A Jump Start is Better Than No Start

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eviction Notice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Border Collies Get It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grace Letters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, Grace.

Creating Stuck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessons from Clay

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

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

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

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

Be committed, but don't get too attached

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

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

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

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

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

Keep the wheel moving

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

When you let go, let go gently

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

Don't take yourself so seriously

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

Hip Hip Hurray!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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