Does it count?
Have you ever told yourself, "Well, that doesn't count," when working toward a goal?
I’m fascinated about what we consider to "count" when we're keeping track of a goal or intention. I hear this phrase, "that doesn't count" from clients regularly - so it might be something you're saying to yourself too.
When I was hiking the Appalachian Trail, the only miles I cared about were trail miles. I knew I had over 2000 miles to hike and I wanted to preserve every bit of my strength for hiking those miles. During town stops, resupplying my food and doing laundry, I hated having to walk any distance further than I had to, because those miles "didn't count." I remember at the time thinking this was so silly, how my mind only saw the trail miles as worthy and valuable. If I wasn't careful, this line of thinking would keep me from taking a half mile detour to a beautiful overlook. Eventually I learned to appreciate miles that "didn't count" when there was something beneficial to me, whether it was an ice cream stand or a waterfall just off the trail. I needed to teach myself that those miles counted just as much; they were part of my journey even if I couldn't officially record them in my accumulated mileage toward my final goal.
Failing to "count" things can happen in regular life too. For example, every year I prioritize taking walks to immerse in and appreciate nature. Some days, when I'm walking short distances through beautiful New Orleans neighborhoods past blooming camellias and stately oak trees, on the way to a meeting or running an errand, I tell myself, "Well, this doesn't actually count - I didn't purposefully set out to take a walk in nature."
Isn't that silly? Why not allow these small walks to count? Then I could marvel at all the wonders I might normally wait to notice on a longer "official" walk. I could tune into the quality of the light, the tiny ferns growing on tree trunks, the smooth texture of the crape myrtle bark, and the mosses living in cracks between the bricks. I could greet the sparrows flitting through the maple branches, the crows perched high in the water oak, and the squirrels chasing each other in the cypress tree, all in the few blocks between my car and the coffee shop. I could breathe deeply and gain the joy in the moment that I'm seeking from longer walks in nature.
What in your life are you not allowing yourself to count because it seems too insignificant? Is there a way you can give credit to pockets of quiet meditative time that might not look like "official" meditation? Or quality moments with family members that aren't formally scheduled? Or ways you move your body or care for your health that your fitbit might not be recording?
How might your internal state change if more of your daily life "counted"? You'll find yourself doing spiritual practices in the grocery store (a great place to send lovingkindness to strangers) or stopping to see pollen-laden honeybees in the flowers, like this one in the camellia that I saw yesterday on my "unofficial" nature walk.
It's probably not too late.
Is there something you've been agonizing about - something that you wish you had done but you didn't do yet? That your mind tells you it's too late to do? This happens to me all the time with all kinds of things. As I work on my writing, as I plan to send letters that I don't send, as I consider options I haven't taken yet. My mind cries, "Too late! Too late!" Another version of this is being "so behind." As in, "I'm so behind. I'll never catch up." It could be laundry, it could be a training or a course you're taking, it could be sharing or organizing photos, dealing with your email or planning a trip.
The thing is, telling yourself it's too late or you're behind does nothing to motivate you, and doesn't solve the problem. If it really, genuinely is too late, then let it go, with compassion. Face forward and see what's before you, and choose your path from the options that are available. If it's not too late, then take a step. Take any small step. This is the main way I get things done, with a series of small steps that occasionally bloom into a bunch of really big steps. Early this morning, just before writing this, I went out into the front yard to enjoy sitting in the grass with the cats, and there was our resident box turtle, striding across the lawn and into the petunias. She gets far with her little steps; if you go in to get the camera, by the time you come out she may be impossible to find again! Here's a photo of her in the back yard a couple of weeks ago:
Right now, think of something you've been berating yourself about - about being behind or too late with. Can you either kindly release it or take a small turtle step? I promise you will feel better. Quiet the part of you that wants to shame you for taking this long. Instead, honor your fallible humanness, and honor all the things you have been doing instead of this particular step.
Spinning, Sauntering, Stuck, Still: How to tell if you're doing enough.
Are you doing enough? Recently I've heard so many people - clients, fellow coaches, friends, me sometimes - despairing that they aren't doing enough. They aren't as awesome as their peers. Or as some internal ideal. Everyone else is so much more PRODUCTIVE. I've been reading books like Today Matters and Die Empty, which are inspiring and motivating and remind us to get off our butts and do something - to stop hemming and hawing and just go... But these books don't actually tell you to "just go." Because just going isn't necessarily what you need to do. There are two kinds of "just going". The first is desperate going so you can say you're moving. So you don't have to feel like you're being too much of a lump. So you can jog along and say, "See? I'm doing something!" It feels jangly. It feels electric, but in an uncomfortable, static-y way. It feels like too much caffeine. It feels like an out of control spring, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. It feels frantic. Sometimes it feels aimless - either like a hamster running in a wheel or like a pinball ricocheting off of lots of light-up bumpers, racking up "points" but getting nowhere. Let's call this kind "spinning." Spinning can feel exhilarating at first, but it quickly devolves into unfulfilled exhaustion.
The second kind of "just going" feels fresh and adventurous. Maybe there's a slight tinge of fear, but it's more like anticipation. It feels solid and grounded but light at the same time. Like setting out on a hike on a sparkling summer morning. Or picking up a paintbrush and beginning to cover a canvas with color. It feels like possibility. It feels creative and it feels fun. It's connected to something bigger. Let's call this kind "Sauntering". Sauntering is moving forward but without hurry or stress - in a relaxed, but purposeful manner. Not frantic and fast, but at a comfortable pace.
What about not going, you ask? When does that make sense? Is it always time to move?
Not necessarily. There are two kinds of "not going" too. The first kind is fear-based. It feels frozen, heavy and scared. It feels cut off. It feels like peanut butter on the roof of your mouth, or tires mired in mud. It wants to climb back under the covers. Maybe watch some TV. Let's call this kind "Stuck." Stuck is just how it sounds. And it feels awful, even when we try to avoid the feeling by snacking, napping, hiding, or distracting ourselves.
The second kind of not going is peaceful and restful. It feels clear and conscious. Being present and not doing makes more sense for the time being. It's sometimes paired with planning or visioning. It's sometimes gearing up for something big. Let's call this kind "Still." Still is quiet on purpose. It's realizing that some of the best ideas only happen when we give ourselves time to percolate, marinate, meditate - time to relax and dream.
I've felt the effects of Spinning, Sauntering, Stuck and Still in recent weeks, and what I know is that I'm so much happier when I'm shifting between sauntering and still. When I'm spinning and stuck, not so much. Here are four simple steps to help you recognize spinning and stuck and move toward sauntering and still.
1. Pay attention. Look closely at exactly what you're doing. Keep a log of your actions (or inactions) - in 15 minute increments, just for a day or two. Be honest! I can get stuck in a Facebook vortex faster than you can say, "kitten video!" And if there's printed matter in front of me, I can read until an hour or two has drifted past. It takes brutal honesty to confront where your time is actually going.
2. Ask yourself if you can align enough of your actions with your larger vision or purpose. If not, then you're probably spinning or stuck. If you don't even know what your larger vision or purpose is, it's probably time to get still and focus on that first.
3. Check in with your body and your emotions. If your feelings are positive and your body feels light, you're more likely sauntering or still. If your feelings are negative and your body feels heavy, you're more likely spinning or stuck. *Warning: Sometimes stuck and spinning can feel positive at first - kind of like the initial sugar high before the crash. Be attentive to your overall emotional state, and the feeling in your body.
4. Reflect at the end of the day, each day for a week. Are you content with the way you spent the day? Can you point to some action or some experience that feels like it's connected with your big picture goals? (Back to #2!) Do you have a nice mix of happy action (Sauntering) and relaxed recharging (Stillness)?
Just having these four categories helps me be honest with what I'm doing. Once I'm aware, I can choose to make a change. It feels great to climb into bed after a day of engaging Sauntering mixed with restorative and reflective Stillness. And it feels like enough. Days like that remind me of the quote I used to have on the wall of my classroom: "Vision without action is only a dream. Action without vision just passes the time. Vision with action can change the world."
How about you? Where do you find yourself spending more time - spinning, sauntering, stuck or still? When you're spinning or stuck, what strategies do you like to use to move back into sauntering or stillness? How do you like to address the voice that says you haven't done enough? Share your ideas in the comments, or email me, and let's continue the conversation!
What? You can fall down twice and still receive a gold medal??
My husband and I were playing Bananagrams and watching the Olympics on Valentine's Day. It was very romantic, really! (And we did the fancy cocktails and treats and assorted other romantic things too. Just so you know.) Anyway, we were watching Mens' Figure Skating. The long program. And this young man in a white and sparkly outfit (19 year old Yuzuru Hanyu of Japan) fell down. Twice. He also leaped and jumped and spun around and did all kinds of things on skates that I couldn't come close to doing, even with no skates and the aid of a very bouncy trampoline.
He received the Mens' Figure Skating gold medal. That's right, he fell down twice and got the gold. My friend Deborah and I were chatting about this the other night and talking about how we both have an old belief system in our heads that "gold medal means perfect". As in flawless. No errors, no mistakes - nothing that anyone can point to as wrong.
But that's not true. Instead, it's about risking a lot. Making big moves that earn points. Falling down loses fewer points than one might imagine. It's so much more about what you actually do accomplish.
Just like life.
We forget this. We are so afraid to risk. Afraid to fall down if we try that big jump. Afraid it will get in our way of the gold medal. But we can't possibly earn a gold medal if we're not willing to fall down. Imagine how many times Yuzuru has fallen as he's learned to skate so well? A thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? I'm sure it's a lot.
If we're not willing to fall, then we end up in the sidelines watching. We don't engage fully in our lives, afraid to make a mistake that will impact our "score".
Except that it's not the Olympics, and no one is keeping score, and even if they were, we could fall down twice and still get a GOLD MEDAL!
You have to make some mistakes on the road to amazing.
For those of us who got some idea in our heads (probably at school) that mistakes were not ok, this is a revelation we have over and over. I think it needs to be embroidered on a pillow. In pretty script. You can fall down twice and still get a GOLD MEDAL! In the OLYMPICS!
Where can you let yourself do this in your life? Where can you try something new or challenging and allow yourself to fall down?
I've been doing it in dance class with The NOLA Chorus Girl Project. I am learning dances that I can intellectually understand, count out, practice, and sometimes get right, but I regularly mess up. A lot. And I've been practicing and practicing and not actually falling down, but missing steps, counts, whole phrases while I try to catch up. It's fantastic! I practiced enough (a LOT!) to almost get it right at our performance. I missed some steps (ones I'd gotten right dozens of times), but the world did not end. And I kept smiling! (I think!) so I'm giving myself a mental gold medal for that.
I'd love to hear your stories of taking risks or receiving metaphorical gold medals despite "falling". Let's keep the conversation going in the comments!
What do you really want?
My mentor, Martha Beck, wanted to stab herself in the head with a fork because of me. She even wrote a blog post about it. Sure, the post wasn’t just about me, but she’d said almost the exact same words when she was coaching me with the horse in the round pen during the Master Coach retreat, just weeks before.
When I was standing there with the horse, she’d asked me, “What do you want?” And I hemmed and hawed a little. I said, “Yes, that’s what I need to figure out.” and she jumped all over my case, telling me not to answer with a vague statement, but to figure it out right now. What do I want right now?
It’s always nice to get chastised by your mentor. But she was making a solid point.
Martha’s point was that if I’m clear with my desires, and I ask and take inspired action toward them, they are bound to happen. But if I’m wishy-washy and unclear, then nothing happens. Or wishy-washy unclear things happen.
This seems so simple, doesn’t it? Don’t we all do what we want to do? Isn’t that how we chart the course of our lives?
Not necessarily. Many of us don’t know that truly living our deepest desires is possible. We believe that we have to just kind of plug along through life – work, home, family, and maybe take a nice vacation here and there. We have duties, responsibilities. I mean really – what if everyone did what they wanted – wouldn’t the whole place descend into some sort of Lord of the Flies chaos? That’s the response I get from people.
So there's the fear of chaos, that our deepest inner desire is to just run around naked in the woods with no responsibilities. And then there's simply confusion. How do we separate our deepest wants from what's projected onto us by society or culture?
I am still figuring out how to separate what my deepest inner self wants from what my ego wants. My ego is distracted by praise, accolades-- some kind of external measure of achievement. Years of schooling and a lifetime spent in Western culture have trained me to believe that I need to work hard, achieve, do well, accomplish something, leave a legacy – all that good stuff.
When I listen closely though, my deepest inner self is not so swayed. My deepest inner self wants permission to move more slowly through life. To drink in the experience. To watch the seasons change. To marvel at flowers, butterflies, birds, blades of grass. (Ok, ok, it's true! To run around free in the woods. Maybe these Lord of the Flies people have a point...)
At the time in that round pen with Martha and Koelle and the other coaches watching, I just wanted to stand there with that horse. To gaze into his beautiful brown eyes. To nuzzle his velvety nose. I didn’t need him to run around. I didn’t even need him to follow me, although it was wonderful that he did. It was my first time in a round pen with a horse. I hadn’t gotten to the part of wanting anything more than to be there in that moment.
The other thing I wanted was to rest. Oh goodness, I wanted to rest. I’d been getting so many messages to rest. From my deceased cat, Buster. From the horse. From everyone who’d been watching me for the past 8 months. Here's what I'm finding while I continue to resist rest and watch my clients do it too: From an unrested place we can't even tell what we want. We refuse to listen to our bodies. We push some more. Or distract ourselves some more with whatever keeps us from feeling and noticing - food, shopping, Netflix, Facebook, Pinterest, activities for the kids, books, work...
So I’m curious. What do you really want? Do you really want to add in that thing, whatever it is, to all the other stuff you’re doing? What if you took some things off your plate first? What if you began with rest? My hunch is that you might be tired. (It’s a good hunch because apparently 30 percent of Americans are chronically sleep deprived.)
January's goal was to rest more. I'm revising that. It's now 2014's goal. While I'm resting, then I can listen. Listen closely to what else I really, really, really, most deeply want. Interested in joining me? Stay tuned for some intentional resting and listening opportunities. And I'm curious - are you craving rest too? And feeling guilty or unaccomplished enough because of it? Leave a comment and let's continue the discussion!