Believing Our Ears

When I was in college, a good way to clear my head and get reenergized for a long night of studying was to go for a nice long afternoon run. A favorite route was the trail that snaked its way around the edges of the par-3 golf course on campus.

There was one particular run, that I almost didn’t take, but am so glad that I did.

Living off campus in an apartment, I threw on my running clothes, hopped into my white 65 Mustang, and headed for the golf course. On the way there it started to rain, and by the time I parked the car, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

The rain hitting that metal roof sounded like a torrential downpour. While not a fair-weather runner by any means, which one can’t be if one lives in the Pacific Northwest, the longer I sat there, the more reasons I came up with not to get out of the car. It would be too cold, too wet, too muddy on the course, and too much bother to deal with my wet running clothes back in our apartment with no washer and dryer. Not only that, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

Just about to put the key in the ignition and head back home, I suddenly thought of all the reasons to get out of the car. After every run, I always felt better, and logging those three-miles left me with energy, clarity, and a more positive outlook. While I didn’t give in and start the car, I didn’t get out of it either, and, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

I sat there for a few more minutes, pondering my dilemma. To run, or not to run? Before I could change my mind, I grabbed the door handle, stepped out of the car, and immediately found that the rain that sounded like a downpour was actually just a gentle spring rain. Cool and invigorating, the conditions were perfect for a run.

45 years later, I still remember the feel of the rain on my face, the good endorphins that come when we move our bodies, and, how glad I was that I didn’t let the sound of the rain, on the metal roof of my car, keep me from hitting the trail.

Sometimes it’s good not to believe our ears.

image: mustang dreams.com

Does It Have To Hit The Fan?

Little did we know when we brought Gracie-the chocolate-labradoodle into our home, that we were getting a four-legged, curly haired spiritual master. Kind of like our own personal Yoda. But cuter.

We learn from her all the time, and simply caring for her daily needs brings profound lessons. None more so than cleaning up her daily piles out in the yard. Because we are diligent to do so, we are not left with landmines to be avoided, or more likely, stepped in. Once stepped in, there is a whole lot more work to be done in order to clean things back up so as not to bring the un-dealt with shit into our home.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a darn good metaphor for life.

In real life, sometimes we procrastinate, neglect to clean up our messes, and just wait until it all hits the fan, at which point life gets a whole lot harder, not to mention messier. The nasty smelling stuff gets thrown all over anyone within striking distance, and there is a lot of clean up to do. But like little Gracie is teaching us, it happens, and when it does, it is so much easier to pick it up and deal with it, rather than leave it to accumulate.

When it comes to Gracie, we have a practice in place, and because we have committed to the practice, it has become a habit.

See the stuff.

Deal with the stuff.

Be done with the stuff.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds like another darn good metaphor for life.

See our stuff.

Deal with our stuff.

Be done with our stuff.

This, of course, isn’t a one and done deal. We will be cleaning up after ourselves for as long as we draw breath. But the stronger our commitment to the practice, the more deeply engrained the habit.

We can wait for the shit to hit the fan.

But it’s a whole lot easier to deal with if we don’t.

Whose Side Of The Fence?

Whenever we are in a relationship, there are times when there is work that needs to be done, and that work falls into three categories: yours, mine, and ours. A healthier order would be mine, yours, and ours, because when looking at the health and dynamics of our relationships, it’s best to start within.

Good questions to ask ourselves might be:

How have I contributed to the current state of this marriage/partnership/family dynamic/professional relationship/friendship/whatevership?

What am I doing to build or undermine trust and respect?

What do I need to communicate to the other person?

Do I need to seek forgiveness?

Have I clearly stated my needs?

Do I need to seek professional help to find my way to a healthier me?

What is mine to do?

What is on my side of the fence?

Starting there is always a win/win deal. No matter what the outcome of our own work, when done with curiosity, humility, courage, and integrity, we come out the side more fully formed as the person we are meant to be.

All that being said, not everything falls on our side of the fence. It is up to others to show up too, and hopefully they will. Sometimes that means doing their own work, and other times it means that we swing our gates open wide and inhabit the field of relationship building together.

Naming Our S*#T

Yesterday I finally sat down to work on an upcoming event, fleshing out the intent, core message, and overall experience. It was a creative, productive few hours, and it felt good to have gained some traction on work that I am passionate about. There were several other things that needed my attention, so I left the document open on my desktop, intending to come back and look it over again before closing up my office for the day.

Maybe you have an inkling of what happened.

After taking a break to walk Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle, I came back to my computer intending to return to my work-in-progress, but it was nowhere to be found. I had neglected to name it as soon as I opened up a new document, which if I had done so would have triggered auto-save. After a couple of hours of researching and attempting different ways of recovering the document, and spending way too much energy on frustration and self-criticism, I called it a day. I’d just have to start over.

Lesson learned. Name your shit early.

This, of course, applies to far more than document creation and the protection of our work. In every aspect of our lives, the quicker we take ownership for what is ours, the sooner we name our shit, the less energy we will have to spend on recovery and starting over.

Just Don't Do It

One of the best things I’ve heard in a long time…

Tethering

There is a tool when raising a puppy or training a dog called tethering.

Tethering means that if you are with your dog and not actively training, or the dog is in their crate or some other assigned rest area, you and your dog are basically attached at the hip. Literally. You attach a leash around your waist, and clip it onto your dog’s collar. Where you go, the dog goes, training her to stay close, strengthening the bond between you and your dog, and allowing you to observe and respond to her behaviors appropriately. Rewarding what you want. Ignoring or correcting what you don’t.

Gracie, our 14 week old chocolate labradoodle and I are becoming increasingly comfortable with this tethering routine. She is relaxing into it, sticking closer sooner, and is starting to offer behaviors that get rewarded, and learning to avoid those that do not. Left to her own devices, without this practice, it would be easy for her to wander, ok, race, into territory where she could do harm to herself, her surroundings, and other dogs or people.

Standing at the counter with her calmly sitting by my side, it struck me that left to our own devices, untethered from our true self, and our values, beliefs, and priorities, we too can wander, ok, maybe race, into territory where we can do harm to ourselves, our surroundings, and other people.

In order to attach ourselves closely to our deepest values, beliefs, and priorities, we have to know who we are and what we care about, and then tether ourselves closely enough that when tempted to wander off course, we are pulled up short. The way I stay tethered to what matters is by declaring my bedrock beliefs. To trusted family, friends and colleagues, giving them permission to check me if they see me straining against the leash. On my website or at the beginning of a retreat, workshop, or keynote, I declare them publicly, compelling me to stay accountable to what I profess. When struggling to stay true to who I am, there are trusted professionals to help me do the inner work necessary to live into my truest self.

Gracie doesn’t always love tethering, but as I stay calm, solid and strong, she is learning to trust the bond being created by sticking close.

If Gracie can do it, so can we.

Lessons From The Field

Nobody thought they’d make it into the playoffs, but as they have been known to do, the Seattle Seahawks defied the odds and did. After a disappointing loss last night to the Dallas Cowboys, in which they mostly got in their own way, (although kudos to the Cowboys for doing what it took to come out victorious) it is time to reflect on the season, and what we can learn from this team that I love.

It isn’t other people’s opinion that matters.

The team started the year by losing all four of their pre-season games, the first two of the regular season, and entering week 10, found themselves with a 4-5 record. The football world pretty much wrote them off, casting this as a “re-building” year, not a year in which anything special could happen. Au contraire said those inside the locker room overlooking Lake Washington. That something special, as articulated by head coach Pete Carrol, one of the classiest in the NFL, is “Without question, it’s this connection our guys have. Their willingness to keep going the extra step, the extra mile, whatever it takes to keep adding.” They always believe that something good is about to happen, regardless of the odds, minutes left on the clock, or the media chatter, and more times than not, something good does, even if it doesn’t show up on the scoreboard.

There’s a difference between winning and being victorious.

In his post game press conference, WR Doug Baldwin admitted to being frustrated, sad, and disappointed. Who wouldn’t be? However, his message as one of the leaders in the locker room is that if the players, individually and collectively, can learn from this disappointing end to the season and use that to get better, closer, and more committed, while they might not be victorious, they still won in the bigger picture. “The challenges are hard, and it’s difficult, but you should never be afraid of failure. Failure is what helps you grow. If you’re not growing, you’re staying stagnant. If you’re staying stagnant, you’re done.”

While it’s about football, it’s not about football.

No doubt about it, life in the NFL has a relatively short shelf life. Career ending injuries, the end of a contract, or getting cut from the team, if it’s only about what happens on the field, that’s not a great return on the investment these players have to make to be able to play in a game open only to an elite few. If they don’t come out the other side of their career as better men, as better human beings, they’ve left way too much on the field. Again, WR Doug Baldwin - “I think the best thing we will do from this point on moving forward is that we will take these lessons and learn from them and grow and be better, not only as football players, but as men. That is vastly more important.”

Build on the past and move forward.

That about sums it up in a nutshell. On or off the football field, the past serves as the foundation for what will happen next. The past is out of their hands, leaving them free to grab hold of the future, believing that something good is about to happen. That sounds like a good way to live.

Onward and upward.

Go Hawks!

Scheduling Hope

Hope is a condition of the heart in which we live with a sense of confident expectation and anticipation. Yet with all that is on most of our plates, it can be easy to lose touch with any air of expectancy, and live instead gasping for breath due to the pressure of all that is expected of us.

Queue the calendar.

When I am mindful to use it well, my calendar becomes an instrument of hope…

A monthly video call with two dear friends and colleagues, where together we’ve created a safe place in which to engage in courageous and vulnerable thinking.

Sessions with a trainer who is helping me move from rehab of an injury to the renewal of my strength and capacity to do the things that I love.

Coaching sessions with one of my clients who is decidedly all in on our work together, and shows up fully every time we meet.

Time set aside to help our daughter and her family get ready for their move to a new house, smack dab in the middle of the holidays.

FaceTime dates with those I love.

Family coming over the river and through the woods for Christmas.

A massage, a much needed haircut, and a pedicure.

Friends for dinner, and a New Year’s Eve party.

Seattle Seahawks games that could land us in the playoffs.

A candlelight service on Christmas Eve.

As Annie Dillard says, How we spend our days, is, of course, how we spend our lives. By making sure to include in my days that which makes me come alive, I am choosing to live in a state of hopeful anticipation.

A calendar as an instrument of hope?

Who knew?

Broken Records

Sometimes I know that I sound like a broken record, but then I guess there are some things that are worth repeating. My dad was a broken record.

Remember who you are and what you stand for.

If I heard that once, I heard it several thousand times. And so did everyone else who knew and loved him, and some who didn’t know him and if they did, they probably wouldn’t have loved him. I got tired of hearing it, and there were times I wanted to throw the nearest sharp object at him for saying it. But you know what? It stuck, and those words spoken to me, over me, and around me, have gone a long way toward helping me to become a better version of myself. There are things for which I’ve thrown my dad under the bus, but these words are not one of them. I will alway be on board the bus with him on this one. 

Recently I’ve begun to hear my own broken record. Like my dad’s words, mine are short, not-so-sweet, and to the point.

Do the work.

Simply stated, it means choosing over and over and over again, to do the hard work of becoming your best, most authentic and wholehearted self.

Do the work. 

It means uncovering our wounds (we all have them) and doing what it takes to heal them, and turn them into scars. It means sitting with our pain, anger, grief, and all of the other shadow emotions, and learning from them rather than running from them. It means asking ourselves what we are currently carrying with us that needs to be dealt with and left behind, so as to move into whatever is next with more love, compassion, freedom, and peace. It means admitting when we are wrong, and making amends. It means learning how to apologize and mean it not justify it. It means having the hard conversations and doing the deep listening. Again, and again, and again.

Do the work. 

It means figuring out what makes us tick, and what triggers us. It means taking ownership for everything in our lives. Every. Single. Thing. Not that we are responsible for everything that has happened to us, or for the wrongs committed to us by others, but that we are responsible for what we do with what we’ve got.  

Do the work.

It means finding the professional help to support our efforts. At the risk of sounding like another broken record, we all need professional help to become our best selves. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Depending on the circumstances, that might mean a therapist, psychiatrist, coach or spiritual director, or some combination thereof.  

I’ve been heartened recently by examples of those doing their work, and heartbroken by examples of others who are not. When we do the work every one around us benefits, and when we don’t, everyone around us pays. Which is why, later today, I am grateful to be meeting with my spiritual director. I know I’m better when I do, and it’s better for everyone around me too. 

Some things are worth repeating. 

Let’s do the work. 

Wing-Walking

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”

~ Havelock Ellis

There’s something called the Wing-Walker principle.

Often featured stunts in airshows of the past, wing-walkers were those daredevil folk willing to crawl out of the cockpit of an airborne biplane, and walk on the wing. Those watching from the ground, as well as the walker on the wing, knew that imminent death was a possibility.

The wing-walker principle, as explained to me, is that you never let go of one handhold until you have another one to grab on to. Makes good sense to me.

This same principle holds true on more than an airplane wing.

Life often feels as precarious as being out on an airplane wing, high above the ground, and the wind ready to blow you to kingdom come. There are times when it feels like you won’t survive, and that death is a real possibility if you can’t find something to hold onto.

When big change is upon us, what we’ve held onto in the past may not be able to sustain us where we are going, and In order to make our way forward, we have to find the next handhold.

Not the next ten.

Not even the next two.

Just the next thing to grab onto that will help us to hold steady in the gale force winds that threaten to push us off into thin air. That handhold could be the next phone call, decision, step, action, or piece of new information that will allow us to let go of the old, and begin to take hold of the new.

One handhold at a time, until we are again on solid ground.