The Woman in the Mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.