Spring officially began last weekend. I delight in seeing my spring bulbs stick their bright green sprouts through the soil in search of the sun promised by longer days. The trees in the national park behind my apartment are generously showing their own bright green with a few almost leafed out. Here in Washington blooming trees, including the famous Japanese cherry blossoms which are in peak bloom this very day, abound. How fortunate I feel to be able to work from work to the Metro every day by this display that others travel from all over the world to experience.
While there are things that I love about each of the four seasons, spring holds promise. Whatever magical process that has been occurring in the ground during the dark months now moves boldly into the next stage of life's cycle.
We should not be surprised at this time of natural inspiration that many religions mark holidays, such as Easter and Passover, when we gather with friends and family to eat and drink and be joyous after having gone through a period of darkness, threat, and even death or imminent death. Even the Easter Bunny grew out of a pagan celebration of fertility, and Easter eggs are associated with what will be born, indicating that such spring celebrations have long been with us.
I have been called a heretic, so this is a spoiler alert that if you don't want anyone messing with your literal reading of the Easter story, this is a good time to hit the little "X" in the corner and come back another day.
My spiritual roots developed in the Christian tradition, so I observe Easter this weekend. Although Christianity formed my basic spiritual concepts, I have found learning and guidance in many religious traditions, and now I look at my own stories with a more universal lens of myth and metaphor than with a literal one.
Looking at it in that way, the story of Jesus' death, three days' burial, and his resurrection from the dead mean that it is time for me to sort through my life, find what needs to die, and then commit to how I want to be reborn for the year ahead. The season of Lent, the 40 days before Easter, intends to be a time of coming close to God in contemplation, fasting, deprivation of things that separate us from God, and prayer and meditation. At this time, we take a hard look at what we have been and what we want to be, and then we determine what new behaviors we want for the future to carry us toward the life we intentionally create.
I believe (more heresy coming) that God is not an anthropomorphic old man with a beard but is instead a force of Love and Good...of caring...that connects all of us. Jesus has been called the great teacher about Love. Even as he was being tortured in death, he did not anger. I believe his role in the evolution of the world was not to give birth to a religion but instead was to demonstrate what miracles all of us can make happen if we act totally in Love. Being Love as a noun, something that we are, rather than "love" as a verb, something that we do...or don't do.
The Easter lesson forces me say to myself, "What behaviors, habits, attitudes, or values stand in the way of me being Love?" Those are the things this holiday tells me to put to death, so that I can be reborn in this season of newness as a force for what is good in the world. My work is to be that day in and day out.
Years ago I recall hearing someone reflect on the shadow nature of all of us. The source is forgotten, but I remember hearing that in all of us, even the worst of us, there is a Mother Teresa who is kind, loving and compassionate. And in all of us, even the best of us, there is an ax murderer, who is driven by hate, fear, and anger and is capable of unmentionable evil. Our job is to choose who we will be.
That is the work of rebirth: taking a hard look at any speck within us that is driven by anything other than Love and plucking it out. Then consciously choosing how we become Love in the world.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Expectations
I still have a baby tooth. The technical term is "deciduous," but most of us call them baby teeth. We get them very early in life, and like the leaves that fall from deciduous trees, a few short years later they get loose and fall out. Even though we start getting them at six or seven when the replacements push the baby teeth away, the new ones are called "adult" teeth.
For whatever reason, an adult tooth never formed under one of my baby teeth, and with nothing pushing the process forward, my little deciduous tooth just hung in there...and hung in...and hung in. From the time I was a teenager, dentists have been telling me that I would lose it. As some point in earlier adulthood, the tune changed to take good care of it so that it would last as long as possible. I got that lecture less than a year ago from my current dentist.
Last month both my dentist and a periodontist told me it had to go. An infection under the tooth threatens other teeth, and apparently my heart and kidneys as well. Since I feel like my little tooth has served me extraordinarily well, I can't really say I am sad or even surprised. After all, this should have happened decades ago.
As I contemplate the demise of my stalwart servant, I keep coming back to my expectations. Early on, I expected to lose the tooth. Then at some point since it had been with me for so long, I expected to have it for the duration. However, even when I was young and expecting it to fall out, I had never expected that there were be a gaping hole in my mouth. I just never thought about what it would be like after I lost it. For that matter, I hadn't thought about what I would do with it when it was no longer in my mouth.
I suppose that there are parents who save their children's teeth after the tooth fairy makes her visit. Mine were not among them. I don't have a vial to which I can add this one when it comes out on Friday, but given the time it was part of me and the extraordinary service it rendered, I do feel like it should get some special recognition.
That's how this whole thing has led me back to one of my perpetual growth spots: gratitude. In all the years that my tooth has served me, I have rarely thought about it and the service it was rendering. I have certainly never thought about the richness it has added to my life. Only when I am about to lose the tooth does it get the gratitude and appreciation that it has been due.
My tooth is not unlike so many things in my life. I pretty much took my mobility for granted until a disease threatened me with being a quadriplegic. I had a good education and employment history so I just expected I'd always have a roof over my head and food in my belly...until my business went bust, and I didn't. Later working for the federal government, I just pretty much assumed that the checks would keep coming until I decided for them to stop; when the government shut down for three week in 2013, I developed a whole new appreciation for the regularity of my paychecks and the benefits that came with them.
It has been the same with people in my life. A friend that I saw three days early is suddenly dead. I know that I didn't appreciate her the way I should. Another that I used to talk with regularly met a man and took off on life's great adventure, and I miss our periodic talks. An aunt, who is now in her late 80s, was very special to me when I was younger, and I've let our relationship devolve into a few phone calls a year. When she is gone, I know that I will regret not valuing her more when she was alive.
Somehow the expectation that the people in my life will continue to be there is a faulty one. Last Monday I had a drink and dinner with several friends who used to work with me. We see each other two or three times a year now, and I realized after leaving them that they made me feel like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
Even though I didn't really want to return to my current job after my temporary assignment, I have really enjoyed reconnecting with some of my favorite clients and coworkers. While not in the warm blanket category, I do value them, and I have certainly become aware that they value me.
Because gratitude seems like a perpetual spiritual lesson for me, I know that I will backslide on my commitment a few days or a few weeks from now. Yet in the meantime, I am going to value being intentionally grateful for the people in my life...now...when I really can appreciate with them.
For whatever reason, an adult tooth never formed under one of my baby teeth, and with nothing pushing the process forward, my little deciduous tooth just hung in there...and hung in...and hung in. From the time I was a teenager, dentists have been telling me that I would lose it. As some point in earlier adulthood, the tune changed to take good care of it so that it would last as long as possible. I got that lecture less than a year ago from my current dentist.
Last month both my dentist and a periodontist told me it had to go. An infection under the tooth threatens other teeth, and apparently my heart and kidneys as well. Since I feel like my little tooth has served me extraordinarily well, I can't really say I am sad or even surprised. After all, this should have happened decades ago.
As I contemplate the demise of my stalwart servant, I keep coming back to my expectations. Early on, I expected to lose the tooth. Then at some point since it had been with me for so long, I expected to have it for the duration. However, even when I was young and expecting it to fall out, I had never expected that there were be a gaping hole in my mouth. I just never thought about what it would be like after I lost it. For that matter, I hadn't thought about what I would do with it when it was no longer in my mouth.
I suppose that there are parents who save their children's teeth after the tooth fairy makes her visit. Mine were not among them. I don't have a vial to which I can add this one when it comes out on Friday, but given the time it was part of me and the extraordinary service it rendered, I do feel like it should get some special recognition.
That's how this whole thing has led me back to one of my perpetual growth spots: gratitude. In all the years that my tooth has served me, I have rarely thought about it and the service it was rendering. I have certainly never thought about the richness it has added to my life. Only when I am about to lose the tooth does it get the gratitude and appreciation that it has been due.
My tooth is not unlike so many things in my life. I pretty much took my mobility for granted until a disease threatened me with being a quadriplegic. I had a good education and employment history so I just expected I'd always have a roof over my head and food in my belly...until my business went bust, and I didn't. Later working for the federal government, I just pretty much assumed that the checks would keep coming until I decided for them to stop; when the government shut down for three week in 2013, I developed a whole new appreciation for the regularity of my paychecks and the benefits that came with them.
It has been the same with people in my life. A friend that I saw three days early is suddenly dead. I know that I didn't appreciate her the way I should. Another that I used to talk with regularly met a man and took off on life's great adventure, and I miss our periodic talks. An aunt, who is now in her late 80s, was very special to me when I was younger, and I've let our relationship devolve into a few phone calls a year. When she is gone, I know that I will regret not valuing her more when she was alive.
Somehow the expectation that the people in my life will continue to be there is a faulty one. Last Monday I had a drink and dinner with several friends who used to work with me. We see each other two or three times a year now, and I realized after leaving them that they made me feel like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
Even though I didn't really want to return to my current job after my temporary assignment, I have really enjoyed reconnecting with some of my favorite clients and coworkers. While not in the warm blanket category, I do value them, and I have certainly become aware that they value me.
Because gratitude seems like a perpetual spiritual lesson for me, I know that I will backslide on my commitment a few days or a few weeks from now. Yet in the meantime, I am going to value being intentionally grateful for the people in my life...now...when I really can appreciate with them.
Saturday, March 12, 2016
Whatever Is Going On With Me?
There was a time when television shows started new seasons a week or two after Labor Day in September, and the season ended in late spring. We'd get "reshows" all summer, which wasn't so bad because who wants to be in watching TV in the summer, and then the cycle would start over again. We developed long-term relationships with characters; they could be almost like family.
I am not exactly sure when that began to change because I didn't have TV reception for many years, and when getting cable cost me almost nothing when I subscribed to internet service, I went many more years before I started watching again. In recent years there seem to be two patterns of TV series. One at least nods to the old pattern, where the season is now-later fall, ending in now-earlier spring, but anytime we have holidays or big events on other channels (World Series, the Oscars, the Grammys,) we get reruns. Sometimes for no apparent reason the program will go into reruns or go completely dark for a few weeks.
The second pattern, which seems to be increasingly common, is a six- to eight-week set of shows, followed by a 44- to 46-week wait for the next bundle of new programming. Occasionally, the programs will have two little bundles a year with long waits in between.
Since my job has now rendered me pretty useless from exhaustion in the evenings, and I have discovered the "on demand" feature so I can watch programs that are on after my bedtime, I find that I watch way too much TV. I have, however, discovered some high-quality programs when I am willing to sort through all the junk that poorly imitates art. Because some of these bundles come and go very quickly and often with no apparent rhythm to me, I have began searching the web for announcements of new season dates. One such program that I discovered in its bundle last year is "Finding Your Roots."
"Finding Your Roots" is the brainchild of host Henry Louis Gates, Jr., the African-American Harvard professor who made headlines a few years ago when he was arrested for breaking into his own home when he got locked out. Besides being a Harvard professor, Gates is an Emmy Award winning documentarian, literary critic, and book award winner. In "Finding Your Roots" Gates hosts two to three prominent individuals, often from the same genre--artists one week, politicians another, talk-show hosts still another.
During the program he explores the ancestry of each guest--good, bad, and ugly. You had a slave owner in the background, it will come out. You have direct lineage to Abraham or Charlemagne, he will share it. You had a relative who managed to survive pogroms in the Ukraine or Russia or concentration camps, we learn about it.
I am not sure why I have found the program so compelling because, except for my American Indian great grandmother, I've had almost no interest in my own personal ancestry. My interest had been mildly tweaked, and I've found particularly interesting how the DNA testing process can actually link by name long lost cousins.
Crossing the trajectory of this "season" of "Finding Your Roots" has been the introduction by a friend to me of the "Outlander" series, which is set in 18th Century Scotland. While I have been led to believe that on both sides of my family that I am mostly Scottish and Irish, my interest in learning more has been yawning until the last two or three weeks. Suddenly, I am intrigued to learn more about those ancestors who came to the colonies long before they thought of becoming a country. As I see some of their trials, I want to know more. Although I've always been interested in history, I don't think I've ever had any exposure to the history of that region, and I want to learn about it.
Beyond my ancestry and the interweaving of together of different TV programs, what I am really feeling particularly compelling about the whole set of circumstances is that it feels like the Universe has conspired to get me passionate about something in which I had absolutely no interest until just a few weeks ago. Similar things have happened before when I feel bombarded by information about something that I knew nothing about previously.
Noticing is important. In order to live the life of spiritual intention, we have to notice, pay attention, and follow the threads that are thrown onto our paths. So last night when one of those pop-up ads appeared on my computer screen offering a "deal" on the DNA testing, I followed it and learned a lot more about how it works...even the finding of long lost cousins part. I bit. It just seemed like what I was supposed to do.
I have a rule of three in life, when three apparently "coincidental" occurrences happen about the same time, I notice and do something about it. For instance, I recently bumped into the same person who I haven't seen for some time three times. I scheduled lunch.
Many of my spiritual coaching clients have said to me that the Universe doesn't speak to them. Of course, it does, I would say, but you have to speak its language. The language of coincidences or sparked passions is how the Universe speaks to us. Noticing is how we listen.
I am not exactly sure when that began to change because I didn't have TV reception for many years, and when getting cable cost me almost nothing when I subscribed to internet service, I went many more years before I started watching again. In recent years there seem to be two patterns of TV series. One at least nods to the old pattern, where the season is now-later fall, ending in now-earlier spring, but anytime we have holidays or big events on other channels (World Series, the Oscars, the Grammys,) we get reruns. Sometimes for no apparent reason the program will go into reruns or go completely dark for a few weeks.
The second pattern, which seems to be increasingly common, is a six- to eight-week set of shows, followed by a 44- to 46-week wait for the next bundle of new programming. Occasionally, the programs will have two little bundles a year with long waits in between.
Since my job has now rendered me pretty useless from exhaustion in the evenings, and I have discovered the "on demand" feature so I can watch programs that are on after my bedtime, I find that I watch way too much TV. I have, however, discovered some high-quality programs when I am willing to sort through all the junk that poorly imitates art. Because some of these bundles come and go very quickly and often with no apparent rhythm to me, I have began searching the web for announcements of new season dates. One such program that I discovered in its bundle last year is "Finding Your Roots."
"Finding Your Roots" is the brainchild of host Henry Louis Gates, Jr., the African-American Harvard professor who made headlines a few years ago when he was arrested for breaking into his own home when he got locked out. Besides being a Harvard professor, Gates is an Emmy Award winning documentarian, literary critic, and book award winner. In "Finding Your Roots" Gates hosts two to three prominent individuals, often from the same genre--artists one week, politicians another, talk-show hosts still another.
During the program he explores the ancestry of each guest--good, bad, and ugly. You had a slave owner in the background, it will come out. You have direct lineage to Abraham or Charlemagne, he will share it. You had a relative who managed to survive pogroms in the Ukraine or Russia or concentration camps, we learn about it.
I am not sure why I have found the program so compelling because, except for my American Indian great grandmother, I've had almost no interest in my own personal ancestry. My interest had been mildly tweaked, and I've found particularly interesting how the DNA testing process can actually link by name long lost cousins.
Crossing the trajectory of this "season" of "Finding Your Roots" has been the introduction by a friend to me of the "Outlander" series, which is set in 18th Century Scotland. While I have been led to believe that on both sides of my family that I am mostly Scottish and Irish, my interest in learning more has been yawning until the last two or three weeks. Suddenly, I am intrigued to learn more about those ancestors who came to the colonies long before they thought of becoming a country. As I see some of their trials, I want to know more. Although I've always been interested in history, I don't think I've ever had any exposure to the history of that region, and I want to learn about it.
Beyond my ancestry and the interweaving of together of different TV programs, what I am really feeling particularly compelling about the whole set of circumstances is that it feels like the Universe has conspired to get me passionate about something in which I had absolutely no interest until just a few weeks ago. Similar things have happened before when I feel bombarded by information about something that I knew nothing about previously.
Noticing is important. In order to live the life of spiritual intention, we have to notice, pay attention, and follow the threads that are thrown onto our paths. So last night when one of those pop-up ads appeared on my computer screen offering a "deal" on the DNA testing, I followed it and learned a lot more about how it works...even the finding of long lost cousins part. I bit. It just seemed like what I was supposed to do.
I have a rule of three in life, when three apparently "coincidental" occurrences happen about the same time, I notice and do something about it. For instance, I recently bumped into the same person who I haven't seen for some time three times. I scheduled lunch.
Many of my spiritual coaching clients have said to me that the Universe doesn't speak to them. Of course, it does, I would say, but you have to speak its language. The language of coincidences or sparked passions is how the Universe speaks to us. Noticing is how we listen.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Risking Greatness
I find it hard to believe that it has now been almost 15 years since I was regularly speaking about spiritual intention, a topic for which I still hold passion. I revealed seven steps to living with intention in my speeches. One of them was to "risk greatness." This step described how when we are listening to our inner spiritual guidance system, we will often be guided to do things that don't make sense and which the world around us may judge to be nonsense or crazy. Yet, when we are guided, we must have the courage to follow through.
Those who have been great in whatever their field happens to be have broken through barriers that others in their professions or their contemporary worlds have judged as crazy. As Monet was giving birth to Impressionist art, he was belittled and taunted as someone who could not paint. Mozart was accused of being mad.
Even famous athletes, who have broken ground in style and performance, have been the object of comedic jabbing. Dick Fosbury, the 1960s American Olympic high jumper had a unique style of flopping himself over the bar. He broke ground on what is now common in the sport. People of his era thought that Roger Bannister who disintegrate if he broke the four-minute mile, but then within days a number of others passed that daunting milestone.
If we practice whatever is to be our greatness in our own unique way, we risk having people point at us. But, the real risk is to hold back on being as great as the Universe would have us be. Such risks show up everywhere in our lives, and maybe as often as not, we may be the only ones to know. Do we hold back on asking a question that may lead to a breakthrough question because it seems like a "stupid question?" Do we stay chained to a job that is limiting our growth just because it is secure? On a splendid spring day, like several we've had recently, do with bridle the urge to jump up and click our heels with the joy of the season? What countless ways do we hold ourselves back?
When we are truly aligned and willing to bring our full courage to bear on whatever is in front of us, we unleash the forces of the Universe in support of us. I recall when I was writing The Game Called Life. The economy was shaky, and several people had cancelled long scheduled work. I should have been out drumming up speaking engagements and consulting gigs, but I didn't. What I knew in my heart was that I had another book to write. Almost as quickly as I said I was going to do it, the words began to move through me like a wild winter storm across the plains. My hands moved across the keyboard so long and so fast that my wrists ached. The book was finished in five days and, unlike my earlier books, it required little rewrite and editing.
The day after I finished the book, I went to the mailbox, and a check from former coaching clients awaited me. It was around Thanksgiving, and they had been thankful for the work we had done that year. They sent a thank-you check. To this day, I recall feeling like the Universe was thanking me for taking time to do what I was called to do rather than what I "should" be doing.
I've been getting clarity about the direction in which I need to be taking my life. I am about to make a major leap, but it feels to me like the real risk isn't going in the new direction but instead the risk is in not doing it. Over the last few days as I became clearer, people have been coming out of the woodwork to help. One person, who would have no idea what I was up to, texted me a couple days ago and wanted to have coffee. When we met, he pointed me to a potential door.
I was channel surfing late at night recently and caught the end of the 1993 film "Grumpy Old Men," a Jack Lemmon-Walter Matthau comedy in which two octogenarians compete for the affections of a slightly younger widow, played by Ann Margaret. I have seen the movie many times and always love it. It just so happened this time that as I paused my channel surfing, I caught Jack Lemmon's character say, "The only things in life you regret are the risks you didn't take."
I will have no regrets for not taking risk. Instead, I will risk greatness in whatever small or great way lies on my path.
Those who have been great in whatever their field happens to be have broken through barriers that others in their professions or their contemporary worlds have judged as crazy. As Monet was giving birth to Impressionist art, he was belittled and taunted as someone who could not paint. Mozart was accused of being mad.
Even famous athletes, who have broken ground in style and performance, have been the object of comedic jabbing. Dick Fosbury, the 1960s American Olympic high jumper had a unique style of flopping himself over the bar. He broke ground on what is now common in the sport. People of his era thought that Roger Bannister who disintegrate if he broke the four-minute mile, but then within days a number of others passed that daunting milestone.
If we practice whatever is to be our greatness in our own unique way, we risk having people point at us. But, the real risk is to hold back on being as great as the Universe would have us be. Such risks show up everywhere in our lives, and maybe as often as not, we may be the only ones to know. Do we hold back on asking a question that may lead to a breakthrough question because it seems like a "stupid question?" Do we stay chained to a job that is limiting our growth just because it is secure? On a splendid spring day, like several we've had recently, do with bridle the urge to jump up and click our heels with the joy of the season? What countless ways do we hold ourselves back?
When we are truly aligned and willing to bring our full courage to bear on whatever is in front of us, we unleash the forces of the Universe in support of us. I recall when I was writing The Game Called Life. The economy was shaky, and several people had cancelled long scheduled work. I should have been out drumming up speaking engagements and consulting gigs, but I didn't. What I knew in my heart was that I had another book to write. Almost as quickly as I said I was going to do it, the words began to move through me like a wild winter storm across the plains. My hands moved across the keyboard so long and so fast that my wrists ached. The book was finished in five days and, unlike my earlier books, it required little rewrite and editing.
The day after I finished the book, I went to the mailbox, and a check from former coaching clients awaited me. It was around Thanksgiving, and they had been thankful for the work we had done that year. They sent a thank-you check. To this day, I recall feeling like the Universe was thanking me for taking time to do what I was called to do rather than what I "should" be doing.
I've been getting clarity about the direction in which I need to be taking my life. I am about to make a major leap, but it feels to me like the real risk isn't going in the new direction but instead the risk is in not doing it. Over the last few days as I became clearer, people have been coming out of the woodwork to help. One person, who would have no idea what I was up to, texted me a couple days ago and wanted to have coffee. When we met, he pointed me to a potential door.
I was channel surfing late at night recently and caught the end of the 1993 film "Grumpy Old Men," a Jack Lemmon-Walter Matthau comedy in which two octogenarians compete for the affections of a slightly younger widow, played by Ann Margaret. I have seen the movie many times and always love it. It just so happened this time that as I paused my channel surfing, I caught Jack Lemmon's character say, "The only things in life you regret are the risks you didn't take."
I will have no regrets for not taking risk. Instead, I will risk greatness in whatever small or great way lies on my path.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Doing What I am Good At
Since The Late Show is on way too late for me to watch and still make my 5 a.m. wake-up call, most days I end up having dinner with Stephen Colbert and the previous night's antics On-Demand. (He's actually a nice dinner companion since I have no other.) I was delighted a couple weeks ago (2/18/16) that one of Stephen's guests was Tea Leoni, star of "Madame Secretary," one of my new favorite shows.
Leoni was on the show just before turning 50, and she and Colbert shared a humorous look at some of her life. An interesting piece of trivia bubbled up. Leoni was educated to be an anthropologist and apparently worked in the field for a period of time. "I was good at it," she shared.
She continued to share a conversation she had with her father when she was a young woman. "Don't do something because you're good at it," he'd said to his daughter when she was a young woman. "Find something you're passionate about, and you'll learn to be good at it." Obviously, Leoni took his advice, and we are all the beneficiaries of her fine acting.
I was struck by the advice because it has special significance to me. When I am with someone with whom I feel it safe to share my displeasure with my work, almost always they will say something about how good I am at it. My field is a broad one. I seem to be stuck in one narrow band of activity, which I am good at but for which I have no passion. Frequently, the boringness of my days has led to soul-searching about whether I even like my profession any longer. Then, I remind myself that what I am doing is not my sweet spot in the field, and maybe if I was doing that work I would love it again.
Now I reflect on the advice of Leoni's father to do something you are passionate about, and you will become good at it. The truth is that I no longer know what I am passionate about. On those occasional unbounded days when I take off the constraints, I have asked myself what I would do if I won the lottery and didn't have to work for money. I know for certain that I would want to work. People in my family live to be 100 and the idea of being retired for 35 or 40 years leaves me stone cold.
What would I do? I don't have an answer, but I harken back to a contribution by a colleague at a professional meeting over 20 years ago now. He had talked about a decision-making "tool" he used when he didn't know what to do. "I ask myself 'Would it bring me to life?' or 'Would it bring life to me?'" He said just asking those simple questions almost always brought crystal clarity to him. I've used the questions a number of times in the last 20 years, and they have not failed me.
I have not won the lottery so I do need to work in something that will support me financially. There are certain parts of my profession that I think I would have passion for...if I just had the opportunity to do them again. While not totally in my sweet spot, it ends up that I have a couple of projects this spring that will at least allow me to move closer to that place where work just seems to flow through us. Maybe those experiences will provide insights.
However, there is a part of me that really believes I should be doing something completely different at this point in my life. I've been doing organization development for almost 25 years, and I feel that I'd like to travel a different path for the next 10-12. I do love coaching, but I recall that when I was coaching full-time in the 90s that I missed the contact with people that we have on our jobs. So while I would love to do more coaching, I don't think I want that for a full-time gig.
Last night I had a young woman as a guest at a dinner party who is doing international development work. I've had several friends who do that kind work, and I've also wondered if I could figure out how to segue into that kind of endeavor. When I look at the refugee crisis and other such disasters, the work really is aligned with the contribution I'd like to make in the world.
I've also noticed that I've been purchased a couple books recently and realized only after I'd made the purchases that they were categorized by their publishers as "criminal justice" and "sociology." I had a minor in sociology as an undergraduate. Perhaps they are pointing to dormant passions.
As all of you who have been reading this blog for awhile know, I love cooking, but have never seen it as a career. I love movies too, but really don't see work in it. I am allowing myself to just indulge myself in these avocations. While I love travel, it is a little more challenging to indulge myself there. I do love to write. If we go back far enough, like when I could first hold a pencil, I have always loved to write. Maybe that's really the answer to the question of what I'd do if I won the lottery, but alas I have not, and history has taught me that unless one writes the occasional bestseller, writing cost me more than it landed in my bank account.
Along the way, I have confidence that something will spark my passions and make clear to me what the next chapter in life will be. So, for now, I will be paying close attention to my "What brings me to life?" meter, knowing when I find the passion, I will be good at what it reveals.
Leoni was on the show just before turning 50, and she and Colbert shared a humorous look at some of her life. An interesting piece of trivia bubbled up. Leoni was educated to be an anthropologist and apparently worked in the field for a period of time. "I was good at it," she shared.
She continued to share a conversation she had with her father when she was a young woman. "Don't do something because you're good at it," he'd said to his daughter when she was a young woman. "Find something you're passionate about, and you'll learn to be good at it." Obviously, Leoni took his advice, and we are all the beneficiaries of her fine acting.
I was struck by the advice because it has special significance to me. When I am with someone with whom I feel it safe to share my displeasure with my work, almost always they will say something about how good I am at it. My field is a broad one. I seem to be stuck in one narrow band of activity, which I am good at but for which I have no passion. Frequently, the boringness of my days has led to soul-searching about whether I even like my profession any longer. Then, I remind myself that what I am doing is not my sweet spot in the field, and maybe if I was doing that work I would love it again.
Now I reflect on the advice of Leoni's father to do something you are passionate about, and you will become good at it. The truth is that I no longer know what I am passionate about. On those occasional unbounded days when I take off the constraints, I have asked myself what I would do if I won the lottery and didn't have to work for money. I know for certain that I would want to work. People in my family live to be 100 and the idea of being retired for 35 or 40 years leaves me stone cold.
What would I do? I don't have an answer, but I harken back to a contribution by a colleague at a professional meeting over 20 years ago now. He had talked about a decision-making "tool" he used when he didn't know what to do. "I ask myself 'Would it bring me to life?' or 'Would it bring life to me?'" He said just asking those simple questions almost always brought crystal clarity to him. I've used the questions a number of times in the last 20 years, and they have not failed me.
I have not won the lottery so I do need to work in something that will support me financially. There are certain parts of my profession that I think I would have passion for...if I just had the opportunity to do them again. While not totally in my sweet spot, it ends up that I have a couple of projects this spring that will at least allow me to move closer to that place where work just seems to flow through us. Maybe those experiences will provide insights.
However, there is a part of me that really believes I should be doing something completely different at this point in my life. I've been doing organization development for almost 25 years, and I feel that I'd like to travel a different path for the next 10-12. I do love coaching, but I recall that when I was coaching full-time in the 90s that I missed the contact with people that we have on our jobs. So while I would love to do more coaching, I don't think I want that for a full-time gig.
Last night I had a young woman as a guest at a dinner party who is doing international development work. I've had several friends who do that kind work, and I've also wondered if I could figure out how to segue into that kind of endeavor. When I look at the refugee crisis and other such disasters, the work really is aligned with the contribution I'd like to make in the world.
I've also noticed that I've been purchased a couple books recently and realized only after I'd made the purchases that they were categorized by their publishers as "criminal justice" and "sociology." I had a minor in sociology as an undergraduate. Perhaps they are pointing to dormant passions.
As all of you who have been reading this blog for awhile know, I love cooking, but have never seen it as a career. I love movies too, but really don't see work in it. I am allowing myself to just indulge myself in these avocations. While I love travel, it is a little more challenging to indulge myself there. I do love to write. If we go back far enough, like when I could first hold a pencil, I have always loved to write. Maybe that's really the answer to the question of what I'd do if I won the lottery, but alas I have not, and history has taught me that unless one writes the occasional bestseller, writing cost me more than it landed in my bank account.
Along the way, I have confidence that something will spark my passions and make clear to me what the next chapter in life will be. So, for now, I will be paying close attention to my "What brings me to life?" meter, knowing when I find the passion, I will be good at what it reveals.
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