This content initially appeared in the online magazine, The Vyne. It leverages my thinking on authenticity to create a goal-setting (and meeting) process for the New year.
We all have that great aunt or family friend who says exactly what she thinks, whether you ask her or not, and is completely comfortable in her own skin as a self-possessed, powerful woman. That is a grown woman. Grown women are confident, they are clear on who they are and what they think. They make choices in alignment with their goals and are unapologetic about it. More than anything, they are themselves, come what may.
Earlier this year, The Vyne featured an article which highlighted a few grown woman-isms. Among them, tips on the importance of keeping your house clean, your bills paid and your personal presentation tight. But as we move into the new year, a year that promises to bring us new opportunities to shine, perhaps the most important grown woman-ism is to “Be yourself.” In Carla Harris’ book, Expect to Win, she highlights authenticity as being key to achieving personal and professional success. But what is authenticity? Ms. Harris describes it has having a clear sense of who you are and honoring sense of self through your choices. Being authentic maximizes your personal power and attracts opportunity and success to you. Consider these three tips to being authentic and nurturing your inner grown woman:
1) Get clear: If you can’t state with clarity the kind of job, relationship, friends, and life you want do not pass go, do not collect $200. You will be lost until you do. Take an hour, (get a glass of something if you must), make your lists, and prioritize what is important in each of those arenas – you’ll need that for the next step.
2) Make a commitment: When you know what matters to you, and how those things stack up against each other, you can commit to a course of action. If you’ve decided that right now is the time to make the leap for home ownership, then naturally taking a higher paying job trumps being able to work from home 2 days a week. But keep your eyes open – you might be able to have it all.
3) Be consistent: Once you’re clear on your values, your purpose and your needs and you’ve committed, make choices that are in alignment with your values, purpose and needs. Surround yourself with a community of friends and family who are also clear on what your intentions are and who can support you as you move with laser focus. Taking one step at a time in the direction of your goals with consistency will ensure that you meet them.
As we get older (and better!) we naturally become more self-assured but why not give that growth a turbo-boost with some healthy self-reflection. 2011 will be a year of tremendous growth and transformation, but only for those of us who are clear. We need to know now, more than ever, what matters most to us and why. Being a grown woman is about more than just taking care of business. It’s about being clear on who we are and what we want and pursuing those things with confidence. Here’s to the grown woman in you!
So tell us, how do you plan to be a “grown woman” in the new year?
Monday, December 27, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
So far, So Fast
This post is dedicated to my Fastgirls, without whom I would not have felt the urgency to be authentic. You inspire, humble and amaze me with all that you bring to the world. Thank you.
Today marks the end of the 90 Day Be the Expert Challenge. As I type this I am overcome with emotion. This post represents the last 'required' post of the last set of tasks for the challenge. I missed the 9PM deadline, rendering me incomplete with the challenge. As usual, I procrastinated and I find myself writing this post to complete the challenge. I feel a mix of emotions but mostly a calm about not having completed the challenge but still having had my life transformed by this work--even in the face of enormous disappointment with myself. I was the only person out of 13 women left in the challenge to be incomplete at this last check in. What can I say about that? I was being authentic. (Insert ironic smiley here.)
The last 90 days have taught me a lot about what I value, how I prioritize my time and what I am willing to do to be true to myself. I fell into authenticity as an area of expertise and as a life practice, as a behavior because this is what the challenge has demanded. It demanded from the beginning that I be clear about my value and values, that I commit to taking action and spending time with my community of Fastgirls, and that I was consistent in each of these things.
Fastgirls helped me refine my passions and create my path forward at a time when things were a bit murky. Fastgirls surfaced the framework for my forthcoming leadership curriculum. In a year of great loss, gave me an expansive sense of self, which is invaluable in a way I never could have imagined. I came to Fastgirls looking for some idea about what would vaguely be next for me and what I leave this challenge with is near perfect clarity about what I am called to do.
When I was 11 years old, I participated in a life-changing leadership development program and the homework component was at times overwhelming. Some nights, at 11PM, when I'd had all I thought I could stand, my mother would offer me a glass of water, rub my back and tell me I could read another page, write another paragraph. From prep school to college, from college to grad school and at every job in between, my mother was there with a word of support and hand to hold.
Though my mother died almost 9 months ago to the day, I have no doubt in my mind that she has been with me these last 90 days, encouraging me to write every blog post, present in every letter of gratitude I've written to poets who've changed my life. She has seen me grow and change in this work, defining for myself a path that she always saw for me when she gave me journals, imploring me to write, or tell me to challenge myself, ensuring that I'd grow. For all that I have gained these last 90 days, I also dedicate this note to my mother, my very first Fastgirl.
Today marks the end of the 90 Day Be the Expert Challenge. As I type this I am overcome with emotion. This post represents the last 'required' post of the last set of tasks for the challenge. I missed the 9PM deadline, rendering me incomplete with the challenge. As usual, I procrastinated and I find myself writing this post to complete the challenge. I feel a mix of emotions but mostly a calm about not having completed the challenge but still having had my life transformed by this work--even in the face of enormous disappointment with myself. I was the only person out of 13 women left in the challenge to be incomplete at this last check in. What can I say about that? I was being authentic. (Insert ironic smiley here.)
The last 90 days have taught me a lot about what I value, how I prioritize my time and what I am willing to do to be true to myself. I fell into authenticity as an area of expertise and as a life practice, as a behavior because this is what the challenge has demanded. It demanded from the beginning that I be clear about my value and values, that I commit to taking action and spending time with my community of Fastgirls, and that I was consistent in each of these things.
Fastgirls helped me refine my passions and create my path forward at a time when things were a bit murky. Fastgirls surfaced the framework for my forthcoming leadership curriculum. In a year of great loss, gave me an expansive sense of self, which is invaluable in a way I never could have imagined. I came to Fastgirls looking for some idea about what would vaguely be next for me and what I leave this challenge with is near perfect clarity about what I am called to do.
When I was 11 years old, I participated in a life-changing leadership development program and the homework component was at times overwhelming. Some nights, at 11PM, when I'd had all I thought I could stand, my mother would offer me a glass of water, rub my back and tell me I could read another page, write another paragraph. From prep school to college, from college to grad school and at every job in between, my mother was there with a word of support and hand to hold.
Though my mother died almost 9 months ago to the day, I have no doubt in my mind that she has been with me these last 90 days, encouraging me to write every blog post, present in every letter of gratitude I've written to poets who've changed my life. She has seen me grow and change in this work, defining for myself a path that she always saw for me when she gave me journals, imploring me to write, or tell me to challenge myself, ensuring that I'd grow. For all that I have gained these last 90 days, I also dedicate this note to my mother, my very first Fastgirl.
Words to live by...Kahlil Gibran
"...and my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom."
--Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
--Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Words to live by...Henry David Thoreau
“A truly great book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint…What I began by reading, I must finish by acting.” - Henry David Thoreau
Words to live by...James Baldwin
“Whatever it is you want, what you want at bottom, must be to become yourself: there is nothing else to want ..." -- James Baldwin, The Cross of Redemption, Uncollected Works.
...and creativity.
Just completed another article about self-reflection and authenticity. We'll see how it's received. If I get a follow on, I will definitely elaborate on each of the components of authenticity as I understand it today -- clarity, commitment, and consistency. The three C's if you will.
Perhaps another clear cousin is creativity. Here is a video from Ken Robinson about how schools impact students' ability to be creative. Enjoy!
Perhaps another clear cousin is creativity. Here is a video from Ken Robinson about how schools impact students' ability to be creative. Enjoy!
Clarity, commitment, consistency.
1) Get clear: If you can't state with clarity the kind of job, relationship, friends, and life you want do not pass go, do not collect $200. You will be lost until you do. Take an hour, (get a glass of something if you must), make your lists, and prioritize what is important in each of those arenas - you'll need that for the next step.
2) Make a commitment: When you know what matters to you, and how those things stack up against each other, you can commit to a course of action. If you've decided that right now is the time to make the leap for home ownership, then naturally taking a higher paying job trumps being able to work from home 2 days a week. But keep your eyes open - you might be able to have it all.
3) Be consistent: Once you're clear on your values, your purpose and your needs and you've committed, make choices that are in alignment with your values, purpose and needs. Surround yourself with a community of friends and family who are also clear on what your intentions are and who can support you as you move with laser focus. Taking one step at a time in the direction of your goals with consistency will ensure that you meet them.
2) Make a commitment: When you know what matters to you, and how those things stack up against each other, you can commit to a course of action. If you've decided that right now is the time to make the leap for home ownership, then naturally taking a higher paying job trumps being able to work from home 2 days a week. But keep your eyes open - you might be able to have it all.
3) Be consistent: Once you're clear on your values, your purpose and your needs and you've committed, make choices that are in alignment with your values, purpose and needs. Surround yourself with a community of friends and family who are also clear on what your intentions are and who can support you as you move with laser focus. Taking one step at a time in the direction of your goals with consistency will ensure that you meet them.
And so it begins...
This week when I gave my talk, one of the audience members asked me what was next for me. This was a tough and scary question in that it forced me to declare my intentions. I mean, I have spent the last several weeks, likely months, talking to myself about what I'd need to do next. But here I was, giving a talk, answering questions about my subject matter when someone pierced through the topic to ask me about what all this authenticity stuff meant in my own life. I paused, chuckled nervously and responded, "Well, I have decided to pursue a life as a writer." There, I had said it. I publicly declared that I would abandon my work in education to take a vow of poverty, er, poetry.
What was most interesting about this declaration is that once I made it, the details of my plan came spilling out. I talked about the approach I'd take to making the transition, the tools and resources I'd need to take advantage of and the timing of it all. I was clear, I had committed and because I had made the commitment a public one through this talk's Q&A, I'd be held accountable and made to demonstrate my intentions with some consistency. Clarity, commitment, and consistency. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
What was most interesting about this declaration is that once I made it, the details of my plan came spilling out. I talked about the approach I'd take to making the transition, the tools and resources I'd need to take advantage of and the timing of it all. I was clear, I had committed and because I had made the commitment a public one through this talk's Q&A, I'd be held accountable and made to demonstrate my intentions with some consistency. Clarity, commitment, and consistency. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
Authenticity is a Journey
This week, I had the opportunity to give a talk on authenticity. Authenticity is an elusive topic and can be a slippery fish. I attempted not to define authenticity for the folks on the call, but to explain that much like love, we know authenticity by its fruits. Integrity, responsibility, transparency. These are often some of the clearest indicators that we or those around us are living authentically.
There are tons of books and videos on the topic, but I will share two resources here which may help you begin to unravel the topic.
First, a book: The Passion Test, written by Janet Bray Atwood and Chris Atwood. This book begins at the beginning by having you identify what your passions are and then build your life around them.
Second, a video: A talk by Richard St. John about success being a continuous journey. I like this because I think that authenticity is a journey as well. Enjoy!
There are tons of books and videos on the topic, but I will share two resources here which may help you begin to unravel the topic.
First, a book: The Passion Test, written by Janet Bray Atwood and Chris Atwood. This book begins at the beginning by having you identify what your passions are and then build your life around them.
Second, a video: A talk by Richard St. John about success being a continuous journey. I like this because I think that authenticity is a journey as well. Enjoy!
Young People and Authenticity
Recently, I was interviewed by youth development/education expert Sallome Hralima about how young people can fully express themselves and be authentic. Here is a link to our video. Enjoy!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Meaning or Ambition?
Last night, I had the pleasure of having dinner with an amazing group of friends. We were talking about the life changes it feels like we're on the cusp of as individuals, and collectively. We spoke at length about what drives us, what makes us happy, what we do if nothing else mattered and money were not an issue. I was thrilled to hear that it sounds like nothing else does matter with these folks. All compelled by some life's dream or calling, moving at varied speeds for sure, we are all building the momentum we're interested in seeing power our respective projects.
In a recent article on Huffington Post, Russell Bishop poses the question about whether we work for ambition or for meaning? I challenge each of us to think about that as we move about our day to day work.
In a recent article on Huffington Post, Russell Bishop poses the question about whether we work for ambition or for meaning? I challenge each of us to think about that as we move about our day to day work.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Poem: Twice Born
I am lucky.
My mother loved me enough
to birth me twice.
The first time she was
young and strong and fertile.
Her hips spread wide,
her breathing deep,
She bore down and pushing
gave me life.
Sprung forth one early morning
to the winter air I came.
We had a life together,
my mother and I,
some silent agreement
that she would see me through life,
saving me from myself indefinitely.
One early morning,
my mother decided to birth me again
--she loved me that much.
This time, older and sicker,
body withered, drawing in,
shallow breath in stony lungs,
she, grasping, gave me life.
One early spring morning,
coldly lovingly she left
--and I came to my life again.
Our agreement broken
Or altogether different
Than I thought it was.
My mother birthed me twice.
She loved me that much.
I am lucky.
My mother loved me enough
to birth me twice.
The first time she was
young and strong and fertile.
Her hips spread wide,
her breathing deep,
She bore down and pushing
gave me life.
Sprung forth one early morning
to the winter air I came.
We had a life together,
my mother and I,
some silent agreement
that she would see me through life,
saving me from myself indefinitely.
One early morning,
my mother decided to birth me again
--she loved me that much.
This time, older and sicker,
body withered, drawing in,
shallow breath in stony lungs,
she, grasping, gave me life.
One early spring morning,
coldly lovingly she left
--and I came to my life again.
Our agreement broken
Or altogether different
Than I thought it was.
My mother birthed me twice.
She loved me that much.
I am lucky.
Poem: I am clear
I've made up the dishes
and dried off the bed
I'm wandering woman
I'm walking while dead
and the voices I hear
have escaped from my head.
I've paid all the houseplants
and watered the bills
I'm listening softly,
and crying at will
and the person I pawned
is becoming me still.
I'm sorry I hate you
I'm happy you left
I'm dodging my feelings
and weaving the weft
I'm wheeling and dealing
with a hand that is deft
I'm writing my eulogy
sealing the chest
I'm toasting the people
who treated me best
I'm taking the good things
and leaving the rest
I am clear, I am clear, I am clear.
and dried off the bed
I'm wandering woman
I'm walking while dead
and the voices I hear
have escaped from my head.
I've paid all the houseplants
and watered the bills
I'm listening softly,
and crying at will
and the person I pawned
is becoming me still.
I'm sorry I hate you
I'm happy you left
I'm dodging my feelings
and weaving the weft
I'm wheeling and dealing
with a hand that is deft
I'm writing my eulogy
sealing the chest
I'm toasting the people
who treated me best
I'm taking the good things
and leaving the rest
I am clear, I am clear, I am clear.
Poem: Return to Sender
I am going to sit
in the middle of myself.
Points belabored
noisy neighbors
people point and stare - so what?
I am going to sit on the stoop of my life,
perch and watch the people pass
smirk and hear the people laugh.
Tip toe up the stairs
to stare into my own windows
while I fold my laundry there.
The problem with composure
is that it is oftentimes misleading
and denies the self the bleeding
and while placating
leaves pleading - the soul.
Hungry, starving, compulsive
feeling clasped in hands - composed.
I'd rather riff the rage and
scat the storm.
I'd rather beat the drum and strum
the heartstrings
plucking plucking
fucking nerve it takes
to improvise.
Improvisation is
composition is
improvement is
composure.
I am going to square my shoulders and
circle myself.
Take me in and
size me up.
Why not>
Join the pity party
feeling partly like myself
feeling sorry for myself hardly
hardly, am myself.
Pretend. Perform. Perfect composure.
Expect, explain, accept.
Compost-like
bullshit, like
full of it
like pull your own shit.
I am going to roll my eyes and
suck my teeth and
give you all kinds of sass and stank.
And I might stand arms akimbo
feet pigeon-toed
rolling neck, "I told you so"s
and wagging perfect, pink-tipped finger.
I will allow myself the anger
and the confusion
the madness of angry woman
once-loving, once loved
to seep out my pores
oozing you, oozing at you.
Making you squeamish
so you can see this.
Me standing
staring
staking out my own self
trying to assess what ever is valuable inside.
All because you
made me stand outside myself
and question my plans
for my own design.
You led me through rooms of myself -
rearranged to your liking
and being a mutable sign
and an adventurer, wanderer
seeker, sister, lover -
I let you.
I let you
you hurt me
you left me
you learned me
you stopped.
BUT I LET YOU
I loosened my grip
on what I didn't want and you
began to step away.
half-heartedly I
followed you,
chasing in the end because really -
who likes to lose?
Know this:
You may have left and you may be gone
but before you walked out,
they were playing my song.
I packed up your things
and I bid you adieu
and just so we're clear
dear, it's not me
it's you.
But more importantly
I am walking proudly up the steps
to my front door
jangling my keys -
one set for me.
I am walking through
foyers, looking at furniture
needing to be put back in place
boxes unpacked
clutter undone.
Dusty windows
and burnt out bulbs
long forgotten
in the dim light of love.
Low, low light.
I am steeping tea
and playing Nina
ironically grinning at no one in particular.
Humming to myself, barefoot
in these rooms
to these walks
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas.
I serenade myself
a song for me.
Song of myself
a welcome home ditty.
Ne me quitte pas.
And I promise me
that I won't sit outside myself
while someone rearranges me
ever again.
I will open the shutters
and pull up the shades.
I will use the china and
read the good Book.
I will feast to my own presence
smelling of jasmine
and glowing the color of honey.
I will embrace myself this day,
welcoming me home.
in the middle of myself.
Points belabored
noisy neighbors
people point and stare - so what?
I am going to sit on the stoop of my life,
perch and watch the people pass
smirk and hear the people laugh.
Tip toe up the stairs
to stare into my own windows
while I fold my laundry there.
The problem with composure
is that it is oftentimes misleading
and denies the self the bleeding
and while placating
leaves pleading - the soul.
Hungry, starving, compulsive
feeling clasped in hands - composed.
I'd rather riff the rage and
scat the storm.
I'd rather beat the drum and strum
the heartstrings
plucking plucking
fucking nerve it takes
to improvise.
Improvisation is
composition is
improvement is
composure.
I am going to square my shoulders and
circle myself.
Take me in and
size me up.
Why not>
Join the pity party
feeling partly like myself
feeling sorry for myself hardly
hardly, am myself.
Pretend. Perform. Perfect composure.
Expect, explain, accept.
Compost-like
bullshit, like
full of it
like pull your own shit.
I am going to roll my eyes and
suck my teeth and
give you all kinds of sass and stank.
And I might stand arms akimbo
feet pigeon-toed
rolling neck, "I told you so"s
and wagging perfect, pink-tipped finger.
I will allow myself the anger
and the confusion
the madness of angry woman
once-loving, once loved
to seep out my pores
oozing you, oozing at you.
Making you squeamish
so you can see this.
Me standing
staring
staking out my own self
trying to assess what ever is valuable inside.
All because you
made me stand outside myself
and question my plans
for my own design.
You led me through rooms of myself -
rearranged to your liking
and being a mutable sign
and an adventurer, wanderer
seeker, sister, lover -
I let you.
I let you
you hurt me
you left me
you learned me
you stopped.
BUT I LET YOU
I loosened my grip
on what I didn't want and you
began to step away.
half-heartedly I
followed you,
chasing in the end because really -
who likes to lose?
Know this:
You may have left and you may be gone
but before you walked out,
they were playing my song.
I packed up your things
and I bid you adieu
and just so we're clear
dear, it's not me
it's you.
But more importantly
I am walking proudly up the steps
to my front door
jangling my keys -
one set for me.
I am walking through
foyers, looking at furniture
needing to be put back in place
boxes unpacked
clutter undone.
Dusty windows
and burnt out bulbs
long forgotten
in the dim light of love.
Low, low light.
I am steeping tea
and playing Nina
ironically grinning at no one in particular.
Humming to myself, barefoot
in these rooms
to these walks
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas.
I serenade myself
a song for me.
Song of myself
a welcome home ditty.
Ne me quitte pas.
And I promise me
that I won't sit outside myself
while someone rearranges me
ever again.
I will open the shutters
and pull up the shades.
I will use the china and
read the good Book.
I will feast to my own presence
smelling of jasmine
and glowing the color of honey.
I will embrace myself this day,
welcoming me home.
Poem: A Prayer
This poem has particular significance as I wrote it a month to the day before my mother passed away. I then read it at her funeral, where I promised to pursue writing - one of two things she always adamantly encouraged me to do. It was even featured in online magazine, The Vyne.
I can feel our lives slipping away from us,
Oh God,
from both of us and through our tiny hands - away.
I can feel the weight of mortality
rushing at me with full force contact
--the push of life's large ebbs and flows, at once.
At once I am knocked over and yet buoyed to the surface
--carried to shore and carried to sea.
I can feel the darkness
looming out just beyond the horizon, beyond the beyond.
I cannot see the start and stop
I cannot see beginning or end
I cannot grip what is slipping away from me,
Oh God.
I do not know which way I'm facing
I cannot read the starry sky,
Oh God.
I never could, but then again,
I never thought I'd have to
I cannot breathe
I cannot breathe
I cannot breathe
Oh God.
--my chest an angry chamber
--inner sanctum beating hollow
The resonance of solitude is
unwelcome in this world.
I want to find the shore,
Oh God,
to see the tide receding,
to know that I am anchored safely
in the harbor of your love.
I feel the living rhythm of the sea song now,
Oh God.
The gentle lull, the violent crash
The ebb and flow of masterful love.
I breathe the salted mist of prayer,
remembering the vastness of the ocean.
It doesn't scare me now, the bigger you and smaller me - the smaller we.
Together we bob in and out of this,
feeling somehow at peace,
even as we feel ourselves continuing to slip away,
through our tiny hands
I can feel our lives slipping away from us,
Oh God,
from both of us and through our tiny hands - away.
I can feel the weight of mortality
rushing at me with full force contact
--the push of life's large ebbs and flows, at once.
At once I am knocked over and yet buoyed to the surface
--carried to shore and carried to sea.
I can feel the darkness
looming out just beyond the horizon, beyond the beyond.
I cannot see the start and stop
I cannot see beginning or end
I cannot grip what is slipping away from me,
Oh God.
I do not know which way I'm facing
I cannot read the starry sky,
Oh God.
I never could, but then again,
I never thought I'd have to
I cannot breathe
I cannot breathe
I cannot breathe
Oh God.
--my chest an angry chamber
--inner sanctum beating hollow
The resonance of solitude is
unwelcome in this world.
I want to find the shore,
Oh God,
to see the tide receding,
to know that I am anchored safely
in the harbor of your love.
I feel the living rhythm of the sea song now,
Oh God.
The gentle lull, the violent crash
The ebb and flow of masterful love.
I breathe the salted mist of prayer,
remembering the vastness of the ocean.
It doesn't scare me now, the bigger you and smaller me - the smaller we.
Together we bob in and out of this,
feeling somehow at peace,
even as we feel ourselves continuing to slip away,
through our tiny hands
Poem: Coincidence of Nikki
You can be strong
You can choke back each tear
and tell the world you’re full of hate and anger
or that you’re fine and full of nothing at all.
You can lie to them
and tell them you’re fine and that you don’t remember
that he is crazy and that it doesn’t matter
but it means nothing to history, to those things which were
To the coincidence of Nikki
and the ceremonious Saturday French press coffee
to the bottles of wine and rubbing of shoulders
to the laughs and love and touching of skin
To the reality of what is still there
of what you are still full of
despite your best efforts to be strong
you are weak in the knees, in the mind, in the heart
And you hurt.
and you cry and you wonder what you you did
when you tell them you blame him – you blame you.
and you are sad, very sad for the things that were
And you want them back, some days
and you call his name some times
and you cry and you curse that you let it happen
despite your best effort to be strong
You can be strong and you can be hurt and you can cry and curse
and you can tell them and yourself that it is your fault
and his fault and love’s fault for pulling on you
so strong, so real, so here and there at once.
You can choke back each tear
and tell the world you’re full of hate and anger
or that you’re fine and full of nothing at all.
You can lie to them
and tell them you’re fine and that you don’t remember
that he is crazy and that it doesn’t matter
but it means nothing to history, to those things which were
To the coincidence of Nikki
and the ceremonious Saturday French press coffee
to the bottles of wine and rubbing of shoulders
to the laughs and love and touching of skin
To the reality of what is still there
of what you are still full of
despite your best efforts to be strong
you are weak in the knees, in the mind, in the heart
And you hurt.
and you cry and you wonder what you you did
when you tell them you blame him – you blame you.
and you are sad, very sad for the things that were
And you want them back, some days
and you call his name some times
and you cry and you curse that you let it happen
despite your best effort to be strong
You can be strong and you can be hurt and you can cry and curse
and you can tell them and yourself that it is your fault
and his fault and love’s fault for pulling on you
so strong, so real, so here and there at once.
Poem: Lie to me
We are afraid--
The world of us--to tell each other our secrets.
In hidden rooms, with jammed tight doors,
we suffer silently per protocol,
make messes of our messes.
if we would stand straight, eye to eye,
confessing our disaster...
Perhaps we'd find each other in our messes,
and our masses would seem masterfully drawn
together in the larger open spaces of our togetherness
where doors don't jam
and people cry
and laugh
and hold each other
instead of keeping secrets.
The world of us--to tell each other our secrets.
In hidden rooms, with jammed tight doors,
we suffer silently per protocol,
make messes of our messes.
if we would stand straight, eye to eye,
confessing our disaster...
Perhaps we'd find each other in our messes,
and our masses would seem masterfully drawn
together in the larger open spaces of our togetherness
where doors don't jam
and people cry
and laugh
and hold each other
instead of keeping secrets.
Putting it Out There
As part of this challenge, I needed to submit to a contest or apply for an award to demonstrate my expertise. I decided to submit for a contest of a literary journal, Crazyhorse, based on one of my gifts - poetry. After searching for a bit for a contest on authenticity, the only thing I could find was a contest which asked individuals to outline ways in which consumers of news could authenticate/validate the information they get via various news outlets. I decided to submit three poems which reflect my experience over the last several months. The poems follow in separate posts.
Walk the Talk
Over the last 60 days, I have been part of a challenge to become an expert in a specific area. I am working with a group of phenomenal women who are well-versed in such interesting and compelling areas such as sustainability, wellness, youth development, and education. I am even working with folks who are subject matter experts on paths less traveled such as lactation, gratitude, and astrology.
And then there is me. I am struggling still to define my area of expertise. 60 days into the challenge, I am clear that I am passionate about authenticity, but how does one demonstrate that? Unlike a fine art connoisseur, I can’t get ‘training’ on how to be an expert in authenticity. I don’t have a ‘kit’ like a forensics expert to assess the evidence I’m presented with on a daily basis. So what’s my gauge? My barometer?
Personal experience. I can’t say without a shadow of a doubt, that I can ‘teach’ someone else how to be authentic without first knowing that I am living my life as authentically as possible. What this means to me is that I am actively pursuing those things which I am passionate about and which I am good at doing. For as long as I can remember, my two greatest passions have been music and writing - not necessarily in that order.
I’ve sung for as long as I can remember (I even studied jazz and classical music) and I’ve been writing probably since I was 10--journaling, writing poetry and articles for various publications, etc. So in a quest to be more authentically myself, I am grounding myself in my poetry and in my music. I’ll dedicate a few posts not to me pontificating about what it means to be authentic, but just demonstrating it as best I can.
And then there is me. I am struggling still to define my area of expertise. 60 days into the challenge, I am clear that I am passionate about authenticity, but how does one demonstrate that? Unlike a fine art connoisseur, I can’t get ‘training’ on how to be an expert in authenticity. I don’t have a ‘kit’ like a forensics expert to assess the evidence I’m presented with on a daily basis. So what’s my gauge? My barometer?
Personal experience. I can’t say without a shadow of a doubt, that I can ‘teach’ someone else how to be authentic without first knowing that I am living my life as authentically as possible. What this means to me is that I am actively pursuing those things which I am passionate about and which I am good at doing. For as long as I can remember, my two greatest passions have been music and writing - not necessarily in that order.
I’ve sung for as long as I can remember (I even studied jazz and classical music) and I’ve been writing probably since I was 10--journaling, writing poetry and articles for various publications, etc. So in a quest to be more authentically myself, I am grounding myself in my poetry and in my music. I’ll dedicate a few posts not to me pontificating about what it means to be authentic, but just demonstrating it as best I can.
What Cosmo Magazine Won't Teach You
This content initially appeared in the online magazine, The Vyne. Since it's publication, Cathie Black has been denied the waiver mentioned below.
In the last two weeks, New York City has been set ablaze by the appointment of Hearst Magazines Chairman, Cathie Black, to School Chancellor by Mayor Michael Bloomberg. New York residents as well as local and national education advocates cluster primarily around two major criticisms — Bloomberg’s lack of transparency into his selection process and Black’s glaring lack of credentials as required by the state. While Bloomberg’s thought process has left many tongues wagging, perhaps more intriguing is what is going on in Cathie Black’s mind as she navigates the very rough and shifting terrain beneath her well-heeled feet. We’ve not yet heard from her in the media, so we can only guess at this point at her thoughts on the situation–quite ironic given her post as chief of a communications behemoth.
As the female Chairman of Hearst Magazines, a company whose history and global reach are impressive, Cathie Black makes for a venerable symbol of successful leadership. She has led and managed an organization whose primary medium, the print magazine, faces peril at the hands of digital media on a daily basis–even with such titles as Cosmopolitan and O, the Oprah Magazine. She has presumably achieved success by making shrewd business decisions and using sound judgment. So why does she now find herself at the center of a social and political maelstrom of criticism? How did she get here and what does she do now?
You’ve seen this scenario before, with yourself or a woman you know. You’ve been in a post or career for a while and you hit a wall, professionally, intellectually or personally or simply decide that it’s time to move on. Thinking that it’s time for a change, but without putting much physical energy behind it, you’re suddenly headhunted for a prime opportunity or tapped on the shoulder to do ‘the next big thing.’ What usually goes through your head (right after you pop your collar)? “Perfect! An opportunity to do something different.” And before you know it, because of your brilliance, political savvy, and charm you find yourself facing a new and exciting professional opportunity. The temptation to accept can be huge and taking the leap into a high profile position may seem like a great decision, the rush of newness, the promise of acclaim. Pause. What step did you miss? At what point did you clearly define what should be next for you? What are your personal/professional objectives for your next experience? Have you accomplished all you intended in your current position? Before you sign on the dotted line and upgrade your handbag, take a minute to put pen to paper and strategize.
Three of the most critical components of exemplary leadership are self-awareness, judgment and preparation. Cathie Black’s current quandary indicates that at minimum she lacked adequate preparation to articulate her unique qualifications for the role of School Chancellor. Prior to accepting the post, did she ask herself the right questions? “Have I taken the time to outline what I am looking for and how this opportunity supports that?” “Do I fundamentally know how to do the job and influence perception about my ability to do the job?” “Do I know what to expect in the first 5, 30, 90 days?”
As gifted and passionate women we are often invited to address major challenges and lead initiatives. It is flattering, and often justified, given our previous accomplishments. However, we have to manage our careers and safeguard our reputations, thinking critically about every potential opportunity. Clarity of purpose and an ability to articulate our unique qualifications only support our strategic thinking. Without this level of reflection, we may find ourselves second-guessing our decisions, scrambling for support and calling on the endorsements of the ‘Oprah’ in our own network to vouch for our ability – something we should be able to articulate freely and with conviction, instead of being shell-shocked into silence.
What happens with Cathie Black is yet to be seen, but in the interim it appears she has something more immediate to address than the broken New York City public school system–her own perceived ‘achievement gap’.
In the last two weeks, New York City has been set ablaze by the appointment of Hearst Magazines Chairman, Cathie Black, to School Chancellor by Mayor Michael Bloomberg. New York residents as well as local and national education advocates cluster primarily around two major criticisms — Bloomberg’s lack of transparency into his selection process and Black’s glaring lack of credentials as required by the state. While Bloomberg’s thought process has left many tongues wagging, perhaps more intriguing is what is going on in Cathie Black’s mind as she navigates the very rough and shifting terrain beneath her well-heeled feet. We’ve not yet heard from her in the media, so we can only guess at this point at her thoughts on the situation–quite ironic given her post as chief of a communications behemoth.
As the female Chairman of Hearst Magazines, a company whose history and global reach are impressive, Cathie Black makes for a venerable symbol of successful leadership. She has led and managed an organization whose primary medium, the print magazine, faces peril at the hands of digital media on a daily basis–even with such titles as Cosmopolitan and O, the Oprah Magazine. She has presumably achieved success by making shrewd business decisions and using sound judgment. So why does she now find herself at the center of a social and political maelstrom of criticism? How did she get here and what does she do now?
You’ve seen this scenario before, with yourself or a woman you know. You’ve been in a post or career for a while and you hit a wall, professionally, intellectually or personally or simply decide that it’s time to move on. Thinking that it’s time for a change, but without putting much physical energy behind it, you’re suddenly headhunted for a prime opportunity or tapped on the shoulder to do ‘the next big thing.’ What usually goes through your head (right after you pop your collar)? “Perfect! An opportunity to do something different.” And before you know it, because of your brilliance, political savvy, and charm you find yourself facing a new and exciting professional opportunity. The temptation to accept can be huge and taking the leap into a high profile position may seem like a great decision, the rush of newness, the promise of acclaim. Pause. What step did you miss? At what point did you clearly define what should be next for you? What are your personal/professional objectives for your next experience? Have you accomplished all you intended in your current position? Before you sign on the dotted line and upgrade your handbag, take a minute to put pen to paper and strategize.
Three of the most critical components of exemplary leadership are self-awareness, judgment and preparation. Cathie Black’s current quandary indicates that at minimum she lacked adequate preparation to articulate her unique qualifications for the role of School Chancellor. Prior to accepting the post, did she ask herself the right questions? “Have I taken the time to outline what I am looking for and how this opportunity supports that?” “Do I fundamentally know how to do the job and influence perception about my ability to do the job?” “Do I know what to expect in the first 5, 30, 90 days?”
As gifted and passionate women we are often invited to address major challenges and lead initiatives. It is flattering, and often justified, given our previous accomplishments. However, we have to manage our careers and safeguard our reputations, thinking critically about every potential opportunity. Clarity of purpose and an ability to articulate our unique qualifications only support our strategic thinking. Without this level of reflection, we may find ourselves second-guessing our decisions, scrambling for support and calling on the endorsements of the ‘Oprah’ in our own network to vouch for our ability – something we should be able to articulate freely and with conviction, instead of being shell-shocked into silence.
What happens with Cathie Black is yet to be seen, but in the interim it appears she has something more immediate to address than the broken New York City public school system–her own perceived ‘achievement gap’.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
I never wanted to wear a tie.
In an article featured on the Diversity Inc. magazine website, fellow Johnson Graduate School of Management MBA, Mark Bertolini, talks about what's really important in business, and dare I say, in life. He discusses his path to the CEO role. He talks about dropping out of college and then going back to get an MBA and what it takes to truly be valuable to people--a deep curiosity about them and an interest in giving first, and then in receiving. Mr. Bertolini's major lesson, to honor what you're good at an interested in is spot on.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Kahlil Gibran, On Self Knowledge
On Self-Knowledge
Kahlil Gibran
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself like a lotus of countless petals.
Kahlil Gibran
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself like a lotus of countless petals.
Mountain Dreamers, Prophets and Professors
To support an earlier post, I thought I would post a video of a video with the text of Oriah Mountain Dreamer's poem, The Invitation. Good stuff...
PS She is not, as the video alludes to, an Indian healer. She is a self-identified White woman from Canada. And.we.love.her.
PPS More on Khalil Gibran's The Prophet and poetry from Ms. Nikki in separate posts.
PS She is not, as the video alludes to, an Indian healer. She is a self-identified White woman from Canada. And.we.love.her.
PPS More on Khalil Gibran's The Prophet and poetry from Ms. Nikki in separate posts.
Short and Sweet
I am going to Nepal. In May. O - M - G. I am trekking in/on/around Annapurna I am not a trekker, I do not know the appropriate preposition.
I need to go to the gym. Now.
I need to go to the gym. Now.
Be Impeccable With Your Word
As part of this 90 day challenge I am doing, I am tasked with living the mantra with which we begin and end each of our coaching calls. The full mantra, taken from Don Miguel Ruiz's seminal work, The Four Agreements, reads as follows --
Be impeccable with your word
Don't make assumptions
Don't take anything personally
Always do your best
In addition to living the mantra, we are tasked with writing several experts whose work/lives inspire us a handwritten letter of gratitude. I chose to write to some therapists, some coaches, but also to some extraordinary writers. In my chosen field, writing is core to the work I intend to do within the space of my expertise. It would follow that I'd select as inspirational guides and people after whom I'd like to model my own writing, writers and teachers like Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Kahlil Gibran, and Nikki Giovanni, people whose healing, enduring words have been translated to several languages, circulated around the globe and gifted to people repeatedly because of their sheer power.
I take so seriously the power of the written word, that I often suffer from paralysis when writing emails or when trying to craft a critical essay. In these letters of gratitude, however, the words came easily and quickly. Gratitude, genuine gratitude is one of the most natural things to express.
I took this approach when writing to Ms. Giovanni. I communicated how I am consistently moved by her poetry, how my mother was also a fan and how grateful I am that she had the audacity to share herself with us. Simple, to the point. Just like her reply - "Michelle, thank you for your kind words and for the memory of your mother. Nikki."
Be impeccable with your word
Don't make assumptions
Don't take anything personally
Always do your best
In addition to living the mantra, we are tasked with writing several experts whose work/lives inspire us a handwritten letter of gratitude. I chose to write to some therapists, some coaches, but also to some extraordinary writers. In my chosen field, writing is core to the work I intend to do within the space of my expertise. It would follow that I'd select as inspirational guides and people after whom I'd like to model my own writing, writers and teachers like Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Kahlil Gibran, and Nikki Giovanni, people whose healing, enduring words have been translated to several languages, circulated around the globe and gifted to people repeatedly because of their sheer power.
I take so seriously the power of the written word, that I often suffer from paralysis when writing emails or when trying to craft a critical essay. In these letters of gratitude, however, the words came easily and quickly. Gratitude, genuine gratitude is one of the most natural things to express.
I took this approach when writing to Ms. Giovanni. I communicated how I am consistently moved by her poetry, how my mother was also a fan and how grateful I am that she had the audacity to share herself with us. Simple, to the point. Just like her reply - "Michelle, thank you for your kind words and for the memory of your mother. Nikki."
Tell your truth, but not the whole truth
I had an amazing conversation with a man this Monday evening about the importance of being authentic in the workplace. His work focuses solely on helping organizations figure out their HR and Diversity and Inclusion strategies but what we both agreed on is how much bigger than HR and Diversity, work-life (meaning your life at work) is. In the her book, Don't Bring It to Work, Sylvia Lafair offers makes a very astute observation that who we are in the workplace is a direct reflection of who we are period. The folks we have or are working with (super achievers, complainers, hermits, etc.) are 'products of their environments. I encourage you to read this book as it offers insights into how to recognize something, fairly counter-intuitive - that what we see is actually what we get. Even with our attempts to mask our true-selves, we still manifest some version of our 'outside of work' self.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Do what you love. No excuses.
What stands between us and our ability to do the thing we love? Is it fear? Lack of conviction that we are good enough? The possibility of poverty or worse yet social or professional isolation? It is likely some combination of these three things, among a host of other reasons. And while these concerns are valid, they are not necessarily a foregone conclusion.
We are as likely to fail doing something we don't enjoy as we are doing something that brings us great personal satisfaction. Our passions are gifted to us and meant to be tended, like spiritual gardens. They are things which give us illogical bursts of energy on no sleep, and sustain us past the point of rationality when all else points to 'stop.' Passion is the fuel of meaningful contribution. Without it, what we contribute will always be some diminished version of what we are capable of giving. What we do is only a shade of what can accomplish. Passion is the differentiator between those who are merely accomplished and those who are undeniably extraordinary at what they do. It is the measure of a life examined and pursued and the lack of it forms a chasm which only the truly brave and relentlessly authentic may cross.
The following video (from 2 years ago, but still relevant) makes a very strong case for doing what what you love. The language is rough in a few spots but the sentiment is spot on.
We are as likely to fail doing something we don't enjoy as we are doing something that brings us great personal satisfaction. Our passions are gifted to us and meant to be tended, like spiritual gardens. They are things which give us illogical bursts of energy on no sleep, and sustain us past the point of rationality when all else points to 'stop.' Passion is the fuel of meaningful contribution. Without it, what we contribute will always be some diminished version of what we are capable of giving. What we do is only a shade of what can accomplish. Passion is the differentiator between those who are merely accomplished and those who are undeniably extraordinary at what they do. It is the measure of a life examined and pursued and the lack of it forms a chasm which only the truly brave and relentlessly authentic may cross.
The following video (from 2 years ago, but still relevant) makes a very strong case for doing what what you love. The language is rough in a few spots but the sentiment is spot on.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Bridges
Last night, I had the great fortune of hosting two of my closest girlfriends at my apartment. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been a night of good dinner, good wine, and even better conversation -- and it was, it just happened amongst boxes, piles of paper and long-forgotten dry-cleaning. Most important was the fact that it was actually an intervention. I had called these women over to help me climb out of 'my bag' as my grandmother might say.
This 'bag' was and is a psychic space that I find myself in after the death of my mother and the dissolution of (what I thought was) a very serious relationship. After months of walking around boxes and stacking and re-stacking mail on the 'other' side of the bed, I had had enough. I had moved in almost 6 months ago and the living room (where I used to host all manner of delicious and engaging events) looked like I had just arrived yesterday. My bookshelves, although fully unpacked, were teeming with tchotchkes and unread volumes begging to be let go. My desk's vertical filing system had been woefully neglected and I was breeding dust-bunnies around the baseboards. Needless to say, a cluttered space reflects a cluttered mind. I needed help, and quickly.
The funny thing about grief is that it's just numbing enough to make you think you're functioning. You're getting up, you're going to work, the bills get paid, the laundry gets done, but you are numb really. The little things that seem normal or even enjoyable in some regard begin to slip, like coking for yourself, "I'll just order pizza again," or things that are never reasonable become reasonable in your mind "I'll sort through the last 8 issues of The Chronicle of Higher Education this weekend, in my free time." There is no basis in reality that you cannot or should not have pizza for dinner 3 times a week (at least not topped with sausage and pepperoni - no wonder your blood pressure is high!) You can't believe that it will take you longer than 30 minutes to get through approximately 800 pages of musings and articles on the world of academe. You are young, you are smart, you have been to school -- for a loooooong time -- you have run races, and done fasts. You are indestructible and 'on it' -- until you realize you are not. Well you might be, but you are also human, and you are broken and you are standing at the shore of very choppy waters trying to cross over into the place that is more familiar to you, the land of 'Get-it-togetherville."
Enter the bridge, or in this case, the bridges. They arrived relatively promptly (by our sister standards at least), bearing the requisite libations and offering hugs full of, "Don't worry, we're here and we'll get this done." I ushered them up the stairs into the mess. There had been no parties, no dinners, no casual get-togethers in 6 months. No socializing, no nothing. But here they were, my girls. Years of friendship, gallons of tears and reels of funny moments danced between us as they laid themselves down over my cluttered space and mind and mapped out the next 6 months of how I was going to 'deal'. First, we talked about their recent and impending nuptials over full glasses of Montepulciano and plates of Pad Thai. But then we finished our meal and got back to the task at hand. One opened another bottle of wine, the other went to my whiteboard and immediately started to identify what would be short and long term tasks. We covered wellness first ("How are you?" and "How is your family?" "Are you getting enough sleep? Of course you aren't.") When they were sufficiently convinced that I was just sad, not suicidal and that a little organization and a few words of encouragement were what I needed most, we could get back to things like, "Do you need two Mardi Gras masks? Really?"
I won't bore you with more details of the night, but two things are worth highlighting. 1) My mess was not nearly as big or insurmountable as I thought it was and 2) It took my girlfriends, responding to my clarion call to lovingly, and objectively to tell me "No, this is not ANYTHING like that hoarder show. Girl have you SEEN that show??" and remind me that grief is a process and a journey that no matter how smart or determined I am, I cannot accelerate. It simply cannot be done. This is what the sturdy, beautifully made, majestic bridges told me as they laid themselves down over my life. So with that, as we organized the Chronicles for recycling, hung up all the cardigans, and finished the wine, I started to cross over the choppy water, thankful that I didn't have to swim.
This 'bag' was and is a psychic space that I find myself in after the death of my mother and the dissolution of (what I thought was) a very serious relationship. After months of walking around boxes and stacking and re-stacking mail on the 'other' side of the bed, I had had enough. I had moved in almost 6 months ago and the living room (where I used to host all manner of delicious and engaging events) looked like I had just arrived yesterday. My bookshelves, although fully unpacked, were teeming with tchotchkes and unread volumes begging to be let go. My desk's vertical filing system had been woefully neglected and I was breeding dust-bunnies around the baseboards. Needless to say, a cluttered space reflects a cluttered mind. I needed help, and quickly.
The funny thing about grief is that it's just numbing enough to make you think you're functioning. You're getting up, you're going to work, the bills get paid, the laundry gets done, but you are numb really. The little things that seem normal or even enjoyable in some regard begin to slip, like coking for yourself, "I'll just order pizza again," or things that are never reasonable become reasonable in your mind "I'll sort through the last 8 issues of The Chronicle of Higher Education this weekend, in my free time." There is no basis in reality that you cannot or should not have pizza for dinner 3 times a week (at least not topped with sausage and pepperoni - no wonder your blood pressure is high!) You can't believe that it will take you longer than 30 minutes to get through approximately 800 pages of musings and articles on the world of academe. You are young, you are smart, you have been to school -- for a loooooong time -- you have run races, and done fasts. You are indestructible and 'on it' -- until you realize you are not. Well you might be, but you are also human, and you are broken and you are standing at the shore of very choppy waters trying to cross over into the place that is more familiar to you, the land of 'Get-it-togetherville."
Enter the bridge, or in this case, the bridges. They arrived relatively promptly (by our sister standards at least), bearing the requisite libations and offering hugs full of, "Don't worry, we're here and we'll get this done." I ushered them up the stairs into the mess. There had been no parties, no dinners, no casual get-togethers in 6 months. No socializing, no nothing. But here they were, my girls. Years of friendship, gallons of tears and reels of funny moments danced between us as they laid themselves down over my cluttered space and mind and mapped out the next 6 months of how I was going to 'deal'. First, we talked about their recent and impending nuptials over full glasses of Montepulciano and plates of Pad Thai. But then we finished our meal and got back to the task at hand. One opened another bottle of wine, the other went to my whiteboard and immediately started to identify what would be short and long term tasks. We covered wellness first ("How are you?" and "How is your family?" "Are you getting enough sleep? Of course you aren't.") When they were sufficiently convinced that I was just sad, not suicidal and that a little organization and a few words of encouragement were what I needed most, we could get back to things like, "Do you need two Mardi Gras masks? Really?"
I won't bore you with more details of the night, but two things are worth highlighting. 1) My mess was not nearly as big or insurmountable as I thought it was and 2) It took my girlfriends, responding to my clarion call to lovingly, and objectively to tell me "No, this is not ANYTHING like that hoarder show. Girl have you SEEN that show??" and remind me that grief is a process and a journey that no matter how smart or determined I am, I cannot accelerate. It simply cannot be done. This is what the sturdy, beautifully made, majestic bridges told me as they laid themselves down over my life. So with that, as we organized the Chronicles for recycling, hung up all the cardigans, and finished the wine, I started to cross over the choppy water, thankful that I didn't have to swim.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Work Hard, Play Hard
“The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both.”
---James Michener, Novelist
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Just Do Your Job
I just ended a conference call where I asked the question, "How much should I write in my blogposts?" You might ask, why would I ask anyone, as a blogger, how much I should write. I'd argue that the question is more, "How should I write?" The question is borne out of my concern, as a writer first, that I start in the intuitively 'correct' part of the story and share the appropriate amount of information in order to engage people.
The response to my question was, "Why are you asking that question?" Well I could have responded authentically to say that I am busy and may not have time to write epic posts about authenticity and living purposefully, both of which I fully intend to do at some point. I could have said that I want to know if it's enough to shout out some other less fearful writer/blogger's ideas without having 1,000 words to say on the topic. I could tell the truth - that I doubt myself and rather than trust that I will write what needs to be written, authentically, I'd like someone to just tell me what to do. Sigh, the journey will be long. Rather than wallow in my own analysis paralysis and 'self-talk', here's a video that I will be watching on repeat until I have internalized that I have to just start. Suspend judgment, breathe deeply, trust my instinct for authenticity and write.
The response to my question was, "Why are you asking that question?" Well I could have responded authentically to say that I am busy and may not have time to write epic posts about authenticity and living purposefully, both of which I fully intend to do at some point. I could have said that I want to know if it's enough to shout out some other less fearful writer/blogger's ideas without having 1,000 words to say on the topic. I could tell the truth - that I doubt myself and rather than trust that I will write what needs to be written, authentically, I'd like someone to just tell me what to do. Sigh, the journey will be long. Rather than wallow in my own analysis paralysis and 'self-talk', here's a video that I will be watching on repeat until I have internalized that I have to just start. Suspend judgment, breathe deeply, trust my instinct for authenticity and write.
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