"Discovering the Truth about Ourselves" was jotted on a pad beside my computer. I use it to capture ideas I have while in the bath or cooking or in the middle of the night when I don't really have time to blog, but I don't really want to lose the thought. Most of the time when I sit to write the ideas just flow. Today, I sat and looked at this one for a while. I actually have some current thoughts about the topic, but for the life of me, I just can't remember what my original intention had been. Maybe it will come.
I've been in a personal growth training this week. Yesterday was very slow. Today we got the results of two different assessments. One of them was a 360. If you aren't familiar with a 360, feedback is solicited from people all around me: my boss, my peers, a customer, and a coach that I have mentored. The customer didn't get his input submitted in time for the report I received today, but the others did.
People, who I have coached, that have had a 360 assessment often discover they've had blind spots. Feedback is often painful, so I thought I had steeled myself for the worst. I was wrong. Some of the items didn't surprise me. I don't take time to socialize because I work 11- and 12-hour days and almost never even have time for lunch. I totally own that I make the decision that it is more important for me to leave after 12 hours than to chat and leave after 12 and a half.
I also got feedback that I don't mentor. Same reasons apply, plus my field requires a graduate degree so it is not very practical to mentor someone without a bachelor's degree to do organizational development. I had mentored the afore-mentioned coach for 10 hours and spent several more hours listening to his recorded sessions, but I don't talk about it. Except for the person I coached, probably none of the others knew. I am not sure what to do about that, but I can't see that I am going to publish (except anonymously in this post) that I am mentoring someone. That is between me and the person with whom I am working.
What was really painful though was feedback that I received that I don't care about people. I am not sure what kind of armor I've been stepping into lately that people have been seeing, but I bleed when people are hurting. I lose sleep over a sleight.
Actually, that's not quite true. I have given this reflection over the last few hours. I do know what kind of armor I've been stepping into: it is the armor that gets me through those long days. I just put my nose down and stay focused. No one looking at me would know that my heart is aching at the end of a day of listening to people in pain from their workplace. That is what I carry home with me. It is the truth about me, and discovering it wasn't fun. Yet, as I said a few days ago ("Growth Spurt," 9/6,) I am ready to grow. I can't do anything about this perception if I don't know about it.
The executive, who launched our program Monday morning, said something that really stuck a chord with me and has given me an important lesson. She said that just before her first child was born, she worked late. She put together packages of urgent projects with post-it notes containing instructions. When she returned five months later, two of the urgent projects were just where she left them. She said that she learned right then that no matter how important a project seemed to be, most of the time, it can wait.
A few days ago I wrote that on the first of September I was no longer going to work the killer hours.("Boundary Issues," 9/4) The executive's words simply reinforced that decision. The 360 feedback reinforced it even more. It is time for me to take time to let the people around me know the person inside the armor and not the one they've been seeing and experiencing over the last year.
Even though the feedback was painful, it has served as a painful reminder that if I forget who I am, no one else has a chance to see me.
Showing posts with label living my Truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living my Truth. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
Writing
In yesterday's post I wrote about coming to understand my practice of observing the Sabbath. ("What is work?" 3/28/14) The acting of writing helped me to determine what the observation of the Sabbath meant to me and to commit to an intention for how I want to live.
After finishing that post, I continued to ponder the gift my writing has been to me. (Pondering the big questions is a legitimate use of the Sabbath.) I've known for a long time that I used my writing to figure things out, but I am not sure that I fully understood until this morning that my writing is how I discover my intention for life.
In the instant that I had the thought that by writing I discover my intentions in life I understood for the first time the books I had written--I mean fully understood them. Over 20 years ago, when I was well into writing the first draft of Leading from the Heart, I remember sinking into my chair as dusk had darkened my office and having the thought: "This is my Truth!" In the split-second that followed, however, two contradictory thoughts came almost simultaneously: "I've always known this," and "Somehow this is all new."
I think the act of writing had helped me know how to put my Truth into action--how I would attempt to live the rest if my life. I had somehow known my Truth before writing it, but I hadn't really figured out what that meant for a real world, day-to-day life. Now, I want to be clear: I haven't gotten there yet. But like the practice of Sabbath, having a blueprint for how I wanted to live established a bar that I want to clear: it has become my intention for how to live.
As I reflect on it, The Alchemy of Fear and The Game Called Life were refinements to that intention.
When I began writing this blog last fall, I felt that I had lost my way. Intuitively, I knew that writing was the answer, and having an almost-daily blog would bring spiritual rigor and discipline that I desperately needed.
In describing how I write the blog to a friend, I said that I often didn't know what I would write until I sat, and words were coming. Then, the words just made sense as they spilled onto the screen. Given my intention in naming the blog "You Know In Your Heart," I should not be surprised that my writing has brought forward for shared examination what is written on the back side of my heart. ("Intention," 3/13/14)
Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile will know that I've been working in a memoir. Humbly, I think the writing has been some if my best, but it just hasn't hung together. With this new insight, I think I will be able to add structure that will help it to coalesce.
In The Game Called Life I wrote that we have three intentions for life: to perform special service to which we feel uniquely called, to learn lessons, and to fully develop and use our gifts and talents. As I have enhanced my understanding of my writing and probably my memoir today, I think I've done all three.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
After finishing that post, I continued to ponder the gift my writing has been to me. (Pondering the big questions is a legitimate use of the Sabbath.) I've known for a long time that I used my writing to figure things out, but I am not sure that I fully understood until this morning that my writing is how I discover my intention for life.
In the instant that I had the thought that by writing I discover my intentions in life I understood for the first time the books I had written--I mean fully understood them. Over 20 years ago, when I was well into writing the first draft of Leading from the Heart, I remember sinking into my chair as dusk had darkened my office and having the thought: "This is my Truth!" In the split-second that followed, however, two contradictory thoughts came almost simultaneously: "I've always known this," and "Somehow this is all new."
I think the act of writing had helped me know how to put my Truth into action--how I would attempt to live the rest if my life. I had somehow known my Truth before writing it, but I hadn't really figured out what that meant for a real world, day-to-day life. Now, I want to be clear: I haven't gotten there yet. But like the practice of Sabbath, having a blueprint for how I wanted to live established a bar that I want to clear: it has become my intention for how to live.
As I reflect on it, The Alchemy of Fear and The Game Called Life were refinements to that intention.
When I began writing this blog last fall, I felt that I had lost my way. Intuitively, I knew that writing was the answer, and having an almost-daily blog would bring spiritual rigor and discipline that I desperately needed.
In describing how I write the blog to a friend, I said that I often didn't know what I would write until I sat, and words were coming. Then, the words just made sense as they spilled onto the screen. Given my intention in naming the blog "You Know In Your Heart," I should not be surprised that my writing has brought forward for shared examination what is written on the back side of my heart. ("Intention," 3/13/14)
Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile will know that I've been working in a memoir. Humbly, I think the writing has been some if my best, but it just hasn't hung together. With this new insight, I think I will be able to add structure that will help it to coalesce.
In The Game Called Life I wrote that we have three intentions for life: to perform special service to which we feel uniquely called, to learn lessons, and to fully develop and use our gifts and talents. As I have enhanced my understanding of my writing and probably my memoir today, I think I've done all three.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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