Stacking The Firewood

Our yearly supply of firewood just got delivered. Two-and-a-half cords of beautiful dry wood landed on our driveway, ready to be stacked under cover for use in the coming winter months. One of my favorite chores every year is to work together with Tom to stack the wood. Piece by piece the pile that sits in chaotic disorder turns into neatly stacked rows, and we are ready for winter once again. While we are not dependent on it to heat our home, it is an integral part of how we live, and we count on it to fuel life under our roof.

This delivery and stacking of the firewood is an annual occurrence, and turning that jumbled pile into orderly rows is a reminder that our lives unfold in much the same way. Something gets dumped into our lives, and suddenly we find ourselves in disarray. Like the firewood, it is ours to figure out how to put into order what has landed on our doorstep.

As hard as it is to have the unexpected show up, if we treat it like a load of firewood, and piece by piece put it into order, It can become an integral part of who we are, and fuel the lives we are here to live.

Fifteen Minutes

“I have fifteen minutes, and I’d love to spend them with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a close friend who was in the midst of his own busy day, and yet was able to find a small window of time for us to connect. A small window was all I needed.

What I was searching for in those fifteen precious minutes was a safe space to say exactly what I wanted to say, unfiltered. I was in need of a place to be heard and seen, and to be able to feel exactly what I was feeling with no attempt made to fix, mollify, or find a silver lining. In that moment there was none to find.

For fifteen minutes he listened, and listened, and listened some more. Safely within the emotional equivalent of a soundproof, padded room, I was able to hear myself speak, and express deep emotions that needed to come out. Those fifteen minutes made it possible to handle the next fifteen. And the next and the next and the next.

We are all in need of safe spaces in which we can show up live and uncensored. Places where we can say what is true in that moment even when what is true is messy, ugly, and broken. It is from there that that we can find our way forward to deal with the mess, discover beauty in our ability to handle what we’ve been handed, and catch a glimpse of how we might put our broken selves back together again. Not put back together as before, but in new ways. Better ways. Stronger, more authentic, and courageous ways. Ways that begin with the gift of fifteen minutes with someone who’d love to spend them with us.

Like A Hawk

In front of our home there is an expanse of open field that stretches out toward the mountain. Trees are scattered around the perimeter, and on any given day It is likely that you will find one of the many hawks that call our little valley home perched on the top of one of those trees. From that vantage point they are able to scan the entire field for possible prey. These sharp eyed birds don’t spend all of their time on a tree top, nor do they endlessly fly about in search of their next meal. They seem to know that in order to survive, it is necessary to get a good look at the bigger picture before heading out to do what hawks do.

When it comes to us humans, we could take a lesson from these birds of prey. It is easy to get so caught up in our daily rounds that we forget to take time to pull back and get the big picture view. We simply go and do. Go and do. And, go and do some more.

Any free space on our calendars gets filled by the next request, because rather than pause and head to a nearby treetop, we swoop in on the date and time, and if it’s open, we let the next commitment snatch it up. Simply doing something because we can isn’t necessarily a reason to do it.

If we want to spend our days and expend our energy on who and what we value, we have to learn to pull back and get a hawk’s-eye view of the field that is our life.

Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels

It's Just Hard

Today I was reminded once again of something my beloved yoga teacher whispered to me during class. Struggling to hold an especially challenging pose, she quietly said, so that no one else could hear…

Sweetheart, remember, just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just hard.

End Of Story

There are a few themes that I find myself returning to in the course of my work, and in the midst of my own everyday life. One such theme is the importance of letting old stories go. Stories that might have served us at one time but no longer do. Stories that at one time kept us safe in dangerous emotional circumstances in the past, but are no longer relevant to our present day. Stories that we’ve continued to believe because creating new ones will require that we muster the courage to practice new ways of showing up in the world.

The thing with our stories is that we believe them.

They are ours, and we’re sticking to them.

But what if we didn’t?

What if we quit believing them?

Quit sticking to them?

There’s only one way to find out, and no better time than now.

Jessica Lewis on Pexels.com

Circling Back

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. Feedback is always a gift. Not because it is always right, but because it offers us another perspective. Honestly, I can’t count the number of times I’ve posited that idea to people. Whether in a workshop setting or with individual coaching clients, I’ve outlined the advantages of being willing to hear what others have to say about and to us. About how the feedback of others offers us a perspective other than our own, and can help us see into our blind spots, become better communicators, leaders, colleagues, partners, parents, and friends. And, it can help us become better writers too.

It’s easy to preach the importance of developing not only a willingness, but also an eagerness to receive feedback. However, like most things, it is much, much harder to practice than preach. This morning over breakfast I asked Tom what he thought of my latest blog post. He liked it, he said, although he had one small suggestion. He is one of my best and most trusted editors and I’ve learned to value his feedback (mostly), but this morning my inner hackles immediately went up. He commented that there was a line that felt disconnected from the rest of the piece. It was a metaphorical jump too far for him. Of course, it was the one line in the post that I liked the most, and frankly thought was what pulled the whole piece together at the end. His feedback, in that moment, did not feel like anything close to a gift.

However.

Taking some time to let those raised hackles settle back down, I considered how I might take his suggestion to make a line I loved even stronger. Could I wordsmith things just a bit more and get an even better result? Of course, as often happens when my first response is defensive, with a little reflection I was able to see things in a different light. One that was only made possible through the feedback of someone else. It allowed me to circle back and take another look. As a result of his perspective, one different than my own, the piece held together even better. A line I loved to begin with became even stronger.

Feedback is always a gift. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

(Revised version: A Circle)

Photo by Adrien Olichon from Pexels

A Circle

More than a few years ago I was facilitating a small one-day workshop for a client on what it takes to work well as a team. The classroom was set up in rows, and there were about ten participants. We kicked it off with introductions, a few questions, and then jumped into the materials. I’m usually pretty good at quickly establishing rapport with those in the room and helping them engage in a collaborative learning experience. This day however, nothing seemed to be clicking. The energy in the room was low and people were obviously anything but engaged.

One of the participants, a young man with a warm smile and what felt like a big heart raised his hand. “This is a class about teams, right? What if instead of sitting in rows we moved our chairs into a circle?”

We did, and it worked. It was practically magic how quickly the energy in the room began to shift as everyone worked together to rearrange the room so that it became a shared space. Rather than focusing straight ahead at the front of the room, we all looked together towards the center, everyone there able to make eye contact with everyone else. Since then I’ve never facilitated a class on anything to do with teams in any configuration other than a circle.

Since then, that young man with the warm smile and the big heart has gone on to bigger and better things. Today Cody Goldberg is the Executive Director of Harper’s Playground, a foundation committed to “Building a more inclusive world, one playground at a time…driven by a vision of a world in which no one is left out.”

Harper’s Playground designs and builds playgrounds that work for everybody. Playgrounds that are inclusive and inviting, and springing up far and wide because Harper’s Playground generously shares their information on what is needed, what works, and why it works with anyone who asks. A few years ago Cody and I met for coffee and reminisced about that classroom where we met one another for the first time, and moved the chairs in the room into a circle so that no one was left out. Cody shared that circles are a part of every one of their playgrounds. Why? Because a circle makes room for everyone.

I spent some time today at Luuwit View Park in Portland. It was obvious that Cody and the Harper’s Playground vision had been incorporated into the design, as circles were a part of almost every aspect of the park. Our current times feel like we are living as if we still believe the world is flat, unable to see beyond our own horizons we forget that we have long known that it is round. Like a circle.

And a circle?

A circle makes room for everyone.

Pixels.com

Grace Under Fire

We all need it.

We all want it.

Grace under fire.

When the going gets tough, which happens randomly on any given day, how do we learn to show up with grace? For ourselves and everyone else?

I’m not sure, but I think it starts with awareness. Of catching ourselves in the act of reacting, and making a choice - and yes - we have a choice - to respond in a more grace filled way. It takes practice to learn to do it differently. And thankfully, most of us encounter more than enough opportunities to practice.

Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Halloween Party

“My goal” he said, “is come this fall, I want to want to invite you to our annual Halloween party”. At the time we were sitting with Bob, our potential builder, in his kitchen. Over cups of coffee, we poured over our plans and talked about the ins and outs of building the home we envisioned. By the end of our time around that kitchen table, we sensed that we’d found the guy for us.

We’d met with other builders to get estimates for our project, and to a person, they were first and foremost, all about the money. Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to building a home, money matters…to everyone. However, other things matter too. Like honesty, trust, respect, and a shared commitment to the end goal. In other words, in working together, we weren’t just building a home. We were building a relationship too.

Having talked to numerous people since embarking on this adventure, most people who have a home built for them don’t usually end up with the kind of friendship that we have with Bob. In fact, in the spirit of Halloween, I’ve heard far more horror stories than ones with a happy ending.

Sure there were snafus along the way, and sometimes writing those checks took my breath away. But there were no tricks, and plenty of treats along the way, and none of us ever lost sight of the end goal. A home we loved, and finding ourselves at the next Halloween party.

The first year we went as a homeless couple with signs around our neck that read Will work for house. The next year we simply turned the signs over to read Will work for mortgage. Which, by the way, has been worth every penny!

It’s been over 12 years since that first morning around Bob’s kitchen table, and tonight we are looking forward to another great Halloween party in their home. No costumes required. Kind of like our friendship.

Pixabay on Pexels.com

Plan B

It is so easy to get derailed. You have a perfectly planned day, and then suddenly all hell breaks loose with things you didn’t anticipate, couldn’t anticipate, probably didn’t want, and yet have to be handled. Now.

Cue: Plan B

Probably no surprise, today was one of those days. It meant setting aside some important things that I had planned to do in order to take care of some urgent things that I hadn’t. At one point I was sitting in the “sick room” at our little school because it was empty, connected to the school wi-fi because ours couldn’t handle the task at hand, managing two iPhones in an attempt to transfer data from one to the other, while talking to Apple Support on another iPhone where my call had been escalated to a senior advisor. All the while trying my best not to swear in front of the nearby students as I took notes on a scrap of orange paper from the pumpkins they were cutting out to decorate the school hallways.

Eventually the mission was accomplished, and the fiasco had only taken a mere five hours out of my carefully planned day.

But then who ever said we get the day we planned just because we planned it? If we steward our time well, hopefully we do more often than not, but other times we get the day that shows up and rains on our carefully planned parade. That’s when we get to cue Plan B, and as much as I hate to admit it, I think that’s a good thing.

Plan B forces us to loosen our grip on the need to have it our way.

Plan B helps dispel the illusion just a little bit more that we are in control.

Plan B reminds us that it really isn’t all about us.

Plan B teaches us to be more resilient and less rigid.

And…Plan B challenges us to be graceful and gracious in spite of it all. (steep learning curve)

Thank you Plan B.