I'm proud of my commitment to opening myself up to being vulnerable. This last point is new for me...the pride. In watching Brene Brown's talk about it, I learned that this ability to make myself vulnerable was actually a testament to my degree of self worth and my desire to have myself be seen fully - by me and others - so that I am able to make substantial and real connections. According to Ms. Brown's extensive research on the topic, people who are willing to make themselves vulnerable tell their story with their whole heart (which incidentally is at the root of the word "courage", from the French "coeur") because they believe that what makes them vulnerable is what makes them beautiful.

So there it is. Vulnerability=Beauty.

And here it goes. In this season of stepping out and cliff-leaping, I'm pledging allegiance to myself. I've done this countless times before, but this is the first time I'm doing so publicly. I have a list of 10 things I wish to uphold for myself in the coming months. I call them "Lael Code". They may not mean much to you, but I assure you they do to me. I'm not going to go into much detail on them, but if you're interested, I'd be happy to elaborate...just ask. And here's my ask of you. Hold me accountable. Let me know you've read this. Pick one of the ten you like and ask me how it's going. When you see or hear me do something, help me connect the dots and celebrate I'm actually honoring them (like this post being an example of #3 in action, for instance...). Thank you.

Believe in what you can't see
Feast on your life
Ask for what you need
Tell your story with your whole heart
Practice gratitude in moments of terror
Let yourself be seen
Do it anyway
Feel your feelings
Receive the gift of myself
Let go and enjoy the ride

There is tremendous power in making something public. I highly recommend. But go for the vomit. Everything else is just decoration.

Good Rules

2011-04-12T09:47:00.004-04:00

I swear I'd never thought I'd put those two words (Good and Rules) together, let alone write them. Together they create a bit of an oxymoron. For anyone who knows me, rules are not something I put a lot of stock in. To me, they are meant to be questioned, poked at, and certainly tested. Perhaps it's my New Jersey roots acting up again or perhaps it's just the pot-stirrer in me having fun. But my friend Jessica Esch changed all that one day and now I'm a believer.

Instead of creating new year's resolutions every January, Jess writes new rules for herself. These serve as her guidelines to which she promises to uphold and obey during the coming year. They inform her decisions, help her select perspectives that serve her intentions and give her permission.

Like I said, I'm a believer.

The magic in these rules is that they have been hand crafted and selected just with Jess in mind. She chose them. She wrote them down and agreed to their terms and conditions (but please note the clause at the bottom of her rules, lest you are concerned about locked in)

Being a witness to Jess and her rules has totally reframed my previous notions of them. If asked what the key has been to growing my own successful business has been, my number one response would have been, "I gave myself permission to break the rules."

And it's true, I didn't do market research when creating any of my offerings like Homecoming, my women's circles or Tribal Gatherings. I joked about having a "focus group of one" and constantly asked myself the question, "Well, what would I want?" and then designed accordingly. I didn't do benchmarking or extensive research on my "competitors" to see what was already out there. In fact, I adamantly refused to see them as competitors (much to the chagrin of many), and chose to enlist them as allies, as sister organizations on a similar mission. This paradigm shift is often referred to a "Blue Ocean" approach to strategy and assumes abundance versus lack - far from the shark infested and bloody waters of the "Red Oceans", which insist we go toe-to-toe and grab market share from our would be competitors. But why we insist on doing that is another post altogether...

The rules I'd advocating in this case represent more than just permission, though. They honor our need to be in control of our destiny. Yes, I said control. There, it's out of the bag.

Control gets a bad rap these days because it suggests it precludes working in isolation of faith, serendipity and openness. But that's just not the case. Control, as I see it is more of a manifestation tool. It is not the end, it is part of the means to the end. It's like the infamous story of the man begging at the feet of the statue of a saint to win a lottery ticket. Every day he'd say the same thing, "please, please let me win". One day the statue came to life and said, "my son, please, please buy a lottery ticket." Exercising a degree of control and honoring that urge is buying your lottery ticket. In working with my coaching clients, I often refer to it as a "woubbie", something that feels good, smells good and is comforting to hold. Like a soft and well-loved blankie of a toddler.

These "good" rules - or your version of them - can be a great woubbie to get you through the dark nights and lonely days on the transition road. They can be the anchors and bell buoys in your harbor. And as long as you hold fast to your belief that there are a lot of other variables at play - the direction of the wind, the turn of the tide, the harbor master's whim and the other boat traffic, they'll serve you well.

Want some inspiration? In addition to Jess's rules above, here are a few more from some women I admire:

Start with the love and then work very hard and try to let go of the results (Elizabeth Gilbert)
Cast out your will and then cut the line (Elizabeth Gilbert)
Trust the spark. When you find your natural exuberance, you will find security (Tama Kieves)
Let life get wind of you. Catch on fire and the world will catch onto you (Tama Kieves)
Obey your instincts (Martha Beck)
Open your eyes, follow your heart, and trust that life is unfolding (me)
Create your own music and join in the dance, for in it lies the magic of life (me)

So pull out a pen and get yourself a clean piece of poster board. Give yourself the permission that no one else can give you. Write the rules that you want to obey. And then hold them lightly and watch what happens. Honestly, it's pretty amazing. As are you.

Stupid Rules

2011-04-05T10:30:00.004-04:00

My face hurts. It's because of laughing. About balance.

Last night one of my women's circles gathered around that very topic and we howled (and cried) as we teased apart this thing they call Balance (and for the record, by the end of the night, most of us ditched that term in favor of "grounded" or "centered" or even "in control.")

As a group, we were fascinated by the ridiculous and often unattainable expectations we set for ourselves. We discovered we shared a mutual penchant for wanting to "have it all", despite our recognition that this was clearly not possible. We howled out loud - and were brought to tears - as we spoke of our frustrations in trying to juggle the various roles we have, our disappointments at letting ourselves (and others) down, and the resulting shame we often felt in not having figured it out yet. We came to realize these thoughts and expectations were like this "dirty little secret" women didn't talk about. Except last night, of course. When we broke the rule.

The laughter felt damn good.

Liza Donnelly, a New Yorker cartoonist, is a master at getting people to laugh at these rules we set for ourselves as a society. She spoke about her own experience recently at TEDWomen and shared her story of how she's used humor as a tool to combat her "fear of womanhood". As her cartoons flashed behind her (and the audience roared with laughter), she illustrated her point of how we are imprinted with messages at birth and then bombarded with more messages - often conflicting - that tell us how to be. We know this, right?

Well here's an interesting twist she put out there for us to consider. Women, she asserts, often are the ones to police the rules because we are the carriers of the traditions. So we pass these rules down from generation to generation. The problem with the rules is that they are vague. Those rules that we do know, we're not terribly fond of - and they are constantly changing. She points out the obvious tenuous position this puts us in as women.

So what to do? Use humor to change them. Liza believes that women+humor=change. Why women? "Because women are on the ground floor and we know the traditions so well, we can have amazing antennae and can bring a different voice to the table"

Her mission? To think about these stupid rules we're following as well as laugh. She believes "we can change this thing, one laugh at a time."

I don't know about you, but I'm willing to have a sore face if it means creating some change in this world.

Perspectives on March

2011-03-31T09:45:00.000-04:00

March is the shape-shifting maverick of the lot, taking us to the brink of despair before rumpling our hair like a big sister saying, "Don't be silly, I was just kidding..." It does little to reassure us, this pat on the head. We're onto March's Jekyll and Hyde ways and know better. But March has a way of lulling us into believing again and again. We end up trusting it despite our doubt. With its breaking ice, melting snow, and early bloom poking up through the dirt, we're served up days of hope in March that melt in our mouths like bitter-sweet chocolate. We stagger outside into the warm sunlight like giddy and grinning moles groping their way into a bright new world with limited vision. Because ultimately, we have faith in March. It may be unreliable and crusty, but March is the only sherpa we've got to guide us into Spring. So we follow where it leads and resign to being vulnerable, looking a bit awkward and feel entirely insecure and unprepared. In March, we trust.

Undoing

2011-03-29T10:15:00.002-04:00

I recently took a self-imposed sabbatical. I didn't talk about it much or shout it from the rooftops. I just quietly carved out a four week chunk of time where I didn't see clients. I just saw me. I was my primary client. Even though I knew it was needed and wise - strategic, even - I still felt the requisite terror that comes with making a decision to stop spinning.

I was braced for a lot of snide "must be nice..." comments and was sensitive to how this leave would be perceived by others. Surprisingly though, all that came my way from clients, family and close friends was a resounding "GOOD for you!" I still was self-conscious, despite my commitment to this pause-by-design. Having been raised by a single mom, I was acutely aware of my privilege in taking this sabbatical and had to beat back that guilt with a wooden spoon daily.

I felt like I was breaking the rules. I hadn't broken a leg, come down with diphtheria or just given birth to a baby (thankfully). But I did have a purpose.

I wanted to create some space - a intentional pause in an otherwise busy life.

I've had pauses like this before, but I've always had a baby suckling on me - or needing to be changed, held, picked up, put down or soothed. Those maternity leaves I had were some of the most profound moments of clarity I've ever experienced, which is amazing given the physical and mental demands of birthing and caring for a newborn. I came to see those leaves of absence from the world of work as a time to give birth to more than just a baby.

My business, for example, was born during a particular unique maternity leave, during which I had no baby to hold. That was a big one. I've have come to believe that I gave birth to myself during that leave.

My Homecoming Retreat was born during the maternity leave of my youngest child. I remember sitting on the couch one warm summer day, shortly after his birth, watching the sprinklers in the back yard go back and forth and back and forth while he nursed and then napped at my breast. It was in that moment that I realized I was ready to offer up Homecoming, which shocked me to no end (I thought that retreat was years down the road for me.) I've come to believe that dear, sweet child of mine actually pulled the idea for Homecoming out of my heart and into the light of day through his nursing (he was quite a vigorous nurser!)

So you can see how I've come to be a believer in leaves of absence.

So now, nearly four years later, I decided to embark upon another one, calling it a sabbatical this time. Having had some experience taking leaves, I thought I knew what I was in for. Ha ha ho ho ho.

I had forgotten about the need for undoing. I learned about this process - and fell in LOVE with that word - after reading This Time I Dance by Tama Kieves. If you don't have this book yet and suspect you might go through a transition sometime in your life...or know of someone else who might go through one, buy it. I read it the first time after leaving my cushy corporate job after eleven years to start my own business.

"Undoing", as the author explains it (and as I've experienced it and as I've witnessed my clients going through it), is necessary because the first step of change is to grieve a loss. A loss of an identity, a loss of a suitable answer to the question, "what are you doing?", a loss of purpose, a loss of a known routine and, most significantly, a loss of "stuff to do".

"In this slowdown, meltdown phase of your journey, you have the opportunity to sort through layers of your self and decide which ones travel on and which ones get shelved...This undoing process works like painting the interior of an old house. First, you clean the walls, sand them down, and patch them up, or else you paint over the old infirmities, the same warps and clumps of history....The doing of our chosen work comes easy, it's the time of 'undoing' that requires every ounce of strength, vision, and persistence... Every belief that ever held you back from your desires will now come forth and stand before your door. This time will make you stand in your strength like you never have before." - Tama Kieves

So what did this mean for me upon taking a sabbatical? It meant all those expectations I had, all those lists I made, well-set intentions...they had to wait. Instead, I cleaned out the basement. When I was done with that, I bored out closets, cleaned out my filing cabinets and took bags and bags of clothes, toys and books to Goodwill.

Like a dog that has to circle round and round in one of those poofy beds before finding just the right positioning, I found this busy work of cleaning out, organizing and purging remarkably soothing and incredibly satisfying.

Near the end of my sabbatical, I could feel that I had unraveled - not unlike the sensation of finally being ready for a vacation on the last day of vacation. I had arrived. I was undone - or nearly there. And with that realization, with that deep inhalation into the expanse I had created, I could finally think and see clearly - new ideas and thoughts came flooding in as possibilities. Like someone who has just completed one of those body cleansing programs, I felt my energy and creativity returning to me like the tide coming in during a full moon.

It was so worth it.

An Experiment

2011-03-24T09:45:00.011-04:00

Sometimes the answers we seek can be found right outside the window.

A Jump Start is Better Than No Start

2011-03-22T12:32:00.003-04:00

Sometimes a shove is needed where a nudge won't do. Sometimes, sadly, a kick in the pants is just the ticket to spark some serious change. Sometimes being impatient is a good thing.

I am a big fan of lines drawn in the sand, I admit. They excite me to no end, because they signal a boundary has been set or in some cases, a gauntlet has been thrown down.

There has been much debate about the World Economic Forum's decision to institute quotas for their most recent annual meeting held in Davos, Switzerland. Frustrated that women make up less than 16% of the delegates, they decided to set quotes requiring a fifth of the delegates sent by their strategic partners be women. A spokesperson for the WEF said the intent was to give a "gentle nudge toward gender parity."

Many applauded the bold move, even while expressing sadness that it took such drastic measures to ignite some real change. Others were outraged, suggesting the quotes weren't having any impact and were effectively reducing women's participation to simply numbers, and detracting from the value they bring. When I asked women on my SheChanges Facebook page, I heard a similar mix of opinions. The overriding sentiment, however, is that the main objective is to get more women at the table. Most everyone agrees that nothing will change if women remain on the sidelines. One women suggested the focus should be on the results produced by the quotas, rather than the quotas themselves: "I think we should not demonize or idealize quotas or anything that [gets more women to the table]. We just need to do it and get them there."

Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson, authors of Rework, offers some relevant insight on the power of drawing a line in the sand: "Great businesses have a point of view, not just a product or a service. You have to believe in something. You need to have a backbone. You need to know what you're willing to fight for. And then you need to show the world." They assert that this strong stand of drawing a line in the sand - as radical and counter-intuitive as it seems, actually results in attracting "superfans" - people who will defend your actions and spread the word.

The World Economic Forum drew a line in the sand. And so did Norway in 2002, when it began using quotas to ensure 40% of all board seats were filled by women. And after seeing the results, Spain, France and Britain are following suit.

The general consensus is that the business world won't see or feel much of a change until there is a 50/50 representation of women and men in the workplace. Until then, the primary jumper cables to achieve more gender parity in our engines are quotas and women's conferences.

But where my attention goes in the wake of this controversial WEF gender quota is how much rousing discussion and debate it triggered. Sure, there might not have been many more women at Davos this year than in years past, but there it sure sparked a lot of attention. Heads turned and people took notice. Some smoke was created. And where there is smoke there is fire.

Eviction Notice

2011-03-15T15:15:00.003-04:00

What if Fear, Guilt, Angst and Doubt were sent packing? By you. After all, they're tenants in your house, are they not? Haven't you been saying how tired you are of them blasting their heavy metal music all hours of the night, leaving their dirty dishes in the sink, the toilet seat up and let's not even talk about the icky hair they leave behind in the shower drain.

So let's, for a minute, assume you evict them. You put on your big girl panties, march up to their respective rooms and give them notice. Sure, they might be surprised - maybe even put up a fight. Can't blame them, really. They've never heard you talk to them like this before. Realizing you're not going to back down, they finally pack up their bags and shuffle off to Buffalo (or wherever else they're wanted.)

What would your house be like then, eh? Are you liking this image? Let's sweeten the pot, shall we?

Now, let's suppose you put a rockin' ad on Craig's list for some new tenants - boarders that would breathe some light and fresh air into your home, ones that would carry their weight and actually make your home happier, healthier and more alive.

Because you are the powerful manifester you are, soon four new tenants move in your house: Honesty, Impatience, Inspiration and Audacity. Clearly Inspiration is the warmest of the bunch, but something in your gut said the others were the right fit for you at this stage of your life, so you trusted it.

You welcome them in , a bit guarded and skeptical at first (who can blame you after the last bunch, eh?) The house and all its inhabitants soon settle into a new routine and here is what you notice:

Honesty is hard to be with at times - kind of grates on the nerves a bit with its close-to-the-bone comments. But we can't help laughing when Honesty is around because its observations are just ridiculously on-target. Honesty doesn't say all that much, but when it does, there is not a grain of sugar to be found. We've all come to appreciate just how much sugar we've had in our diet before living with Honesty.

Impatience was a surprise, really. A bit of a wild card that turned out to be a bonus. We all kind of tip-toed around it for a while - especially before it had its coffee in the morning - but now we're used to it. Impatience is the "get it done" voice in the house and keeps us from whining and bemoaning our lives. Without Impatience, we'd all be hung up in our underwear, spinning our wheels and waiting for someone to rescue us.

Inspiration is the one that stays up eating chocolate in the kitchen until the wee hours of the morning, talking, dreaming, exploring and doodling incessantly on this little white board it wears around its neck. Exhausting at times - especially after having its morning cup of coffee - Inspiration is the most creative person in the house, always questioning our assumptions and playing "what if" games with us.

Audacity rapidly becomes known as the pot-stirrer in the house, always saying something a little edgy or shocking with its raised eyebrow, watching to see how many waves it can make. We've all become used to it by now and are envious of the fearless nature Audacity possesses. Audacity keeps the house and everyone in it fresh by adding a bit of healthy tension to our lot, never allowing us to settle, get too comfortable or play it safe.

What a different house you've created for yourself, no? The air feels fresher, the light feels brighter and there is some substance in the house that wasn't present before. Where as Fear, Guilt, Anger and Doubt used to drag you down and hold you back, the people in this house are invested in life and take responsibility for constructing a life that fulfills them. It's also a highly creative environment, not one caught up in "keeping up with the Joneses" or paying much mind to what other people think you "should" be doing, saying or being.

What we're really talking about here is choice, right? Actively choosing your life. Your circumstances might not change a bit and certainly Fear, Guilt, Anger and Doubt will make cameo appearances in your life again. But what if it wasn't as hard as we thought? What if taking control of the thoughts that get to live in our OWN house was a choice we could make daily?

Elizabeth Gilbert writes about her own experience with this in Eat, Pray, Love: "I've started being vigilant about watching my thoughts all day, and monitoring them. I repeat this vow about 700 times a day: 'I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore.' Every time a diminishing thought arises, I repeat the vow....The harbor of my mind is an open bay, the only access to the island of my Self . This island has been through some wars, its true, but it is now committed to peace, under a new leader (me) who has instituted new policies to protect the place. And now - let the word go out across the seven seas - there are much, much stricter laws on the books about who may enter this harbor."

Similarly, Martha Beck writes about the moment a woman reaches her "breaking point" and realizes she has been playing the role of society's version of what she should be: 'You know, this is a really stupid script. All this fussing and fighting and sweating and shaking is giving me a migraine. And besides, I like happy endings. Y'all can keep going or y'all can come with me, but I'm going backstage to rewrite my part. She sits down in one of the chairs, loosens the collar of her space suit, and begins to jot notes to herself on a pad. 'Let's see,' she murmurs 'I've always wanted my character to do this...' "

For some this notion of "choosing" might be a radical paradigm shift, for others it might be subtle. But the question remains the same: "What if you get to choose who lives in your house of you? Would you choose a sustainable community or a combustible one?"

And before you go down that road of "it's not that simple..." or "easier said then done...", what if you were to consider it a matter of civic responsibility? Elizabeth Gilbert called this act "assuming custodial responsibility for the care of your soul." Imagine how making the decision to improve your house would also benefit everyone that comes into contact with it. You've not only created health and happiness for your own home, you've also spruced up the neighborhood, inspiring your neighbors and friends to do the same.

What if your choice not only impacted you and your life? What if it impacted the world? What would you choose then?

Border Collies Get It

2011-03-01T11:30:00.000-05:00

So I have this new theory about Balance - or lack thereof. It's helped me to ditch the unrealistic expectations and see things for what they are: constantly in motion and always changing.

My sister used to have this border collie named Bobo. She was a rock star. She had one purpose in life and she took it very seriously. Her job was to account for all the sheep and keep them together at all times. The only problem was that my sister didn't own any sheep. So any people that came into her home inadvertently signed up for this role.

Picture this: You are at a party at my sister's house with about twenty other people. You're talking, having a glass of wine and meeting some new people. All of a sudden you realize everyone at the party is standing really close to you. You look around and discover that all the guests at the party are tightly concentrated - some would say even squished - into the center of the living room. You don't even need to check. You know Bobo is out there. You hear her clicking toe nails dutifully encircling us. The sheep. You know she's smiling her doggie smile at having contained us all so neatly.

Until one of us breaks rank. Someone has to go to the bathroom, or maybe gets nervous in the presence of so many "close talkers" and moves to the outside edges of the room or makes a break for the kitchen.

See, Bobo? She gets it. She knows that sheep will always, always needed tending. Happy as she is with her job, she expects the errant sheep. It's job security for her. Keeps her on her toes, entertained even.

So how does this relate to balance? I don't know about you, but I fall prey to the illusion of all my sheep staying put. I circle them once and then crash on the couch, assuming they stay where I left them like good little sheep. At least until I'm good and ready to round them up again.

I've come to realize that's some seriously flawed logic. Here's how that scenario plays out:

I do the laundry, pay the bills, grocery shop, clean the house, straighten up, do the kids' paperwork for school, get my hair cut, exercise, sleep, have sex, connect with my friends, work with a client, empty the dishwasher, drop off the dry cleaning, meditate and shovel the driveway. There. All the sheep are accounted for and in a nice tidy bunch. All done, right?

No, because I look up from the couch and there it is. Chaos. The sheep are all over the place! Again.

And that's why Bobo is so wise. She knows this thing we humans call "balance" is really an illusion. It's never "there" or "done". Ever. She knows it's all relative and fluid, never static.

So the grocery shopping didn't get done, but the dog fur is vacuumed up and the kids lunches were made! Of course you didn't sleep much this week, because you grocery shopped and cooked up a storm to fill your freezer with meals and even made some for your sick neighbor! So the bills are all stacked up on the office desk (which is a mess), but you got some good lovin' this week and are feeling totally sated because of all that exercise! Sure all that laundry is done (and actually put away), but you look see yourself in the mirror and see all that crazy hair and those eyebrows which have taken on a life of their own...

You get the picture. Sounds familiar, right? Dare I say, "realistic"?

See, Bobo knows life is like a spider web. You pull one corner of the web and another corner has to give a bit. If you spend time chasing down one errant sheep, another sheep is bound to take advantage of the situation and make a run for it.

It just makes sense. So maybe it's a new theory and maybe it's just new to me. But Bobo knows.

Grace Letters

2011-02-15T11:15:00.000-05:00

Years ago I was given a gift by my late sister-in-law, Grace. That gift, over time, has evolved into a ritual much like a grain of sand creates a pearl. Because it's bittersweet, this gift. Just like the grain of sand in the oyster, it causes friction and discomfort before the beauty emerges.

Grace was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer when she was 39. She fought valiantly with great courage and, well, grace. She was a woman capable of great love and had an unwavering faith. It was this winning combination (along with an incredible family and a stubborn northern Maine constitution) that enabled her to long-surpass her 18 month prognosis, living a full five years beyond what was expected.

In the last days of her life, I wrote Grace a letter offering to help record her thoughts and lessons on life, love and loss for her children to read some day. At the time, they were ages 9 and 12, and I imagined she was full of information, advice and instructions for them knowing they would be growing up without her in their life everyday.

She accepted my invitation and I remember how honored I felt by the intimacy of that moment. We began each session with Grace selecting a topic from a "menu" of questions that covered topics like faith, community service, marriage, love, sex, education, parenting and beyond. She would talk and I would write. When she'd had enough, I'd go home and transcribe it, print it, put on a clipboard with a red pen and drop it off at the hospital for her to edit. And edit she would! I'd make the changes and show her again. Then we'd capture some more. And so we proceeded until we had pages and pages of her thoughts written down in her own "voice."

Grace died the following week. As the family grieved and clung together over the next few months, I watched how those "Grace Letters" comforted first her husband, and then her children. Their dad would read excerpts to them periodically as a way of gently touching the tenderness of what they were feeling and offering some solace and connection to their mom at a time when they needed her most.

The experience of helping Grace to write those letters was the gift of a lifetime. It's also a gift that keeps giving.

Every year, as I take myself away for my birthday retreat to reflect, I have a ritual of writing each of my boys a Grace Letter before I return home. In it, I thank them for the privilege of mothering them, and I recount some of the lessons they've taught me. I also share a bit of my own perspective on life as it relates to where they are developmentally or what I'm witnessing in each of them. Most recently, I've taken to writing these letters in a special book, so that they're all in one location rather than floating about the house. It's a gift, that book - to me and to my family. I don't wait to read the letters to them either (it's not my style, to wait.) Having done this ritual now for four years, they have come to expect their letters and are excited to hear what's in them each year.

When I sat with Grace nearly four years ago, I watched as she fretted about what to include - it all felt so important, and time was limited. I can still hear her saying, "where do I begin?" I learned from Grace that we are all in the process of dying, she just knew her death was coming sooner than later. She left me with a deep appreciation of "beginning now" - writing the story as it unfolds. Loving the story as it unfolds, with all its twists and turns and uncertainty.

I received many, many gifts from Grace, but I'll always be thankful for the one that helped me to see life for what it is - a gift to be opened each day. My Grace Letters are the red bow that ties together a whole year of my days.

Thank you, Grace.

Creating Stuck

2011-02-08T11:20:00.004-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days - or weeks or months - where you have a pile of work to do and yet you just stare off into space, stall and allow yourself to be distracted? Yeah, me too. More often than I care to admit, actually.

My friend calls it "chasing after shiny pennies". A colleague used to call it "alphabetizing her rolodex" (yes, I'm that old). I prefer to call it purgatory. As a working mom running my own business, I need to be uber efficient. Caffeine is my friend and I admit I love that feeling of crossing things off my list (yes, I have been known to write down things I've already done so I can get "credit" for doing it...there, I said it)

There are plenty of references to this chronic affliction. It's most commonly referred to as "wasting time" (what does that mean exactly?) Abby Seixas wrote about "The disease-of-a-thousand-things-to-do" and how it results in us chasing our tails. Carl Honore claims it is a logical consequence of the addiction to the "cult of speed" that has run rampant in our society. My sister, who teaches yoga to children, calls it "the monkey mind." My clients - busy, fast-moving, women - visit this place of being stuck so frequently, I jokingly tried to make it a cooler place to by, saying "stuck is the new black."

You know the place, right? That sensation of spinning your wheels and not being productive? Having nothing to show for your time? In a society that values doing, measuring, and moving, it's only natural that we want to avoid this place. Wasting time=bad. I used to buy into this, but not anymore.

Last fall I saw an intuitive that totally reframed this notion of "wasting time" for me. She said, "Oh, you create 'stuck' for yourself as a way of slowing yourself down." I create stuck? She went onto tell me "I do stuck really well", meaning when I get stuck, I respond quickly by dropping down into it. I simply surrender. So this place - this purgatory - is apparently by design. My design. It's not some fatal character flaw as I had long-since suspected. This was good news. In a bizarre twist, I began to actually take pride in my proficiency at "creating stuck", rather than feeling shame and beating myself up when I had trouble focusing.

When I thought about it, it made perfect sense to me. I move fast through life - one person referred to me once as a comet. But what do we know about comets? They burn out. As I tracked back my thoughts leading up to this "stuck" place, I noticed I pattern. Right before that moment of disengagement, I was lamenting how tired I was, how much I needed a break, how I couldn't keep going at this pace. So my body, mind and spirit, in all its wisdom, responded to my request and created some "stuck" for me.

Sometimes I would get sick. Sometimes we would have a snow day and I would have to cancel all my plans to stay at home with my kids. Those are the obvious ones and I tend recognize those easily enough.I gave myself permission because they were "good excuses." But it's the subtle ones that were tricky to sniff out. The times there was no apparent reason I wasn't able to focus. I would try and muscle through those places, cracking the whip and berating my inability to produce one measly thing of worth. It used to turn into this long and drawn out day-long battle, complete with sweat and often, tears.

Now my sniffer is more attuned to those subtle hints that I am in a stuck place. I recognize them easier and have come to expect them. I actually - and this is the cool part - have come to value them. Rather than kicking and dragging my feet, I treat that "stuckness" as a menu item I have specifically ordered with my needs in mind. And I eat it up. Every crumb. Because it nourishes me at the times I need it most.

Could this be a massive justification for procrastination and sloth-like behavior? Sure. But I think we both know it's not. Try stuck on for size and see if it fits. They say it's the new black.

Lessons from Clay

2011-01-25T15:25:00.012-05:00

So I've started taking pottery classes. You know, the kind with a wheel. The experience is a bit like walking into a formal cocktail party wearing your bra and underwear on the outside of your clothes. Not that I've ever done that, but I'm just sayin'...

But nonetheless I remain committed to this self-imposed creative experiment and am starting to see the fruits of my labor - beyond just some pretty cool looking bowls.

I've come to vehemently believe one thing about pottery and working on the wheel: it's not about the clay. I have been continually amazed at the richness of the metaphor of throwing pots, much to the chagrin of my classmates, I'm sure (it's not easy have a coach in your midst...everything becomes a metaphor for living).

It's ingenious really, clay. Because embedded in it, mixed up with all the sand, sediment and water is, well, me. Who would have thought going to pottery class would have the same impact as therapy, coaching, intuitive reading and body work combined? Ok, so I'm exaggerating, but it's not far off base. Here are my latest lessons in clay to illustrate what I'm talking about:

Be committed, but don't get too attached

Working at the wheel forces you to recognize that something you've labored on and sweat over is simply a thing. That's all. No matter how much you love it and are proud of it, your creation can flop over, slop apart or shatter in a moments notice. Again and again. It kind of desensitizes you to material loss on a small scale. Until you realize that it is what it is. At which point, your focus shifts to the process of making the bowl instead of the destination of the finished product.

It takes time and patience to center, and you're dead in the water without it

Ah, centering...we meet again. "Centering" is the act of getting your lump of clay exactly in the middle of the wheel while the wheel is moving around and around. Sounds easier that it is, but it takes time and a boatload of patience to master. It's one of the hold-your-breath-wince-and-tense-up-your-shoulders kind of "simple" things. Like meditating, some would say. It makes you sweat even on the coldest of days and is the price of entry to any good pottery piece - if you don't center your clay, your pot is doomed to a long, slow and ugly demise. Ah, but once you pass through those pearly gates, it's all downhill sailing - life, I mean throwing a pot, is so much easier. Oh, and one bright spot on the centering front? I'm happy to report there is such a thing as "plenty centered", so no need to hold out for the "perfectly" category. Plenty will do just fine.

Fear won't serve you well at all, so just get over it

There is nothing more humbling than the realization that a half-pound lump of clay is holding you captive with fear. Seriously. And when that clay starts to take shape into something more functional, dare I say, beautiful, the stakes go higher and so goes the fear. Of failure. Of ruining something after running through all those gauntlets. It's like those feverish game show contestants, knowing when to say "deal" or "no deal" and cut your losses or go for the big bucks. As you watch the wheel spinning round and round you continually butt up against choice points and option "A" always seems to be "be afraid." This is not simply a trick question, it's an open invitation to see through to a different option, a different way of being. The lesson here is that you'll always have fear, it's like the loyal collie companion of living, always at your beck and call.

Keep the wheel moving

This has become my mantra - thanks to the multiple times during class I hear my plenty-patient instructor utter those very words as she passes by me. It reminds me of that physics law, "a body in motion stays in motion" and I have found, as in exercise, it forces me to breathe (you can only hold your breath for so long, you know...) Keeping the wheel moving is a practice that forces you to work with things as they are in motion, to match your form to a moving form, and to breathe independently of my actions on the wheel. In this start-stop, hurry-up-and-wait, want-it-now culture, I've found it's a radical act to keep my foot slow and steady on the wheel. Going zero-to-sixty, slamming on the brakes or making sudden herky-jerky movements just don't fly with the wheel world. Slow and steady she goes.

When you let go, let go gently

Yeah, this one was a one-two punch for me (in a good way). There's the whole "letting go" thing, but then kissing up against it is the whole "gentle" thing. Friends with benefits, they are. Here's how it looks: you're moving your hand across the bottom of the bowl and then smoothly up the sides to pull them up higher and higher and then - BLAM - you withdraw your hands like you've been jolted with a lightening bolt (in my case because I've run out of breath...which I've been holding.) So now a perfectly smooth and graceful line has a pinch and a wobble to one side. The letting go, well, that's an obvious lesson, but here's the subtle nuance when you overlay it with the "gentle" thing. My instructor watched me today and said, "right before you let go, you need to gently release pressure until you're no longer touching it." I nearly broke into tears with understanding. I thought of everything I loved so dearly - my children, my beloved and the life we've built together, my business that I adore. I thought of that adage, "if you loved something, let it go" and how it will come back to you. So letting go is about love and gently releasing our hold on it.

Don't take yourself so seriously

So how do you - or I, in this case - stay sane when all these thoughts and realizations are pouring out of me as the wheel keeps spinning and spinning around (make it stop!) Laughter. Thank heavens it comes easily to me - a saving grace, for certain. I look over at my neighbor and we both roll our eyes and exchange knowing nods and we chuckle. I watch as my classmates learn to make handles for mugs by "pulling from a pot" and I bust a gut at the suggestive nature of it (google it...you'll see what I mean.) I channel my friend, Katie West and the philosophy that is the basis of her Levity Institute and periodically chant ha-ha-ho-ho-ho or rehearse a laughter story I will tell later to my friends and clients. If none of that work, I just look down and see that I'm covered in head to toe in brown slop and slurry - is there anything more hysterical than a person trying to take themselves seriously looking like that!? I rest my case

Hip Hip Hurray!

2010-12-22T10:53:00.004-05:00

I have hips. If I sound shocked it's because I'd forgotten (again). But this morning after taking my first Zumba! class, I marvelled at how foreign the sensation was to move my hips as they were meant to move - from side to side.

I've had this experience before, forgetting my hips. I remember taking belly dancing for the first time when I was 10 months pregnant with my first son and then again when I was pregnant with my second son. I liked the way the baby moved in response to my own movement and I liked how sensual and powerfully feminine it made me feel - even despite the newness of the dance to me. I remember the instructor speaking about the roots of belly dance being about birthing and how it is a celebration and an expression of women's power. Of women's stories. Of women's wisdom. Most of all, I remember being in labor with my sons and moving my hips in a figure eight for hour after hour as I brought new life into the world. I can't think of another time I felt more powerfully feminine.

And yet this way of being seemed to be the exception in my life.

Growing up in my tribe of white women, I learned to find my way in a world that values predominately the masculine. I let myself lose my connection to my hips. I became a runner and often joked that "I didn't have hips" because how my body was shaped, lean with a wide waist and narrow hips. I entered corporate america and learned to walk tall and straight, not a sashay or wiggle in sight.

As I think of it now, it makes me sad. Don't get me wrong, I love my masculine side - the part of me that stands firm like a mountain and moves directly in a line, swift and efficient. But that is only half of me and, truth be told, takes a fair amount of energy and consciousness. By denying or discounting the feminine in me, I had made a part of myself invisible - sawing off part of who I am without much thought. How terrifying how that happens. And it seems I'm not alone.

Last week, twenty-two women came together at my winter Tribal Gathering to talk about sensuality and power in women. We remembered our hips - indivdually and collectively - and honored their desire to move from side to side as something that is destinctly feminine. And powerful. We talked about connection between spirituality, sensuality and power in women and acknowledged how this feminine way of being in the world - being with the world - will heal us.

So let's move our hips again. It's time. When you have a free moment today, put your finger tips to your hip bones. Literally connect with them. And listen to what they have to say. Watch as start to move with ease from side to side as you walk. Give them a little shake or shimmy and celebrate how this ancient instinct still lives within you.

Dirty Harry

2010-08-31T16:23:00.004-04:00

August plays a mean game of chicken. With September barreling toward us like a runaway freight train, August holds its ground like Dirty Harry in a desert town. "This town's not big enough for both of us", August sneers, its eyes squinting at the hot sun as a tumbleweed rolls on by. And September screeches to a halt, idling at a distance and biding its time. Like Clint Eastwood in those infamous Dirty Harry movies, there is something audacious and unapologetic about August. It doesn't care if there is work to do, plans to make or logistics to coordinate. It doesn't need your permission or approval. It really doesn't. With its heat and seductively beautiful days, August squeezes the last days of summer out of us and we are the better for it. We instinctively know that there is wisdom in the mandate of August to resign and resist sneaking peaks at the freight train waiting just outside the town line. "Stick with me, kid", August says, "it'll be waiting for you when I'm done."

Seek Out A Little Solace

2010-08-13T08:00:00.001-04:00

It's a radical act to strike out on your own. On purpose. With intention. And yet, however terrifying that prospect might seem, I am firmly convinced it is elixir for the soul. Keeping good company with your own self is an exercise in unconditional love. Free from the distractions of prater and chatter, cell phones and wifi, friends and foes, the hum of our own operating system can be heard.

Every year, sometime during the week of my birthday, I take myself away for one night and two days. I started doing this the year I turned 39 and it's become something of a ritual. I always go to the same place up the coast. Every year on the day I leave it rains. And the kids whine and beg me not to go. And awful stories swirl around in my head about being selfish, inflicting unnecessary stress on my family and spending money on myself that could go toward something else. Something more important. But I somehow muster the fortitude to drag myself out of the house, into the car and up the coast.

When I tell this to people - friends and clients - I get a lot of "well, that must be nice..." or "I wish I could do that, but it would be so hard to get away." Let me tell you right now, "nice" is not the word I would ever use to describe that journey, and it's never ever easy to get away. Ever. It's rugged and it takes every ounce of courage I have. But having fulfilled that commitment to myself for three years now, I am a believer. It's so worth the angst, the sweat and the money. It's my annual anchor and it deeply nourishes my spirit and soul.

Each year, I have many rituals I go through and very clear intentions for my time away. Some of them soothe my soul so I relax and some of them stir the pot and agitate me into a state of clarity. The best description of what I do, however, I found in the KT Tunstall song, Someday Soon:

Think it's time to put myself away
Seek out a little solace
Close the doors and sit a while
And walk a little

As I put my words away
The flow slows...

It is this same belief that inspired me to offer Homecoming: A Women's Retreat back in 2008 for the first time. Forty-one women joined me at that retreat back then. This October, I will be holding the retreat again and it's likely we'll have twice that number. It seems that "radical' is the new black. More and more women are putting firm stakes in the ground and are carving out time for themselves. Look at what a phenomenon Eat, Pray, Love has become (it opens today, by the way...)

Will it be hard to pull yourself away? Sure it will. Might you feel awkward or self-conscious at first? Of course. But that won't stop you, will it? Because if you're reading this, you're a believer, too. And if you need a bit of encouragement or a primer, check out this awesome YouTube video called Learning to Be Alone. It's a thing of beauty and calls to each of us to see ourselves as such.

The Flip Side of Anger

2010-08-05T08:10:00.001-04:00

I’m quite confident I’m going to kick the hornet’s nest on this one, but let’s get it out there and see what happens, shall we?

I think anger gets a bad rap these days. It’s not surprising that this emotion is feared, denied, repressed and shushed. After all, “anger” has become almost synonymous with “violence” and it’s so pervasive these days, who in their right mind would become a “fan” of that page, eh?

But I was thinking about anger today. And actually feeling a bit sorry for it. I think it’s one of the most misunderstood emotions we have because it spends so little time in the light of day. It’s shunned and left to fend for itself in the darkness, mumbling in the cave and scuffing up the dirt in frustration like a petulant child. I don’t blame it – I’d be a bit ornery, too, if I were that devalued and misunderstood. Because at its essence, Anger is just really another form of energy, isn’t it? Unlike “violence”, Anger is not a behavior, it’s an emotion. It’s an emotion with Tabasco sauce sprinkled on top. And it generally has something for us to hear. Something that’s coming from a deep and meaningful place – like lava rising up from the depths and spilling out over the rim of the volcano.

I’ve been tracking Anger for a while now – in myself and in my clients – and I’ve come to actually appreciate it much, much more. And here’s why: it signals passion, conviction and a willingness to take a stand, draw a line and make a change. For a coach, this pay dirt when working with a client because all of the sudden we have access to a reservoir of potential energy for change that had previously been contained. Someone giving voice to their anger is a powerful thing to witness. Often it unfolds like a fiddlehead in the spring…beginning with sadness, maybe with a pinch of disappointment thrown in, then making its way gradually into annoyance and then finally entering into the realm of downright anger. Upon entry into that often “forbidden” land, I often see clients make passionate proclamations, and then clamp their hands over their mouths, their eyes wide and startled-looking as they kind of giggle at themselves. I love that place in working with clients…helping them to hold onto that which can be slippery and saying, “oh, hi there…well, well, well…what have we here…?” And then we listen. Deeply.

In writing this, I am reminded of that awesome book by Judith Duerk called A Circle of Stones (the very same book that was the inspiration for the title of my blog). In it, she poses the question: "How might it have been different for you if, earlier in your life, the first time you as a tiny child felt your anger coming together inside yourself, someone, a parent or grandparent, or older sister or brother, had said, “Bravo! Yes, that’s it! You’re feeling it!”

It’s about naming it. Honoring it. Bringing it out into the light of day. And listening to what it has to tell you. And then watching as it dissipate back to nothing. What it we were to stand before it and receive its gifts with a more loving and trusting heart rather than running from it, looking over our shoulder with fear? My guess is we’d be a mite more healthy.

What’s your take on it? Go ahead. I already gave the hornet’s nest a big ‘ole kick. They’re going to be angry at me, not you.

July: The Lazy River

2010-07-29T10:24:00.002-04:00

Like a bright red juicy strawberry, July is dripping with sweetness and a sense of indulgence. With the fruits and vegetables swollen and nearly dropping off the vine by themselves, we kick back and give in to the seductive "don't lift a finger" mentality that is July. It's the siesta of the year, when everyone finds a shady tree to lounge under and contemplate our navels a spell. Making our way through July is like tubing down a river - you don't have much control (there's really no way to steer), you might not have a sense of where you'll come ashore or how you'll get back upriver, so you just rest your head and watch the world float by. Thoughts don't dally long in our heads and worries can't seem to get a foothold in this sweaty and swollen month. As the cicadas and kids call out to us, we lose focus, laugh at our inability to get things done, and eventually throw up our hands and say, "Oh well, it'll get done tomorrow, I guess..." And it does, or not. But July doesn't really care, now does it? Because it's all about those fat juicy moments filled with nothing that fill us up and make us rub our bellies and delight as the sweet juice drips off our chins. What are you going do, eh? Flow baby, flow.

Just Like She Said

2010-07-22T12:39:00.003-04:00

I thought it was all my imagination – that feeling that we are on a cusp of huge change or are approaching a tipping point as a society. But it seems I’m not alone. At least there are thirteen grandmothers out there that would be nodding their heads in agreement as I write this.

For a while now, I’ve been fascinated by the Mayan prophecy of 2012. I love how it reminds me of the larger cycle of our evolution. It invites me to relinquish control (as if!), let go and have trust and faith in the natural order of things. The whole notion offers me tremendous hope - a far cry from the doom and end-of-the-world feelings that it has generated in others.

For those of you not familiar with it, the Mayan prophecy foretells of the approach of a signification date (Dec 21, 2012) – one that will signify we have completed a full cycle in our evolution and will begin another. In my mind, it offers a larger framework in which to make sense of all the crumbling – literally and figuratively – in the economy, our environment, our health and the organizations and institutions we have come to rely upon and view as indestructible. In the larger cycle of life, this is the death and destruction that makes space for something new to be born. It was this fascination with the Mayan prophecy and an incredible PBS special on the topic, that led me to the grandmothers.

So here’s the deal. In mid-October of 2004, thirteen indigenous grandmothers “from all four directions” of the world gathered in New Mexico to share their visions, prophesies and healing to inspire others to more consciously partake in the unfolding of our world. “So what?” you might think. Well, it’s really the story of how this group of grandmothers found their way into being a council that grabbed me the most. Apparently, this gathering of wise women from all over the world has been a long time in the making.

Here are some excerpts from the book Grandmothers Counsel the World that explain how and why this is all coming about:

• “The council, which had been spoken of in prophecy and seen in visions since time immemorial, finally emerged in the aftermath of 9/11. The Grandmothers’ participation in the council had been foretold to each of them in different ways. When they were very young, a few of the Grandmothers had been told by their Grandmothers that this was their destiny. All of the Grandmothers had been invited long ago, in a time before time as we know it, to meet at the time of the Great Turning to become a force for peace in the world. Prophecy revealed to each on that they must now share even their most secret and sacred ways with the very people who have been their oppressors, as the survival of humanity, if not the entire planet, is at stake.”

• “All of the Grandmothers who accepted said they knew deep within that they were meant to participate, even if at first they might have felt unworthy…they knew they were being called to action.”

• “The Grandmothers first learned that thirteen was the correct number of council members when tears welled up in Yupik Grandmother Rita Pitka Blumenstein’s eyes as she introduced herself on the first day of the gathering. She handed out thirteen stones and thirteen eagle feathers to each of the Grandmothers, a gift she had been holding and waiting to give for a very long time. The thirteen stones and thirteen eagle feathers had been given to Rita when she was nine years old by her great-grandmother, who told her to give them to the women of the Council of Grandmothers when they all finally met, a council Rita would someday be a part of.”

• “The return of the Grandmother has been foretold for hundreds of years. A vision of the Grandmothers Council has been seen by many peoples, indigenous and nonindigenous alike. The Grandmothers are gathering because, according to the prophesies of many religious traditions, the end of the world as we know it is near. The Grandmothers tell us that balance as a way of living is returning, balance in all relations, including with our Mother Earth. A thousand years of peace is being ushered in for those who will make the necessary changes in their hearts.”

The bottom line is this:

• “The Grandmother of all creation, the One who is the maker of life, the One whom we have forgotten, is calling us. She is not angry with us, but She is sad that we have forgotten who She is. She’s is coming back into our consciousness through prophecy and visions. She is bringing a profound nurturing, a depth of compassion, and a kind of love we not longer remember, but which was strong in ancient times. This pure female energy will awaken men as well as women, through a story we will already know in our hearts once we hear it.”

Imagine that!? Happy sigh. I don’t know about you, but it looks like being a Grandmother is totally where it’s at these days. Want to learn more about the specifics of their vision and prophecies? Read the book. Or just watch the world change. Whatever works for you.

Ditch the Soggy Bread

2010-07-14T10:30:00.000-04:00

I hear it again and again from women I work with… “I make a comment or suggest an idea and nothing happens. Then a man suggests the same idea five minutes later and everyone says, ‘good idea!” We could go down a road of looking how society diminishes or makes invisible women’s voices. But I have a juicier place to look: how YOU are creating that dynamic.

I’d invite you to listen to your own language with a keen ear for the next week. See if you can hear how you publically disqualify your own ideas or thoughts. You might be amazed at how frequently you are your own worst enemy when it comes to taking yourself seriously. And practically speaking, if you don’t…why should we?

I’ve come to appreciate how women – myself included – have been encultured to create kind of a verbal “soggy sandwich”, so that the substance in the middle gets lost or watered down to mush. Here’s how it typically looks: we start a sentence with a disqualifier such as “This might be a crazy idea…” or “You’ll probably think I’m off the wall for suggesting this…” or “I’m sure I’m the only one who feels this way, but…” Then we share our insightful thought or bright idea. Finally, we finish it off with a straggly ending, often tapering it off to the point of just muttering: “…told you it was out there…” or “…but that’s just my two cents…”

The impact of this is that people stop listening before you’ve even began sharing your thoughts. If you think about it, why would they after that stellar beginning, eh? And if you did successfully hook someone with what was undoubtedly a sound idea or valid point, your straggling ending loosens their tenuous hold on it like a slippery noodle. They literally can’t recall what you’ve said amidst all those other soggy words.

Do we do this ALL the time? Not at all. Nor am I suggesting we do. But, I would wage a bet that you do this more often than you realize. Test it out. Enlist the support of a trusted colleague or friend to track your comments over the course of a week and see what you can learn. Then laugh it off and move along. In my experience, once you realize what you’re doing to detract from your own impact, you will catch yourself as it happens and will correct it. Eventually you will catch yourself before it happens, and voila! You’re there!

I feel passionately about this because we are at a time in our history where women – what they think, experience and have to say – are being called forth more and more to center stage. There is a window of opportunity for women to advance themselves – and the world. But this will require us to take ourselves seriously and to get our voices out there – crisply and cleanly, no holds barred. As Maddie Dychtwald writes in her new book Influence, “This is moment historians will look back on, pointing their fingers and tracing the era on timelines for students of the future: See it there! See the rise of the woman at the dawn of the twenty-first century! …The lightning’s moving closer; the storm is about to break….but this moment won’t last forever.”

Seeing Is Believing

2010-07-08T11:00:00.000-04:00

I have this sign on my fence – strategically placed so that I see it multiple times a day. I see it when I pull into my driveway. I see it out the window when I’m coaching clients. It’s that important. In many ways, it represents the belief on which my business – no, really my life – is based.

Sure it’s a bit rusty and dented, but you would be, too, if you were a cheap piece of metal from the Christmas Tree shop asked to endure the rugged Maine winters, only to be knocked off your cheap nail time and time again when an overly-zealous child slams the adjoining gate a bit hard. But I still see it.

That sign has stood the test of time and so has my belief.

Magic is amazing when it just appears before you – manifesting seemingly out of no where and delighting us with feelings of serendipity and mystery. But calling in magic. Drawing it down to you like the moon pulls the tides? That takes moxie. And guts and courage, sweat and faith. And, if you’re lucky, a hearty tribe of like-minded people that believe in you.

This week has been filled with examples of that sign. And that is worthy of pause and celebration. This week, I’ve witnessed women taking sharp intakes of breath and finally walking over the threshold of their dreams they’ve brought to reality. I’ve shared in the excitement as women have handed in their resignation letters, reinvented their marriages and said YES to themselves for the first time ever. Without guilt or looking back. All of them have referenced magic.

They are believers. And I am honored to call them my clients. Here’s to having moxie.

Of COURSE It's Terrifying!

2010-07-01T11:00:00.001-04:00

The potency of anticipation is so often underrated. It can be quite a sticky-wicket to set realistic expectations. Especially when you’re scared. Or full of doubt. I mean, you make a BOLD decision, you finally COMMIT to something that’s important to you, you take that FIRST step toward your dreams, you LEAVE the fleecy blanket of comfort for the open tundra of the unknown and what….you thought it would be…Easy? Comfortable? The same as before? Uh, yeah. Think again.

It’s all about that sharp intake of breath in anticipation – like the moment before you plunge into an icy cold ocean on a warm day. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s all about that moment.

It’s easy to fall prey to the seductive lure of the irrational expectations, isn’t it? Especially when we’re about to embark on a whole new chapter or we’re poised to take a leap of faith into the unknown abyss. It’s a way we psych ourselves up for actually taking that leap or making that change. Perhaps that’s why the phrase, “ignorance is bliss” was created. It’s all part of the hokey-pokey of navigating change.

If I sound like I’m making light this dance we do with change, I kind of am. And I’m guilty of it, too. It’s just that sometimes we’re so adorable as humans, it’s kind of endearing to witness ourselves dipping our toes in and out and in and out of the icy water. Or running up to the edge of a cliff and then screeching to a halt. What we’re really talking about is a rite of passage. And feeling it in our bones. Deep down, we know the person on the other side of the leap isn’t going to be the same person anymore. So of course it's terrifying. Whatever happens as a result, you will ultimately land on the other side of the sharp intake of breath. You might still be holding your breath, but you’re on your way to an exhale. So that feeling – call it terror, fear, or exhilaration - it’s kind of part of the package. In that context, there’s really no escaping it.

Giving birth? Yeah, it hurts. Getting a tattoo? Yeah, that hurts, too. Falling over on your bike when you’re using clipless pedals on your bike for the first time? Hurts. Disappointing someone you love or feeling guilty because you put yourself – just this once – at the top of your priority list? Ouch. Leaping out of a plane and potentially going splat on the ground? Yup. Uber hurt.

But I think hurt and fear get a bit of a bad rap in our culture. We brace for it, we cringe in anticipation and contract all our face muscles as we avert our eyes. Like getting a tetanus shot at the doctor’s office. It’s only natural, right? A human response to avoid pain. But what if we turned into it instead? Anticipated that sharp intake, so when it came time, it was more of a friend than a foe? What if we named that feeling without shame, but with honor? Reverence, even.

Would that rob us of an essential ingredient of transition? Would it still constitute a rite of passage if we didn’t feel the terror or grip of fear that taking such a risk can elicit? I’m not sure. This is my fervent wish, though: I hope we can move to a place of pride in those intake moments. As when a baby crowns or the icy water engulf us in a polar plunge, I hope we can one day exhale and say, “Ah, this is to be expected…”

Cannonball

2010-06-30T13:30:00.000-04:00

Like a good piece of fat wood thrown on a fire or the exuberant face of a child's first cannonball, June arrives with a POW and makes itself known in a hurry. June is a bit like being shot out of a cannon - it's all dark and muffled at first and then before you know it, you're airborne, sailing high above the crowds gathered under the big top. It's exhilarating and a bit wildly out of control. Like an eager bull busting out of its pen for the first time in the season, June reminds us how good it feels to be alive and casually shrugs off our angst and caution by telling us to just hold on tight and pray for a soft landing. And land we do - with splashes and big noises and cheesy grins. "Again, again, we cry!" as we climb back in the saddle for another go of it. And so goes June - reacquainting us with the blessed joy of taking risks or trying something new and demonstrating the value of just plunging in and getting all wet. With it's longer days and hotter nights we shed our layers and cut loose a little (okay a lot) as we are reunite with our fiery spirits and passion. We emerge from June with a few bruises and sore places, but feeling scrappier, happier and heartier than we thought possible. Go figure.

Now You See Her, Now You Don't

2010-06-21T10:00:00.000-04:00

I’m not too keen on what we do to older women in this society. It seems we have become quite adept at making them invisible and that bothers me deeply, partly because I will eventually be an older woman myself and also because I have this nagging sense that I’ve unwittingly played a role in perpetuating this tendency to marginalize older women.

There are many wonderful books about the phases of a woman’s life – from Joan Borysenko to Christiane Northrup and Jean Shinoda Bolen – but my mental model has essentially three phases: the maiden, the mother and the crone (like the waxing, full and waning phases of the moon.) But unlike some of the ancient cultures which appear to have reverence for the wisdom of age, our western society tends to diminish it or – worse yet – turn away from our older women as if they didn’t exist. This is what I mean when I say we “make invisible”. Take a look and you’ll see it all around you – from the “anti-aging” creams to the subtle and not so subtle “tuning out” that occurs in our board rooms and at our dinner tables. I know it’s ugly and we don’t like to talk about it, but I’m going there. You with me?

When I took belly dancing a few years ago when I was swollen with a baby in my belly, I looked around the room and marveled at the beauty of all the different women – all shapes, sizes and ages – moving in their bodies. The instructor told us about the women in her family and how her heritage (Lebanese) is one that believes a woman’s belly dance gets better and richer with age – because they have lived more and experienced more and can add that into their dance. She said the elder woman of a family will often be the last to dance in accordance with this belief, and I imagined a room brought to silence by the sheer power of a wise woman dancing her life story.

And yet, when I look at my own culture and the older women in my life, I see a very different picture. I watch as older women fight to be heard (literally yelling at times), are dismissed and not taken seriously for their thoughts or ideas, and are silenced or excluded from the conversation. In truth, we could make the case that we do this with our very young and our very old in this society, but I’m most curious about the women.

And how am I culpable? What are the subtle– and not so subtle – ways I perpetuate this cultural behavior as a “full moon” woman? I start with me because I believe change begins with each of us asking ourselves that question. If we are to rewrite the script for how we will be perceived as older women, we must begin by taking responsibility for our role in “making invisible” the older women in our lives today. Start there. Go there.

Hardiness Zones for Women

2010-06-08T10:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it’s really lonely being a woman leader, isn’t it? I have found this to be true in my own experience and hear it echoed time and time again among the women leaders in my practice. And it’s no wonder why: we live in a society that tends to be obsessed with pitting women against each other. This is more than a little disturbing because – when you really look at it – it is just not in our nature to attack each other. So this loneliness? It’s a product of our culture. There's even a name for it: internalized sexism.

Having seen (and sadly, taken part in) this dynamic with women during my corporate career and as I watch the proliferation of media that swirls around us, I can despair at how women can be their own worst enemies. Then I participated in a Hardy Girls Healthy Women training on creating Hardiness Zones for girls and felt a light bulb of hope turn on inside me.

Hardiness Zones for middle school girls, which is based on the research of Lyn Mikel Brown, is about a creating a safe community for girls to be allies for each other in an otherwise “toxic soil”. Adopting a strength-based approach, the girls in these coalition groups examine their experiences, realities and reactions so they are able to gain perspective on them and, ultimately, make choices that give them control. In these groups, girls are not necessarily friends with each other, but respect each other enough to tell the truth, validate and stand by one another. Research has shown it works. More than that, it’s just plain inspiring.

So what if there were Hardiness Zones for women? Different than a social gathering, affinity group, or mentoring programs, these would be strategic and diverse coalitions of women in the workplace designed to support women in being allies for one another. Far from another diversity program or a "fix the women" initiative, this group would be a place where other women could validate and help you to name what you’re feeling or experiencing. Imagine anger being seen as a strength for creating change instead of a personal weakness? Imagine looking around and seeing you’re not alone? What if you felt other women standing with you as you fortified yourself to resist the status quo and push for change? What if you had a place in which to process how it went with like-minded women who cared?

How might your experience as a leader be different? What might you be cabable of then?

Spine a Shotlight

2010-06-03T10:00:00.004-04:00

You know when someone says something by accident? And it turns out to be this profound statement of truth? I witnessed one of those recently.

It happened during a conversation about leadership with some other women at the Maine Women’s Fund. The essence of the conversation was about women stepping up more immediately up as leaders; not waiting for permission, authorization or “just the right” convergence of circumstances and gumption. Up until this point in our dialogue, we had touched upon the many reasons that women don’t step up – our penchant for influencing from behind, our low appetite for receiving credit, our exhaustion and tendency to “pick our battles.”

At one point, a member of our group blurted out (in her frustration), “We just need to spine a shotlight on the need for women to step into leadership roles…. I mean shine a spotlight.” We all chuckled and then paused. There was something in that turn of phrase that was magical and struck a chord with me and the other women in the group. Our conversation shifted after that. We began to talk about not waiting and doing something today to “be the change”. One woman shared a quote made by a friend recently, “every step I take is a women’s movement.”

Maybe that is invitation to us as women: to SPINE a shotlight; to embody the spotlight and let the light come from within each of us, rather than assuming it will somehow manifest outside us. Wouldn’t that, indeed, be the perfect image of women as agents of change? I instantly got the image of women walking around in the world with the light of their own visions for change radiating out from their solar plexuses.

In my work with women leaders, I often pose the question, “What if YOU were the leader you’ve been waiting for?” Too often – in myself and in my clients – I witness us waiting, pausing, second-guessing our instincts, our ideas or our value at the table. If more women were to “spine the shotlight”, perhaps we might bypass our minds and allow the full potency of our force for change flow from our core – unadulterated, unfiltered and unmistakable. Like the Kundalini energy of creation that ancient cultures believe lies coiled and ready at the base of our spine, women could awaken this dormant energy in ourselves and be virtual spotlights for our world.

Thank You, May

2010-05-31T10:30:00.000-04:00

May is the wild child of the lot – you never know what you’re going to get. With a sparkle in its eye, May moves in us and through us and around us with an impish grin, like an annoying wood sprite delighting in our earnest efforts to orient ourselves as we make our way through bright and shiny days, torrential rains, muggy messes and frosty nights. One day we’re sunburned and the next day we’re sodden. May is the trickster that has us swatting at flies and scratching our heads, not sure which end is up. Unsure of how to respond, we find ourselves just running in circles, self-conscious and slightly miffed at the fact that the birds have seemed to figure it out just fine. And that is the pure genius of May: its ability to roust us out of our stupor and get our juices pumping by simple irritation. Like a black fly biting a waking giant, May is relentless about getting our attention and won’t stop until we are clear-headed and running out of the woods for the open air.

A Quiet Revolution

2010-05-27T10:00:00.002-04:00

I recently attended a conference for mothers of boys. The keynote speaker, Kate Stone Lombardi, spoke about our society’s deep cultural belief system that suggests boys need to be pushed away from their mothers, lest they become “mama’s boys” (and therefore feminine…which would somehow be undesirable.) She also made note of "an underground social movement that is quietly ignoring those messages" and my ears perked up. This "quiet revolution", as she put it, is happening because more and more women are simply choosing to break rank with this belief system and were just mothering according to their own instincts. And – here’s the cool part – because they were flying under the radar, not making a big deal about it or announcing it, no one noticed. Or cared. A revolution that can happen right under our noses and in broad daylight? How wonderfully brilliant.

This whole notion got me thinking about change as a way of being as opposed to an event or a specific action. We talk so much about “fighting” and “doing battle” and “going toe to toe” and “head to head” and “speaking out” and how “complex” change is (yada, yada…) it's easy to understand how we might get lulled into staying put. What if we just lived our way into it – whatever “it” is to you – today instead of merely talking about it? What if we all stopped waiting for just the right circumstances to miraculously appear to create this change? What if profound and revolutionary change occurred in our everyday - or every moment - actions? What if the change you are seeking could begin happening RIGHT NOW? What if it could be that simple?

But wait, IS it that simple? Not necessarily, because to adopt this way of being in the world requires us to authorize ourselves to act on our instincts and our intuition – to be our own green light and not wait for permission or external validation. It requires us to take responsibility and to listen deeply to our own inner knowing and obey it. It potentially sets us up to be different than others, to be judged, to fail, to disappoint ourselves or – worse yet – others. And yet, women are doing just that every day. They are living their way into change. Some we see and some we don’t. But make no mistake, there are quiet revolutionaries among us.

So the question is: Are you ready to break rank and be one?

Full Disclosure

2010-05-26T20:49:00.002-04:00

Hi there. It’s me, Lael. It’s been a while. I’ve been thinking over here. And here’s what’s on my mind: I love to write, but the way I’ve been writing up to this point has not been sustainable (clearly) in that my posts are so long and involved, I don’t write as often as I’d like because I’m either A) not ready yet…still percolating on an idea or B) procrastinating…it just takes too much time/thought to get it out. So, I’m trying something new – a grand experiment. I’m going to make more choices (tah dah!) and keep each post shorter, crisper and more focused. I’m hoping this will increase the frequency with which I write and, in turn, will be more engaging for my readers. So there it is. Let me know how it goes for you.

Looking Outside the Window

2010-03-30T20:36:00.016-04:00

The passage of time is a funny thing, isn't it? Some days it goes by at warp speed, leaving us jostling in its wake, and some times it slows to a snail's pace, marked by almost invisible shifts. As a working mother of two, I have found my relationship with time these days to be complex and tumultuous, leaving me feeling exhausted and totally at odds with the world around me - rush, rush, hurry, hurry or slow down, you move too fast....it's maddening. Even more so when I consider that this is my doing - I am the one struggling to, well, control.

In the spring of 2009 I decide to make a change. My intention was to live more in sync with nature and the cycles of the year. Because I live in the Northeast, the seasons are distinct and offer radically different perspectives - from the stark contrast of bare naked trees against a gray sky to the blaze of autumn foliage reflected in a chilly lake. So I promised myself I'd look out my window more as a means to give insight to what might be going on inside me.

I began by completing a project I had started four years prior - a Wheel of the Year - that had been inspired after reading The Circle Within by Diane Sylvan. In each season of the year, and each month within that season, I made note of particular words or phrases that lived in that space - the elements, the emotions, the activities, the functions, the gifts. I had it framed and hung it it in my office, literally turning it each month to mark the passage of time and plug me into to where I was in it.

Shortly after, I began sending out my monthly Touchstones newsletter, a practice I continue to this day. Each month has a theme and begins with a piece specifically dedicated to honoring the month - its unique purpose, flavor, feeling and perspectives - so that it's not lost in the shuffle of the year. Before rushing headlong into each month, it's my attempt to ask, "what was that all about?" and simply say, "Oh, yeah. Thank you." That specific piece of my Touchstones newsletter has been incredibly well received and each month I receive countless e-mails sharing how well my description and "take" on the month resonates with women. So it seems I'm not alone.

This month, a little over a year after I began writing Touchstones, I found myself describing March as the "birth canal of the year", transporting us from one place (winter and death) to another (spring and life) and it occurred to me that I had travelled a full cycle. I celebrated just how far I've come in my relationship with time. I look out the window so much more than I used to and let nature and the cycles of the year whisper in my ear. I honor each month and am grateful for its role in informing my life.

So, as a tribute to that practice, I offer you the cast of characters for the past "year" of the turning wheel as a way of kissing them all goodnight and thanking them for showing up year after year - as a welcome guest or not. So take a stroll through memory lane...give a nod to all of them or go directly to those months that hold significance for you or that you tend to dread or want to skip over all together. See what clues might be waiting for you. Be my guest.

March 2009: Itchy Skin
This time of year, we come to realize that "March madness" is not just about a basketball tournament. Having endured the lion's share of the winter season, we grow restless and itchy. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel and our muscles twitch with anticipation. People roll their eyes with impatience and tempers get short. Clearly, this month of "gray" challenges our "black and white" loving society to live in ambiguity a bit longer than we'd like. Similar to Rumi's sentiment in his "Chickpea to Cook" poem, March essentially acts as a stew pot that calls us chickpeas to boil new life; reminding us that this time is well spent, "giving us flavor so [we] can mix with spices and rice and be the lovely vitality of a human being[s]." So in this season, as the light of the full moon is amplified by the snow and crisp air, I invite you to soak up the last of the season's savory spices; resist the urge to scratch a while longer. Be the chickpea. We'll all be out of the pot soon enough.

April: Tender Greens
April is the month we are welcomed out of the cave. We see the tender shoots of pale greens poking through the soil and feel the same energy of hope and rebirth surge up within ourselves. We begin to feel the light and warmth on our skin and take deep, fresh breaths of cool air. All of the sudden, it seems, we begin to allow for more possibilities. We see things with fresh eyes. We move out of slumber and into "day" dreaming, and with it comes a renewed excitement and investment in life and living. We remember we are on this earth for a reason, and recommit to the quest of bringing whatever "it" is into the world more fully. April is the season of newborns. Babies take center stage on earth in the forms of buds on the trees, swollen bellies of mothers and peeping birds in far up nests. As we stretch our bodies awake from our season of hunkering down, notice what is waiting to be born in you. What are your tender greens? Don't know yet? Step out of the shadows and into the sun and watch them grow. It might be that simple. Like nature intended.

May: First Tastes
May comes to us like a fine piece of chocolate rolling about the tongue - sweet and so welcome and, sometimes, gone too soon -- leaving us hungry for more. This time of year invites us all into the "catch me if you can" spirit, savoring the warmth of the sun and summer-like feel on the good days and patiently waiting out the cold and rain on the other days. Bright beginnings are exploding around us as, overnight it seems, trees and flowers bring color once again to our previously dark and dull world. The days are longer, and yet there is a sense of a chapter closing as the end of school year comes into sight. May invites us to shake off the last vestiges of spring, like an athlete warming up on the starting line before a race. Our blood starts to run a bit quicker in anticipation of all the action and aliveness that summer is sure to bring. We are poised and eager, our pockets full of shiny new commitments, dreams and ideals. As you travel the remaining days of this transitional season, may your chocolate be sweet, satisfying and finger-lickin' good.

June: Full Bloom
June has arrived. The zenith of the year is upon us, and we approach summer solstice holding our breath with the excitement of being alive. Splashes of color extend into bright and expansive sunlight. It's impossible to ignore the lushness of life around us. June is the time when we can see visible signs of our labor - possibilities are coming to fruition and imagination and dreams have taken hold right before our eyes. Just as the atmosphere does, we start to heat up this time of year. The passion and the longing that has been building up within us is becoming impatient and is not easily contained. It wants to see the light of day. There is no stopping June. We tire of the fight with our instincts and urgings, and choose instead to plunge into the flow of our lives with wild abandon and deep faith. We stop thinking so much and start acting more from our hearts. As your life moves into this height of illumination, take stock of what is impossible to ignore. What is calling you to leap?

July: Play
Mmmmhmm? I'm sorry, did you say something? Sigh. Doobie doobie doo....da, da tah dah da...And so goes July. There is a timelessness about this month that invites us to get lost in our own thoughts, dreams and whims. People daydream. Kites fly high. We sit back in our chairs and kick up our feet, content to watch the day unfold as it sees fit. In July, we ride the wave of our previous efforts, and allow ourselves to wander aimlessly and sometimes get naughty. We play hooky. We stall. We give into the child-like urges to stay up late and bend the rules a bit. We throw down the reins for a spell, knowing there will be time enough for that later. In short, we play. July is heralded in with a sky full of fireworks and winds its way into the heart of the lazy days of summer. As we head into the homestretch of this fat and happy month, take your sweet time...stay for that extra something, finish your thought, follow your whims and roll around in the green grasses a bit longer than you ought. It will wait - whatever "it" is.

August: Fever Pitch
Things heat up for us in August. Our pulse quickens, our eyes and minds and intentions dart from here to there and back again. There is an irony that emerges during August - a sense of the "lazy days of summer" converge with an urgency to hurry and fit it all in before we start the slow descent into dormancy once again. There is a frenetic energy about August that is at once intoxicating and exhausting - like we are all a bunch of mexican jumping beans hopping about a hot plate, having the time of our life in a rather scattered and random fashion. At the heart of August is an invitation to make choices. Faced with all those expectations and intentions we set forth in June, we are asked to reconcile our lists one last time. In this spirit, we breathe in these last days of summer with great reverence and appreciation as we listen to the cicadas build to a climax. Tired from our summer journey and hot from the sun, we are invited to put down our oars and relax into August's strong and capable arms, trusting that we will be safely transported into a new season with everything we need.

September: Sharpened Pencils
September blows in with a bushel full of "firsts" and slowly reveals the blank canvas of our lives. From the back to school busyness to the Jewish New Year celebrations, we can't escape the sense of a fresh start unfolding before us. The air, the spirit and the sights around us feel crisp and ready - like freshly sharpened pencils and the allure of a brand new notebook. We are filled with possibility and childlike awe as the leaves above us blaze their colors seemingly overnight and dance throughout our days. Grieving for the long and lost days of summer, gives way to an excitement and our breath catches as we wait to see what's coming next. Life feels rich and as abundant and colorful as the farmers markets, and yet intuitively we sense this sliver of time is fleeting and special. In this month, we are constantly drawn back to the present moment as all our senses are engaged. The blustering wind invites us to pick up our pencils and put it to paper - to step into something that is uniquely our own and celebrate ourselves in all our glory.

October: Homecoming
There is no hiding from October. It wants to be seen. It dazzles us with its color and blustery shows as a way to capture our attention and lovingly reveal what is real and true and at the core. As the leaves fall away from the trees, we see once again the structure that has been there all along - the strong and enduring trunk, the branches that have withstood countless storms - and are reminded of our own strength and resilience. October invites us to see what is before us more clearly - to forgo the guess work and to take stock of what is real - good, bad or ugly - so we might have a more accurate sense of where we stand and what is most important. Standing in the bracing winds of the late fall, we are no longer buffered from the elements. And yet we still stand, the ultimate homecoming. There is a pride and a reverence that comes in on October winds, like the surrender that comes with a deep sigh. We begin to lean back into the arms of whatever holds us and learn, once again, to trust in the natural cycle of our lives.

November: Gray Skies
November leaves a lot to our imaginations. The gray skies and low ceilings offer us a blank canvas and invite us to go inward for inspiration. The distractions of the bright fall leaves and final surge of autumnal activity have given way to a more reflective and private world of our own inner thoughts. November brings us back to our own resourcefulness, reminding us that we hold the answers we seek. However we enter the darkness of this time of year - kicking and fighting or eagerly awaiting - we are returned to ourselves; what we want, what is unfinished, what is next. Big questions begin to descend upon us and we eventually find our way back to a way of being that allows us to sit with all that is unknown or waiting to be heard or to be born. Silence and reflection finds us in this month and we know instinctively to welcome it. We make hot cups of tea, pull out our fuzzy socks and begin the process of hunkering down. We build our fires for the long winter and we sit ourselves down - waiting, watching, listening for what it is we are meant to receive.

December: Tying a Bow
December is a mixed bag of confusion and clarity, angst and peace, activity and stillness, social and solitude. As we head toward the end of another year, many of us are at a bit of a loss with what to make of December - it seems to have had a mind of its own in that regard. This month, we are inevitably gifted with a blessed mindset of "doing the best we can" or "making the most with what we've got." In short, December gives us a hall pass to keep our high expectations and best laid plans at bay and invites us to just wrap it up as best we can. Winter solstice smiles upon us with a good-natured nod, reminding us that our time of light and "doing" has reached its final curtain call for the year. With that understanding, we breathe a sigh of relief, dust off our chapped hands, sit back on our haunches to admire our handiwork and chuckle at the oft-lopsided bow we have tied on the package of our year. And as we curl up under the blanket of the year, we dream about beginning anew and all that might be possible as a another light within us is born.

January 2010: Winter Weeding
January is a naked month. Stripped bare and washed white, there is a stark reality about January that invites us all to throw up our hands, keep it real, call it out - with ourselves, our circumstances, or others - and shore it up accordingly. It's the month we tackle what we've been putting off or stepping over, making fresh new commitments and shiny resolutions that have some teeth and pack a punch. We mean business in January. This month we find ourselves "weeding" out all the gunk in our trunks, sorting through the piles, casting off any dead weight, lightening the load and generally making a bigger clearing in which to live our lives. We go into corners with flashlights, clean out under the beds, open neglected and overstuffed closets and bag up loads of unnecessary stuff. Satisfied with our handiwork, we wipe off our dusty brows, sit back with a satisfied smile and take in the space that's now opened up as a result of our weeding. Ah! Much better!

February: Runt of the Litter
As the shortest month, February is the runt of the litter in our year. Like the littlest pig, it's scrappy and resourceful, scrambling around its more robust and appealing siblings, doing what it can to garner some attention and nourishment. There is nothing fancy or flouncy about February. It's actually quite plain and nondescript, often getting lost in the shuffle between the newness of January and the home stretch feeling of March. And yet it is the month of Love. February tests our capacity to love unconditionally. As it desperately jumps up above the heads of its sibling months, yelling "pick me, pick me!", we ultimately recognize the ugly duckling appeal of February and taking it under our wing with a gentle pat of affection. February teaches us to see simple pleasures in the most unlikely places - the blessing of a sunny day, a confused bulb pushing through the ground a bit early, the stark contrast of bright red hearts against a grey sky, even an prophetic groundhog. It doesn't take much to please February and with its passage, we are once again reminded that sometimes the best things can come wrapped in the plainest of paper and smallest of packages.

March: Turkish Twist
Like one of those disorienting and gack-producing rides at amusement parks, March spins us around and around and around, cementing us to its side with centripetal force. We lose the ability to focus or make sense of any one thing, blurring our realities. Every effort at lifting our heads or moving a leg feels like a herculean task, like mountaineers facing the final ascent of Everest without oxygen. Displaying a cruel irony, March has the viscosity of molasses, making “marching” virtually impossible. And just when we abandon our feeble attempts to unstick ourselves from the walls, the bottom drops out and suddenly being attached to the wall of this “ride” becomes an attractive option. Therein lies the gift of March: surrender. It is the birth canal of the year; the one that asks us to be still and patient, promising us that on the other side, beauty and life will once again be born. And so we spin around and around, often closing our eyes in an effort to find our “happy place”, trusting the ride will soon stop and put our feel on solid ground.

Riding Two Horses

2010-01-28T01:11:00.004-05:00

I’ve come to appreciate a delicate balance. And I assure you, I do not mean “balance” in the typical sense – that droll and droning work-life balance conversation that saturates most women’s media these days and bores me to no end (I’ve officially given up on that term, preferring “integration” these days, but that’s another topic I’ll write about in a separate post…).

No, the balance to which I’m referring to is much deeper than that, and I’ve come to see it at the heart of women seeking to creating change. What I’m talking about is essentially a paradox: it’s about taking yourself (your ideas, your needs, your intentions, your dreams) very, very seriously while at the same time not taking yourself too seriously. It’s about holding all of that as sacred and true, but loosely, knowing that at any moment you might receive new information or insight that changes your mind or requires you to shift your balance a bit.

Let me paint a clearer picture of what I’m talking about here. I was once working with this incredibly wise woman who gifted me with the perfect visual to describe the delicate balance I’m referring to. As I sat with her, wringing my hands, I shared my angst at managing my ego at the same time I was also seeking to honor the divine and serendipity. I now know what I was talking about was the age-old discussion of free will and fate. I recall my despair and confusion so vividly. I felt torn in two. Could I be myself – confident, self-assured and driven – and still be open and willing to surrender to the wisdom of the universe? What I was essentially grappling with was control. In my mind, it was one or the other – either I had the reins or the universe did; not both. And yet, I loved, trusted and wanted to honor them both. Thus my angst; I felt like I had to make a choice. I didn’t know how to have them both.

This wise woman smiled at me asked a simple question that changed my life: “can you be the powerful wave that rises up to a crest and then comes charging toward the shore, and at the same time look over your shoulder and see that you are a part of this massive ocean?”

With this beautiful image, she opened my eyes to how it would look if I held both of those truths – these two loves – simultaneously. In that moment, I saw how I wouldn’t have to shrink or play small to bow down at the feet at the divine and I also wouldn’t become an ego maniacal narcissist, thinking I was solely responsible for turning the world on its axis. I got how we – the universe and I – could work so beautifully in concert with one another. It was exhilarating.

I share my own story, knowing that it is far from original, in many ways representing the universal struggle of the human condition. Certainly our society does nothing to ease the tension, being a country built upon the principles of independence, self-reliance and freedom. So it’s only natural that I would feel torn and conflicted, right?

As my practice centers primarily around women – powerful, self-reliant, opinionated and driven women like myself – I have become acutely aware of just how relevant this story and, indeed, this topic is to our perception of ourselves as architects of change. I see this topic surface time and time again as I work with women. Most commonly, it comes up in one of two ways: women are either concerned about being “a control freak” or they are concerned their “ego is out of control.” No matter how you slice it, they are concerned and berate themselves for “white knuckling” their lives or their circumstances. In most cases, these women find their default response is to drop the reins, back-pedal or shrink themselves down to an almost minuscule version of the woman they know themselves to be. It’s like a reflex – one that I am all too familiar with from my own story. And yet, I see how it's not a winning strategy for women, triggering resentfulness, bitterness and disengagement with life – essentially because they are acting in ways that are counter to who they truly are. I get it: it’s a tug of war and they have elected (albeit reluctantly) to drop the rope. Better to save face than to become your worst version of yourself.

But what if there were an alternative as this wise woman suggested? What if there were no rope? And we didn’t have to tug? What then?

Elizabeth Gilbert in her book Eat, Pray, Love offers another powerful image that illustrates how this balancing act might look. Much as my wise woman did, Gilbert describes the interplay between destiny and free will as a relationship – “a play between divine grace and willful self-effort.” I personally gravitate to the notion of “play” here…much more appealing than “tugging”. The way she describes it, we are neither entirely a puppet of the gods, nor entirely the captain of our own destiny; we are a little of both:

“We gallop through our lives like circus performers balancing on two speeding side-by-side horses – one foot is on the horse called ‘fate’, the other on the horse called “free will.’ And the question you have to ask every day is – which horse is which? Which horse do I need to stop worrying about because it’s not under my control, and which do I need to steer with concentrated effort?”

When I use this image in working clients in my women’s circles, I often will joke that I’ll be confidently riding along, like a powerful amazon with one foot on each horse, and I’ll look down and see that my “fate” leg has completely atrophied, meaning that my entire weight (existence) is being supported by my “free will” leg which is sculpted muscle but is locking up with the stress of it all. It always gets a laugh (especially with some good sound effects thrown in), but it illustrates the point that Gilbert makes about it being a DAILY question you need to ask yourself. Because without that daily check-in, you run the risk of sliding down that slippery slope of the ego.

So what does a daily check-in look like to you? I think you know. Is it a deep breath? Is it a favorite phase that pulls you back to center? Is it meditation? Prayer? Laughter?

Not to belabor Elizabeth Gilbert as an example (can you tell I’m a big fan?), but when I saw her speak recently, she gave some wonderful historical context for just how we came to be this way in western society. She spoke about the notion of “creative genius” and how it was originally thought of an expression of divine inspiration that would visit and flow through particular individuals. Then, sometime after the renaissance and the advent of rational humanism, “genius” was understood as something that actually took up inside certain people, rather than flow through us. So people were seen as “being a genius” instead of “having a genius.”

So in this context, it would make sense why we have such angst and fear around our own creativity and drive and inspiration. In this model, there is no flow, there is only a pile of internal pressure and expectations to have all the answers. In this model, all the doorways to the universe or divine grace have signs on them that read, “out of order”. So back to self-reliance we go.

But here is what I’ve come to appreciate: if you can hang out on top of the horses and keep your balance in check, there is a lot of ease and power than can find its way into your life. What once was a solitary slogging through a mine field, can become a graceful dance with a little cha-cha-cha thrown in to boot.

Simply put, the horses can ride together a lot better than we give them credit for. In fact, they were originally trained with just that in mind – it’s just that the damn rider got in the way so many times it messed up their once perfectly organic relationship.

So here is an invitation to play more intentionally with who you are in relation to the greater power you believe in. Reacquaint your horses with one another, adjust your saddle or get a new one. Experiment with loosening your hold on the reins but resist the urge to drop them all together. Recalibrate yourself daily as you teach yourself how to ride again and, as Gilbert suggests, you will eventually “assume custodial responsibility for the maintenance of your own soul.”

The Silver Lining of the Squeeze

2009-12-09T00:44:00.011-05:00

Do you feel the squeeze? Can you see it on the faces of people as you walk down the street, the furrowed brows, the anxious, far away looks? These are tough times, for sure – people are stretched thin, nerves are a bit on edge and there are many distractions vying for our attention – like cantankerous siblings fighting in the back seat of a station wagon. The “squeeze” I’m referring to is the sense of people's lives – our society, our culture, our perspectives – being cinched tighter and tighter as if by a belt. Just when we think we can breathe, the belt tightens – sometimes imperceptibly – another notch and breathing gets more labored. And after we acclimate to the new tightness, the thought occurs to us, “just how many notches are in this belt, anyway?”

And yet amidst this season of fear and depletion, can you also hear the hope? What about the faith? The renewed spirit of optimism and a search for meaning? These days it seems to crop up wherever I look – from my clients who are voluntarily leaving their comfortable corporate jobs to lead more fulfilling lives, to the people buying first homes, starting a business, becoming more involved in their communities and giving generously of their time and resources. Like a beautiful seedling pushing itself through the ashes of a forest devastated by fire, there seems to be renewal of life happening as a result of the “squeeze.” For those Dr. Seuss fans, it reminds me of the scene from the Grinch Who Stole Christmas when the Grinch, after having taken every last vestige of Christmas, hears “all the Whos in Who-ville singing” and his heart grows three sizes as he realizes that Christmas lives within each of us, not in all our things. Ah, the power of community at its best.

This feeling – this excitement, this sense of community, of vitality – seems confusing or counter intuitive at times, but it’s piqued my interest. I have the sense that something good is right around the corner for us as a society -- as if I best stay awake because this will prove to be one of the most exciting times to be alive. I find myself saying, “just wait…it won’t be much longer now…just wait…” It feels like a movement or a revolution is afoot. In another time, I would have my ear to the ground, listening for the low rumble of horse hooves moving across the land.

In my mind (and heart), I see it all linked to change and how we’re evolving as a society. Because I work with organizations and individuals seeking to create change, I am familiar with the classic catalysts for change – pain and its not too distant cousin, necessity. Some would add fear to the family tree, but I won’t, and I’ll tell you why a bit later.

Let’s look at pain as a driver for change first. As I shared in a blog written after Obama was elected, there is an actual formula for change that was developed by Richard Beckhard, a behavioral scientist credited with defining the field of organization development. In the “formula for change” he created with his two partners, there are several factors that need to be present in order for change to occur:

C= D x V x F > R

Essentially, this formula shows that in order for Change to occur, the level of Dissatisfaction, combined with the clarity of Vision and the First steps need to be GREATER than the Resistance to (or cost or pain of) change. This formula seems particularly relevant to this cycle of change we are currently in (or coming out of) because it speaks to the level of pain and discomfort we needed to get to in order to generate some action (and consequent traction) to move through this cycle. So accumulating a bucket-load of pain is one way to go about creating change. In many ways this is within our scope of control – we make "pain deposits" through the choices we make (or don’t make) every day: how we choose to see the world, how we choose to be in it, the degree of responsibility or ownership we take, etc.

The cousin of pain is necessity – depending on the circumstances, they can be first cousins or distant cousins. The difference here is that while pain may take many years to accumulate and can be self-imposed, necessity often is defined by a triggering event outside our control – a medical emergency, a job elimination, a tornado or flood. David Kundtz, author of Stopping: How to Be Still When You Have to Keep Going, describes this necessity state I’m referring to as a “grinding halt” – those circumstances which essentially cause you to “stop at the speed of light.” Some of you might have also heard this scenario referred to as a “cosmic 2x4.” Regardless, it is that sort of necessity which can very quickly turn our lives upside-down and catapult us into instantaneous change. The add-water-and-mix sort of change.

Now FEAR undoubtedly exists in both of these scenarios, but my assertion is that fear alone, is never enough to create change. If anything, in my experience fear is a sure fire way to dig in and preserve status quo – to keep us right where we are and resist change. However, when change is heralded in either by pain or by necessity, fear just becomes part of the package. A stowaway in the belly of the plane. Another piece of luggage to be handled.

Whether or not the need to change comes as a decision (worn down by chronic pain) or is forced (necessity of a life event), it’s what happens in its wake that excites me most. When confronted with their greatest fear – losing a loved one, losing a job, losing a home – people are eventually reminded they are alive. They might be lost, adrift, bereft or disoriented, but it is a thing of beauty to watch a survivor emerge out the other side feeling somewhat liberated. Whatever “it” was – they have faced it and discover they are somehow still alive. “It” did not kill them. And that is what excites me about our times.

You’ve heard the classic story of someone who has a near-death experience and then lives to tell about it, right? Someone who wakes up from the brink of death with a new lease on life, completely bound and determined to live life to its fullest. We are that person. Some of our organs may have failed, our heart might have stopped a couple of times, our blood counts might be a bit off, maybe we even have one of those lingering eye twitches, but something about these times tells me we are waking up to the fact that we are alive and kicking. And it’s the kicking that gets me excited.

We hear more and more stories everyday of things tumbling down around us – organizations, institutions, ways of being, health epidemics – and with each quake to our foundation and the subsequent aftershocks, we are reminded of our resilience, our resourcefulness and our endurance. We get bolder, more determined and less patient with the status quo. In my practice, I see organizational leaders and coaching clients alike placing stakes in the ground, taking firm stances around their visions for what is meaningful, fulfilling and right.

Change is coming at seismic levels, I suspect. Radical whole-scale change. Granted, I’m not the most patient person in the world, and, while to some degree that has served me well as an organization development consultant and coach supporting change, I get disheartened sometimes to see how relatively little progress we’ve made over the years with regard women’s advancement and compensation in the workplace. So this feeling – the sense that we are approaching a climax or a tipping point for significant change – gives me great hope.

So imagine my delight this past weekend when I happened upon a documentary on the Mayan Calendar and the significance of December 21, 2012 that validated this sense that change was coming. Now I assure you, I don’t live under a rock, but it appears that I am the last human on earth to hear about the veritable maelstrom of controversy that surrounds this and other similar prophecies. In short, the Mayan “long count” calendar will complete its 5,126 year cycle on the above-mentioned date. Some believe it will be an apocalypse, but most see the significance as the mark of a new beginning, as the Mayan calendar will reset to year zero. This particular documentary, In Search of the Future, presented the cosmology of native elders, western scientists and visionary futures in such a way as to paint a picture of an “upward evolutionary spiral.” As one elder described it, we are essentially in a transition to a new level of consciousness, a higher level of understanding that will feel familiar, but different in that we will have experienced a fundamental shift in how we think. Namely, that we’re all connected. One scientist spoke of how the chaos theory supports this occurring, citing the “butterfly effect” as an example of how in a complex system, a very small cause can produce a very large effect. But the key will be in how well we transition from what state to the next.

Having personally given birth to two nearly-10-pound babies, I can attest to the pain of a transition phase. My midwife described it – and I whole-heartedly agree – as the point at which all women want to die, run away or at the very least, seriously doubt such a feat is possible. In this context, I can better appreciate the fighting and flighting we’re experiencing at this stage of our evolution. But I do believe – as I did in labor – that that moment of surrender will come and with it, we will stop feeling the squeeze of our own earnest efforts and emerge into a new phase of existence.

That is the silver lining.

And I am already seeing glimpses of it. Organizations are worrying less about precedent and cubicles and are experimenting with new ways of working that might never have made it off the cutting room floor before this economy tanked. Faced with unparalleled dearths in resources – people, time, money – companies are getting more creative, resourceful and decisive. On an individual level, I see people claiming more responsibility for their lives, taking back the reins of control in big and small ways, and granting themselves permission to be the architect of their own lives.

So the squeeze is on. And there is light waiting for us at the end of the tunnel. Of this I am certain, even in the face of all the angst and uncertainty and fear. I choose to believe in that. And I have this strong feeling I’m not alone in that belief. Time will tell. It always does.

Ebbing

2009-11-20T17:46:00.004-05:00

I have to say right off the bat: I struggle with this. I know in my head and heart that ebbing is part of the natural order – or rather rhythm – of things. I really do. I get that it’s natural and it should be expected. It’s the reason for our cycles and seasons. It’s how the wheel of the year – and our lives – keeps turning. And yet every month and every year I find myself resisting it – kicking and screaming and resisting the ebb tide after a good dose of flowing.

So you know what I’m talking about, right? We ebb and flow just as the tides do. As creatures that are made up of 80% water that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise. We wax and wane, we have times of intense light and times of deep darkness. We extend outward and then retract inward. It’s the Yin and Yang of life and it just is – always has been, always will be. And here’s the clincher for me: we don’t have any control over it. The wheel keeps on turning – with our without our permission.

And yet when I hit a period of ebbing, I react in the strangest way. All at once, I am startled, angry, resentful, inconvenienced and thoroughly annoyed – like a petulant little girl stomping her foot saying “No!” And then comes the feeling of isolation. Of having been abandoned. That’s when my fight gives way to panic.

But here’s the weird part: I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I actually got called on it by my coach during one of my most recent hissy fits. I related my experience at the time of standing in the mud flats – not being able to move, feeling really isolated and stranded – with my back to the shore and the water way out ahead of me. The lowest part of low tide. From this perspective, I could sense others like myself situated at various points of the mud flats – some out further as I was, some closer to shore. It occurred to me at that moment that I chose this. I followed the tide out until my feet got stuck and slowed me to a stop. And now I was throwing a fit about it.

I recently listened to a Ingrid Michaelson song (The Chain) that perfectly described this sensation at the peak of low tide:

The sky looks pissed
The wind talks back
My bones are shifting in my skin
And you, my love, are gone

My room seems wrong
The bed won’t fit
I cannot seem to operate
And you, my love, are gone

Viewed from this context, the “love” referred to in this song is my own: self love. I’ve come to see that now. I realize that in the fight and resistance of my own ebbing, I have tended to abandon myself. In essence, I have become a ‘fair weather friend” to myself – truly loving myself only as I flow, but withholding love as I ebb. No wonder I tend to resist the whole journey. I’ve been unconditionally loving myself.

And here’s the thing: I’m not alone. As my practice centers primarily on working with women, I have come to see this is a common pattern among women. I suspect because, unlike our male counterparts, we are built to experience cycles monthly in addition to annually. So we get more opportunities and consequently more practice with the ebb and flow cycle.

I see women in my practice exhibit similar behaviors as ebbing occurs. These are the times that we are heavy with emotion, whether it be angst, anger or sorrow. It is at these times that I hear clients use phrases like “beating myself up”, “can’t get out of my own way”, or “so hard on myself.” It’s a raw time when things seem to lurk just under the surface of the skin. Women expresss a desire to “be gentle with myself”, but struggle to know how to go about doing just that.

Sound familiar?

In trying to understand this pattern – in myself and in my clients – I look to two primary forces: our society and the culture of “flowing” we clearly value and the innate wisdom of our bodies.

In Carl Honore’s book, In Praise of Slowness:Challenging the Cult of Speed, he maps out the culture we have created and the danger that lurks therein. Quite simply, he drives home the message that our “model” in modern day society is not sustainable. Forced to go, go, go – with little to no time to recharge and restore (let alone reflect), we deplete our internal resources and eventually break down. He uses countless examples to illustrate how this “culture of speed” is an addiction and is destructive in nature. He makes a case for the need to SLOW down – essentially inviting us to rediscover and harness the power of “ebbing.”

Dr. Christiane Northrup is one of my favorite people when it comes to honoring the nature of women’s bodies and women’s wisdom. She’s written countless books on the subject, but one of her recent PBS specials really stopped me in my tracks. She was inviting women – and society at large – to reframe the antiquated and erroneous assumption that P.M.S. (formerly “Pre-Menstrual Syndrome”) be viewed from an entirely different (and ancient) perspective. By reminding us of the power that lives within our bodies and of the inner guidance system that we have access to as a result, she reveals that women are a source of deep wisdom and knowing. In that vein, she suggested we look at PMS – often a time when we are mocked, trivialized or dismissed – with a bit more reverence, suggesting it is a time of “Pre-Menstrual Strength.” It is during this time – the pinnacle of ebbing – that we are closest to meaning in ourselves and the world as a whole. We come face to face with what is unfinished or lacking and gain clarity on what is most meaningful to us. In a way, Dr. Northrup invites us to see this time as “going to our well” – the place that holds our truth.

In my own experience, I have come to refer to this “well” as my Pit of Despair (that particular phrase is meant to be said in a uber-dramatic craggily-voiced sort of way, much like the Billy Crystal character from The Princess Bride.)

So every month, without fail, I pack my bags and head to into my Pit of Despair. Some trips are easier than others, but I’m beginning to take some proud ownership in that territory of my life. Here’s what I’ve come to appreciate about those trips:

Fighting, whining, dragging my feet, bitching and moaning…it’s all part of the process of me getting ready to go to the Pit. Each distinct emotion and reaction is like a rung on my ladder down.
The sooner I get down to the bottom, the sooner I can climb back up
There IS a bottom (my mantra when panic sets in)
The deeper I go down, the higher I soar up
There is something to be said for wallowing – it’s a fine art deserving of some distinction
This cycle will happen with our without my permission or help
There is a direct connection to the Pit and my creativity
The trip out of the Pit (flowing) is SO rewarding and fulfilling
There is a renewal of pride and resourcefulness with each trip down and up
There is no such thing as a “bad” trip to the Pit – something “good” always comes of it
Loving myself at the bottom of the Pit takes a lot of intention and is critical to my health

At its core, ebbing is about surrender – to ourselves, to the natural rhythms of our lives, to our higher power, to our wisdom. It’s about throwing down the reins and allowing ourselves to be restored and “held” by something other than our minds, our muscles or our sheer determination. It’s about letting it all hanging out. It’s about letting our sensitive underbellies show and be vulnerable. It requires a fair degree of humility and a bucket load of faith. It’s about opening our eyes and hearts to what we fear most, while continuing to love ourselves for our humanness and our capacity to feel those feelings and think those thoughts. Paradoxically, it’s a celebration of life and living that can feel like death and dying. Like the archetypal phoenix rising from the flames, we will be reborn from the ashes and once again flow as a high tide.

So at the ripe age of 41, I’m staking some ground around my trips to the Pit. I might still look as though I’m resisting them, but if I were to be really honest about it, my life is much richer as a result.

Witnessing

2009-07-21T00:42:00.003-04:00

There is a line from one of my favorite movies that never fails to stop me in my tracks. It reminds me of our primal need to be seen…to be witnessed in our lives.

Susan Sarandon portrays the wife of the main character played by Richard Gere. In this scene, she is meeting with a private detective whom she hired to spy on her husband because she suspected he was having an affair. As it turns out, he was discovering a love of ballroom dancing and was too ashamed to admit that it filled a void in his otherwise perfect life. Upon learning this, she asks the private detective, “Why is it that we get married?” Quickly and with much conviction, he answers, “Passion.” “No”, she says, “Because we need a witness to our lives. When we get married, you are saying ‘your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness'.” She ends by saying, “feel free to quote me on this,” so I am.

It’s so true. As much as we preach and practice independence and self-reliance in our culture, there is – and will always be – a profoundly deep need to be seen and to be witnessed in our fiber. It’s part of our humanness – like it or not. It just is.

And if you really think about it…it’s everywhere. The need presents itself at a very young age. We begin as infants: “peek-a-boo….I see you!” We teach our children not to stare, but they are most likely doing so without judgment…it is our judgment that we are most aware of. They are simply witnessing the world in all its many shades and forms. Children don’t avert their eyes, and adults do, causing us to miss the chance to see something important. Something worth seeing. As a parent of two small children, I get how they have an insatiable need to be seen – to be witnessed – as they grow, try new things and master their universe. Earlier this summer, I smiled as my six-year-old yelled (again and again for hours…), “Mommy, watch this!” as he demonstrated various tricks and new skills in the water. My own mother smiled in recognition…apparently I did the same to her. In yet another tactic to be seen, my two-year-old literally placed his hands on either side of my face and steered my attention toward him to divert my eyes away from my ever-present Blackberry. “Right”, I thought, “I am here, seeing you.”

In his work with organizations and systems, Peter Senge, illustrates the power of this primal need with a story about the tribes of northern Natal in South Africa. There is a common greeting that exists among those tribes, much like our greeting of “hello” in English: Sawu bona. It literally means, “I see you.” If you are a member of the tribe, you might reply by saying Sikhona, “I am here.” Senge goes on to say that the order of the exchange is important: “until you see me, I do not exist. It’s as if when you see me, you bring me into existence.”

In her book Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert writes of her experience in Bali, a culture that is firmly rooted and oriented in community. She writes of her somewhat shocked and slightly off-put reaction to the Balinese standard greeting, which is a series of three questions: Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And are you married? These questions taken at face-value seem rather intrusive in the context of our western culture. But to the Balinese, she writes, they are simply “trying to get an orientation on you, trying to insert you into the grid for the purposes of security and comfort.” Once these questions are satisfied, you exist in their world. You are seen.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this basic human need as it relates to our western culture. How does this play out in our society on a daily basis? How does this need get met today? Or does it? And what happens if it doesn’t get met? What then?

As a working mother and as a woman who works primarily with women and their organizations as a coach and a consultant, I see women witness each other on a regular basis. We do it well. It’s our gift. Kelly Corrigan writes beautifully about this gift in her piece “Transcendence: Words on Women and Strength” (found at the end of her book The Middle Place). “We will confide in each other about feeling anxious or angry or uninteresting or how many pieces of Halloween candy we accidentally ate from our kids’ bags. We’ll confess that we text while driving or that we should be having more sex or that we yell at our kids every day. We’ll admit that we believe in God, Jesus Christ, Heaven and Hell, or that we don’t…” Corrigan touches upon our natural abilities as women to witness, and about how "all this celebrating and sharing and confessing will make certain essential comforts possible…we will rally around and hold each other up…we will cry, as we howl, as we clutch as we circle... we will transcend, ladies, because we did all this..." In a similar vein, I wrote in an earlier blog post about the need we have as women to be reminded we are not alone, we are not crazy and we are understood. It’s a validation of sorts. You exist because I see you and what’s more, I get you. Ah, sweet relief at those words!

Then there is the acclaimed organizational model of Alcoholics (substitute another addiction here) Anonymous that has so consistently demonstrated the remarkable healing power in being seen. Individuals at meetings introduce themselves by their name and then identify themselves by their addiction, “I’m X, and I’m an alcoholic”. The group then responds in unison, “Hi, X”. Simple, but powerful. We see you. You are here. Welcome. There is no hiding in this context, and there is an implicit invitation to claim responsibility for who you are. Scary as it may be – a leap of faith to most – there is a refreshing honesty tothis truth-telling community that has applications well beyond healing our addictions, I suspect.

Most recently, I’ve been fascinated by the proliferation of Facebook and Twitter and how, essentially, these electronic networking sites and their “status updates” enable us to witness and be witnessed – virtually or otherwise – by others. When someone responds to a status update or a photo, they are essentially saying, “I see you…you are not going unnoticed.” Having recently embraced both of these virtual networks, I now understand its power. It feels good – sometimes in a self-conscious sort of way – but good nevertheless. Like an itch has been scratched. My own experience with Facebook, in particular, is that it has served on countless occasions to remind me I am not alone. My life has not gone unnoticed as of late, to an increasingly wider web in my community of “friends.”

And yet there continues to be this air of disdain or shame associated with this practice of witnessing. Some refer to Facebook as a “guilty pleasure” and are embarrassed to admit how frequently they check it. Why is that? I was reading a briefing from The Week on Twitter recently and it began by framing the piece with “Thanks to Twitter, millions of people are obsessively updating ‘friends’ on their most mundane activities.” The author likens Twitter to be the “watercooler of the 21st century”, as a means to suggest how it contributes to productivity losses. The piece also claims, “many [of its critics] see Twitter as the latest example of the self-indulgent, 24/7 exhibitionism…” Well, maybe, but aren’t all of those terms (“mundane”, “obsessive”, “self-indulgent”) relative? What is “mundane” to one person, might be inspiring or may resonate deeply with someone else.

And isn’t the proverbial watercooler where it’s at these days? Look at Obama’s campaign. He built his entire campaign on the belief that “Yes, We Can”, banking on the power of people to voice their opinions and demand change. James Suroweicki coined the phrase “wisdom of the crowd” to refer to the universal knowing that can be revealed through the collective consciousness – it’s what powers sites like Google and Wikipedia. Twitter, as a business application, has been credited as offering “the fastest, most honest research any computer ever heard – and it doesn’t cost a cent” (The Week 5.1.09). So it seems, the water cooler isn’t simply a waste of time…it’s a source of wisdom and truth.

What scares me is how we are so very skilled as a society at making invisible or marginalizing people, organizations, differences, by simply choosing as a society not to see something. And by not seeing it, we deem it non-existent. Remember the Holocaust? And there are a number of more modern day examples…Homelessness, domestic violence, mental illness, war. We even can make invisible the good stuff: optimism, kindness, the very young, the very old, our teachers, our mothers. In our haste or our ignorance or our habits, we have forgotten or fallen out of the practice of witnessing each other.

But here’s the thing… I think we’re remembering. Whether we realize it or not, I believe we are returning to a way of being that is very ancient and familiar to us – a simpler way of being. I have to hope that we are learning, once again, the art of simply seeing. Of being a witness to each other’s lives and insisting: your life will not go unnoticed. I will be your witness. The Global Oneness Project sums it up the best: “this ‘seeing’ is essential to our freedom.”

The Woman in the Mirror

2009-05-20T16:39:00.004-04:00

I had a terrifying experience last year (well, relatively speaking…). I encountered myself and didn’t recognize me – at all. In that split moment, I felt so many conflicting emotions - shame, pride, an acute sort of dislocation from myself and a renewed commitment to improving the accuracy of my self-perception.

Here is what happened. I was in the midst of leading my biannual women’s retreat, Homecoming, last October and I came upon a group of women. One woman was talking in a very animated fashion about this other woman she knew – a woman that clearly had made a positive impression on her. She painted a picture of this amazing woman, rattling off all the qualities this woman possessed and all the things she had juggled and had accomplished. As I listened in, I became entranced about what I was hearing. I wanted to know her. Whoever she was, I was convinced we would be fast friends. I didn’t even know her and yet I admired her. Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer, I inserted myself into the conversation, asking, “who is this woman?”All five women in the circle stopped and stared at me and then smiled, looking at each other. “Lael, it’s you”, the woman said. My jaw fell open and I was speechless. I recovered from my shock quickly, laughing at myself for having been caught in such an awkward bungle. But that experience made a lasting imprint on my nearly 40-year old soul.

While I was still mulling over this experience post-retreat, I came across a blog entry from the amazing Jess Esch that felt like it tapped into the same vein that was pulsating through me.

There once was a wonderful, magical woman
who people looked upon with envy and admiration.
People thought their lives would improve tenfold
if they could be more like her.
But the magical woman's mirror was broken.
She did not think she was special at all.
We are taught to see the best in others.
No one tells us to look inside ourselves
with the same intention.
I think that is sad.
It makes me wonder about the sun.
Does she know of her beauty?
The joy she brings?
The majesty emanating from her core?
Or does she envy the moon?

Both of these events had me retreating inward, convinced that this was my unique experience. Besides, how do you engage in a conversation in which you share how impressed, nay in awe, you were in hearing a description of yourself? It just doesn’t happen easily. But I was wrong. This is not just about me. In telling my own story, I have learned this is a common experience we share as women. Simply put: we don’t see ourselves clearly. I would wage a bet that we only see pieces, and often not the best ones, that create kind of a hodge-podge impression; a far cry from the big, bold and beautiful expression that complete strangers often experience of us.

What’s going on here? Why is this the case? I must admit, I don’t fully understand it (after all, it’s my stuff, too, right?), but I sense it’s really important. It feels like it’s a key that might unlock so many different but related dynamics in women’s lives: our tendency to diminish or underestimate our value (financial or otherwise), our reluctance to ask for help when we need it most, our resistance to stepping up, standing out and playing BIG (however that looks to you), the various health issues we tend to face as women (depression, heart disease, breast cancer), the competition we engage in with other women. A big fat key.

So what IS the cost of not seeing ourselves as others do? One theory I have is that we might come to rely more on other people’s perceptions of us. Do you see where this might lead? Needing approval? Wanting to be liked? Making decisions based on what other’s might feel or want instead of from our own inner wisdom? Playing it safe instead of taking a stand?

Another theory I’m playing with is how it directly relates to the wage gap we face as women. There are countless books (see Women Don’t Ask: The High Cost of Avoiding Negotiation) and research (see http://www.catalyst.com/) that implore women to “make the ask” and instruct them on how best to do it. If we don’t see the full picture – the full impact – of what we are bringing, don’t we run the risk of selling ourselves short? Or trusting in someone else’s assessment of what is “fair?” Yikes. I’m beginning to believe this is one of the most universal ways we give away our power as women – by not taking responsibility for calculating our own worth. The irony is that women are known for being quite shrewd and savvy with money. After all, women make over 80% of the household buying decisions from groceries to cars and everything in between. So no excuses.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place for me during a conversation at one of my most recent circles for women leaders. The topic was “stepping up and standing out” and – BLAM! – out came the theme again of not fully seeing or appreciating ourselves. The new piece for me was how this was all tied up in our notion of “the ego”. Specifically, our fear of it. There was this palpable sense of not wanting to be seen as too confident, too knowledgeable, too assertive, too (insert your own fear here). In this circle of women, we discussed that our default antidote to mitigate these concerns was to either diminish (“it really wasn’t a big deal..”), disclaim (“this is probably a crazy idea…”) or distract (“it was actually the team’s idea…”). What is it in us that prevents us from saying, “I did this!”, “I’m right” or “I’m worth this?”

For my part, I’m practicing some new behaviors. I’m nodding more as people share their experiences of me. Sounds like a simple thing, but I’m a blurter – I tend to sweep away the words of any compliments or praise while they are still being spoken. And before you catch me in a contradiction (about relying on others’ perceptions), let me assure you that my nodding technique is simply a trigger for me to ask myself, “is this true for me?” and then notice how it feels to recognize myself more clearly. To own myself – who I am, what I bring and how I show up in life – more fully. I am nodding myself into awareness.

I’m also saying “you’re welcome” more. As a mother, I am vigilant about teaching my children to acknowledge, receive and give thanks. But now I’m aware of the oft silent sibling of “thank you”….”you’re welcome”. Saying this gracious phrase signals to me that I have taken in and received more information about myself, for myself. Again, it may sound simple, but try it out. I wasn’t aware of how often I smooshed other words around that phrase, effectively burying it.

Finally, I’m practicing putting a period at the end of my statements. In my graduate program, I had the privilege of having this amazing professor who gifted me with the practice of putting a period after a statement. Up until that point, I was unaware of how often I would let my sentences straggle to a conclusion or taper off. Worse yet, I would diminish the impact of what I was saying by, once again, letting my message get lost in a cascade of other words. I remember watching her pinch her pointer finger and thumb together – as if she were literally picking up a period – and place it in front of her to signal she was done. Period. It got my attention then and I’m hoping to use that technique to get my own attention now.

My main message is this: fix your mirror. Don’t have one? Find one. Clean it off. Get one. Give yourself that much respect – you deserve to be seen by you. You are worthy of clear and enduring admiration, so be the first to get in line to witness yourself in all your glory. We owe that much to ourselves – and the world – as women. Period.

Loving Your Core of Rot

2009-04-07T22:19:00.005-04:00

I once had a colleague who insisted that at the heart of every organization was a “core of rot”. He was a hilarious cynic who’s acerbic tongue often spoke the truth others denied. I remember vehemently denying his theory, as I pushed my rose-colored corporate glasses further up the bridge of my nose and sipped my purple cool-aid with a bendy straw.

For me, his notion struck a similar chord as that age-old existential question: “are people essentially good or essentially evil?” In case it’s not blatantly obvious, I’ve always been a devout member of the “good” camp. But I was so wrong. It’s not about good or bad or essence at all. It’s about wholeness. It about embracing and seeing the gifts in all the pieces that make us (and organizations) who we are – not just the ones we like. Ultimately, it’s about the courage to look our worst fears in the eye. And then befriending them – taking those fears out for a beer, hearing their side of the story and learning from their wisdom.

People have talked about this phenomenon for ages in a multitude of manners – Carl Jung talks about “our shadow”, Debbie Ford calls it “the dark side”. Open our eyes, and we see that our attempts to run away from or – worse yet – deny the existence of the darkest of those polarities are an exercise in futility. The Chinese culture teaches us about the need to acknowledge our wholeness in terms of Yin/Yang. The very planet we live on demonstrates this principle through the ebb and flow of the tides, and by witnessing the dance the sun and the moon do every day to give us both light and dark in our skies. And still we resist. Or at least I do.

Countless writers – including this one – say that it is part of our humanness to resist discomfort. We like peace and harmony and, well…light. Our dualistic culture has done a great job in reinorcing that notion throughout history, embedding those fears into our stories, archetypal myths and social constructs, making “darkness” synonymous with “evil” or “danger.” There is a reason witches wear black hats and monsters tend to come out at night. I’m touching upon a loaded topic – one that is better suited for a piece on diversity and how people and groups of people become marginalized. But for the purposes of this piece, my intent is to illustrate this point: darkness and shadow – and everything associated with it - get a bad rap and because of that our fears cause us to miss out on its gifts.

If you really think about it, it’s actually quite absurd. It’s like denying that a tree casts a shadow in bright sunlight. In that context, it just is what it is. It’s not good or bad, it’s simply part of the picture. Part of the whole. The light and the darkness provide context and perspective for the other to exist. They are both serving a purpose.

Let me first be very clear on what I mean by “darkness” and how that relates to the whole “core of rot” title. What lives in our shadow or the darkness are those pieces of ourselves that we find most distasteful – even shameful. Those pieces that are hard for us to be with; hard for us to find value in. The parts of ourselves that we keep close to our chest, like tightly-guarded secrets (like being judgmental, wickedly jealous, spiteful, needy or insecure. All the things that are not listed in the Book of Virtues. Get it?

We would like them to go away. And so we do our best to make that happen. And in doing so, we often spend ridiculous amounts of time engaged in fruitless attempts to chew our own leg out of the trap that is ourselves. At first we might deny those feelings or traits and then when (surprise!) they return we might resort to berating ourselves for being so petty or trite or small-minded or cruel for even having them to begin with. If that doesn’t work (which it never does), we run. We run as fast as we can into one of our comfortable happy places. We get busy, we create situations in which others need and depend upon us more, we distract ourselves, we isolate ourselves or we numb ourselves. So you tell me…who won this battle? You or your fear? Who is the fugitive in this scenario?

We all do this, myself included. But I’ve recently been playing with a new way of looking at this juggernaut. Envision that each time you cast off these unwanted pieces of yourself, seeing them as unnecessary, unproductive and worthless, you begin to form a pile. Over time, that pile gets bigger and then begins to rot from the inside out. Over time, it begins to stink. In many ways, it can be likened to a compost heap – a repository for all the pieces of scrap and leftovers that didn’t make it into the body. And what do we know about composting? That’s right: with a little turning and churning (some might say loving), it turns into a powerhouse of nutrient rich soil, capable of growing just about everything. Like you. The best version of you possible.

In a similar vein, author Debbie Ford writes about an exercise she went through that invited participants to fill up a bus in their minds with all of their “sub-personalities” and then go on an imaginary bus ride, during which you would get to know all those people on your bus – especially the ones you wanted to most avoid. Turn and churn… Some of her characters included Big Bertha Big Mouth, Angry Alice, Trashy Trixie and Resistant Rita. The idea, she asserts, is that each one of these passengers has a gift for you, but because they each represent a piece of yourself that you have spent a lot of effort and time ignoring, you never receive that gift. Her story was that as soon as she accepted her new friends, they stopped showing up in her life. They felt seen. Known. Valued.

The reality is that many beautiful, powerful and important things have been born out of darkness. Artists and writers talk about the dark places they must go to manifest their creations. As you’re reading this, you might be reminded of particularly horrific incident that enabled something beautiful to emerge – like a phoenix from the flame. Indeed, most of us are brought into this worlld by going through a dark and constricting birth canal. Into the light. And life.

Debbie Ford’s story reminds us of our own resourcefulness. She believes – and I wholeheartedly agree – that “we’re brilliantly designed to heal ourselves and return to wholeness.”

Now, I want to just pause here and acknowledge that this sounds all well and good, but it’s not so easily done – especially when it’s your pile your being asked to turn and churn and you’re the one who is itching to run at a break-neck pace from it (whatever “it” is for you). But to encourage you to stand your ground and begin to break the cycle of denial and resistance, here are some relatively simple and effective techniques to help you peer into your darkness and perhaps get a some rich soil in return.

Name It
Simply put, that without a name is capable of looming larger than it ought. If you can attach a name to it – anxiety, jealousy, whining, insecurity, self-doubt… - it becomes much more manageable and can be dealt with accordingly. Start with, “what is it I’m feeling?” or “what is this behavior I’m doing called?”. Once you can categorize it, you can make a choice about what you want to do with it.

Clearing
This is a fabulous technique I learned at The Coaches Training Institute. It’s similar to naming it, but in a much more get-on-with-it-already fashion. In this technique you simply call it like you see it – sometimes hitting the nail squarely on the head. You might say, “okay, so I’m controlling” or “Yup. I’m a perfectionist”. This simple statement reminds you of your imperfect humanness, and invites yourself to not take yourself so seriously as you step over it and get on with your life.

Go There
One of my wonderful clients has this phrase I love. As she rallies herself to have a particularly challenging or confrontational conversation, she’ll say, “let’s have this conversation.” Directed at yourself, do you see how that firmly pins the topic against the wall? Who is the fugitive there? This technique invites you to come out from behind yourself and into the conversation – in an honest, direct and committed fashion. A couple of great resources to support this technique are Fierce Conversations by Susan Scott (just apply the principles in her book to yourself.) and the Morning Pages exercise in Julie Cameron's book The Artist's Way.

So the next time you are feeling the darkness descend upon you and the lightness fade, grab a flashlight and a shovel and go out to your compost pile. If you stop playing the fugitive role long enough to churn up your cast off pieces, you might just uncover something waiting to be born that will enable you to be more whole.

Spare the Spider

2009-03-25T14:22:00.004-04:00

Want a wake up call? Listen to this story, and see if you can hear your own story in it.

Okay, so there is this spider that, after laying her eggs, lays down in the center of them and slowly begins to decompose. By the time her eggs hatch, she has reached such a state that her body – the one that just gave birth to these baby spiders – now is their sustenance. They feed off her dead body until they can fend for themselves and venture off into the world on their own.

A powerful metaphor for the selfless and all-consuming nature of a mother’s love? Certainly. A reminder of the “circle of life” that connects us all? Yeah, that too. A gross and familiar example of how easily we can give of ourselves until there is nothing left? For me it was. I have been that spider more times than I care to admit. It’s easy to be seduced into the romantic notion of dying for a good cause. But I’m getting better. That spider is my inspiration. My muse for self-care.

Is that a true story? I have no idea – I can’t remember where I read it and, frankly, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is the story it kicked up for you. Much like the flight attendant schpeel that reminds airplane passengers to put the oxygen mask over themselves first before assisting a child, the story of this spider calls us all to keep our martyring-ways in check. No matter what your “children” are – your job, your family, your volunteer work, your friends…. – she looks at us with an “are you serious?” glance and asks us point blank: “is this worth dying for?”

As added fuel to the potency of this story, the spider is actually a powerful symbol of balance – in fact, its body is literally the shape of a figure eight which, when laid on its side, forms an infinity sign: reminding us of the need to walk between and integrate the past and present, death and rebirth, physical and spiritual and masculine and feminine. In this context, the spider calls us to stay whole amidst the polarities that can pull our lives (and us) apart.

So why am I talking about this? For one, it is a constant struggle of mine as a working mom, a semi-recovering perfectionist and a woman of many passions who is driven, driven, driven to grow, learn and experience all that life has to offer. I call it “sucking the marrow of out the bone of life”. Well, duh! What happens when the marrow is sucked from the bone? The bones get brittle and snap. End of story. So this is personal for me. It’s about periodically slowing down and using my experience and wisdom to make conscious choices. That’s the easy part. The hard part comes before that moment: admitting I can’t have it all and do it all. Right now. I have to choose. And sometimes (cringe) I have to wait or (heaven forbid) say no outright.

On a related note, I see this pattern repeated everywhere – with my friends, family, clients. People are tired – especially the women I know. They give and give and give of themselves. They do it because they care, they believe and they are committed and loyal. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but at some point – and we all know when this happens for ourselves – we pass the tipping point and we give too much of ourselves. Sometimes we even lose ourselves. It can happen suddenly (like a “cosmic 2x4” upside the head) or it can happen very, very gradually until we wake up one day and realize we’re far, far away from where we wanted to be – from what fulfills us.

On a larger scale, I can even see the decomposed spider in organizations, government and educational institutions. Organizations committed to following a path, a plan or a strategy that has long-since lost its luster or outlived its relevance or usefulness. But nevertheless, the leaders and management in these situations tend to hold on even tighter – like a dog on a bone – for lack of …what? A better idea? A new focus? Courage to say that the emperor has no clothes or to admit failure? Most of us have experienced this or at the very least read about it in the news. You know it’s happening when people start talking about “bleeding” for the company. Again, the spider asks: “is this worth dying for?”

At the heart of this spider story is an invitation to be honest, to take responsibility and to make change. The embedded premise is that you are worth saving. You and your life are valuable. Caught up in the traps of our own minds, the spider taps us on the shoulder and reminds us to take responsibility for ourselves – for our lives – as much as we take responsibility for those people, circumstances and situations around us. She points at her decomposing body and asks, “is this really what you want?” Put another way, the spider reminds us of our responsibility to ourselves – and to our world. The spider insists, as Marianne Williamson once did with her famous quote: “Your playing small does not serve the world.”

Byron Katie, author of Loving What Is and a host of other books, does some amazing work around poking holes in our limiting (often suffocating) belief systems that call us to unnecessary suffering. Starting with our thoughts, she asks 4 basic questions:
· Is it (our thought) true?
· Can I absolutely know that it’s true?
· How do I react when I think that thought?
· Who would I be without that thought?
By taking a hard and steady look at our stories we hold of “reality”, Katie gently (and not so gently) brings us back to ourselves and asks us to take responsibility for what is within our control. All the stress we feel, she boldly asserts, is caused by arguing with what is. She teaches that there are three types of “business” – yours, mine and the universe’s (or God’s). In this context, Katie cautions that our stress is often due to “mentally living out of your own business”. So next time you feel stressed (or feel the call to decompose), ask yourself who’s business you are in mentally. Watch how that question can bring you back to yourself and what you can control.

As we enter this season of birth and renewal, I invite you to take inventory of you and your life as you’ve created it. Are there parts of you that need to be resuscitated? Where do you need to breathe new life and love into yourself? And before you say, “I have no choice”, ask yourself if you are prepared to die as a result of that decision. Don’t be the spider. Choose to spare her and see what happens – to you and the world around you.

The Women

2009-02-02T21:10:00.011-05:00

Last July, in a sea of 3,000 women, I experienced my first all women's sprint triathlon. The Danskin Triathlon - the longest running women's triathlon series in the US (celebrating its 20th anniversary this year )- was designed with women like me ("the newbie") in mind. The hook that got me was the promise that I couldn't come in last. The founder, Sally Edwards, makes a point to come in last in every single leg at every single event (there are nine in cities across the country). I was scared witless, but I knew I wasn't alone. I was with my sisters, that much was clear.

As we all convened the day before the mammoth event to get our various pins and numbers and stickers and chips and directions...Sally Edwards took the stage and said two things that will forever be burned in my memory. First, with a big grin on her face, she said "this is what 60 looks like" (wow!) then, "as an all women's triathlon, we do things a little bit differently..." I was inspired. I was so grateful I had acted on my instincts that led me to this event. Most importantly, I was moved to tears of gratitude that I was born a woman. And as I scanned the room - taking in the sea of women of all ages, sizes and fitness levels - I pledged my support to their success. I was hooked.

Fast forward four months. I am sitting in a movie theatre next to one of my best girlfriends watching The Women. With a power-house all women cast, we were primed for a great movie. And it was. But it left me a little deflated...even shamed. On first blush, the movie felt centered on the materialistic, catty and, well, mean, side of women's relationships. And yet it stayed with me. So much so that I bought it. After watching it a second time - and seeing the special features that highlighted the history, cast perspectives and all-women production culture - I saw it very differently. To me, this film captured the potency and complexities of women's relationships - the loyalty and devotion, the competition and "rules" and the ability to validate and "get" each other.

So how do both these experiences - Danskin and The Women - intersect? In my mind, they both pull at opposite corners of the same blanket, causing this tension or upset somewhere in the middle. Perhaps "tension" isn't the right word...more like "conflict". Tugging at opposing corners of a blanket like that tends to pull it out of square over time - compromising its integrity. We (women), by the way, are the blanket in question. Let me explain...

One corner represents our unequivocal and infinite capacity to support one another. When we are in need, we call upon each other. We see another stressed mother shopping with her kids in the grocery store and we nod at each other knowingly. We make each other laugh. We cry on each other's shoulders. We tell each other our stories. We love each other when we forget to save enough love for ourselves. But then you know all this already. Still, it bears repeating because it is indicative of the power we hold as women. It is our gift. Perhaps the best expression of this ferocious and unwavering love we have for one another was captured by author Kelly Corrigan Transcending Words on Women and Strength. If you haven't seen this YouTube video yet, I highly recommend it.... It takes my breath away every time I watch it. Again, it makes me so glad I was born a woman. It makes me burst with pride.

The other corner of the blanket represents our competition with one another - our tendency to compare, contrast, take away from or otherwise size each other up. If the former corner was about "getting your back", this one is about "stabbing your back". It's the corner we don't talk about as women. Unfortunately, it feels like this is the corner of our blanket most frequently highlighted by the media - showing women fighting with each other, being deceitful and catty. This is where I wince. This was what made me partially slink out of the movie theatre after seeing The Women. And yet, it's what we know as spiders sharing a web. We are constantly spinning, shoring up, assessing, redefining and repositioning ourselves in the context of a complex network of understanding. And so what if we compete?

While attending this amazing women's leadership retreat last summer on Isle au Haut (check out Eleanor Days), one woman (and I adored her for this) blurted out, "competition gets a bad rap with women". I remember breathing a sigh of relief when I heard this...no longer feeling the need to safeguard or qualify my competitive nature. In fact, as I engaged in this conversation last summer I was training for the Danskin Triathlon where I would put that belief to the test along with 3,000 other women. After years of competitive running - and competitive living - it was not until my Danskin experience, at the age of 39 that I officially owned it. I am a competitive person. There, I said it. The difference is that I feel like I'm no longer hiding under this shroud, pretending. I've made friends with my warrior - or so I'm trying. What helped me on this journey was a healthy reframe of competition given to me by a wise woman many years ago. I'm not sure who the source was, but it went something like this:

You are my adversary,
But you are not my enemy.
For your resistance gives me strength.
Your will gives me courage.
Your spirit enables me.
And though I aim to defeat you,
Should I succeed I will not humiliate you.
Instead I will honor you,
For without you I am a lesser person.

It reminds me of the biggest surprise I encountered during the Danskin. The unbelievable feeling of support in the face of fierce competition. During the swim, among all the "sorries" for the accidental kicks and whacks, you'd hear, "Come on, you can do this!". On the bike route, you'd hear "Girls ROCK!!" on the hills. But on the three mile run - the last leg of the triathlon - you actually got a chance to look each other in the eye on the out and back course. You'd get close enough to see the markings they'd put on themselves for inspiration along with their required number: "Molly's Mom", "Girl Power", "Survivor". Women would high-five each other the entire run. My hand was sore when I crossed the finish line.

So what if we took this notion of competition back to our competitive corner? Play with it long enough and it starts to look (and feel) like "support", doesn't it? Granted, I know I might be walking on a fine line of interpretation, but what if I'm onto something? What if we could have our cake and eat it, too? What if "competing" with another woman wasn't about pushing her down, but was about pulling her up? To new heights? When she needed it most? Because we can. Because we "get" each other. Because we care.

Maybe our blanket could be square and keep its integrity after all? Or maybe a little tugging and stretching is good for us. Perhaps our blanket was never meant to be fully square, but more imperfect. Like a web.

Simply Play

2009-01-24T17:41:00.012-05:00

I played in the snow with my six year old son today. These are his post-play "glittens" - a cross between mittens and gloves, given to him from our dear friend Rosemary. They must have weighed five pounds each after our adventures in the snow. As they sat dripping on our radiator cover, we smiled at them over our hot chocolate - knowing we shared an understanding and a mutual appreciation for the "work" it took to get those mittens to that state.

As January nears its end, I am sitting with notion of "play" and its role in my life - and its role in all of our lives. Does it have a role? Have we found play a place? I had not, it seemed - despite the ease with which I laugh and my general love-of-life nature. Most recently, I have come to the disconcerting conclusion that I relegated my intentions to play to the shady and overstuffed box labeled "when I have time". Fortunately, I have children. And as anyone who has children knows, they tend to have a way of keeping you honest and discouraging you from taking yourself too seriously.

As is my custom, I began the new year with my annual tarot card reading - one card for every month - with the amazing, Karen Wyman (anyone who attended last October's Homecoming Retreat will remember Karen's talent...). The card I pulled for January was Play. Coincidentally, it was the same card I had pulled at the retreat with Karen. At that time, I had earnestly asked Karen, "what does that mean....exactly?". She smiled, rolled her eyes and replied, "Ah Lael...it means to play". "Oh", I said...still not sure. Then it showed up again for January. It seems to be following me - dogging me like a homesick puppy eager for a belly scratch. But, as with each of my monthly cards, I dutifully carried that notion around with me for the month of January to see what it held for me. I found it today. Indeed, in reflecting on January thus far, it found me - but good.

The snow - and having children - has helped tremendously. What adult doesn't love the notion of a "snow day", where everything cancels and we're given complete permission to play, loll and stay in our pajamas all day? In this month, I've gone sledding, snowshoeing, and snowmobiling. I've baked, read voraciously and knit hats and socks and scarves. Last night, I even went on a date (with the above mentioned six year old) to the Nathan Clifford elementary school talent show - a unforgettable treat that left me misty-eyed and inspired by the courage and conviction of youth. Today, we made sophisticated sled tracks in the snow pile at the end of our street - taking care to name each one, articulate the merits of each and devise sophisticated engineering solutions to improve performance.

Kids get it. Adults were kids once, but like all the classic movie plots (The Polar Express, Mr. Magorium's Emporium...) remind us, we eventually forget the art of play. Because we are good at achieving and reaching and get sucked all too soon into the hurry/do/go of our culture, we forget to see the magic in moments. And in doing so, we forget to see that the magic outside us also lives within us. I know I did.

In this age that is marked by countless "dis-eases" and ailments, there seems to be a return to the basic premise - the basic goodness and restorative nature - of play. Carl Honore writes about the critical importance of "challenging the cult of speed" in his phenomenal book entitled In Praise of Slowness. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, another favorite of mine, called this "finding flow" - the need to slow down enough to notice and engage with life in more meaningful and fulfilling ways. Abby Seixas invites us all to regularly access the "deep river within" as a means to restore, ground and recalibrate ourselves according to what is most important to us.

Take a quick trip to your local book store or do a search on the internet and you will find the topic is reaching even into the inner sanctums of board rooms and austere corporate offices. Granted, it might not be called "play" - executives and marketers opt for the more sophisticated concept of "improvisation" or "creative retreats"... but they're really playing. And here's the cool part: they're finding this practice positively impacts their bottom line. A consulting colleague of mine, owner of BossaNova Consulting, specializes in bringing improv comedy into the consulting world. People love it. I know of organizations who have paused during their mid-winter strategic sessions to have snowmen building contests. At a board retreat I facilitated for a women's organization last summer, we carved out a two hour chunk of time for play and invited women to take advantage of the beautiful venue at this lakefront home. You could hear the laughter and splashes as they had cannonball contests.

What if more organizations took this approach. What kind of a world would we live in then? Peter Senge and his colleagues in the book Presence: Human Purpose and the Field of the Future assert that the spaciousness and surrendering nature of play allow for "letting go and letting come"; by putting down the reins of control, we open ourselves (and the world) up to what is "seeking to emerge". Imagine the power - and ease! - in that.

Here's what I've come to appreciate about adults and play:

We all remember how to do it...we might just need a little reminding

It's paradoxical: it makes time seem to stop and yet it makes time go by fast

It's highly productive, satisfying, fulfilling and entirely healthy

There is an incredible return on the investment of play

So why is play so far out of our consciousness as adults? Why do we tend to resist it? Scoff at it? Because we are a hardy lot, raised on the western ideals of working hard, being industrious and ultimately, "fighting" for what we believe in. Hmm. We're good at rising to the occasion, rallying and "picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off", as Obama called out to us all in his recent Inauguration speech. Granted, I am a huge fan of our new leader and I responded accordingly. Because I'm good at that. Responding. Acting. Doing something. Getting busy. But aren't we all? Ask me to rise up and I immediately take the bait with a resounding "yes". But invite me to play for while and I hesitate or, worse yet, panic.

It seems I am not alone. We are a nation fundamentally out of balance. Perhaps it's time to revisit that age-old notion of "work hard, play hard". We're got the "working" part down pat. Now it's time to play!

Wake Up

2008-12-16T16:10:00.003-05:00

Recently, I was asked to write a piece about activism on my blog. Sure, I said. No problem. In this time, this economy, this political and environmental state…what could be more important, right? But then something happened. I dragged my feet. I kvetched, bemoaned the pressures of writing under a timeline, and created other, more sophisticated excuses. I even got sick. Then – today in fact – I announced (in a stomp-your-foot sort of way), NO. I just wasn’t going to do it. Period. End of discussion.

How embarrassed to admit this publicly – my sense of privilege at having the luxury of choice, my whining, my foot stomping. But I fall on my sword in front of you now to make a point (probably at my expense, but so be it): It is apathetic episodes such as these that are the kiss of death to activism.

My wake up call came literally moments after I took my oath to activism apathy earlier this morning. I came across a buried (figures…) e-mail from a dear friend whom I admire for her ability to live mindfully and at choice – constantly inspiring me to new heights of compassion and selflessness (more on her later…). In her e-mail, she included a link to this incredible video called The Story of Stuff by Annie Leonard. Today, as I found myself in the throes of my last minute holiday shopping, the topic seemed too ironic and relevant to ignore. So I watched it.

The movie was about the environment and had a profound impact on me, but it was the feeling it evoked in me – nay, awoke in me – that compelled me to write about activism. I felt as if I had been in a sleep induced by laziness, apathy, and a sloth-like privilege. I don’t mean to paint a picture of myself as a overly self-critical, because it’s not that I’m judging myself so much as it is appreciating the fact that I am waking up from it. If I had to give “it” a name, it would have to be “inertia”.

I am reminded of what I’ve always known: that activism in its truest form is about the simple acts. It is about how we are choosing to ACT in the world. I’m realizing one of the assumptions that has fed my drowsiness in this arena is my deeply held belief that whatever I do has to be BIG. Like revolutionary or movement BIG. Snore. No wonder I procrastinated. No pressure.

As I reflect upon the wake up call to activism I experienced today, I can see a chain of events that acted as my alarm clock – each one of them caused me to “hit the snooze” bar on my own realizations until at last I staggered out of bed today. Here’s the beautiful thing about all those conspiring events: they were all simple – potent and profoundly simple.

The first was a gift from my wonderful friend, the Amazing Jess Esch. Nearly a year ago, she introduced me to her concept of “This Is How I Change The World”. This phrase, worn on a t-shirt or pasted on your daily coffee mug, has the beautiful effect of heightening your consciousness to the way – in that particular moment – you are choosing to change the world. The cool part is that it simultaneously heightens the consciousness of the world – via whomever witnesses your act(s). Whether you are taking the trash out, buckling your child in your car seat or taking a deep breath – WHATever you are doing – THAT is how you are changing the world. This understanding made the notion of “activism” so accessible to little ‘ole me. Ah, I see grasshopper! No longer did I feel the need to have the audacity of Rosa Parks, the charisma of Martin Luther King, the fortitude of Gloria Steinham or compassionate wisdom of the Dhali Lama. I could just be me ACTing in the world. Me, the activist. Version 1.0.

With that understanding (thank you, Jess) came a boatload of permission. I started using the phrase “activism” more and more – first in referring to others and then (more boldly) dabbling with the notion as it applied to me. I began speaking out more for those causes I feel most passionately about. I began to see that using my voice (which, frankly, comes relatively easy to me) IS a form of activism – even if I have an audience of one. I noticed (and this is a big one…) that I began to use less disclaimers when I was making a point, inserting my voice or otherwise being me, the activist. For instance, I am a HUGE fan of Hillary Clinton. Somewhere along the line, I got the message that this was not to be shouted from the rooftops, so I prefaced my enthusiastic support of her by saying, “I know this isn’t the popular opinion, but…” What kind of a statement is that!? Done with that – no more.

Something else. I’ve radically cut back on the number of apologies I offer the world. The reality is that I didn’t mean half of them, so why waste air? If someone bumps up against something I feel strongly about, good! Let’s engage in a conversation about it! That’s activism – engagement!

I’m on fire about this (can you tell?) because I now get how easy it is to be an activist. More importantly, I now see I AM being an activist. No more waiting. No more longing or aspiring or worse, yet, jealousy or guilt.

Now, back to my friend…the one who sent me the e-mail with the video link that started all this. I mentioned she inspires me. One way she does that is how her family of four chooses to make a charitable gift each month. Every month they sit down as a family and discuss how they’d like to use their allotted charitable dollars that month – brainstorming ideas, educating each other, mulling over options and coming up with a solution that the whole family has participated in making. I love everything about that practice – the intention, the financial responsibility, the generosity. It’s a simple idea that blows me away and touches me deeply.

Like the teachers at my son’s childcare. In an effort to ease the financial burden of others in a difficult economy, they were asked by their directors forgo the traditional holiday gift exchange (activism). What happened instead? The teachers came up with a creative solution: making a holiday tree using construction paper, complete with 121 handprints and footprints “ornaments” from our children and a wish for the holidays. The sight of this huge tree moved everyone in the community. People cried. And they remembered – in that instant – what was important about the holidays and this season. That was activism.

What if inspiration was the key to unleashing more of a potent activist spirit in the world? Think about it. If everybody is doing all these simple acts and we witness each other, might that not inspire others to do the same? I get most of my ideas from interacting or observing others. In this regard, part of who I am as an activist is a storyteller . I share the examples and ideas I’ve stumbled upon with the hope that they spread like seeds – like the story of Miss Rumphius who sows lupines by casting seeds wherever she walks in her small seaside town. We could inspire activism within each other by sharing our stories and celebrating our beautiful and simple acts.

I am so relieved to be rid of the dread. Instead, I am inspired and filled with a renewed sense of purpose. It’s not about doing your part to ensure the earth keeps turning on its axis – let’s not kid ourselves, who is capable of such feats? Activism at its heart is about simply living and making daily choices that reflect our values, our intentions and as Gandhi said, “the change we wish to see in the world.” The cool part is we get the chance to do it each moment of every day if we want. It’s ripe for the picking!

Good morning to you!

Change is a comin', oh yeah.

2008-11-06T00:07:00.009-05:00

Have you ever had the sudden realization that you’d been holding your breath? For a really, really long time? Like 7 ½ years? And then it comes – that sudden intake of breath infused with life-giving oxygen, filling you up with renewed energy and a fresh perspective. In that moment, you remember what you’ve been missing. You remember what a deep breath of peace feels like. Hope.

Yesterday, as people exercised their right to vote it was as if the whole country took a collective breath – a determined, committed and conscious breath – and exhaled themselves into “a new dawn of leadership”. Barack Obama. And us. Together.

In his acceptance speech, he said, “This is our chance to answer the call. This is our moment.” Indeed, it was a moment I won’t ever forget. It was a moment – in the presence of all that fresh and wondrous oxygen – where everything seemed to make sense again and all the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit into place.

Last night as I watched this historic event unfold I came home to what know, but had forgotten: change moves in cycles. Like the seasons, the moon, the tides and our bodies, there is a natural rhythm and cadence to things – we ebb and we flow, we wax and we wane, we expand and we contract. This is the way it has always been and will always be, even given all of our sophisticated analytics, research and technological advances. This is not to suggest we are incapable of manifesting what we want in this world – indeed, we proved that quite handily last night. I do, however, want to draw our attention to the “sweet spot” that can occur when we work with (not against) the natural rhythms in the world. Let me explain…

I have a new-found appreciation for George W. Bush. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. And here’s why: he was the one that led our country (collectively) to a place of pain and despair. He was the president that enabled our tides to go out far, far from our shores – leaving us standing on the beach, squinting in the blinding sun, looking out at the horizon and feeling our parched skin getting burned to a crisp. Without having fully experienced that sensation as a country, we might not have been ready for what I believe will come next: the return of the tide. In this context, I look at all the other players along the way – McCain, Palin, Hillary and even the economy. All of their combined forces helped us to reach the place in which we find ourselves today. They were a necessary part of that cycle. Now, as the “new dawn” rises, I am confident we will soon see signs of water returning. A new cycle will begin.

One thing I have come to appreciate about change is that whatever it is – however it manifests or reveals itself to us – it tends to follow a predictable pattern. Like the seasons of the year, I see the process of change (which is typically much more complex than the change itself) as a wheel, constantly rolling forward, but giving us different perspectives (good, bad or ugly) with each turn. Elizabeth Kubler Ross talks about this predictable process of change through the context of grieving and loss, suggesting that people go through five stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Within the context of organizational change, I’m familiar with the modified version containing the four phases of Denial, Resistance, Exploration, and Acceptance. Richard Beckhard, a behavioral scientist credited with defining the field of organization development went so far as to create a “formula for change” with his two partners, outlining the factors that need to be present in order for change to occur:

C= D x V x F > R

Essentially, this formula shows that in order for Change to occur, the level of Dissatisfaction, combined with the clarity of Vision and the First steps need to be GREATER than the Resistance to (or cost or pain of) change. This formula seems particularly relevant to this cycle of change we are currently in (or coming out of) because it speaks to the level of pain and discomfort we needed to get to in order to generate some action (and consequent traction) to move through and out of this cycle.

However you slice it, it is clear we are entering a new cycle of change. Last night, President-elect Obama invited us all to “summon a new spirit” as he put out a clear “call to service”, reminding us that he could not do this alone. We are breathing now, our lungs full and flushed pink with fresh oxygen. We are ready. It’s time to answer the call.

Laying Fallow

2008-10-07T10:17:00.008-04:00

Years ago when I first began my corporate career, I was eager to stay busy and constantly hungry for new learning and challenges. Insatiable, really. I worked under the guidance of a wise crone at that time. I used to run into her office (literally) and lament, "I'm bored! I need something to do!". She then gave me the most sage piece advice I dare say anyone has ever given me, "Lael, you need to learn how to lay fallow."

Now, at the age of 39, I so get that. Am I good at it? Nah. It doesn't come naturally to me, nor will it ever, I suspect; I am a sprinter by nature. I do, however, have the wisdom to know better. And as I settle back into my life post-retreat, I am acutely aware that laying fallow is just what is needed.

"Laying Fallow" as I understand it is an agricultural term referring to fields that are cultivated, but then intentionally not planted, so that they may rest. Because fallow fields are not growing anything in particular, the soil is able to nourish itself for the season; sort of a "time out" or a "get out of jail free" card for crop world. In the human context, this means a time of rest, rejuvenation, and for me, deep reflection.

This past weekend, forty-one amazing women gathered at Kingsley Pines camp on the shores of Panther Pond in Raymond, Maine for the entire weekend. As the host of this event, called Homecoming: A Women's Retreat, I felt like a proud "birth mother" and was moved to tears at the beauty of women saying YES to themselves, the side-splitting laughter that emerged around the fire and at meals and the community that was formed as a result of sharing this experience. It also explains why I now feel rather post partum - that indescribable mix of sheer gratitude, awe and exhaustion. Not unlike after the births of my sons, I am rendered speechless and have the urge to crawl in a corner, wrap myself in warm blankets and sip hot tea. This is how I lay fallow.

During these times, I have this uncanny ability to remain present - something I struggle mightily to do during most days of my life. I resist the urge to make sense of what just happened, because it just seems too daunting a task to define magic. I clear my calendar and stare vacantly at whatever is in front of me; resting my eyes, redefining what "vision" needs to be for me just now. I put off making decisions, and instead make lists of my questions.

Yesterday, as I returned from dropping my eldest son off at Kindergarten, I found myself heading home pushing the stroller with my youngest son in it. I had that familiar sensation - the one that has been with me for months now - saying, "okay, now what?" Instead of rattling off the impossibly long list of to-dos and then prioritizing what is needed most, I smiled as I heard my own voice say, "Now, we push the stroller". Yes! That was the indicator my field was about to lay fallow. Then I cried with relief. And panic.

The panic comes from a realization that for me, laying fallow can be a lonely place that is filled with wide open spaces and not a lot of distractions from my ruminations - a dangerous combination. It also means making myself available to the "elements" of my emotions - grief, gratitude, pride, fear, joy and hope - as they buck and weave with the wind across my field. I hearken back to the "Red Tent" that I created as part of the retreat this past weekend and the energy of women it contained within it, and I am fortified by that image.

Many, many years ago, the Red Tent wasn't just a construct to symbolize a place of women's wisdom and community as it was at my women's retreat - it was a real place, used monthly by women in their communities. Because menstruating women were considered by many to be "dirty" or "impure", they were forbidden to cook food, carry water or do other traditional tasks that women of that time were assigned. Left to their devices, they created a place for women to retreat during these times - a Red Tent. Over time, places like these came to house all things sacred and special to women - menstruation, birth, grief, storytelling, nurturing and comfort. It was a place only women could enter, a place women could comfort other women and wisdom could be passed along. It was a place where women could be known without explanation and needs could be met without asking. It was literally a place to "go fallow" and let your fields soak up the nutrients from the fields of other women who's own were abundant and rich and overflowing. There was a reciprocity inherent in the Tent; in taking care of other women, women were actually taking care of themselves, knowing that we are all connected and soon enough, they would be the one seeking care.

At the retreat, I literally draped yards and yards of various types and shades of red fabric across the beams of this massive lodge, invoking the wisdom of our ancestors and tapping into ancient ways of being that many of us didn't even know we possessed. I watched as women sat by the fire and shared their stories, gathered around a bowl of beads, draped a blanket or rubbed the back of another woman nearby, moved their bodies in Belly Dance or stomped and roared their primal songs during Journey Dance. It was powerful and beautiful and so very good.

I heard stories that weekend of women who were experiencing shifts happening for them - the woman who finally understood what it felt like to nourish herself with food, the woman who felt herself loving herself, the woman who rejoiced upon getting her period for the first time in almost four years. I heard their songs and laughter. I smelled the bowls of soup and the mugs of tea and the chunks of chocolate. I saw women returning home to themselves - and to ourselves collectively - and it made me weep as I did the same. Although I have not yet found the words to begin to describe what I took away from that experience, I do know I returned home with a conviction to do more of it (whatever "it" is...) and was thoroughly fortified to stand century in my fallow field for a while so that I may replenish myself for when that time comes.

I was touched deeply by our connection to nature as women. From the regal and proud grandmother oak (aka "Big Mama") to the cry of the loons, the lapping of the water, the crescent moon and the bald head eagle that circled the camp six times at the conclusion of the retreat - nature supported and blessed our gathering in so many ways.

And like the waves in the ocean, I am reminded that there is a lull after each big wave. There is a natural quietness and retreating that gathers after such an event that, however disconcerting or jarring (for me, anyway), is quite necessary and part of the natural order of things. And so I head into my fallow season, wrapped in the blanket of this experience and a new, stronger commitment to tend to my own soil so that I may help other women do so for themselves. Like the yoga posture shavasana that concludes each session, I am intentionally making the time to lay down and relax into this post-retreat time, and in doing so, am beginning to re-integrate this new experience into who I am.

Thank you to all those who made this retreat a reality - my gratitude knows no bounds.

Momma Had a Baby and Her Head Popped Off

2008-08-30T12:10:00.005-04:00

Remember that little ditty from your childhood days? So there I was in the midst of the frantic morning rush to get my two boys to child care and then rush home to start my “work” day and I hear my five year old singing this in the back seat. I pause and then it hits me, “Oh, that’s what happened!”

Seriously. It all made sense to me in that moment. Suddenly, I felt validated and no longer insane. After all, they wrote a song about it at one point in time, so it had to have some kernel of truth, right?

After giving this some more thought, I think I’ve found the kernel of truth (for me, anyway): My head didn’t “pop off” – those of you who know me will attest that it is firmly rooted to my body – but it was replaced by a bigger, much heavier head. It’s not the self-inflated sort of “big head” that comes with the big ego or delusions of grandeur. It’s more like the size has stayed the same, but now it’s filled with a heavier material – a “mommy head” that’s chocked full of those weighty buckwheat hulls, like the soothing microwave bags you buy at new age stores, only minus the soothing.

The result? I realize that I’m responsible for carrying a lot more weight with this heavy head. No wonder the notion of achieving “balance” in my life continues to be so elusive; my equilibrium has been forever altered. Don’t get me wrong. I love all that in my life that has caused my “mommy head”, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I just feel validated now. Like I can give up the fight to return to “normal”. As my dear friends put so aptly after making their way through the countless emotions, tests, and treatments when they learned their five year old daughter had leukemia, there is a “new normal”.

What this little ditty my son so graciously brought back into my life also reminded me was to not take myself so seriously. Indeed, the very notion of my “head popping off” made me howl with laughter when it hit home with me. The gift of this realization invited me to throw up my hands and recognize the fact that I can’t do it all (perfectly, no less) and have it all (immediately, no less). I must choose, be clear what I want and learn how to say no.

Whether or not I give myself credit for it, I have been doing just that. I have consciously chosen not to write in my blog for the summer (feverishly sweeping aside well meaning comments reminding me, “Lael, you haven’t written anything since May 31st!!!?”). I also have chosen to loosen the boundaries on my work, allowing myself to make some much needed calls on my “home” days while I’m playing with my boys (again, fervently battling the feelings of guilt, “if I die tomorrow, will my youngest son think this phone is actually part of my head?”).

So now I move forward, as we all ultimately do. To my “new normal”. I’m learning to say no with more confidence. I’m learning to lower my standards a wee bit and to manage the distractions that inevitably come-a-callin’ when I’m trying to focus.

And here’s the cool part: I’m not alone. One of the benefits of coaching and consulting with primarily women and women’s businesses is that I get lots of insight into their lives and their experiences. I also am affiliated with a number of women’s organizations (http://www.mainewomensfund.org/) and am running a women’s retreat this October (http://www.shechanges.com/retreats.html) so I get to come into contact with and hear from amazing women all the time! I hear their stories and I see my own reflected in them. In those instances, I get the validation I am longing for: I am not alone.

When my head popped off last week (one of the three times…), I serendipitously had a friend come over. I recounted to her my story of the week: accidentally assaulting another car (turned out it wasn't mine – oops!) when my key failed to unlock it. All the while, I was holding a baby, gripping the hand of my five year old in this busy parking lot, and answering a call on my cell. By the time I had relayed the story, we both had tears in our eyes from laughing so hard at this absurd and outlandish tale that was my life

Another time, a neighbor overheard me “holding the line” with my five year old at breakfast during an incident which has come to be known as the “yogurt standoff”. I was beating myself up about how I handled it when I got a call. She quite simply said, “I just want to let you know, I heard how you handled that this morning and I think you’re a good mom”. Needless to say, I sobbed with relief. Validation.

Here’s what’s been born out of this realization: an unwavering commitment to gather women for just this purpose. To sit in circles and tell our stories and have ours reflected back to us. To laugh, to cry and to be validated. Sometimes, it feels as simple as getting your parking garage ticket validated by a local vendor - you're looking for the stamp to get you out for free. Some days, I hear myself cry out, “stamp me, sistah”; “tell me I’m not crazy and I’ll tell it right back to you.” It's on those days I am reminded that no matter how far fetched or unique our circumstances, there will always be another woman in the crowd who will say, “I hear you. You are not alone. I get you.” And then you breathe and begin anew.

We Can Do This, Ladies

2008-05-28T16:24:00.004-04:00

Can you hear it? At first I thought it was my imagination or perhaps wishful thinking, but now I’m absolutely certain: it’s a rally cry. A call to the women of the world to move to action.

I’m hearing it in so many different arenas – economic, political, spiritual, organizational. It gives me the impression of being in the bottom of a canyon, the way the sound reverberates off all the walls so it’s impossible to locate the exact source of origin. It’s all around us. It is us. I’m left with that out-of-body sensation that as I am witnessing this sound, I am also part of it; making it happen, that deep, resonant vibration reminding me I am connected to something greater than myself. Despite what I hear in the news or read in the paper, I intuitively sense it is a great time to be a woman in this world.

Jean Shinoda Bolen, a Jungian analyst and author, refers to this reverberation as “a wisdom whose time has come” and harkens us back to the two previous times American women have changed our world – the suffragette movement and the women’s movement. Malcolm Gladwell, author and social scientist, describes this notion as a “tipping point” and reminds us that major transformation can occur through seemingly mundane and everyday acts. Dee Dee Meyers, author and former press secretary for Clinton, calls women to step up and “rule the world”, not because women are the same as men, but “precisely because [we] are different.”

We are different. Let’s celebrate that and start bringing those differences to bear in the world around us. Let’s snap the old masculine measuring sticks for power, performance, and prestige over our collective knees and focus on what we know deep down inside of us. Let’s not waste time defining ourselves in relation to men or the masculine, but rather honor and obey (yes, I said O-B-E-Y!) our instincts as women and honor the feminine wisdom within all of us.

Doesn’t the time feel ripe? In her book, Urgent Message From Mother Earth: Gather the Women, Save the World, Jean Shinoda Bolen does not mince her words in calling us to action. She points out that even the men in today’s world are recognizing the need for women to take the lead and invites us to feel the “stirring below the surface of our collective consciousness” that is gathering momentum.

So are you ready? Seriously. Are you? This is not a time for shrinking violets or patent social graces of deference, modesty, or coyness. This is about standing up and being seen by all – even in the face of your own uncertainty, messiness, or (yikes!) failure. Marianne Williamson calls to me daily (some days louder than others…) from my office wall where I’ve posted her famous quote: “Your playing small does not serve the world”. Lest I forget.

So let’s get over ourselves. There I said it. It’s not about being arrogant, egotistical, self-centered or selfish. It’s also not about being delusional, a feminist or even remotely ready. It’s about time. It’s about stepping up, taking a stand, choosing to stay in the conversation(s) that matter to us and using the powerful voices we were given to unleash the collective wisdom that is bubbling up within us.

If you’re anything like me, you worry. I’ll admit it: I’m a chronic worrier. I worry when other people don’t worry – how sad is that? So I get that stepping up and taking a stand can be a thoroughly lonely if not downright terrifying act. I catch myself quelling my own instincts much of the time because I am second guessing myself and wondering if I know enough or am astute enough to warrant opening my mouth. So some days, sadly, I don’t. I wait and I watch. My moment comes and goes as I diligently try to learn more so that next time I am ready! Next time I am more prepared. Next time I have the courage to step up and take my stand. And lead.

So what is your “enough” quotient? Get clear on it. Then get over it because that day will never arrive. If, like me, you are waiting to “know enough” about any particular topic or issue, you are most likely a life-long learner and as long as the earth continues to turn on its axis, you will never deem yourself to “know enough” because there will always – ALWAYS – be more to learn out there. So get over it.

What about your “next time?” When will that be? Do you see how passive that invites us to be? Waiting for the “perfect” entry point, the “right” time to pounce or the “best” place to make your move as a leader?

If I sound all “tough love” on us as women leaders, it’s because I, too, am in this space of waiting, being poised, and never feeling quite prepared for or (dare I say) competent to step up and be the leader I know myself to be. And anybody who knows me will tell you that I am entirely impatient, so you can imagine how this situation has my kettle at a full boil and shrilling loudly over here.

So are you with me? We’ve got some paradigms to shatter for ourselves and a bunch of new stories to write. Among other things, we will be called to reconcile (fancy word for “get over it, already!”) our relationships to power, money, and anger. We’ll have to break that nasty perfectionist habit and ramp up on our risk-taking tolerance. Suze Orman, as she explored the notion of women and money in her most recent book shared her confoundedness and then concluded, “we can do this, ladies.”. In that spirit, I truly believe – and history will back me up on this –we can do this. We can lead the world to a better place. We can answer the call.

Start today. Don’t wait. Don’t worry. Don’t look back. Just open your mouth and trust that wisdom will come out. It’s bigger than any one of us, but it begins will every one of us. It doesn’t have to be some earth-shattering notion or a profound idea - the best ones usually aren’t. Keep it simple, but do it today. However you choose to step up as a leader – in the big or the small everyday ways – do it publicly, proudly, and with conviction. Spare us the apologies – that’s really about your need, anyway, right? Let your actions serve as inspiration to the women – and the world – around you. My talented artist friend, Jess Esch has inspired me along this path with the creation of her t-shirt emblazoned with the simple message “This Is How I Change The World.”. Whatever I am doing as I wear that t-shirt – consciously or unconsciously– I am reminded that I am in the process of changing the world. It can be that simple. And profound.

And on those days – and we all will have them – when we feel small and whiny, we would do well to remember the words of some great leaders who are are with us in spirit cheering us on: Ghandi saying, “be the change you want to be in the world”; Martin Luther King, Jr. saying, “you don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step in faith”; Soren Kirkegaard imploring us, “leap and the cliff will appear.”

It’s our turn to leap. Are you with me?

Letting The Wind Be Your Ally

2008-05-01T14:46:00.016-04:00

Years ago, I was introduced to the phrase “blowing the stink off” and it stuck with me. At the time, it was in reference to the engine of a car – getting it out on the highway and opening it up so that the gunk and grime that had accumulated from its around-town usage could be cleaned out of the system. The idea was to do this periodically so that the engine would perform better, last longer and generally “run cleaner”. From experience, I will say the effect benefited both the car and the driver. Over time, the practice of “blowing the stink off” has become a regular ritual and has demonstrated its practical applications way beyond the scope of my car.

At its core, this practice is an invitation to cut loose, shake out your feathers, and let wind and gravity cast off anything that is dragging you down, holding you back or otherwise clogging your system. We all have them – the barnacles that somehow attach themselves to our hulls or the bugs that get pasted to our windshields, whether they are persistent "shoulds", annoying replays of scenarios or interactions or perhaps lingering regrets that are really minor in the grand scheme of your life. The bottom line is that it doesn’t really matter where they came from or how or when they attached themselves to us – it’s that they are here now and they’re ugly, unnecessary and tend to hold us back because of their excess weight and “drag”. They are just parasites along for the ride – YOUR ride.

Just imagine how free and easy your ride might be without them. If you were to blow the stink off every now and then, how might your journey be different? Consider this: if you have come this far with the barnacles attached to you, imagine what you will be capable of or how far you would go if you were to clean the junk out of the trunk – to get rid of the back-seat-driver sort of stuff that slows you down, distracts you from the scenery and causes you to burn more gas.

Sounds wonderful right? You might be thinking, “it’s not that easy…you’re making it sound so simple.” Maybe. But what if it were that easy? What if we could cast off our barnacles or blow off the bugs by going out on the open road and just revving our engine up a bit – and letting the wind and gravity be our allies? Ever make your way onto the highway and watch what happens to the bugs that are desperately clinging to your windshield? What happens to them as you pick up your speed? Gone! At least most of them are. Sure, you might still have one or two that hold out – just as you have one of two issues or habits that will take a bit more elbow grease to remove; I’m not denying that. My point is this: for the majority of bugs, you don’t even need to turn on your windshield wipers to cast them off. In this way, perhaps you can increase your visibility and clarity without much effort on your part.

Personally speaking, I have a number of ways I like to blow the stink off - my own stash of methods that are tried and true and have endured the test of time. Sometimes I run - the leave-your-lung-in-the-parking-lot sort of runs that are so foreign to my 39 year old body. Probably one of my most relied upon methods involves popping in some rockin' music, cranking up my car stereo as loud as it goes and singing my heart out. The boom-boom of the bass and drums as my voice merges with Aretha, Annie Lennox, and Eva Cassidy has easily and effortlessly dislodged even the most tenacious of my barnacles. There are also occasions that involve other people - like crazy dancing to disco with my five year old (we call it "getting our ou-oos out") or going on a roadtrip with some of my best girlfriends and howling with laughter as we share our thoughts about life and tell our women-tales. Regardless of which one I choose, they all rely on two factors: loudness and laughter. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

We are a society that thrives on struggle, toil and sweat. We work hard. We even play hard. So I recognize that this simple (dare I say “fun”?) way of blowing off our stink can be a radical move for people. But what if it were just that easy to lighten the majority of our load, but we resisted the notion because we were taking ourselves (or the barnacles and bugs) too seriously? For some, blowing off the stink can be a terrifying proposition because it means letting go or saying goodbye to those things you have come to know so well. It means stripping down and being seen by yourself and others for who you really are. It might make you feel vulnerable and naked. Ultimately, it signals that you are taking responsibility – when it is just us, there is no one to blame or distract us. No excuses.

Of course you are absolutely entitled to cling to those particular barnacles with which you identify and are not ready to part ways with – those tough items stuck firmly into our front grills or perhaps worn as a hood ornament – I’m not suggesting you go cold turkey. What I am inviting is some curiosity and experimentation: how many bugs might fly away on the open road if given the chance?

Whatever your particular vehicle you are in at this phase of your life – an ocean liner, a mini-van, or an ice cream truck – ask yourself if it’s time to blow the stink off. Gather some friends or maybe go it alone, but find a stretch of open road that calls to you and open it up – let your particular engine do what it loves and watch as the bugs, barnacles and excess luggage get carried off by the wind. Smile to yourself as you look in the rear view mirror and see what you’ve left in your wake. Above all, have fun with it and notice how free and easy it is to travel without it. There will be plenty of opportunities to struggle and sweat later. Dare to let this one be easy. See what happens.

In Praise of Leaves (of absence that is...)

2008-04-15T23:29:00.005-04:00

Okay, so I kid you not, this was literally my first thought this morning as I lurched my tired body out of bed: “thank goodness for coffee!” Not “thank you” as all the countless books on gratitude have taught me…or even basic stuff like “what time is it?” None of that seemed relevant to my immediate needs. It was all about the coffee. I’ve developed quite a love affair with the stuff. Seriously. How sad, right?

But then I remembered the conversation I recently facilitated with a group of women about the myths and realities of why women “opt-out” of the workplace and I didn’t feel so alone any more. I’d like to also say I didn’t feel as pathetic, but as I sat there on the seat of our toilet madly scribbling my thoughts, that particular sentiment seemed somehow fitting. Given what I’ve heard, however, I am most definitely not alone in my current state of exhaustion, never-ending to do list, and bungled ball-juggling. That realization gave me great solace and hope – or at the very least mitigated some of the shame I felt as my husband came in to brush his teeth and found me writing (again) in the bathroom. Last week my perch of choice was the edge of the tub, so a bonafide seat seemed like progress to me. Either way, as I sat there this particular morning, I knew that somewhere in the great state of Maine – and certainly in the country – another woman was scribbling her notes on a toilet seat. I have to believe that.

So what does this early-morning bathroom writing blitz of mine have to do with the workplace notion of “opting out”? Everything. Because like me, people are craving some solitude to sort things out and be with their thoughts. This was validated most recently when this group of women I was working with shared their own stories or fantasties of “opting out” and in doing so, revealed quite an impressive list of things they were currently mulling over. The conversation quickly digressed from the exploration of why more and more women are disappearing from the corporate leadership ranks, contributing to the “leaky pipeline” that has fascinated me for so long, and morphed into a new, more compelling theme. We were clearly touching upon a deep and profound longing to have the time and space to reflect. And here is the interesting part: it wasn’t the topic or even the product of the reflection that was important, as it was the ACT of reflecting. It was as if the wisdom of our group was making a case for the power of “allowing” and letting things emerge – which, we noted, flies in the face of a culture that values and rewards production, speed, and control.

Here’s what excited me most from our conversation: our stories seemed to be suggesting the real gems and richness in life lie not within our answers to whatever the questions are, but rather within the questions themselves. We exchanged countless examples of what emerged, materialized, and crystallized for us during our various leaves – maternity and otherwise. For those of us with children, we weren’t necessarily pining for the time back with our newborns, as much as we were that unbelievably decadent time and space to “do nothing”. Ironically, the physical labor of birthing, healing, nursing, and adapting to a new life seemed to provide the container for our minds to disengage and take a hiatus from the analytical gymnastics we had been accustomed – or in some cases, addicted - to. We reflected on what that “time out of time” gave us and wished more people could experience a leave for themselves. We talked about the merits and appeal of paid sabbaticals and leaves of absence and how that could positively impact the health, growth, and profitability of companies and ultimately, the world. We talked about how tired we were and how much we longed to have that experience again.

So where am I going with all this? A lightbulb went off for me during this conversation that radically shifted my thoughts on this topic of “opting out”. What if this topic being discussed by and for women in the workplace today wasn’t really about women at all? What if women were doing the work for our society as a whole by bringing this conversation to bear? What if we all could have the gift of “opting out” every now and then – without needing a justification or socially-sanctioned reason? Imagine what the world would be like then…

What a radical thought! Think about it. What if more people were invited – nay, encouraged! – to retreat and go inward for reflection, renewal, and inspiration? Imagine the ideas that would emerge. Imagine the impact on our health as a culture – less heart disease, depression and acts of violence. Seriously. If that’s not enough “cost justification” consider the improved focus, renewed commitment and fresh ideas that would be brought back into organizations after a “time out”. If we could get over the tangles and trip-ups of setting a precedent, measuring returns, and otherwise administering such events, I would wage a bet we would see a myriad of benefits appearing on the top AND bottomline of organizational balance sheets as a result of this practice. Not only would we have happier and healthier people working with and for us, we would start to experience a whole new caliber and class of ideas and productivity levels. I imagine the “shoulds” would start to fall away and new and creative pathways would open. As people emerge refreshed and inspired, I could see unprecedented levels of excitement, commitment, and ownership being reported.

There are so many examples – a client of mine, the tired Executive Director out on maternity leave who comes back inspired and invigorated, ready to take her non-profit organization to the next level; another client who finds his job eliminated and consequently stumbles upon a more meaningful and rewarding way of “working” for pay; my own habit of going away every birthday to just sit and think about the past year and the year to come; the story of Bill Gates who goes off on an annual “reading retreat” to think and be with his thoughts. The thread that runs through all of these examples is the same: the space for serendipity, Divine intervention (yes, I said Divine), and emergent thoughts to take center stage, while the ego, fear, and cluttered thoughts take a hike.

Sounds great, right? Taking a leave – unpaid or otherwise - as an employee or granting one as an employer is a BOLD act, make no bones about it. But it’s not new. However, it seems, there is a proverbial fly in the ointment: this option is currently limited to those who can afford it financially – because of paid benefits, workplace flexibility and/or the financial means to sustain themselves during a leave. Sadly, it appears that the leave-taking option requires either having a child, getting sick or becoming part of the economic elite – not necessarily practical or plausible options for most of us.

So it appears I have more questions than answers (what else is new?) What I am certain of, however, is that this collective longing I’m witnessing – in myself, in others, and indeed in organizations – is a force to be reckoned with; one that will ultimately break through the antiquated notions we have governing our organizations and workplaces. Until then, I will heed the advice of the wise Rainer Marie Rilke:

“I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

Watering the Plant of Feminism

2008-04-02T22:27:00.006-04:00

I just bought a plant today. It is this lovely, hearty looking succulent plant called a “ZZ”. The little card that came with it boasts, “this durable houseplant is an exceptional performer in low light and requires next to nothing in care.” It's apparently bomb proof and seems to thrive on neglect. This concept has always appealed to me, particularly when it comes to houseplants. I was immediately drawn to the plant, perhaps because the notion of “thriving in almost all conditions” resonates deeply within the tired, but resilient and hearty nature of this working mother.

For some reason, it got me thinking about the current state of feminism. I know, quite a leap of logic, but hang with me a minute…

I’ve recently claimed the identity of “feminist” with all the fervor I can muster. It’s officially part of my super-secret cache of self-identifying monikers – right up there with “runner”, “working mother” and “Scorpio.” But after a particularly rugged March, one in which I got sick a number of times and felt particularly run-down from my habitual tendency to burn the candle at both ends, I am seriously revisiting this notion of “thriving on neglect.” As I approach my fortieth birthday, this wise voice within me keeps kvetching saying, “you’re kidding me, right? You’re actually proud of this ability to run on empty?”

So here is the crucial intersection at which I find myself standing: the convergence of all my self-appointed identifiers in the bright light of this new question of whether or not I want to continue to “thrive on neglect.” I’m thinking perhaps it’s time I water my own plant a bit. For just like my new succulent ZZ, I have been boasting that I can go for long stretches of time with no water and still be an “exceptional performer.” I have let myself get dehydrated. Again.

So it begs the question in my over-active mind: what else is dehydrated simply because of its hearty and resilient nature? I mentally scroll through my list of monikers and find more examples. “Runner?” Yes, it’s true I consider myself to still be a runner (not a “jogger” – very different), despite having not taken a step in my sneakers for nearly two years. What else?

Then it occurs to me. Recently, while on the Maine Women’s Fund website (http://www.mainewomensfund.org/) , I stumbled on the phrase “riding the wave of feminism.” Ah! Feminism! Now there is a hearty plant with which I can identify! I think “feminism” and I think “Gloria”, “60s” and “women’s movement.” I have visions of throngs of women, raising their voices together in protest and taking a stand. Most recently, I think “Hillary.” Interestingly enough, I don’t think: “me” or “my generation.” Which leads me to my next question to myself: when was the last time I did anything to water the plant of feminism? And more importantly, as a white woman in my late 30s, have I ever? Or am I continuing to rely on the work that those legions of women have done before me?

There is something within me that is rising up and saying, “this is no longer okay!”. The health and well-being of feminism is too important to neglect and it will fail to thrive with without some serious watering by my own generation. There is something shifting inside of me that is rebelling against the whole “thrive on neglect” mentality, despite my recent purchase of a ZZ.

I consider conversations that I’ve had with my women friends who are in their 50s and 60s – women who forcibly (and noticeably) created positive changes for women in the world. There is often visible annoyance or resentment present when the topic of feminism arises among us. One particular dear and wise friend confessed, “I’m tired…you do the work now!”

Okay. It’s time. Are you ready to join me? For one thing that I’ve learned is there is strength in numbers. Despite all my resilience, tenacity and “thrive on neglect” ways, I cannot do this alone.

So I pulled out some books because that’s what I do when I’m on a mission. Rebecca Walker. bell hooks. Naomi Wolf. Kristin Rowe-Finkbeiner. I am beginning to hydrate myself for this leg of the journey and am feeling my endurance athlete spirit awaken within me.

I am ready. I think back to my days as a runner in the 4 x 400 meter relay. I imagine myself standing there, warmed up and primed for the race. I feel the sweaty baton coming into my fresh hands from my weary team member. I am so ready for this challenge.

Are you with me?

The Underbelly of Women's Culture

2008-03-21T17:22:00.006-04:00

Two times this week I have facilitated a dialogue with women leaders on the topic of women working with other women. Specifically, we examined why it can be so difficult. Needless to say, I’m exhausted. However, what I’ve observed in both groups has me really intrigued and has given me the inspiration to keep this topic on the table with the women with which I interact. Despite my sweaty palms.

This is a tough topic. Most research on the matter concludes that is exactly why it is among the lists of “undiscussables” with women. From my own experience, it can bring up issues of shame, embarrassment, defensiveness, and most certainly denial. I’ve found this to be true for myself and most recently, I have observed this in other women engaging in the topic. What it requires is women to look at the “dirty underbelly” of female culture. There is an increasing amount of research on the topic of why women struggle to work with one another. The findings typically attribute it to three dynamics: how we are encultured as girls to deal with anger and conflict, the fact that we are often pitted against each other in the media and the challenges we face as we aspire to be leaders within a society that traditionally honors and rewards the masculine.

So sure, there are a lot of good reasons this is happening. And certainly, this is a really hard issue to explore as a group of women. But here is my concern: what if we don’t? What are the consequences for us as women if we don’t discuss this issue and begin to take ownership of our collective dynamics and perceptions? What then? My fear: more of the same. In fact, the research out there comes to the same conclusion: until women rise up address this within our own culture of women, we will find ourselves stuck and divided. More of the same.

From my experiences this week, I’m getting a bit clearer on the rub. What I’m noticing is when women don’t relate to the statistics and the stories that would paint this picture of “internalized sexism” – either because of their experiences or because of their own resistance to claim a rather unattractive issue – they tend to vehemently push away the topic as if it was a hot potato. Which it is. The problem is, who will catch it? And ironically, isn’t the very notion of “passing the potato” to another woman discounting the many, many voices of women who claim this issue is true and alive to them? Isn’t that in itself an act of judging and differentiating ourselves from other women?

And then there is the whole Law of Attraction thing… If we begin to focus on this topic as women and talk about it more, won’t that “draw it in” to us? So, in effect, we will be creating more of what we don’t want: divisiveness, disagreement, and conflict among women?

So what’s a woman to do? Simple, the research concludes: RISE UP and DO SOMETHING!!!! The bottom line, is that we need more women winning, than losing. We need to see the connections between our successes and our losses and resist the urge to just use our own perceptions and experiences to drive our actions (or inactions). We need to wrap our minds around the idea that when we find fault with another woman – or another woman does – the notion is reinforced that women are somehow faulty. And that includes you, whether you “deserve it” or not. So the invitation is to turn the tide – to somehow make it fashionable to be good to each other (which flies in the face of the current cultural mindset).

Specifically, here is what we can each do:
Become less judgmental about other women
Find common ground – we are more similar than different, so focus on that
Don’t allow the media, or anybody else for that matter, to define who you are.
Support women’s organizations with your involvement and/or your checkbook.
Mentor a younger woman–become an ally for another woman and support her success. Be an activist in ways that engages dialogue, not debate: invite curiosity, not judgment.

So what do you think? Let’s talk about this. And I’d ask you again: what are the consequences if we don’t? Isn’t it time?

Standing buck naked in the light

2006-10-02T14:51:00.000-04:00

What is it about playing small that’s so seductive? To inspire myself, I’ve plastered the line from that famous quote of Maryann Williamson’s on the wall in my office, “your playing small doesn’t serve the world”. And yet still I battle the urge to shrink. So what is it? Habit? An issue of self-esteem? Laziness? Perhaps. Annoying? Definitely! Some days, I can spin myself in circles trying to swat at this tendency like one of those dryer sheets clung to the back of my favorite shirt.

I had the luxury of a long drive today – one in which I could listen to one of my many books on tape. Today’s choice was The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. It was on today’s journey that I got an insight as to why this “playing small” keeps drawing me in with its icy cold fingers, beckoning me like some needy friend. In his book, Ruiz claims that it is not death that we fear, but being alive. Sounds familiar. He must be friends with Maryann – the beginning of her quote referenced above reads, “It is not our darkness that we fear, but our light”. So, what possible reason would cause us to fear “our light” or “being alive”?

One word: Risk. It’s the act of stepping out from the shadows and into the light. Now consider doing it naked. And alone. That just upped the anti, didn’t it? The shadows in this scenario not only represent being one of the many in a crowd, blending into the masses – it also represents all the clothes we wear, the roles we have comfortably settled into, the way people have come to see us, to know us. To step into the light naked is to be known and be seen. It is to be pure and real, flaws and all. It’s what we all crave, right? If I had a dollar for every one of my coaching clients who claimed one of their core values was “authenticity” (or some other variation of this like “being comfortable in my own skin”), I would be able to retire. This is not to excuse myself from this craving – my particular version of this desire is a value I call “Kathryn Hepburn” (bold, willing to be herself no matter what people thought, outspoken). In fact, so common is this desire that it stands to reason most humans crave, ultimately, to be seen. One particular culture in South Africa addresses this primal need to be recognized in their common greeting, Sawu bona, loosely translated to “I see you”. The response is typically, Sikhona, “I am here”. In essence, until you see me, I do not exist. The desire to be seen is universal understood.

So back to playing small and why it’s so seductive. As I grapple with this two-step daily and watch this topic come up with a certain regularity with my clients, I’m guessing the underlying hesitation for all of us is an infatuation with the game “what if…”. What if I’m not good enough? What if I stand out too much and people think I’m egotistical? What if people won’t like me? What if nobody likes me… or worse, what if I’m not loved as I am? You get the idea. It’s a pretty high stakes game, playing BIG. Therein lies the seduction. Play small and you’re safe. But is that enough? Not for my clients or me. It’s like a persistent itch. If you ignore it, it just gets itchier until you are compelled to scratch it.

Here’s some “what ifs” for you: What if we all took a pact to step into the light naked every day? What if we didn’t wait? What if we didn’t apologize? What if standing in the shadows was the exception? What if we celebrated it and broke into applause instead of pointing fingers, talking in hushed tones, and waiting to soothe and console when people grew tired of being bold and retreated back sheepishly to the safety of the shadows?

One thing I’ve learned about taking risk these days is that it takes a village. Pardon the cliché, but it’s true. I’ve often referred to the countless women, friends, family members, professionals, and complete strangers who have cheered me on as I’ve started my own business as “midwives” of mine. They’ve helped me give birth to this new phase of my life and to claim my BIGNESS, not shy away from it like a teenager playing coy. They are there for me with a knowing smile when I feel that urge to retreat. They truly SEE me and believe in me. Am I lucky and fortunate? Absolutely. But there is something more. Something I created. Somewhere along my recent path, a wise voice deep within me reminded me that I didn’t need to do it alone. So I asked for help. Again and again I ask for help. And again and again, I shoo away that persistent voice that tells me I sound needy or I’m being a burden or imposing on the lives of busy people. All I have to do is look at them – to SEE them – and I can tell they are getting something from this experience, too. They are living. They are stepping into the light with me.

So like the ball of pizza dough taken from the refrigerator, the urge to contract upon expansion is only natural. But over time and with some pluck and determination, the dough relents and allows itself to assume a new and bigger shape. So, too, can our lives. It just takes a little elbow grease and encouragement. Be willing to sweat, ask for help, and surround yourself with believers and you’ll be better prepared to strip down buck naked and leap confidently into the light of the living!