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“Take the Tape”—How to Listen to Your Intuition

July 19th, 2017 · 7 Comments

tape

It was the day before my aunt’s 98th birthday party in North Florida. I was determined to be there, even though I was in DC and would have to make a long drive. I’d been in DC working on a client project and staying at a friend’s place while she was out of town.

As I gathered my belongings, a voice in my head said, “Take the tape.” I glanced at a large roll of cellophane packing tape on a nearby table. I didn’t really need packing tape for anything  and it wasn’t mine. “Take the tape,” the voice repeated.

I felt a momentary pang of guilt. “Am I stealing my friend’s tape?” I wondered.

My answer was clear: “Take the tape.” It was soft, but straightforward, direct and matter-of-fact.

By now, I’ve learned to listen to that voice. It’s my intuition, a knowing-without-knowing-how-you-know sense that gives me direction in just that direct, matter-of-fact way. There’s no urgency, no alarm, no anxiety attached to it. It doesn’t ever explain itself or argue with me. If I ignore it, it doesn’t care. And its directives are simple: “Take the tape.”

So I grabbed the tape and stashed it in the trunk of my car.

I left late that Saturday afternoon. I figured an evening drive would be easy—it would be cooler and there would be less traffic. I planned to stop in about six hours, the halfway point.

The trip went uneventfully for several hours. I sped along listening to music, talking with friends, and enjoying occasional periods of silence. Somewhere in southern Virginia it began to rain lightly. Virginia gave way to North Carolina and the rain picked up.

Between the dark and the rain, visibility had diminished. I was glad there was barely any traffic on the road.

And then I saw it, although I’m still not sure exactly what it was. It was an animal, the size of a very large dog, headed across the road, right into the path of my car. There was no time to avoid it. As soon as I saw it, I hit it.

I was afraid to stop—I was a woman alone on a deserted highway at night. I couldn’t turn around—this was the interstate. I had no doubt that the animal hadn’t survived, so there was nothing I could do to help it.

I slowed the car and leaned forward to check the dashboard and the hood of the car. There was nothing unusual—no warning lights, no steam coming from the engine. The car’s steering seemed fine, so I sped back up, eager to find a room for the night.

That’s when the noises started. Loud, sharp banging noises. Something was hitting the side of the car, very close to where I was sitting. BANG! BANG! BANG! Loud, sharp sounds, almost like gunshots.

The noise was frightening and my imagination went wild. I visualized something bloody and horrible, entangled in the bumper and crashing into the side of the car. I began to shake and cry as I slowed the car to 20 miles an hour. At the slower speed, the noise stopped. If I sped up, the banging started again and the images came back.

That voice spoke again. “Calm yourself.” I reminded myself not to let my runaway thoughts take over. I practiced mindfulness techniques, shifting my attention to the road in front of me, to the steering wheel in my hands, to my breath.

When I got to the nearest exit and parked at a gas station, there were no other cars around. I realized I was going to have to deal with whatever was making that noise. There was no one to help me. The horrible image came back and I began to tremble and cry.

Again, the voice guided me. “Breathe,” it said and I began to take slow deliberate breaths. Inhale-2-3-4-exhale-2-3-4, over and over, the way I’ve done alone and with clients hundreds of times.

When I felt my body settle down, I opened the car door and gingerly peered over the top of the door. I was relieved to see a long black strip of something on the ground. The fender molding had torn loose and had been whipping into the side of the car. There was a row of dents and scratches on the car door. That’s what I’d heard. There was a lot of other damage to the front of the car–grills and lights were dangling. But the molding was the most immediate problem.

I yanked but couldn’t get it off the car. One end was too firmly attached. I saw that it had tabs that fit into slots on the fender. I snapped it back into place, but it fell right off. The tabs were too badly damaged.

That’s when I remembered the tape. The tape! I grabbed it from the trunk, taped the molding and the other dangling pieces in place and went for a test drive. It worked! I got back on the interstate and increased my speed to 60, and then 65 miles an hour.

No banging! It was such beautiful silence. I drove an hour to the next town, and found a room for the night.

And that’s the way that intuition works. It’s firm, but not pushy. It’s direct, but never shrill. It doesn’t explain, doesn’t give reasons, and it may seem puzzling. It won’t argue with you–it’s apathetic if you ignore it.

Intuition won’t give you suggestions that are inconsistent with your values, either. My intuition didn’t suggest that I take my friend’s jewelry—it suggested a roll of tape, something I’d tell her about and she could easily replace.

Intuition is very different from fear. Fear screams until it rattles your bones. It cares passionately and it doesn’t let up until it thinks you’re safe. My fear had created the violent images in my head. It was certain that something horrible had happened and was desperately trying to get my attention.

Intuition just makes a suggestion and lets it go.

I’ve spent most of my life ignoring that small voice. Sometimes the messages were big and important: “Don’t say anything,” or “Time to leave.” Some messages were tiny and insignificant, “Buy the red shoes,” “Bring an umbrella,” or “Don’t let this guy cut your hair.” Failing to listen to and trust those messages often cost me dearly—huge arguments, lost opportunities, botched haircuts.

Finally, I’ve learned to listen to that voice. By paying attention to it back in DC, when it made no sense to do so, I arrived at my aunt’s birthday party right on time.

If I had doubted it, if I’d left the tape behind, it would have taken me several hours to get to that town with a room. Then I’d have had to find a way to repair my car on a Sunday morning in a remote area of North Carolina.

Instead, my intuition, that crazy knowing-without-knowing-how-you-know, unexplainable power had saved the day. The tape held beautifully for the remainder of my trip. My aunt was thrilled to see me, and I was thrilled to be there.

After all, how many times do you get to go to a 98th birthday party?

→ 7 CommentsTags: intuition

When the Going Gets Tough, Try Asking for Help

March 7th, 2017 · 1 Comment

Old patterns are so easy to fall into. Never asking for help is a pattern I share with many others. We tell ourselves that we don’t ever want to bother anyone or to be a burden. We don’t want to seem weak or needy.

flowersLike many who hold this pattern, I’m always more than happy to help others in need. But I’d rather get a root canal than accept help or, God forbid, ask for it.

Sound familiar?

When I decided to change that pattern, The Universe kindly gave me the perfect situation to practice with–a whopper of a respiratory infection. Coughing, sneezing, dripping, aching, wheezing. Almost three weeks of it. Leaving my bed was practically impossible. We’ve all been there, right?.

This time, I did something different. I ditched my typical, “Oh no, I’m fine” and instead said, “Could you please?” and “I’d love that.”

It began when I was out of town in a workshop. The other participants showered me with cough drops, tissues, and shoulder massages. The friend I was staying with made me an echinacea cocktail each morning and hot ginger tea at night. All I had to do was say, “Thank you so much.”

When I got back home to an empty fridge, I had to get bolder. I was just too sick to drive to the grocery store. So when a friend said, “Can I help you with anything?” I asked for some of her delicious chicken soup. A couple of hours later it was at my door.

The next day, I asked her to bring me some fresh ginger to make tea. She did. Because I asked.

I asked another friend to drive me to the drugstore so I could pick up some over-the-counter remedies. She was happy to do it and she brought me dinner, too.

When I foolishly attempted to teach a class (by telephone) and had a coughing spasm in the middle of it, I asked my students for their understanding. They flooded me with well-wishes and compassion.

When I wanted to whine about how miserable I felt and how long it was taking to get better, I asked for a shoulder to cry on and got several.

An out-of-town friend sent a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, and another friend who knows I’m a sucker for kitchen equipment sent me a shiny, high-end saucepan for simmering my ginger tea. Neither were asked for, but both deeply appreciated.

Yes, admitting I needed help was a little uncomfortable. Yes, asking for and receiving the support of others provoked my fear of being needy. Yes, I felt weak letting others wait on me.

But it mostly felt good. I felt cared for and appreciated. I got nourishment and support that helped me feel more comfortable.

I now see that my asking and receiving was actually an empowering and strong act. It wasn’t one bit weak.

Did any of this me get better faster? Who knows? But I deeply appreciated each and every offering, so I stayed in gratitude much of the time.

Importantly, I gave others a gift: the opportunity to be kind and considerate and to do what humans do best–to connect and care for each other.

I’m feeling better now and I have a brand new perspective about asking and receiving help. It wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined.

Breaking up old patterns are often like that—they seem more entrenched than they really are. It just took a bit of courage and some practice.

Now, excuse me. I’m going to go bake chocolate chip cookies for a friend who just got some tough news.

→ 1 CommentTags: ask for help

The Life-Changing Magic of Taking the High Road

August 1st, 2016 · No Comments

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Re-printed from The Huffington Post

 

We’re seeing quite a bit of unfortunate low road behavior in national politics right now, from all sides.

That’s one reason why Michele Obama’s speech at the DNC has been lauded as powerful and deeply moving.

Michele had a perfect opportunity to take a swipe at the opposition and in fact, some people were hoping for it. After all, her very words from the 2008 presidential convention had been famously plagiarized. What an opportunity she had to take the low road, while claiming to be on high moral ground, a nifty sleight-of-hand routinely employed by low roaders in both public and private venues.

Instead, Michele addressed the high road directly, as a mother of her own children and as a role model for the nation’s children (and ideally, its adults.)

Her words were simple and clear: “When they go low, we go high.” Read more here.

→ No CommentsTags: compassion · connection · truth

How to Be a Friend in Need — Seven Tips That Can Help a Troubled Friend

March 9th, 2016 · No Comments

Friends and family in distress are all around us. From the workplace to the dining table to yoga class, we hear their stories. Their in-laws are driving them crazy. They have toxic co-workers and cope with bizarre office politics. Their stress is palpable.

And we want to hear about it. We want them to talk to us about it. Why do we do this? Is there something wrong with us? Not at all.

Wanting to talk with family or friends about their problems isn’t the same thing asschadenfreude, which translates from German as “harm-joy,” where we take actual pleasure from another’s misfortune.n-FRIENDSHIP-628x314_rev2

There are healthier, kinder parts of us that want and even like to hear about the woes of those we care about. Why is that?

We feel closer when we share our difficulties. When my friend reveals that she is divorcing, I feel special. She chose me confide in. I tell her how terrible I felt during my divorce and that it’s now a distant memory. My assurances relieve her. I feel good about being supportive. Our bonds deepen in such intimate conversations.

We want to know we’re not alone. Misery indeed loves company, and when we know that our friend’s sister-in-law is an alcoholic, we feel better about our nosy, opinionated mother-in-law. Neither of us has a perfect family and we feel better about that.

We do it out of curiosity. Let’s face it. We’re intrigued when we learn how our friend caught her boyfriend cheating. It’s flat-out interesting. While we don’t wish misery on our friends, when it inevitably comes their way, we want to hear about it. It doesn’t make us bad people. It simply means we’re human.

But there are ways to have friend-in-need conversations that support others and strengthen our connections with them. Here are a few simple guidelines to help negotiate this tricky terrain.

1. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Recently, I was having dinner with a friend who is divorcing after a long-term marriage. I wondered how it was going, but I remembered how, when I was divorcing, I treasured those times when I could relax with a friend and not think about it. So I avoided any topic that might remind her.

It’s so tempting to bring up the juicy topic, but just don’t. We all need down time from our difficulties. We need to relax and enjoy our social encounters. Trust that your friend will talk to you about a problem when and if they are ready.

2. Don’t pour gasoline on the fire. “UGH–what a GIANT drag! What a waste of time that you have to deal with this.” I recently erased those words from a text I was about to send a professor friend who is dealing with a student she suspects of cheating on an exam. She’d asked me for advice. I answered her question and let it go at that. She knows it’s a drag and a waste of time. My reminding her serves no useful purpose. We can be authentically helpful and supportive without inflaming a situation.

3. Don’t mine the conversation for pain. If your friend tells you that her son has gone into rehab, don’t ask what drug he was addicted to or whether insurance is paying for his treatment. Trust that if your friend wants you to know, she will tell you. While human curiosity is normal and natural, there is a time and place for it. This isn’t one of them.

4. Keep it under your hat. Assume everything that a friend in need tells you is absolutely secret. Tell no one, even if you weren’t asked to. You may be tempted to tell your sister that your neighbor’s husband had an affair with the nanny and you might know for a certainty that your sister won’t breathe a word of it to anyone, but just don’t do it.

When we spread stories about our friends in need, we compromise our Integrity–that quality of choosing honesty, principled behavior, and walking our talk. The momentary pleasure of sharing juicy details of another’s life is not worth it. You won’t feel good about yourself in the long run, and you’re letting others know you can’t be trusted with their secrets.

5. Don’t offer advice or suggestions unless you’re asked. Telling your friend with a cheating spouse that you know the best divorce lawyer in town might do more harm than good. Your friend may be hoping for a reconciliation. Such uninvited solutions have the potential to increase a friend’s stress and anxiety and undermine their confidence.

6. Do support their feelings. Whether they’re angry, sad, worried, or anxious, people’s feelings are always valid. Statements like “I understand,” or “I get it,” are far more helpful and supportive than, “Don’t be so sad” or “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
When we affirm another’s feelings we show them that we’re listening and that we understand what they are going through, without adding to their woes. It helps us understand that our feelings are normal and that we’re not alone.

7. Do give the gift of presence. One of the greatest gifts we can offer another is our undivided attention. Put down your cell phone, stop multi-tasking, and really show up to listen. This simple yet powerful act is one of the most precious gifts we can offer a friend in need. Often just “holding space” like this is extraordinarily comforting and healing.

So the next time you’re talking with a friend or family member who has hit a rough patch, remember these simple guidelines. And when you’re the one in need, be sure to reach out and ask for exactly what will help you.

Life’s challenges don’t spare any of us. Having someone supportive accompany us on all or part of that journey can make a huge difference in how well we go through it. We are social creatures, and having friends-in-need when we’re troubled is powerful medicine.

→ No CommentsTags: compassion · connection · stress

Small Connections Can Make a Big Difference

December 10th, 2015 · No Comments

(This article is reprinted from The Huffington Post, where I’m now blogging.)

The day before Thanksgiving, I stood in a long line at LaGuardia Airport waiting for a taxi. I’d flown to New York to spend imagesthe holiday with my family. The couple just ahead of me was finally sent to a taxi, but they quickly returned.

The woman began to shout at the dispatcher. “That driver doesn’t know where we’re going. We’re not riding with her. We have to make a connection.”

Behind her, a frazzled female cabbie was waving her arms and yelling in a thick Russian accent. “I didn’t refuse to take them. I know where we’re going. They didn’t give me a minute to think.”

“We’re not going with her,” the woman said, more loudly than before. “Get us another cab.”

The dispatcher turned to me and asked, “Where are you going?”

His eyes were stony.

“Brooklyn,” I said.

“Go with her.” He pointed to the female cabbie. My heart sunk. She was still waving her arms and trying to be heard above the woman, who was still insisting that they needed another cab.

“I didn’t refuse them,” she yelled over her shoulder as she led me to her cab. “I didn’t refuse.”

I considered going back to the dispatcher to ask for another cab. But before I could, the cabbie grabbed my luggage, stuffed it into her trunk, and slammed down the lid.

She took a few steps in the direction of the dispatcher and yelled again, “I didn’t refuse them.”

The dispatcher waved his arms at her like he was shooing a dog. His face was expressionless.

“Okay,” I said to her firmly. “Please just forget about it. It’s over. I’m with you now.”

She turned to me. Her face was contorted with anguish. “I can get in trouble if I refuse a fare. I didn’t refuse them.”

We got in the cab. She was still muttering about it as we pulled into the heavy traffic. “I can get in trouble. I didn’t refuse them.”

This woman is clearly crazy, I thought. This ride is going to be miserable. She’ll get us in an accident if this continues. I fastened my seat belt and tried to reason with her.

“Well,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do, now. At this point, all you can do is forget it.”

She ignored me and continued to mutter. I contemplated asking her to pull over so I could get out. But we were already on the expressway, in heavy traffic in an area I wasn’t familiar with. I’d just have to hope for the best and see if I could get her to calm down.

“I understand,” I said in the soft, soothing voice I use with upset clients. “But there is nothing you can do right now.”

I might as well have been talking to a wall. Her muttering continued.

I spied a lanyard printed with the words “Albany Law School” hanging from her rearview mirror. I asked her who went to law school.

Her voice softened. “My son. He just passed the bar last week.”

“Wow! Congratulations, Momma,” I said, relieved that I’d distracted her.

For the rest of the ride, we talked. As we did, she relaxed. I learned that she’d emigrated 35 years ago and had driven a cab ever since. Her husband left her when her son was 2 and she raised the boy by herself. We even talked about the incident at the airport and how much pride she took in maintaining a complaint-free record.

I relaxed, too, and observed her impressive driving through the clogged streets. She was by far the most skilled driver I’d been with on that ride I’ve taken dozens of times.

My dislike of her turned to admiration. That same dogged determination with the dispatcher was surely the same quality that had gotten her through what had to be impossibly tough odds–a single immigrant woman with a young child, enduring an arduous job, never giving up.

I recalled my own tough years as a single mother. It was so hard there were times I didn’t know how I could continue. Except that I had two kids, so there was no choice — I had to continue. Yet I was a lawyer with advantages I was sure she could only dream of — a decent income, a comfortable home, household help.

And right before my eyes, this woman transformed from an unpleasant, perseverating crazy person, to a courageous, tenacious champion. I was transformed too. My anxiety about riding with her had vanished. I was relaxed, happy to have met her, and grateful that my trip was off to such an auspicious start.

At the end of the ride, she jumped out of the cab and took my luggage to the sidewalk right in front of my daughter’s apartment. No other cab driver had ever done that for me — they typically just dumped my bags onto the street and took off. I smiled, thanked her, and gave her a generous tip.

The lesson for me was one I continue to experience over and over — the power of social connection is phenomenally transformative, even in brief interludes with strangers. When we can drop our assumptions about others, when we take the time to get to know them, they nearly always magically transform into amazing people.

Social connections transform us, as well. They’re one of the most simple, direct, and important ways we can lift our spirits, improve our physical and mental health, and lengthen our lives. Even a fleeting connection like the one I shared with this cab driver can be powerful.

So as the holidays unfold, and as we shop, travel, and prepare to deck the halls and celebrate, chances are we’ll find ourselves in the company of an unpleasant, frazzled crazy person. If so, perhaps you can find a way to engage with them and connect. You might find, like I did, a wonderful surprise waiting for you both.

→ No CommentsTags: compassion · connection · noticing

Lessons from My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Wonderful Day

October 1st, 2015 · 9 Comments

ace key

It was one of those important and tightly-scheduled days where everything needed to go as smooth as silk, so of course it didn’t.

My daughter and 20-month old granddaughter were coming to visit me in Miami from New York for my birthday.  I had allowed a thirty-minute window before rush hour to get the baby’s car seat from my storage unit. Then I’d have just enough time to tidy the house, start dinner, and drive to the airport.

Lesson #1: Expect the unexpected, especially when it’s really inconvenient. We set ourselves up for stress and turmoil when we don’t allow time and space for unforeseen events.

I vaguely remembered having some confusion about the storage unit key the last time I was there, so I grabbed the box of extra keys from my desk and drove off. I congratulated myself for my brilliant foresight—every key I owned was with me.

When I got to the storage unit and couldn’t find the right key, I began to worry. In my upset and rush, only found one key that was the right size.  But it said “Ace” on it, so I assumed it was a duplicate key from the hardware store.  Since I’d never duplicated the storage key, I left without trying it in the padlock.

Lesson #2: Don’t make assumptions when you are upset or in a hurry. Your thinking isn’t as clear when you are stressed.

Lesson #3: Don’t give up without trying, especially if the effort is minimal.

On the way home, my worrying increased. I couldn’t imagine where that key was. I considered a rapid succession of possibilities–my desktop, a purse, my jewelry box, a bowl in the kitchen. I forgot to quiet my racing mind, even though I teach and practice mindfulness and stress management.

Lesson #4: We perform better and think better when we’re calm. Take de-stressing action at the first sign of upset. Disconnect from unhelpful thinking, regularize your breathing, and allow your body to relax. 

Instead, I rushed home and rummaged through every nook and cranny that could harbor a key. No luck.

My heart began to pound.  Thoughts flooded my mind: Where is the nearest baby equipment store? Do I have time to buy another car seat? What if I can’t find one nearby? Can I get one delivered by tomorrow? That will cost a fortune! What will we do in the meantime? We’ll be stuck in the house!

I caught myself and stopped the runaway train in my mind. I focused on my breath and grounded myself by feeling my body.  I began to calm down.

Lesson #5: Better late than never. 

I looked through the key box once more and picked up the Ace key.  That has to be it! I didn’t even try it! How dumb! How hard would that have been? I shouldn’t have been in such a rush! What’s wrong with me? 

Lesson #6: Let yourself be human.  Humans make mistakes. Irritation and self-scolding only drive up stress levels and make mistakes more likely.

Again I calmed myself, then drove back to the storage unit. The key fit! The door opened! Life was good!

My daughter’s plane would be landing momentarily.  I texted her that I was on my way, dragged the heavy seat down to my car, and headed for the airport. At a red light, I opened my purse to get my phone so I’d be sure to hear her text telling me where she’d be waiting.

But I couldn’t find my phone. I pulled off the road and searched purse, pockets and car. No phone.

I remembered that I’d texted her just before I took the seat to the car. Ack! I bet I left it inside the unit.

My thoughts raced more intensely than ever: I’m going to be late! The airport will be bedlam! I need my phone to know where she’ll be! I won’t be able to find her! How did people ever find each other at airports without cell phones? This is a disaster!

In an instant, my hands began to tremble and I was no longer able to think clearly. 

Lesson #7:  Stress begets stress. Cortisol—the hormone that prepares us to run or fight for our lives when we’re in fear–has a half-life of about an hour.  This means that an hour after an initial stress response, half the cortisol is still revving us up, and an hour after that, half of that half is left, and so forth. Each time we react stressfully over a short time frame, more cortisol is dumped into our systems before the prior load has dissipated. So our reactions come more quickly and more powerfully.  By this time, after multiple doses of cortisol, my reactions were swift and overwhelming.

I turned around and headed back to the storage unit for the third time. When I arrived, I raced upstairs through the warren of hallways and opened the door to my unit. The phone wasn’t there. I felt the blood drain from my face.

I remembered that a group of men were down the hallway when I’d picked up the car seat. I must have left the phone on the floor in the hallway and those men—those thieves—took it! If they get through my ridiculously simple password, they’ll have access to my bank account information. My identity will be stolen! Why didn’t I use a better password? Why did I keep information like that on my phone? The weekend is ruined!

I urgently felt the need for a plan, but I was so confused.  Halfway to the airport, I turned around.  I’d go home, call my daughter, and ask her to take a cab. Then I’d delete the confidential information from my laptop and hope it would sync to my phone before those thieves messed up my life.

My heart thundered as I crawled through rush hour traffic. My mind was reeling: This is taking forever! My daughter must be exhausted. I bet the baby is starving! And my phone is gone! Those thieves are laughing at my stupidity! This will take weeks to sort out!  I blinked back tears.

Lesson #8: Stress can hijack us emotionally and cognitively. By this time I was exhausted and my thinking was very compromised. Driving in this state could easily lead to an accident.

Luckily I calmed myself enough to realize that driving was my only priority at that moment.  Everything else could wait until I got home.  It wasn’t easy. But I got very present and focused on my driving.

Once again, I began to calm down. At a red light, I saw the clear purples, pinks and blues of the evening sky. I remembered the beautiful birthday gift of my daughter’s visit.  I thought about reading stories to my granddaughter.

My thinking cleared up: Everything is going to be okay. The only thing I know for sure right now, is that my daughter has to take a cab and my phone is gone. Whatever else happens can be straightened out when and if it happens.

Lesson #9: Keep things in perspective. Identify what is really at stake, not what your runaway mind is imagining.

About a block from my house, I heard a pingggggg that sounded exactly like a text coming in. A few moments later another pinggggggg. It was a text.  My phone was somewhere in the car!

I pulled into my driveway and found the phone lodged deeply under the passenger seat. I didn’t waste a moment trying to figure out why I hadn’t found it earlier. I called my daughter, apologized, and asked her to take a cab.

Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I laughed aloud at the same moment. All that for nothing! Except perhaps a good story of how not to deal with unforeseen events, stress, and upset.

Lesson #10: When all else fails, find something to laugh about, including yourself. In the School of Life, laughter always earns you extra credit.

My stories could wait. I had just enough time to shower and get dinner ready before my special guests arrived. But before I did that, I went inside to my desk and put a label on the storage unit key. That fake duplicate key would never fool me again.

→ 9 CommentsTags: fear · laughter · self-criticism · stress

The Power of Telling Our Stories

August 1st, 2015 · No Comments

YouTube Preview Image

A couple of years ago, I began participating in Lip Service, a literary event here in Miami, similar to NPR’s The Moth, where storytellers share true personal stories in front of a 600-person audience.

I’ve done several shows and have exposed some very revealing, very tender parts of my life and my inner world. And it scares me silly every time I do it.

Why? you might wonder. Why stand in front all those strangers in a dark theater, with a video camera rolling, revealing your secrets?

When I began, I had absolutely no idea why. The moment I heard about Lip Service though, a strong pull came over me and I thought, “I want to do that. No, I have to do that.”  I knew I had to, even though I’d never done anything like it. I’d done lots of public speaking before, but it was professional and carefully curated. Safe.

This would be different. Risky. Messy. Scary. But despite my reservations, I listened to that inner voice and now I know why my intuition was so spot-on.

Telling the whole truth about yourself is the most liberating thing you can ever possibly do.

When I explore my personal struggles, large and small, the places I’ve been hurt, confused, or upset, I can dig down to the radical truth about myself and the situation.

I find my mistakes, my bruised feelings, my anxieties, to be sure, but as I keep exploring, I also find the places I was not seeing reality clearly. My vision unclouds and the truth shines through.

I look at my childhood with new eyes and see where I carried the pain and chaos from it into adulthood. And how I don’t need to do that any more.

I find solutions to problems I thought were unsolvable. Sometimes the solution is simply to get it off my chest and out into the world.

I see the humor and the everydayness of things I thought were Oh-So-Huge and Dramatic and Terrible.

I find forgiveness for those who wronged me and see where I needlessly harbored resentment.

By admitting my vulnerability, I understand myself better. I find my true voice, my authenticity. I don’t have to pretend or hide with anyone, even myself.

Ultimately, it’s deeply compassionate work.

Sharing those urgent places with an audience makes it even more powerfully transformational. It leaves me feeling courageous and proud of myself.

Audience members tell me how they understand how I felt and that they relate to what I did. They say that my story helps them understand their own stories.

There’s a lot of healing in knowing we’re not alone, that we’re not the only one who feels afraid, guilty, or foolish. We’re all in this together.

Even when something frivolous gets under my skin, if I explore why I’m obsessing about it, something deeper and universal is invariably revealed.

Last May, I went onstage for Lip Service and told a lighter story about me, myself and my hair. As I learned, even a light story, when looked at truthfully, can have depth and meaning to it.

So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

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Getting Back to “The Real World”

June 9th, 2015 · 8 Comments

Jungle_DSC2307

 

“Back to the real world tomorrow,” my friend Jen lamented. We’d spent the last ten days in Peru with a small group of friends, sampling the restaurants, art galleries, and nightclubs of Lima, and exploring the Amazonian jungle. We’d laughed and talked and been completely absorbed with our adventure. Wi-fi was almost impossible to access, and we’d been truly disconnected from our daily lives.

But if life at home with our jobs and laundry and email is the real world, then what is the world we’ve been in? And why do we resist leaving it?

On our bus ride back to the airport from our lodge in the rainforest, I had the great fortune of sitting next to one of our guides. Carlo, a bright, cheerful man in his mid-thirties, is an expert in the traditional herbal medicines of the jungle and had given us a tour of the lodge’s medicinal garden, deep in the rainforest. He’d shown us plants that cure a wide variety of ailments, from arthritis and cancer to headache and difficult childbirth. He had a sweetness that made listening to him a delight.

Carlo had pointed to a small square indent in the ground, about six feet on each side. He’d lived in a small structure on that spot for a year, he’d told us.  His mentor had instructed him to do so as part of his training as a medicine man.

On the bus ride, I asked him to tell me more about his experience living alone in the jungle. He said he went to the lodge only for meals and stayed in the jungle the rest of the time. It had been a spiritual journey for him—a time to go inward and to come to terms with adulthood, with life, with himself. He learned to communicate with the plants as well, by living with them and observing them.

He left his jungle house the day a jaguar visited him, scratching at his thin walls.

“Did you enjoy your time alone in the jungle?” I asked him.

“Very much,” he said. “It was very spiritual and I learned many things.”

“Were you sad to leave?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he said. “The jaguar was a sign. It was time to go.”

For Carlo, there was no thought of “back to the real world.” He hadn’t resisted staying alone in the jungle, either.  For him, each was simply the right time to move on to his next experience. He told me he’s now married and has two young children.  He said he loves his life now as much as he loved his year in the jungle.

What if we could approach our experiences and transitions like Carlo, without resistance? What if the line between “the real world” and “vacation world” was not subdivided into drudgery and stress versus fun and freedom? What if, when our vacations are ending, we could see it as Carlo did when the jaguar arrived, as time to go?

I think that there’s a key element that, at least for me, allows an ease in transitions between adventures and “the real world”: gratitude.

Gratitude is the foundation that allows us to enjoy and appreciate every aspect of our lives. Gratitude for our adventures, gratitude for the opportunity for us to see beyond our routine experience, and equal gratitude for our daily lives. Gratitude for life itself and for all it brings.

I think Carlo would agree.

 

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Go ahead–get your hopes up!

April 20th, 2015 · No Comments

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A friend and I were talking about an adventurous trip we’re both considering. We both had some reservations about it and we were discussing the pros and cons.

“I don’t want to count on it until I’m sure that I’m going,” he said. “I don’t want to get my hopes up and then get disappointed.”

“Why not?” I asked.

He couldn’t give me a reason.

The next day we spoke again. “I changed my mind about not wanting to get my hopes up,” he said. “Your question made me realize that I’m on fire about this. It would mean so much to me to do this. I want to be excited about it. I am excited about it.

“I realize that growing up, my enthusiasm was often dampened. My parents really meant well, but they always disregarded my excitement. I think they wanted to protect me from hurt, so I’d say the glass was half-full and they’d warn me it was half-empty.

“I’m ready to reclaim my natural joy towards life.”

It was a beautiful moment, and from there, the rest of our conversation was filled with our excitement about the amazing possibilities that could unfold if we took the trip, as well as some honest reflection about our hesitations.

But we don’t always realize what my friend did, do we? We often keep ourselves from getting our hopes up and stop there.  We stop short of getting excited about possible new adventures, opportunities, or good news. Whether we’re contemplating taking a trip, getting a promotion, or finding our dream home, we so often temper it with, “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

This robs us of the joy that’s available in the anticipation, deliberations, and decision-making.

That joy and excitement is like rocket fuel, and propels us with the energy, focus, and drive to take the steps we need to move forward. It enhances our motivation and performance. And it feels great, too.

We do the same thing when bad news is on the horizon. When waiting for results from a medical test, for example, how often we prepare ourselves for the worst, not wanting to get our hopes up. And then we wait in dread and terror.

I challenge you to ask yourself why–why shouldn’t you get your hopes up? Can you find a single valid reason to dampen your enthusiasm, optimism, or joy?

We think that we’ll be better prepared by not getting our hopes up. We fear that it will hurt worse later if we’re optimistic and then don’t’ get what we want.

But the truth is this: disappointment now does not prepare us for disappointment later. It doesn’t protect us from hurt later, either. It only generates negative feelings right now. If bad news comes, we’ll still feel crappy later.

I once told a client that she might as well go slam her hand in a car door right now, just in case she might slam her hand in the door next month.

Because that’s exactly what we do when we don’t let ourselves get our hopes up, isn’t it? We generate pain and negativity right now when the event we dread may never happen.

Disappointment about what might happen feels heavy right now. And it’s totally useless. If we get what we want, we’ve felt terrible unnecessarily, and if we don’t get what we want, we’ve felt terrible leading up to the bad news.

And in doing so, we deny ourselves moments, days, weeks, lifetimes of excitement and enthusiasm. We rob ourselves of the very stuff that energizes us and propels us towards rich and fulfilled lives.

So how about it? What joy or enthusiasm are you holding back from? What bad news are you suffering about before you get it? What possibility are you failing to celebrate?

Then, ask yourself why. Why not get your hopes up? Why not imagine yourself in the situation you dream of? Why not imagine the best possible outcome?

The only thing you’ve got to lose is today’s pessimism, anxiety, and pain. If you don’t believe me, you can always try the car door test.

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The Gift of Presence

December 9th, 2014 · 3 Comments

magic gift box with lights in their hands

Daddy?  Daddy?  Daddy!  DADDY YOU WEREN’T LISTENING!”

“Yes, I was,” my father answered.  “You said that you have a spelling test and you’re going to have a Christmas party at school.”

“You’re just being a parrot.” I’d say.  “I don’t want to talk to a parrot!  I want to talk to you, Daddy.”

I had this conversation with my father many, many times in my childhood.  It was always the same.  Even as a small child, I knew when he wasn’t really listening, even though he could repeat my words back to me with the precision of a tape recorder.

But I knew when he wasn’t present.  And it didn’t feel good.  It felt empty and bewildering.  It made me question the value of what I had to say.

The times when he was really listening and engaged were wonderful and felt very different.  And I remember them distinctly.  It’s what I always wanted from him, more than a new bike or a doll or a potholder loom.  And it was the one thing that was so elusive in our relationship–his presence.

It’s the same thing we want from each other as adults.  We want more than a warm body pretending to be with us.  We want a here-and-now presence, where we know the other person isn’t distracted, multitasking, or politely waiting for us to finish talking so they can have a turn.

I recently led a workshop on presence and asked a group of about 50 women what they wanted for the holidays.   They initially said things like “a clean house” and “finishing the holiday cards.”  After we dug down a bit, here’s what they said they really want:

  • to enjoy their favorite people
  • to re-connect with folks they haven’t seen or been with lately
  • to show appreciation for others
  • to show love
  • to feel connected to others in a meaningful way.

In other words, as these women discovered, what we want is each other.  We humans are social creatures.  Our relationships matter to us.  The human connection is one of the major cornerstones of high life satisfaction.

And now when we are here at that “most wonderful time of the year,” it’s easy to lose sight of that.  We get busy decking the halls, cooking up a storm, shopping ‘till we drop, and partying like it’s 1999.  And we forget why we’re doing it in the first place.

The good news is that the easiest and most delightful way to both get and give the gift that everyone really wants, is not with our presents.  It’s with our presence.  It’s a gift that is 100% free and the stores never close.

And here’s an extra bonus—when we give the gift of presence, we’ll never have to dread those credit card bills in January.

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