When I was a young girl, I often hung out with Allyson, a friend from my neighborhood. We spent summer days wandering and playing outside and being creative. One very fond memory I have is of all the times I used to go to Allyson’s house. It would be a hot summer day and my recollection is that her mom would often be ironing. This was good news for us because it meant that Allyson’s mom was otherwise encumbered. It was also advantageous that her mom kept the curtains closed in an effort to keep the house cool. The closed curtains were key to concealing our shenanigans.
Hi there! (Photo by Christy Chin)
Allyson and I would take a step ladder from the side of the house and we’d situate it by the trunk of her parents’ green Toronado, which was parked in their driveway. I’d climb the ladder and tumble into the car’s trunk. Allyson closed the trunk and would then drive the car in and out of the driveway, over and over again. I’m not sure which one of us had the most fun but I can assure you we both had a lot of fun doing this because we did it often, and I always climbed into the trunk willingly and without coercion or bribery. I don’t know how old we were but we must have been young, and little, if I needed a stepladder to climb into the car’s trunk.
Why am I sharing such a memory? I share it because we can gain valuable insights while reflecting on how we chose to spend our free time during childhood.
People hire me to be their coach for a variety of reasons. One of the most common is when a person is contemplating a career change. They are burned out or their work and/or leadership role lacks meaning. They aren’t feeling fulfilled and they want to make a change, but they aren’t certain of the new path.
When working with someone who wants to reinvent himself/herself, I facilitate a lot of guided self-reflection. Among other things, I like to ask how they spent their free time when they were a kid. This isn’t an original idea, but rather a strategy that is often used in an effort to mine for passions and purpose. In fact, I know many people who are fulfilled in their work and when asked how they spent their free time during childhood can indeed see connections between their current work role and their childhood interests.
Lately, I’ve been recalling how I spent my own free time as a kid. And it’s all so telling.
I don’t think riding in the trunk of Allyson’s parents’ Toronado relates directly to my current calling, but I do think it speaks to my sense of adventure and to my mischievous nature. It’s fair to say that sometimes, especially when I’m with my girlfriends, I like to just barely stay out of trouble. I also like to create fun out of any task and perhaps that’s what I was doing when Allyson proposed putting me in the trunk. LOL. I also like amusement park rides so there’s that too. Her driveway had a steep curb so it was a pretty exciting ride in the trunk, and we didn’t have to pay for tickets or stand in line to get the adrenaline rush.
One of my earliest childhood memories is from an afternoon when I was sitting next to my Dad on our front step. We were watching as my older sister, Alicia, and (seemingly) all of the other neighbor kids, raced on their bikes up and down our street, and I wanted in on the action.
I asked–nagged–my Dad if I could get a bike and join them, to which my Dad said something to the effect of, “When you’re six you can get a bike and do it too.” I don’t share this to criticize my Dad, who has been my biggest champion and an important influence in my life and my work, but rather to suggest how his response would instruct and inform my future and my life. It was the beginning of my wanting to be able to do things when I wanted to and when I had the capability, rather than when someone else said I could. It was the beginning of my penchant for leveling up.
Speaking of nagging, my Dad used to call me “Little Miss Nag.” He did it lovingly, and it may seem like not a nice thing to call your kid, but I didn’t mind it. He was of course referring to my ability to persuade. If I wanted something bad enough, I could really put the sell on, and with enough nagging, I was often able to close the deal. In fact, even though I don’t like selling, I’m pretty good at it. My first and only career job was when I was fresh out of Journalism school and I was hired to be an advertising sales manager at The Missoulian, Missoula, Montana’s daily newspaper. I did well in that role. My next three work roles included a lot of sales and although I grew to not like selling, it was something that I was good at and that seemed to come naturally. No doubt a benefit of all the experience I had from nagging my parents as a child.
Another memory I have with Allyson is all of the puppet shows she and I performed at her house. We sure had some good times together! We’d not only host and perform puppet shows, we marketed them. I remember designing posters with crayons, and Allyson and I would hang them all over the neighborhood and even go door to door, marketing our puppet shows. This is an obvious connection because marketing has been an aspect of every one of my jobs and definitely a skill I utilized often in starting and running and growing our first company, Yellowstone Journal Corporation, and continue to use with my current company, Epic Life Inc.
I also remember putting on presentations in our backyard. I remember one time our family had spent the afternoon at Louis Lake. I brought back a jar full of water with some tadpoles I had caught. I marketed the presentation to our neighborhood. Many neighborhood kids showed up and as I was presenting about tadpoles, they were restless and kept interrupting and asking what refreshments I was going to serve them. I remember going inside to round up some snacks, and all I could find were Saltine crackers, which I served along with cups of water. They devoured them and in the process, suffered through my educational presentation about tadpoles. This makes me laugh. The connection of course is that I am a keynote presenter even if I’m no longer presenting about tadpoles. And it’s no wonder that I appreciate and love it when I present to an organization or conference and there is catered food provided, and sometimes even an open bar, during my presentation.
I also have many fond memories of my “ventures” with one of my closest childhood friends, Tracy Chapman. Not the singer Tracy Chapman, but a different and very special Tracy Chapman who unfortunately passed away far too early some years ago.
Tracy and I used to “polish” rocks and display them on a TV Tray on her driveway. (By polished, I mean we ran water from a garden hose over the rocks to make them look shiny.) We sold them for 25 cents each. Our venture was quite successful. Charitable adults from the neighborhood always bought our polished rocks, just enough to fund our snack needs. After reaching our sales goal, we’d close down shop, and Tracy and I would take the revenue generated and walk to the nearby Lander Golf Course clubhouse and spend it all on junk food and soda. We’d sit on the curb, enjoying the fruits of our labor while talking about boys and other things that young girls talked about in those days. I don’t sell polished rocks and thankfully, I don’t eat junk food like I did then, but perhaps this experience was a clue to the entrepreneurship that would become the way I have made a living for the past 25-plus years.
I also remember promoting and performing dance routines with the Wolfe girls. Shelly, Wina, and Kendra Wolfe were my sisters’ and my best friends for much of our childhood. We were all in AAU Swimming at the time, so we’d hold “talent shows” for our parents and their friends. We’d wear our matching swimsuits and perform carefully choreographed dance routines to songs like Chic’s Le Freak, Foreigner’s Hot Blooded, Ray Charles’ Hit the Road Jack, and other fantastic hits. (And, you guessed it, I recall providing Saltine crackers and cups of water for those shows too. I’m not sure why Saltine crackers were a staple, but they very obviously were.) Well, these dance shows are fond memories for me but I can’t see the connection between dance shows and any work I’ve done or am doing. Thank goodness. But I do love to dance, and Jerry and I often go to concerts and love dancing to EDM and reggae so maybe there’s a connection there. And of course these did include being in the front of the room, similar to when one gives a keynote presentation.
Growing up, I loved playing basketball. So much so that I was lucky enough to win a full-ride Division I basketball scholarship to the University of Montana after graduating from high school in 1986. Even though I blew out a knee my first season, then rode the bench and it eventually didn’t work out for me, it was one of the most informative experiences of my early adult life. And how it all came to be is insightful.
I was thinking about it the other day when I was reflecting on how literally, in a single moment, a person can make what seems like a trivial decision but as a result of it, one’s path takes a completely new course. I was in 6th grade and we were at recess. Until then I never had any experience or desire to play basketball. I don’t think I ever even noticed the basketball courts despite walking over them often. One day, during recess, a girl named Jackie Massey asked me if I wanted to shoot hoops and I said Yes.
It wasn’t long and I was sinking some shots. Instantly I was in love. (Thank you, Jackie!) I not only played basketball through junior high and high school and into college, but I recall spending free time on the weekends shooting hoops on Lander’s various school playgrounds with my best friends at the time, Tina Campbell and Jody (Tann) Thompson. We spent hours of our free time shooting hoops, while playing tunes by The Cars and Gino Vanelli and Bon Jovi on our boombox and drinking too much Mountain Dew, in between our games of P.I.G. and 21. If not for Jackie asking me to shoot hoops with her that day, I almost certainly wouldn’t have attended the University of Montana and I wouldn’t have lost my scholarship, both things that continue to inform my life. If not for discovering my love for basketball when I was 10, my life would be very different and I’m glad it isn’t because I love my life so much.
I have so many memories from the Winters of my childhood. For about 15 years, cross country skiing has been my favorite winter sport. When I think about my earliest memories of cross country skiing, a particular memory comes to mind.
My grandparents (my mom’s parents) were visiting from Iowa, and my parents thought it would be fun to take them cross country skiing up Sinks Canyon. We went to the only store at the time in Lander that rented ski gear and they didn’t have skis or boots that fit my younger sister, Amber, or I. So my Dad figured Amber and I would just make do using our downhill skis. And boots. Yes, you read that correctly. I went country skiing in my downhill boots and skis.
I have pretty big calf muscles (I appreciate their strength but not their size), and there is no question that I developed them in those one or two cross country ski outings, while wearing my downhill ski boots. The memory also provides some insight into my belief that we can go farther than we think we can, and that I value working hard. 🙂
When I was 8 years old, we moved “to the country” (from town to Squaw Creek), and one of my new best friends was Erica Davis. I adored her. She lived about a mile up the road from us and I’ll never forget the first time I was allowed to ride my bike alone on the “highway” to Erica’s house. Erica and I spent full days exploring the outdoors, daring to catch and hold horny toads, and playing the red dirt and on the red rocks. We also spent hours together in the car as our parents took turns carpooling us to our various activities. During that time, Erica’s family was generous in inviting me to join them on a trip to Santa Fe and Albuquerque and other great destinations and I’ll never forget how my love of travel was sparked.
I also remember all the weekends our family spent going to Yellowstone and Grand Teton national parks, as well as up the Loop Road, to Louis Lake in particular, and also throughout the Oregon Buttes and Red Desert regions. We’d go on long drives and go on lots of picnics. I am certain that these outdoor experiences and adventures inspired my love for Wyoming and my great love for the outdoors and picnics, never-ending “exploratory” road trips, and my love for family adventure.
One of my biggest champions and encouragers when it comes to writing is my dear friend, Jamie. As young girls in elementary school in Lander, Wyoming, we were the best of friends. I was a prolific letter-writer (and note-passer) in grade school. Admitting I was a note-passer sure reveals how old I am, doesn’t it? Today’s kids, including my own, and including kids for many years now, have likely not passed notes in school because they don’t write notes. I’m guessing a similar act is being performed in classes but letter-writing and note-passing have probably been replaced by sharing Instagram and funny videos on one’s cell phone.
Anyway, Jamie was the recipient of most of my notes. Jamie and her family moved away from Lander for a few years before returning, and we remained close in high school. But after high school, as friendships so often do, ours faded and we lost touch. Some 30 years passed before we’d reunite. Lucky for me, Jamie stumbled across some marketing on Facebook for my Epic Women program, which she signed up for in 2014.
It has been one of the greatest blessings of my life to reconnect with Jamie so many years later, particularly during this “midlife” stage of our lives. Among other things, Jamie and I share a love of reading. We often gift each other books, and her recommendations are always good ones. In one of the books she gave to me, she wrote the quote, “Make new friends, but keep the old; Those are silver, these are gold.” In my friendship with Jamie, I indeed have struck both silver and gold.
When we reconnected, Jamie reminded me of our earlier days. She reminded me how I dreamed of being a Writer during my early years, and that I’d often include sample stories for her to read in the notes I wrote and passed to her during class. Although I graduated from college with a Journalism degree and frequently used it as a publisher for a community newspaper in Winner, SD, from 1992-1994, and while reporting on travel- and Yellowstone Park-related news and features for our two magazines and website when we had Yellowstone Journal Corporation and YellowstonePark.com, I had forgotten about my original, childhood dream of wanting to be a Writer. Rekindling my friendship with Jamie has rekindled my dream of wanting to be a Writer. In Jamie, I have a champion who encourages me to write and thinks of me as a Writer.
Currently, I’m writing a book. Actually, there are two books I’ve been “working” on–the one I need to write and the one I want to write. But that’s a different story. My point here is that Jamie is holding me accountable to my goal of writing a book. The fact that our friendship goes back to my earliest days of writing stories is significant.
I could go on and on, but I’ve already written too many words. If you’ve read this far, I thank you. It means a lot to me.
As I wrap this blog post up, it occurs to me that friends and family have been an important part of my early life and experiences. I’m grateful for their role in the life I lead today. It’s also clear that I loved spending time outside and being creative, things that are big parts of my work and my life today.
I encourage you to think of your own childhood and how you chose to spend your free time as a child. See if there are insights or connections you can make with your current work and life. Consider if incorporating some of your childhood passions into your life might enrich it.
The only instruction was to meet at the lighthouse at 5:30 am, and then at first light, we’d all take our clothes off. As a group, we’d get naked.
It was the (optional) morning activity for The Nantucket Project on Sept.15, 2018. The purpose was to bare all for world-renowned photographer Spencer Tunick. Tunick is famous for organizing large-scale nude shoots. (Since 1994, he has photographed over 75 human installations around the world.)
I wanted to do it. Well to clarify, I didn’t want to get naked in front of a bunch of people. I wanted to have the courage to do it. The night before, I told myself, If I do this, I can do anything. And I meant it.
I make a living out of daring people to take chances and to spend time outside of their comfort zones. I work hard to practice what I preach and think I mostly do. If I could take my clothes off in front of 100 or so people, imagine what would be possible after that… So I set the alarm for 4:45 am and went to bed.
4:45 am came and the alarm went off. I didn’t hit the snooze button, but I also didn’t go to the lighthouse to take my clothes off. I couldn’t muster the courage. I chickened out.
I wish I would have participated. It would have been the ultimate courage test and I failed it.
I want to be brave, and I know that in order to be brave, I must be willing to do things that scare me.
By the way, this talk about bravery reminds me of the phenomenal and inspiring slam poet, Andrea Gibson, and a wonderful line in her poem, Elbows: “Brave is the hand-me-down suit of Terrified As Hell.”
I like to think I wear that hand-me-down suit often. Just not on Sept. 15, 2018, and just not the “birthday suit.”
I realize that for many people, being naked in front of others is not a big deal. I’m just not one of them.
The Nantucket Project is an inspiring and thought-provoking event. Co-founded in 2010 by Tom Scott and Kate Brosnan, TNP is an annual gathering that features marquee presenters, change-makers, artists and more. It’s an amazing event that I highly recommend if you can afford it. I was fortunate to attend The Nantucket Project in 2018 thanks to an opportunity provided by one of the event’s sponsors, and one of my long-time client organizations, Publicis.Sapient, who hired me to deliver my keynote presentation during lunch one day to a group of their leaders and top clients.
I have thought a lot about that nude photoshoot and have concluded that the main reason I couldn’t quite bring myself to bare all was that I knew some of the people who would be there. The thought of standing naked with people I work with made me too uncomfortable.
This should come as no surprise to me. I know from experience that I get more nervous when I deliver my keynote presentation to people I know than when I deliver it to strangers.
Why is that? Why do we get more nervous when presenting or revealing a personal part of ourselves to people we know than to people we don’t know?
Imagine the possibilities if during times that required great courage and vulnerability from us we could wear–hide behind–a mask or a costume. It would be helpful and even fun.
But what it would not be is courageous.
In closing, I’m pondering these questions. I invite you to do the same. It could be interesting and worthwhile, even:
1. Can you think of a similar experience where the courage required of you to do something felt similar to having to take your clothes off, to be completely exposed?
2. What is something you want to do that requires so much daring and discomfort that you would only do it if you could hide yourself and your identity in the process?
3. What, if anything, would help you muster the courage necessary to do it without hiding behind a mask or anonymity?
4. Is the excuse/reason for your unwillingness to do it, in fact, a legitimate excuse or are you just chickening out? 🙂
If you go with the flow, you let things happen or let other people tell you what to do, rather than trying to control what happens yourself.
I am not great at going with the flow. Wait, that’s not entirely true. When I’m in a group and I’m tasked with doing something I don’t know how to do, or when I’m not the group’s designated leader, then I’m pretty good at going with the flow.
But in just about all other circumstances, it’s difficult for me to just go with the flow.
I’m a planner and I value preparation. I practice and prepare pretty much everything. One of the reasons I value preparation so much is that if I do the work in advance, then when the time comes to deliver my keynote presentation, or lead clients on an Epic Adventure, or whatever I’m tasked with doing, then I have the luxury of choosing to be more flexible than I normally would be. I am more able to go with the flow because I’ve done all the advance planning and reviewed possible scenarios and outcomes.
I admire people who both prepare and who are good at going with the flow.
People who are good at going with the flow put others at ease. When we aren’t able to go with the flow, we can come across as uptight, and our nervous energy can make others nervous or anxious. I’d love to be able to not want to control so much and to instead care just a little less about the details.
My husband and I have three sons. Our sons have always teased me, and remarked–mostly lovingly–that I need to calm down and/or “Hakuna Matata” or “tranquila.” In fact, our youngest son, Fin, wrote and tucked this adorable note in my laptop on a trip I took to deliver my keynote presentation some years ago. The keynote opportunity represented a big break for me. Fin’s note made me smile while serving as a valuable reminder that I had done the work and now I just needed to relax…
Several years ago, in 1986, my mom was driving with me from Lander, Wyoming, to Missoula, Montana. I would be attending the University of Montana journalism school (on a basketball scholarship) that Fall, and we were taking a quick trip to Missoula prior to starting college.
About three hours into our 11-hour road trip, we were stuck in road construction. Our timing wasn’t great and we arrived at the construction zone right as a long group of cars was led in front of us through the temporary single lane of dirt road. There was only one car in front of us, and before long, several cars were parked and lined up behind us. The person holding the stop sign indicated we may have a delay of up to 30 minutes.
But (unexpectedly) soon, the only car in front of us–a pink Cadillac with a license plate that read FLO–started driving. Not really thinking about it, I followed suit. We drove slowly over the rough road, close behind the pink Cadillac.
But a minute or two later, there were lights filling my rearview mirror. That’s when I noticed that none of the other cars had followed us. There was only one car behind us and it was a highway patrolman with flashing lights on the top of his car and he was coming up fast behind us.
My mom and I wondered out loud if he was trying to pull us over or what the deal was. We weren’t speeding. The pink Cadillac in front of us continued, seemingly unconcerned. My mom and I, ever the rule followers, decided we better pull over. We greeted the highway patrolman cheerfully, but he appeared angry. He scolded us, “You are supposed to wait for a pilot car to lead you through the construction.”
My mom and I looked at each other, and then, my mom pointed at the pink Cadillac, which had by now left us in its dust, and offered, in her famously kind and gentle voice, “I’m sorry, but we were just going with the Flo.”
I know–Boom! Right? My mom is clever and funny.
Lucky for us, the officer was feeling generous that day. He explained that the woman driving the pink Cadillac was part of the construction crew arriving to work and that hers was not the pilot car. Still, he couldn’t help but smile at my mom’s wit, and he let us off the hook.
I’ve never forgotten that story, and any time I hear the expression, go with the flow, I recall that special memory with my mom when we were “just going with the flo.”
Are you good at going with the flow? Or a better question might be, Where in your life, or work, could you afford to go with the flow, and what might the benefits be for doing so? I’m pondering this question right now and getting some good insights in the process.
Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I appreciate you and your time very much!
“I have lost myself, though I know where I am.” –Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
“All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” -Blaise Pascal
“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. ” -Henry David Thoreau
Hi!
I love the outdoors, and hiking is one of my biggest passions. I hike about 1,000 miles a year and at least half of those I hike alone. This is not because I can’t find people to hike with but rather because I often prefer it.
As I write this, I’m reminded of a poem by my favorite poet, the late Mary Oliver. It’s called How I Go Into the Woods, and it articulates perfectly why I often go into the woods alone.
How I go to the woods
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers, and therefore unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree.
I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible.
I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned.
I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.
I love people, and I love hiking with my family and close friends. One of my favorite aspects of my work is guiding others on Epic Adventures. If you’ve ever hiked with me, I do indeed love you very much. 🙂
Hiking in solitude over the years is how I have discovered who I am. It’s how I discover who I am becoming. When I’m struggling or hurting or confused, my time spent hiking in solitude heals me and shows me the way. Time spent alone inspires me to imagine all that is possible. I’m inspired to dream. The clients I coach and take on epic adventures often comment about the value of the solitude they experience even during what are group adventures. Leaders today are in demand almost constantly thanks to technology and the challenges of an ever-changing and often uncertain future. One leader, who is 52 years old, told me that the solitude he experienced in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming “showed me that the space for me to grow is so much bigger than I thought it was.” That’s what happens when we give ourselves some time alone. We see the possibility in ourselves and in our lives.
In addition, hiking alone has taught me how to pay attention, not only to my thoughts but to the wonders around me. My favorite poet, the late Mary Oliver, suggested that the “instructions for living a life” are: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. My solo treks have provided ample practice in paying attention and I am constantly being astonished. (I sometimes think it was Mary Oliver, in her many poems reflecting on walks in the woods and as a witness to nature, who taught me how to pay attention.)
Last week, I went on a 25-mile training hike, the first of many such long solo hikes I’ll do this Summer. After I posted photos and videos from my long solo hike on Facebook, there were some comments made out of concern for my safety, given I hiked so far and that I did it alone. The comments were not criticisms as much as concerns from wonderful people, and they were heartfelt and well-meaning, which I appreciate.
I am aware of the risks and I mitigate them the best I can. I tell Jerry and the boys, and/or my parents, where I’ll be and my expected timeline. I am familiar with the trails and area I’ll be hiking in. I always have a map and a compass. Plus, I carry with me a Garmin InReach, which allows my husband and family to track me on a map so they always can know my whereabouts when I’m in the mountains, and I am able to send and receive texts. If I get injured I can notify them, and I can launch a search or S.O.S. with the push of a button. I don’t hike with headphones on. I carry bear spray and items that would help in case of an emergency or if I have to spend an unexpected night in the woods. While hiking, I am hypervigilant and pay careful attention to my surroundings, in addition to always being on the lookout for the ineffable. I love my life, and I want to be safe. I always want to return from my hike.
Rebecca Solnit writes in one of my favorite books of hers, A Field Guide to Getting Lost: “I have lost myself though I know where I am.” In fact, it is in losing myself in my thoughts and with nature all around me that I find myself over and over again.
One day in Alaska’s Brooks Range, on my NOLS course in 2011, we got turned around and we weren’t sure of our location. After some hours of backpacking, we were feeling a little demoralized and uncertain so we took off our heavy packs, and got our big topographical maps out before going about trying to figure out where we were.
The Brooks Range is a 700-mile-long mountain range that stretches from West to East in the far north of Alaska. The country is remote and vast and wild. There are no roads and no trails in the Brooks Range. So, in order to determine your location, you have to try to match the land formations around you with features on the map. It can be laborious. After a while of not figuring out where we were, a couple of us grew impatient, myself included. I just wanted to move, in any direction. I was tired of not going anywhere, and tired of not figuring out the answer to our question. One of my course-mates said to me, “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s a waste of time to figure out where we are, so we can figure out where we’re going.”
I’ve never forgotten those words. Such wisdom! First of all, if you’re in the wilderness and you think you may be lost, you don’t keep going. You S.T.O.P. Stop, Think, Observe and Plan. But even more importantly, we should live our lives with such wisdom. We cannot expect to realize our dreams or achieve our goals without first having a very good understanding of who we are, and where we are. Self-awareness is the necessary first step to not only living our best (epic) life but to being the best version of ourselves. Our vision of who we want to be serves as our True North.
In other words, our compass is more important than our map. Who we are is more valuable than what our goals are.
By design, I do a lot of things for work. Mostly, I’m a life and leadership coach, keynote presenter, leadership developer, and adventure guide. People hire me when they want to take stock of their life or leadership or both, and to help them make changes.
In order to be content and self-aware, we must have some regular intervals of time each week when we’re available only to ourselves in order to listen to our thoughts, including the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m not a coach for everyone. Anyone who works with me can expect to do a deep dive into Self. It’s that important to a fulfilled life, and it’s not easy work.
As someone who likes people, and who values relationships, I feel strongly that listening is the most important skill we ought to develop. (Unfortunately, we are not taught to listen, which in my humble opinion, is a tragedy.) Most of us are not very good listeners. Right now, take a second to think about all of the people you know and are in a relationship with. Can you think of one or two who are really good listeners? These are people who listen to you so closely that you feel as if you’re the only person in the world when you’re with them. It’s uncommon to find these great listeners, so when you do, it’s a gift. If you have any of them in your life, cherish and thank them. Seeing and hearing a person is one of the greatest gifts we can offer someone.
But we also need to be great listeners for ourselves.
Time alone, and solitude feels not empty, but “full.” Thanks to Joel Krieger for this photo of me in my backyard, near Temple Peak and Temple Lake, in the Wind River Range.
My love for solitude happened by accident. When I was 21 years old, I lost my Division I basketball scholarship. It was my most spectacular failure. I wasn’t a good enough player, and there was someone else who was better and more deserving of my scholarship, so my scholarship was given to another player.
I was devastated, and a long way from home. Most of my friends were still on the basketball team, so losing my scholarship meant also losing significant time with my friends. I started spending a lot of time alone, hiking Mount Sentinel on the edge of campus. Until then, I always thought people who went to the movies alone, or who hiked or did anything alone, were lonely people. Boy was I wrong about that. In fact, lonely and alone are not the same things. We can feel lonely in a crowded room or at a party a friend is throwing, yet not feel lonely when we’re alone. As writer May Sarton wrote: “Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.”
Before I continue singing the praises of time spent alone, I want to share something that should get all of our attention: We are in a loneliness epidemic. A Cigna study released in May of 2018 confirmed that 50% of Americans report feeling lonely. (In the 1980s, when we were far less “connected” via technology, just 20% of Americans reported feeling lonely.) One of the most concerning things about the loneliness epidemic is that many who are lonely today are our young people, particularly those who are age 18-22. The emotional suffering and despair caused by loneliness are difficult to live with and often lead to increased rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide. Experiencing loneliness also has serious physical health ramifications. According to the Cigna study, being lonely has the same effect on our health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. If you feel like you are experiencing loneliness, then solitude might not be something to seek right now. In fact, the key to decreasing loneliness is having meaningful relationships, feeling engaged and accepted at work, taking care of our health, and feeling as if we belong. If you’re feeling lonely, more time in isolation is likely not what you’re needing.
I recommend reading Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, by Brené Brown. This is the book that raised my awareness about loneliness.) I’m saving the topic of loneliness for another blog post, and for the record, while I don’t consider myself lonely right now, I have experienced loneliness before, and will likely experience it again.
Also, introverts might have an easier and more enjoyable time in solitude than extroverts. I’m oversimplifying, but in short, introverts tend to get their energy internally, and extroverts tend to get energy from other people and from being in social situations. So it might be that solitude is easier and more desirable for introverts than it is for extroverts, yet there is value in solitude for both.
I am blessed that I was only 21 years old when I discovered the value of time spent alone, because now I am 51 years old, and the solitude I regularly enjoy has been a blessing over the years. It has been a difference-maker in my life.
We hear a lot about being our “Authentic Self,” and in leadership, we hear a lot about being an “Authentic Leader.” Both are hard, if not impossible, to be if we don’t even know who we are. Joseph Campbell said, “The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.” Amen to that. If only people would dare to invest time alone so that they may discover who they are. By the way, I have learned that how we live is how we lead, so self-knowledge is the first step whether your motive is to live your best life or to have a positive and effective leadership impact on others.
We discover our authentic self during time alone, taking stock, listening to our thoughts, feeling our emotions, asking ourselves important questions and then giving ourselves the time and space to answer them.
Solitude is a gift and an opportunity, yet most of us don’t get enough of it. As a coach who promotes time spent alone, there are three excuses I hear most often for not getting enough of, or any, solitude.
The first excuse is a common excuse for not doing a lot of things we want and need to do. It is the, “I don’t have time. I’m so busy, and I can’t find the time” excuse. I think it was writer Elizabeth Gilbert who said, “We don’t find the time; we make the time.” I couldn’t agree more. We all have 24 hours in a day. I often challenge people I work with and/or know to wake up 15 minutes earlier and to simply go to a dark room and sit alone with their thoughts for 15 minutes before officially starting their day. Using this time to start a mindfulness practice is also beneficial, and is another good way to introduce yourself to Solitude.
The second excuse–and one that I commonly hear from people who hire me as their coach–is, “It’s uncomfortable.” I agree. Being alone with our thoughts can be very uncomfortable. It can be difficult to listen to our thoughts because they’re not always positive. Time spent alone can facilitate a sort of reckoning. We are forced to confront the truths in our life. It is hard to run or hide from one’s self if left alone with our thoughts. This is one of the reasons I think Solitude is so valuable. How can we be a truth teller to our Self if we’re not aware of, or confronting, the hard truths in our life?
In 2008, after selling our first company, I suddenly found myself with time alone, something I hadn’t had the luxury of for years. What I learned was that things were not okay. I wasn’t healthy. I was in a downward spiral and once I had the opportunity to pause and take stock of my life I found that all kinds of alarms were going off. I was 30 pounds overweight, drinking wine on too many weeknights, sedentary, addicted to my iPhone–and depressed.
As Dov Siedman says, “When you press the pause button on a machine, it stops. But when you press the pause button on human beings they start up.” When I finally had time alone I was able to see and confront the hard truths that were hijacking my life.
Time spent alone helps to prevent me from running from or ignoring the areas that could use my attention. Tears frequently come for me during solitude. The quiet and lack of others around help me to feel and experience and process my emotions at a deeper level. I recently read the book, I Miss You When I Blink, by Mary Laura Philpott. In it, I highlighted the following: “When I look back now at this time when I craved solitude and escape, I see that I wanted to be unwitnessed for a while, that’s all. I didn’t want anyone to see how wrong I felt. I wanted a chance to feel messed up without also feeling self-conscious. It was like the feeling I used to get before I fainted–an inkling of a crash, a hunch that I should get close to the ground. I needed a place where I could hit the floor without the added anxiety of knowing someone was watching me fall.”
As someone who is an expert when it comes to self-criticism, solitude helps me to be more self-compassionate as a result of the greater understanding I have of myself, which has come through all the time I have spent alone.
I’ve coached 175 individual from across the U.S. during the last eight years, and I think every one of them struggles, at least at times, with self-criticism. We tend to be hard on ourselves.
The potential reward for spending time alone is to gain an understanding of self, which leads to more compassion for, and less judgment of, self, and others.
One of my favorite essays is Joan Didion’s On Self Respect, written in 1961. It so resonates for me because it articulates better than I can the importance of knowing oneself in the interest of respecting oneself. From her essay is this favorite passage of mine:
“To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out–since our self-image is untenable–their false notion of us.”
Today, it uncommon for people to invest the time and effort it takes to really know oneself.
One question I challenge people I know and work with to ask themselves is, “What am I needing?” This is such an important question, and most of us do not give ourselves time and space to consider the question, let alone the possible answers to it. It is much easier to live in denial, and to not confront or address personal challenges, weaknesses or pains if we avoid making ourselves aware of them. But this lack of awareness also prevents us from making changes that could be significant to our life.
I’m a voracious reader and one book I love is Journal of a Solitude, by the late May Sarton. Sarton was an American novelist, poet, and memoirist who suffered from bouts of depression. (Sarton referred to solitude as “the richness of the self.”) Journal Of A Solitude is a book that is one year’s worth of Sarton’s journaling, which includes some pretty dark times. Here are just two of the many gems I have highlighted in my dog-eared copy of the book:
“I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my ‘real’ life again at last,” begins Sarton, in Journal of a Solitude. “That is what is strange—that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life, unless there is time alone in which to explore what is happening or what has happened.”
And, another gem from the book: “There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even with one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center. I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it.”
Sarton’s book is inspiring to me, in ways I can’t quite articulate other than to say I have my own dark pools and depressive moments, and reading of Sarton’s own struggles helps me feel not as alone in my personal struggles. I highly recommend the book.
The third excuse I hear is “It’s boring.” As a society, we have come to view boredom as a problem to solve. Think about the last time you had to wait for anything–out front of the school waiting for a son or daughter, in the waiting room of a clinic, waiting in line at the post office or grocery store, stuck at a stop light or stop sign, or in TSA line at the airport–or well, just about in any situation. At the first glimpse of free time, most of us reach for our smartphone. (I read somewhere that the average U.S. American adult reaches for his/her phone 150 times a day. This is staggering, and I believe it.)
I work with many creative people, and in my presentations to leaders, and in my coaching work with them, I like to make a case for boredom. In order for us to brainstorm new ideas, to have Aha moments and new solutions to old problems, we must allow our mind to wander. Our mind wanders only if and when we allow ourselves to experience boredom.
Joseph Campbell, from his Power of Myth, writes about the important influence that solitude has on one’s creativity, whether toward self or a creative endeavor.
“You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody, you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.”
And another favorite, from Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From the Sea, a book I recommend (especially to women): “Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone.”
Try to resist the temptation to reach for your phone, or fill/use up the little bits of free time the next time you are required to wait or have a moment to not do anything. It’s hard work, AND it’s worth it. The podcast, Note to Self, did a series of challenges they called “Bored and Brilliant” that were designed to “guide you to less phone time and more creativity.” Thousands of people signed up for the challenges, which included things like not reaching for your phone during public transit, not using your phone as a camera to instead “see the world through your eyes not your screen,” delete apps, and other challenges.
As far as our rampant use of smartphones, let the record show that I’m guilty! Technology is a Godsend for me, and my work. It enabled our first company (Yellowstone Journal/YellowstonePark.com, NationalParkTrips) to do world-class work from the Frontier of Wyoming, and it enables me to reach and serve clients from around the country even as I work in an RV parked by the river in the foothills of Wyoming’s Wind River Range. I think I mostly use technology for good, but it’s also a fact that I’m too tethered to it. Facebook, in particular, has facilitated meaningful friendships I wouldn’t have otherwise, and has enriched so many of my connections with friends and family. It is also a marketing tool for me, as well as a place for me to share things that I find inspiring, and worth sharing with the world.
But I am finding that my almost-constant tethered-ness to my phone and social media is also not always serving me. It’s addictive, and distracting, and it probably limits me at least as much as it helps and enriches me. This is a real conundrum, and something I’ve been working on addressing for years now. (Cal Newport, author of Deep Work, and also the work of Derek Sivers and Josh Waitzkin continue to inspire me to take serious stock of my use of technology.)
University of Virginia psychologist Timothy Wilson and colleagues have studied people when in solitude. For one experiment, people were instructed to sit alone, with only their thoughts, in an empty lab room for 15 minutes. The only thing in the room was a button they could push, and if they pushed it, it would self-administer an electrical shock. The results were startling: Even though all participants had previously stated that they would pay money to avoid being shocked with electricity, half of all participants shocked themselves at least once, the team reported in Science. That’s newsworthy, so I’ll be redundant: Half of us would rather shock ourselves than sit alone with our thoughts for 15 minutes. I can’t help myself – this is shocking!
Sherry Turkle is Director of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) Initiative on Technology and Self. Turkle has been studying the psychology of online connectivity for more than 30 years, and she is the author of two books I recommend, Alone Together, and Reclaiming Conversation. The latter, which investigates how a flight from conversation undermines our relationships, creativity, and productivity, is a cautionary tale for us, especially for parents and teachers. (But for the record, I think everyone ought to read the book.)
According to Turkle, “Studies of conversation both in the laboratory and in natural settings show that when two people are talking, the mere presence of a phone on a table between them or in the periphery of their vision changes both what they talk about and the degree of connection they feel. People keep the conversation on topics where they won’t mind being interrupted. They don’t feel as invested in each other. Even a silent phone disconnects us.” So just the presence of a phone, which has become a way to “solve” boredom, prevents us from going deep with people.
One finding of Turkle’s that is a surprise, and warrants our attention, is that our capacity for Solitude actually helps us be more empathetic with others.
“In solitude we find ourselves; we prepare ourselves to come to a conversation with something to say that is authentic, ours. If we can’t gather ourselves, we can’t recognize other people for who they are. If we are not content to be alone, we turn others into the people we need them to be. If we don’t know how to be alone, we’ll only know how to be lonely.”
Hear hear. I cannot say it better.
Sometimes I like to ask people, If you had just one piece of advice for someone that would help them live their best life, what would it be? If I were asked the question, I would offer, Pay Attention.
One of the best ways I have found to practice paying attention is to spend time alone, listening to my thoughts, reflecting on my life, and noticing all that is around me.
I hope this blog post will inspire you to carve out more time for yourself, and that the solitude you experience will bless you and your life in new and unexpected ways.
Thanks for reading. I really appreciate it.
“A little while alone in your room will prove more valuable than anything else that could ever be given you.” (Rumi) Photo: Solitude in the Cirque of the Towers.
“And she loved a little boy very, very much—even more than she loved herself.”–Shel Silverstein
With my Wolf.
We are gearing up for a milestone event in our family. Our oldest son, Wolf, will graduate from high school on Sunday. It’s a first for us. (Our middle son, Hayden, will graduate next year, and our youngest son, Fin, will follow but not for some more years.)
How is it that our first son is graduating from high school? I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. The “raising” of our children passes in a blink of an eye.
For a while now, I have teetered between feeling nostalgic (what I call “happy-sad”) and feeling celebratory. I know I’m not unique in how I’m feeling. After all, a gazillion mothers have gone before me in this experience. Still, even though Wolf’s high school graduation is cause for an Epic celebration, I’m feeling a little emotional…
A couple of months ago, during a solitary hike when I was thinking ahead to this milestone, and while having some tears, I realized, When I’m feeling sad, it’s about me, and when I’m feeling excited, it’s about Wolf. This has been helpful for me to remember because while I surely deserve to have some feelings of tenderness right now, this was the plan all along. After all, I’m not raising babies. I’m raising adults. (I am borrowing this apt and wonderful quote from Michelle Obama’s memoir, Becoming.)
Of course, we raise our children so they can leave the nest and soar. We don’t raise them so they can remain dependent and never leave home. That would not be “raising” them.
One of my favorite, and most influential, books is The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. I turn to its essays often, especially when in need of wisdom. And I always find it. One of my very favorites is the “On Children” essay. I love it so much that I memorized it last Summer, and have recited it to myself on many occasions, almost as a form of prayer and meditation:
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”
I so love, and trust, these words, even if their wisdom is difficult to implement!
I am grateful to both of my sisters, Alicia and Amber, and to my friends who have gone before me. They have offered wisdom and inspiration and are great examples of how to “do” this milestone event. And, I have coached several women as they were going through this stage. I have recalled, often, the coaching calls and meaningful conversations I’ve had with each of them. It was a tremendous honor for me to be in their corner during such a momentous time in their life, and their sharing about their personal experiences has informed, inspired and comforted me during this bittersweet and tender time. Thank you to all of these special women! I love all of you.
As Wolf’s graduation is now upon us, I would like to put down some words for how I’m feeling as I reflect on our Wolf. If you read on, I thank you for your time, and I promise I won’t be as long-winded as I usually am!
Our all-grown-up and handsome Wolf!
Our Wolf arrived into the world 5 weeks ahead of schedule. He weighed just five pounds and was in critical care for 13 days. Our adorable little baby boy lay there, covered in cords that connected him to various monitors, including oxygen. It was hard to not be worried about our son, what with all the monitors and cords, and our inability to hold him. We prayed–and worried–a lot, even though our neonatal nurse, Gail (an Angel!) assured us that Wolf didn’t have any serious problems. “He just needs a little extra support to develop fully,” she said.
My not being able to hold Wolf was devastating, but I tried to make up for it by constantly being at his side. I sang songs to him. Amazing Grace, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Row Row Row Your Boat, and even Kumbaya. We also read poetry to Wolf, mostly Robert Service poems and of course a little Mary Oliver, too.
Come to think of it, Wolf’s birth story is quite telling. Today, Wolf is a poet, and I can’t help but wonder if those early poetry readings had an influence. He’s always been an early riser and arrives everywhere ahead of schedule. And, if Wolf needs an excuse for his affectionate and positive nature, which he is loved for by many, and also sometimes teased lovingly about, I suppose he could trace it back to all the Kumbaya we sang to him at the start.
Wolf, in Hawaii, at age 4. (What the hat says!)
My favorite, most unforgettable moments from those initial days of Wolf’s life, and of my life as a Mother, were when Wolf would look up at me with his bright blue-grey eyes. It was such a deep and special kind of connecting that happened in those gazes. It was the mother-child connection that formed, and until then, I had never experienced anything like it. (There’s a quote I discovered on Mother’s Day a few years ago: “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” I couldn’t say it better.)
Wolf would grasp, tightly, my index finger with his tiny hand. He would do this for a long time, without letting go unless I un-grasped his tiny fingers so I could change positions or leave briefly to pump breast milk, use the restroom, or get something to eat.
When I recall those early days of his life, I can still feel him grasping and squeezing my index finger…
For almost two weeks, even though our nurse assured us Wolf was doing great and we could leave his side, to run errands, get a break or to spend a night at home, I seldom did. I never spent a night at home during those 13 days. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. After so many months in the womb, my baby boy was finally here and I wanted only to be with him.
Carrying Wolf on my back in Zion National Park.
As Wolf grew up, he enjoyed spending time alone during which he would write and create stories and act out dramas and comedies with his various wild animal figurines or superheroes. He made sales pitches to us when he wanted something. He made fast friends wherever he went, and has always been thoughtful. For years now he has taken his camera and headed out on mini adventures to capture photos of interesting sights and his closest friends. He performed music and acted in made-up shows during camping trips and here at home, and he delivered presidential speeches to all of us on many occasions. He went on to be in Student Council for 8 years, including Student Body President his senior year and he’s a counselor for a summer leadership camp. Interestingly, these passions are all related to the path Wolf plans to forge. (He’ll attend the University of Wyoming this Fall to study marketing and creative writing, and he plans to continue his musical interests–songwriting and music production–on the side. He will study abroad during his sophomore or junior year. He is very excited, and we’re proud of him for earning significant scholarships.)
Wolf, indicating an early interest in deep thinking.
For as long as I remember, I have loved rising early to catch a sunrise, and I also love to watch a sunset. Over the years, Wolf has often accompanied me to chase a sunrise or chase a sunset.
Sunrise represents the start of something, a newness, a beginning. The sun arrives and greets us. It’s a time of hope and energy and possibility. It’s a time of anticipation and looking forward.
Sunset represents the passing of something, an ending of sorts. The sun leaves us, and in its place is night and darkness. The day is not new but rather expired. At least the day-blind stars become bright and are twinkling. For me, sunset is a time of looking back and reflecting on the day that is passing.
I suppose Wolf’s high school graduation is similar to a sunset. It’s the turning of a page. The end of a chapter. And, it’s a beautiful and spectacular thing to witness.
In recent weeks especially, I find myself hovering, trying to hold Wolf close, to “keep” him near. While I’m doing this and finding ways to “insert” myself into his life, Wolf is so ready to not be monitored and held.
I know it’s time to let go, but dang…
I can feel Wolf not grasping my finger anymore. He’s no longer in critical care despite the fact that the risks for him out in the big wide world are likely greater than they were when he was in the earliest days of his life.
In 2015, I took Wolf on a Mother-Son Epic Backpacking adventure where we spent 4 days in the wilderness together, just my oldest son and I. We had a great adventure and meaningful conversations I will never forget. (I took Hayden in 2016, and I will do the same for Fin the summer before he starts high school).
During our mother-son expedition, Wolf climbed Mitchell Peak all by himself. During his mountain climb, I sat on a rock and reflected on my oldest son and on being a mother. While reflecting, I came up with these words to describe Wolf using the letters of his name, and they still fit: Wolf: Wise, Original, Leader, and Fun/Funny.
I saved our deepest talk for Deep Lake, a favorite destination of mine. It was our last day of the expedition and I asked Wolf if we could make a simple promise to one another. He agreed and here’s what we came up with:
Me/”Mooma”: “I promise I will trust you if you promise me you won’t get too close to the edge.”
Wolf: “I promise not to get too close to the edge if you trust me.”
I have tried to remember these promises during Wolf’s last year of high school. It is hard to let go and trust when it comes to our loved ones, but having these promises we made to each other to remember has helped.
As Wolf gets ready to “launch,” I will be working hard to keep my promise and I hope that he will keep his. I say this knowing also that we’re human and we are likely to falter from time to time.
I’m reminded of the quote: “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.” I hope we have prepared Wolf for the road. I can’t wait to see what Wolf makes of his life, and am so blessed to have him for a son.
Now it’s time to celebrate, and we are going to celebrate hard! 🙂
Congratulations to my dear “Wolfie!” We are so proud of you. You are the best Wolf in the Universe, and I love you more than life itself! All my love, and more, Your “Mooma”
A quote Wolf loves, and that perfectly captures Wolf’s current perspective.
For kicks, I took a photo of Wolf (almost) every school morning during his senior year. This is his 12th school year in 12 seconds:
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting, over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” (Mary Oliver)
Being human is wonderful, and also, hard.
When I find myself in darkness, I often think of wild geese.
Poetry is a tremendous source of inspiration for me. It is also a salve. Today, I’m particularly grateful for Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver. (I am not surprised to hear that this poem has saved lives.) The poem brings comfort by reminding us we’re not alone, and that this, too, shall pass.
In my quest to memorize my favorite poems, I recently recited Wild Geese:
Mary Oliver passed away recently. She remains my favorite poet. I love pretty much everything she wrote, but my favorite Mary Oliver poems include The Summer Day, Invitation, Wild Geese, Why I Wake Early, The Journey, Sleeping in the Forest, and The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac.
Oliver’s “Instructions for how to live a life” are: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. I have tried to live my life by these words since discovering them a handful of years ago.
Thanks so much for stopping by. I appreciate your readership very much.
These were the words of a family friend, and former neighbor Bruce Thoren. He had said it years ago when our families were sharing a llama hiking adventure and there were one million mosquitoes (per hour) swarming around us.
I’ve never forgotten the wonderful adventure or the quote.
I’m a voracious reader and an avid quote collector. I never forget quotes that inspire and impact me. You’re going to read a few of them in this post.
For almost a decade now, I’ve reserved Fridays for long solo hikes or snowshoe or ski outings. Unless I’m traveling or injured or under the gun with work deadlines or call volume, I have honored this standing date. These solo treks are so valuable to me. They provide me with time for contemplation, brainstorming, and sorting out emotional or mental challenges I’m having. Of course, they also provide for improved fitness and endurance, which are important to me given my personal interests, and the fact I need to stay in top shape to lead clients on Epic Adventures.
The reason I’m writing about this today is that it’s Friday. I had plans to skate ski this morning. I had limited time compared to normal so I planned to ski in town at the golf course.
It was –5 degrees. Oh, how I did not want to ski! I didn’t want to even leave the house when I learned the temperature. (Sometimes, in this day and age, I think we can have too much information. This morning it may have been helpful for me not be able to know the actual temperature. But I digress… )
In addition to having to confront subzero temps, I was feeling stiff and sore from a workout I did on Wednesday. The thought of going out and doing one of the most physical activities there is to do, and to do it in subzero temperatures, with stiff and sore muscles, well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly eager. But then, as if right on cue, I caught myself saying to myself, “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”
And with that, I was in the car headed to ski. (Thanks Bruce.)
By the way, one benefit of subzero temperatures is you will likely get to enjoy first tracks, and you’ll probably have the trails all to yourself. This morning I enjoyed both, thank you. 🙂
My skis barely glided on the squeaky corduroy. My face was frozen, and I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes or ears. The clouds were unusual and looked as if they had a blurry outline to them. I couldn’t discern if my vision was blurry due to the tears in my eyes from the frigid cold, or if the clouds actually looked like they had a blurry outline. (See photo.)
Cool cloud formation during subzero temperatures this morning.
Eventually, and thankfully, the sun came out. It wasn’t any warmer, but the bright sun’s presence lifted me psychologically. And I got a heck of a workout in.
By the way, no one ever regrets that they did what they said would do. And no one ever regrets working out. It’s good to remember these things when we are struggling to keep our personal health commitments.
I can’t tell you how many Fridays during the last 10 years that the weather and/or trail conditions were unfavorable, but the number is significant.
Of course, I prefer blue skies. Nothing says possibility like blue skies. As an adventurer and an adventure guide, I love a favorable forecast and blue skies, and thanks to living in Lander, Wyoming, I get those things often. But there are still plenty of times when I don’t.
It has been during the many Fridays of unfavorable, unpredictable and uncomfortable conditions when I have experienced some of the best training of my life. And I’m not talking about the physical training.
Due to so much training in unfavorable conditions, I have more experience with uncertainty and adversity. The emotions one experiences when in uncertainty or adversity, regardless of the context, are the same. So going out and having to weather the elements, make decisions, mitigate risk, and manage our morale in uncertain and/or adverse conditions, while somehow remaining optimistic, provides great practice and training for all aspects of one’s life.
A handful of years ago, I led a co-ed Mt. Whitney Epic Adventure. I never worked so hard, by myself or while leading a group, to climb a mountain while never actually climbing it.
The morning we embarked on our expedition, as we left for the trailhead, one of the guides I was partnering with to provide the Mt. Whitney Epic Adventure, told us: “Let us remember: The journey is for the soul. The summit is for the ego.”
I thought to myself, What a fantastic quote, and I’d still like to get us a summit…
The weather forecast warned us of an incoming storm, but it was hard to believe the forecast given the conditions on our first day. During our hike to the first camp, we enjoyed clear, blue skies and warm, bright sunshine. However, weather forecasters were correct. By Day 2, we experienced freezing temperatures, and a windchill of –13, and during the night, our tents were buried by snow. When we woke up the next morning, small icicles were hanging from our tent’s interior.
One of the members of the expedition, who is a dear friend, had a migraine due to the dramatic shift in weather from the sunny and blue sky one day to the aforementioned adverse conditions. And if that wasn’t enough, her contacts actually stuck to her eyeballs during the night of the storm. (Excuse my language but this dear friend is a total badass.)
A photo from my 2014 Epic Mt. Whitney expedition, the mountain climbing expedition where we didn’t climb a mountain.
We made the best of it, but in the end, we didn’t come close to climbing Mt. Whitney.
While I was–we all were–disappointed that we couldn’t stand on the top of Mt. Whitney, I developed my leadership more in that single experience than I did on any previous expedition. And there had been many previous expeditions.
By the way, success is a curious thing, isn’t it? It’s interesting that we consider an expedition where we stand on the summit a success, and one where we don’t as not a success. Of course, I know better, but you get the point. We attach success to our hopes and expectations, which if you think about it, is limiting because anything less than that is then automatically considered not a success (failure).
For the record, I would not wish to relive the snowy and cold and exceptionally challenging Mt. Whitney expedition. But I would not trade the experience for anything. The hard experience developed me further as a leader. I still reflect on things I learned, and things I’d do differently as a leader, thanks to that challenging experience when the conditions were so unfavorable. I learned a lot from the guides, and their leadership styles amidst adverse conditions. I learned a lot about managing the risks, and morale, of a challenging expedition.
My previous Mt. Whitney expedition had gone exactly as planned. We had perfect weather every day and enjoyed a long celebration on the mountain’s summit. It was an incredible experience, but did it develop me as a person or a leader? Probably not very much.
The journey is for the soul. The summit is for the ego.
I know it’s cliche, but life is a journey. If we are too focused on our dreams and the end goals–”the summit”–we risk missing out on the experiences of life, the numerous small things that add up to make a good and unforgettable life.
Another favorite quote is from Josh Waitzkin. Waitzkin is an American chess player, martial arts competitor, and author. As a child, he was recognized as a prodigy and won the U.S. Junior Chess championship in 1993 and 1994. The film, Searching for Bobby Fischer, is based on Waitzkin’s early life. (If you haven’t read his book, The Art of Learning, I highly recommend it.)
Waitzkin said something in a conversation with Tim Ferriss over a year ago that I recall often. Waitzkin was explaining about the earliest years of his son Jack’s life, and how “bad” weather could have so easily negatively impacted them if they had let it.
“One of the biggest mistakes that I observed in the first year or two of Jack’s life that I observed with parents is that they have this language around weather; weather being good or bad. Whenever it was raining, they’d be like, It’s bad weather. You’d hear moms, babysitters, dads talk about if it’s bad weather, we can’t go out or if it’s good weather, we can go out. So that means that somehow we’re externally reliant on conditions being perfect in order to be able to go out and have a good time… I don’t think we’ve missed one storm… Rain or snow, going outside and romping in it. We developed this language around how beautiful it was. So now whenever there’s a rainy day, Jack says, ‘Look, Da-Da. It’s such a beautiful rainy day.’ And we go out and we play in it.”
I love that story and the important lesson it captures. It does a beautiful job of making the point I’m trying to make with this blog post, which is, the weather is only bad if we decide it is. Or, our life sucks only if we say it does. (Or, suck it up, buttercup. Or, any day outside beats doing laundry. Or, life isn’t perfect. Etc. :))
I’m almost done here, but I have one more thing I just can’t resist sharing.
I once interviewed my friend, and one of Lander’s beloved human beings, Debra East. I was interviewing Debra about her fitness goals and training program. I captured the interview at the swimming pool, right after Debra’s morning swim workout. During the interview, Debra remarked, “I’m not training for any event other than my life.”
Those words of Debra’s are among my favorites of all time.
Hopefully, we are all “training” for our life. Life is, after all, our most important event. And because life is uncertain and full of good times and bad, hardships and celebrations, we ought to look at the hardships, losses, and setbacks not as a bad thing, but as important training.
Why do we so often let ourselves off the hook? We decide we’re going to do something but then when the opportunity comes to do it if the conditions aren’t perfect, we let ourselves off the hook. Even worse, when we let ourselves off the hook, we probably tell ourselves, It’s not that I’m not going to do it. I’m just not going to do it today.
It can be dangerous to think that way because when we are quick to let ourselves off the hook from our commitments, days, or weeks, months, years–a life–can go by and we didn’t do the thing we wanted or needed to do and we can no longer do it.
We ought to wake up each day, and, regardless of what life delivers us, take what we get, learn from it, and not throw a fit.
Thank you so much for stopping by, and for giving of your time to read my thoughts. I appreciate it so much.
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor… It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft.” –Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Hi there!
I have struggled with Perfectionism for most of my life. Thankfully, in recent years I have been in recovery. And it is in that spirit that I offer you this shitty first draft. 🙂
I remember, vividly, a night somewhere in the middle of our 15-year ownership of our first company, Yellowstone Journal Corporation / YellowstonePark.com. I was feeling desperate and overwhelmed–and in fact, incapable–of meeting a fast-approaching deadline for the Winter edition of our magazine. It was approaching midnight and I was still at the office. No matter how hard the team and I were striving, we were not going to make the deadline. Correction: We would make the deadline, but only if we settled for less than perfection.
In my desperation, my Dad (who was a partner in the business at the time) instructed me, “You need to lower your expectations.”
At first his advice, to lower my expectations, felt completely wrong. Unreasonable and unacceptable. After all, I hadn’t gotten to this point in my life by having low expectations. I’ve always had high expectations and I felt my successes were very much a result of my high expectations.
I thought to myself, If I lower my expectations now, then I’m accepting mediocrity, and if I do it now, then I’ll risk lowering my expectations on everything I do from here on out. But then, I also felt, physically, a sense of relief come over me. What a relief it would be to care just a little bit less in that 11th hour of desperation. So I did. I “accepted” a lower bar. It felt like I was willingly letting my guard down. Physically it felt like I went from stiff and bracing, to soft and free. Somehow, our files made it to the printer, and the finished printed magazine was beautiful, despite not being perfect. So that story ended well. (And by the way, it was way better than mediocre. I mention this because to a Perfectionist, imagining aiming for anything lower than perfection can seem like mediocrity. But, rest assured, it isn’t.)
The point is, I’ve never forgotten that advice to lower my expectations. (Thank you Dad!)
For those of us who struggle with perfectionism, it’s not easy lowering our expectations. It’s so hard that we seldom, if ever, allow ourselves to do so. But I can tell you, doing so has made a world of difference for me and in my life. When we lower the bar from unrealistic perfection to “Good Enough” or “Excellent,” the pressure isn’t off, but it certainly is lifted. I’ve also made the important discovery that when we quit striving for perfection, we let up on the self-criticism that so often accompanies perfectionism, and we respond more compassionately to ourselves. (Replacing self-criticism with self-compassion is a whole other blog post I promise to write another day. But in the meantime, if you’re interested, check out Dr. Kristen Neff or Kelly McGonigal to learn how we achieve more when we’re self-compassionate than when we’re self-critical, not to mention it’s a much more enjoyable and fulfilling experience.)
Today, I’m 50 years old, and in my 8th year of operating my second company (Epic Life Inc), and I can tell you, I aim for Excellence in all that I do. But Excellence and Perfection are not the same things. The difference between Perfection and Excellence is the difference between feeling oppressed and feeling free. It’s the difference between feeling disappointed and never satisfied and feeling fulfilled and satisfied that I gave it my best, whatever that happened to be that day.
Over the years I’ve come up with a personal mission statement that helps me. Whether I’m getting ready to get on a coaching call, or before I get in front of the room to deliver my keynote presentation, I remind myself of my personal mission statement, which is: This is the most important thing in the world, and this is not the most important thing in the world. For me, this works brilliantly because the high importance I’m placing on all that I do keeps me at the top of my game, while also reminding me to be humble and that I’m only human. And that in the grand scheme of things, this is but one small task, even if it is a very important one.
Speaking of personal statements, I wrote a Manifesto some years ago for how I want to live, and one of the sentences I wrote in it, that I want to live by, is “Good enough is good enough.” That statement made the cut for my Manifesto as a result of my wanting to end the emotional suffering I experienced all those years I set the bar at Perfect. I continue to read my Manifesto every morning. When we read something enough times, we start to believe it and embody it and live it.
If you struggle with perfectionism, I encourage (dare) you to lower the bar a little. Let’s all acknowledge that most of the time, perfection is not possible, and certainly not sustainable. Nobody can achieve perfection all of the time. And when we strive for perfection, it’s exhausting because it’s elusive, and add to that, we are likely to be disappointed. This disappointment doesn’t only cause us to suffer emotionally, it gives off the vibe to others that we’re never satisfied. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be never satisfied. Life is too short and our time too precious to spend (waste) it striving for something that is most of the time unachievable.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Inner Critic. We all have one, or many. Steven Pressfield, author of The War of Art,Do the Work, and Turning Pro, refers to the critic as The Resistance, and coaches sometimes refer to it as the Saboteur. No matter what we call it, we all have one.
The inner critic is the voice that shows up whenever we’re struggling. We could be doing something for the first time that we don’t know how to do, or public speaking, having a difficult but important conversation with someone we love, and/or pushing our limits in some way. Basically, the inner critic shows up to try to get us to stop stretching. Our inner critic is out to protect the status quo. It wants us to stay small and to play it safe. The inner critic says things such as You gotta quit. Whose idea was this? You’re making a fool out of yourself. You’re going to die. You don’t know how to do this. You’re holding others back. You can’t do this. And on and on…
By the way, I don’t believe we can ever defeat the inner critic. And I would even argue that we shouldn’t try to. After all, the inner critic does serve a purpose in that it reminds us that the stakes are high, and it also reminds us that we’re pushing our limits and stretching our abilities, which I find inspiring and reaffirming. But I do believe we can practice being with our inner critic, and that we can learn to better manage its presence when it shows up.
You may think this is cheesy, but over the years, as I’ve pushed my limits more, I’ve developed a strategy for how to deal with my inner critic. When my inner critic appears, I acknowledge its presence, and I say to it, respectfully, “Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate your concern. But I’ve got this.” And then I mentally and visually move the inner critic to the backseat. I can still hear its nagging, but its voice is not as loud–and not as “in my face.” And then I proceed with great care…
I should mention that I have grown to love imperfection. I find imperfection more interesting and beautiful than perfection. Imperfection, to me, feels like authenticity.
I’m going to wrap this blog post up with a video of me reciting a poem called Perfection Perfection by Father Kilian McDonnell, a Benedictine monk, and theologian from Great Falls, Montana. I love and appreciate the poem so much, and I hope you will too. (I’m also including the text of the poem under the video if you’d prefer to read it and/or copy it and share it with others.)
If it resonates, maybe you’ll join me and quit perfection.
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading my blog. I really appreciate your time and support.
Perfection Perfection, by Kilian McDonnell
I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.
Gone.
As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you in.
It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green joy.
Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its birth.
Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks it can’t be won,
concedes the war.
I’ve handed in my notice,
given back my keys,
signed my severance check, I quit.
Hints I could have taken:
Even the perfect chiseled form of
Michelangelo’s radiant David squints,
the Venus de Milo has no arms,
the Liberty Bell is cracked.
Almost 10 years ago to the day, in 2009, despite so many blessings in my life, I found myself in a major slump. I was 40 years old, 35 pounds overweight, sedentary, not eating a healthy diet, drinking wine on too many weeknights, addicted to distractions (email and my cell phone), and add to that, I was depressed.
Hi there!
I knew the work would be very hard, but I felt desperate and determined. I resolved that the new year would be a year of reinvention.
During that year, I would wake up at 4 a.m. to go to the gym to work out. I remember people would often ask me, “How do you get up at 4 a.m. to work out?” And while I appreciated that people were curious, I always thought the question was peculiar because, for me, it was simple: “Well, I set the alarm for 4 a.m., and then when the alarm goes off, I get up and work out.”
But I think what people were really asking me was how did I have the discipline to get up that early to work out?
The answer was something to the effect of “I want to be fit and healthy, and with three kids, and a full life, 4 a.m. is a time that is all mine. No one needs me or misses me at 4 a.m.” It also helped that I have always been a morning person, and despite my state of health at that time, I knew from years of earlier experience that I was more likely to work out if I did it early in the day and not later. But these comprised only part of the answer.
During my reinvention, I spent a lot of time alone, on walks, imagining who I wanted to become–imagining a “reinvented” version of myself. After a lot of thinking about this, I got clear about the kind of person I wanted to be, and I determined that, among other things, I wanted to be not only a fit and healthy person, but a disciplined person.
I have always respected people who are disciplined, and I wanted to be one of them. So when my alarm clock would go off at 4 a.m., I wasn’t exuberant, but I did resist hitting the snooze button. Because a disciplined person doesn’t hit the snooze button on an alarm she herself set. A disciplined person does what she says she’s going to do.
A terrific podcast episode–one of my very favorite out of hundreds–is Radiolab’s Help! I share this podcast with anyone I know who’s trying to create new habits or break old ones. Even though it was originally recorded in early 2011, the conversations in it are timeless, fascinating and inspiring. (I continue to use some of the commitment strategies discussed in the podcast, including–for particularly hard habits I’m trying to start or break–the “Ulysses Pact.”)
I mention the podcast episode here because there’s a segment in it called “You Vs. You” that is fascinating, and will resonate for anyone working to make a change. It highlights what a battle it can be for us when we’re trying to break a habit or create a new one.
During my reinvention, it was my best, most inspired Self that set the alarm for 4 a.m. The one who wanted to work out, and the one who wanted to be disciplined, set the alarm. But when morning came and the alarm went off, for a moment or so, my present self at that time would argue for sleep and for pushing the snooze button. I remember the voices in my head, the battle between my two minds: The voice of the waking version of myself would exclaim, “Whose idea was this? For crying out loud, it’s practically the middle of the night. Just work out later today.” The voice of my best Self, however, would argue: “This alarm clock didn’t set itself!? What would a disciplined person do?” And then I’d get out of bed, and go work out.
I’m a voracious reader, and I’ve read too many books to count about habits and goals, how to change, and how to create and live a meaningful life. There is only a handful of them that I would highly recommend. (Email me if you’d like me to share those with you.)
Clear, considered one of the world’s leading experts on habit formation,draws on previous research, but adds his own structure and provides us with a proven framework for creating tiny behaviors that result in good habits that last. In this post, I’m going to reference just a small sampling of the insights Clear shares in his book. But trust me, you will want to own this book. It’s not a quick read because its content is substantive and substantial. I’ve highlighted and dog-eared many of its pages, and I know I will be returning to it often.
Clear suggests that habits accumulate, and collectively, they cast “votes” for us. These votes have the power to reshape our identity, and as a result, help us to become the person we want to be.
“Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become. No single instance will transform your beliefs, but as the votes build up, so does the evidence of your new identity,” he explains.
In a podcast conversation with the inspiring Rich Roll, Clear explains: “Every morning that you make your bed, you embody the identity of an organized person, someone who’s clean. Every time you go to the gym, you embody the identity of someone who’s fit. Every time you sit down to write a sentence or a page, you embody the identity of someone who’s a writer.”
I love this language. In Clear I have found someone who can articulate a system similar to the one that has worked for me, and many of the people I have coached, or am coaching.
“The more pride you have in a particular aspect of your identity, the more motivated you will be to maintain the habits associated with it,” explains Clear.
From 2009-2010, I accomplished all of my weight loss and fitness goals, and it was in no small part because I wanted to be a disciplined person, which meant acting like (embodying) one. All of those times I resisted the snooze button and got up at 4 a.m. to work out was my casting votes for a disciplined person who valued her health. (I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been a disciplined person ever since–proof that habits/”votes” can transform you into a different kind of person.)
“If you’re proud of how your hair looks, you’ll develop all sorts of habits to care for and maintain it,” says Clear. “If you’re proud of the size of your biceps, you’ll make sure you never skip an upper-body workout. If you’re proud of the scarves you knit, you’ll be more likely to spend hours knitting each week. Once your pride gets involved, you’ll fight tooth and nail to maintain your habits.”
I do a lot of things for work. One of my roles is life and leadership coach. During the last 7-8 years, I’ve worked with close to 200 individual people/leaders from throughout the U.S. An important aspect of my work as a coach is helping my clients imagine, and gain clarity about how they want to be as a person and a leader. In my experience, how we live is how we lead, and I think the most important question all of us ought to endeavor to answer for ourselves, even if takes our entire lifetime, is Who Am I?, and Who Do I Want To Be?
Do you know what the top regret is for those who are dying? Not having the courage to live a life that was “true” to them. According to Bronnie Ware, a nurse who spent years working in palliative care, caring for patients in the final 12 weeks of their lives: “This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honored even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.”
What a gift it is for us to have such valuable information. Because, if you’re like me (or human, for that matter) you have a sense for what regret feels like, and it doesn’t feel so good. In fact, I think it feels terrible.
And yet, I get it. It’s extremely hard to live the life that is true to us. In fact, I think it’s one of, if not the, hardest thing any of us can do. It requires tremendous courage to live our best life.
Fortunately, we can get the courage to live our best life by casting votes for the life that is true to us.
In addition to coaching, I lead Epic wilderness adventures, so perhaps it’s not the best marketing for me to admit that occasionally I get lost. But I’m being honest here. During a personal Epic hike just last year, I left before the sun was up and made a wrong turn at a junction I didn’t notice due to the darkness. Fortunately, I had a compass along, and after determining which direction was North, I was quickly able to correct my course. The peace of mind provided for me after clarifying where True North was cannot be overstated. Knowing who and how we want to be, and carrying that vision with us always, has the same effect in one’s life and/or leadership. It is our compass.
But it’s hard, even for the most imaginative and inspired, to picture who they want to be. In my experience, the best way to get at it is to focus on how we want to be.
One of the first things I do when coaching someone who wants to change their life is I ask them to brainstorm 5 ways they want to be. These may change from year to year depending on life circumstances and goals. Until Jan. 1 of this year, my 5 were nearly the same as they were 10 years ago: Disciplined, Competent, Humble, Generous and Fun. Using my 5 ways to illustrate the identity of the person I wanted to become, I might choose one actionable step/goal (what Clear calls a tiny step or behavior) for each of these traits that I want to embody.
To to be more disciplined, I might give up something I love but that isn’t good for me and start casting votes accordingly. (No donuts in January). To be more competent, the votes I cast might be working to reading one book per month that is about something I want to learn. To be more Humble, I might work to be more aware of my emotions and on the lookout for when it feels like I’m boasting, or perhaps feeling overconfident about something, or when I find myself feeling like an expert I will challenge myself to shift to a Beginner’s mindset. To be more Generous, I might offer more of my time to charity, or to provide an extra service for no charge. To be more Fun, I might choose to take my sons on a spontaneous adventure when they least expect it. Of course, the tiny step for each of these traits needs to be very specific so the change is measurable, but you get the drift.
One of the biggest challenges, which Clear’s book doesn’t solve, but helps us with, is grappling with the reality that it is hard for a future benefit to trump a present craving. And this is in fact why so many people fail at New Year’s resolutions, and all goals for that matter. It is what I consider to be the biggest crux when it comes to trying to create a new habit or trying to break an old one.
How does one stay motivated and committed to a habit in the present moment, in our hour-to-hour, day-to-day actions, and behaviors with the promise of a reward that won’t come for some time, sometimes a very long time? In other words, how do you resolve the instant, present craving when the reward for doing the right thing is so far in the future?
On this topic of craving–that moment when you’re looking for a particular reward–Clear offers some insights. He explains a “good” habit likely doesn’t include a short-term reward. Example: Instead of watching Netflix, I have to go to the gym and do hard stuff and sweat. In the short term, going to the gym doesn’t seem like a reward at all. But there will be a reward in the long-term–improved health and fitness, increased energy, improved self-image, and confidence, feeling good about our staying committed to our goal, etc. A “bad” habit, on the other hand, provides a short-term reward. Example: I get to be lazy and lay on the couch and finish binge-watching my favorite Netflix show tonight. But if we do this repeatedly, we’ll almost certainly not enjoy a reward in the long-run. Instead, it’s likely we’ll suffer a cost (weight gain, poor physical fitness, decreased energy and motivation, increased health risks, self-criticism for not sticking to the goal, etc.)
This also brings to mind something I learned from neuroscientist and author David Eagleman: Our brains favor the present over the future. So in this battle of now vs. later, now almost always wins.
In other words, we are handicapped from the get-go.
How, then, does one remain committed to the habit or goal given we are naturally wired to be more influenced by present rewards than long-term rewards?
Good question. It’s not enough to say: Be committed. We know that but it’s so much easier said than done. Most of us fail at commitment. Many of the women and men who hire me to be their coach have little trouble coming up with goals they want to achieve. What they are needing, and paying me for, among other things, is help in staying committed to their goals.
A few years after transforming my health, I read a book by Clayton Christensen called How Will You Measure Your Life? (Christensen is a professor at the Harvard School of Business, and is the author of other books, including the well-known The Innovator’s Dilemma.)
I gained a lot of inspiration from reading How Will You Measure Your Life, but one section was particularly impactful. Christensen wrote,“It’s easier to hold your principles 100 percent of the time than it is to hold them 98 percent of the time.”
In other words, 100% of the Time is Easier Than 98% of the Time. (Write that down somewhere where you see it and won’t forget it. Remembering this statement has been a difference-maker for me in honoring my various commitments to goals.)
Christensen explains: “Many of us have convinced ourselves that we are able to break our own personal rules ‘just this once.’ In our minds, we can justify these small choices. None of those things, when they first happen, feels like a life-changing decision. The marginal costs are almost always low. But each of those decisions can roll up into a much bigger picture, turning you into the kind of person you never wanted to be.”
As I write these words of Christensen’s here, I realize how well they support Clear’s message that the small positive actions we take, the “votes” we cast in the form of good habits, accumulate and shape us into the person we want to become.
As Clear so eloquently puts it: “The purpose of setting goals is to win the game. The purpose of building systems is to continue playing the game… Ultimately, it is your commitment to the process that will determine your progress.”
Basically, stay committed to tiny positive behaviors, and eventually, you’ll become the person want to be. But let yourself off the hook just this once and you’ll likely to do it again and again, which will mean you’re not committed, and therefore not much will change for you, and you run the risk of not becoming the person you want to be.
Personally, I know that I’ve said “just this once” hundreds of times in recent years while trying to make a hard change. I used to let myself off the hook plenty of times. Fortunately, I’m much better. In fact I may even go as far as to say I am good at staying committed to my habits and goals, but this is the result of a lot of hard effort. (Tip: Be on the lookout for when you find yourself whispering “just this once won’t hurt anything” or thinking it because if you can notice the thought, you’ll have an opportunity to resist the temptation and/craving and stay the course when it comes to your goal(s). But be hyper-aware of your thoughts and actions, because this opportunity to course-correct is fleeting. (This makes a strong case for developing a mindfulness practice if you don’t already have one. Learning how to observe your thoughts is the first step in being able to notice your thoughts before you’re consumed by them. Ping me if you’d like tips about how to get started or for recommendations for mindfulness apps.)
Thinking about how these small behaviors that can accumulate and result into something significant, if only we don’t let ourselves off the hook, reminds me of a 6-minute video I discovered last Fall. I shared it with my husband and our three sons before school one morning. I promise it’s worth your 6 minutes. It is a speech given by U. S. Naval Admiral William McRaven, and it’s called “Change the World by Making Your Bed.”
I hope you’ll watch the short video because it may inspire you, but if you don’t, here’s McRaven’s opening remark: “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed. If you make your bed every morning, you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task, and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that the little things in life matter. And if you can’t do the little things right, you’ll never be able to do the big things right.”
I want to get the big things right in my life. I bet you do, too.
Whether you’re resolving to make changes this year or to reinvent yourself and/or your life right now, I encourage you to start with imagining you who want to be. Once you have clarity about who you want to be, determine 5 words that describe how you want to be, and then figure out the small actions you can take to help you close the gap between who you are and who you want to be.
Begin doing what James Clear recommends: Start casting votes, embodying the identity of the kind of person you want to be, and start seeing evidence that you are becoming that person. (For the heck of it, I made a list of all the things I am that are a result of creating particular habits during recent years and sticking to them. To name a handful: I am a disciplined person, a meditator, a healthy and fit person, a voracious reader, someone who fasts once a week, etc.)
If you don’t already enjoy regular intervals of solitude, I challenge you to set some time aside for a solo walk, or some solo time sitting in nature, or somewhere out of your usual “habitat,” and let your mind wander. In order for us to have new inspirations and a-ha moments, our mind must be allowed to wander. But as a society, most of us have come to view boredom as a problem to be solved, and we are quick to “fill up” any free time for such pondering and dreaming with mindless distractions found on our iPhone. I discovered a great quote from Dov Seidman that I love: “When you push pause on a machine, it stops, but when you push pause on a human, they start up.”
This new year, give yourself the gift of some undistracted, device-free, solitary time to consider who and how you want to be. To start up. Then, come up with a goal. Start tiny. Clear’s Atomic Habits will be a great resource for you and will encourage you to start by investing as few as 2 minutes toward any given goal. For example, Clear suggests if your goal is to start flossing your teeth, start by flossing just one tooth. Or if your goal is to go to the gym to work out, start by just putting on your gym clothes and driving to the gym.
Like I said, tiny.
Just start.
Because you will regret your inactions more than your actions.
You risk your life when you don’t live it.
I have so much more I could share on the topic of changing your life, setting and achieving your goals, strategies of commitment, and more, but, to use James Clear’s language, I have other votes to cast today.
I wonder, what votes will you cast for yourself today?
Thank you for reading. This blog post is the first vote I’m casting in 2019 for the Writer that I want to be.
Finally, please feel free to leave me a comment, or write to me at coach@yourepiclife.com if you’d like to share about your own habit- or goal-related experiences with me, or if I can be a support to you in 2019.
I recently turned 50 years old. To celebrate the milestone, and the last day of being 49 years old, I went on a 25-mile epic hike with my husband. We started under a full moon, and then a couple of miles into the hike, we stopped at one of our favorite points to watch the sun rise. It was glorious. (Sunrise is my favorite time of day. One of my trail names is “Sunrise.”)
Since the start of 2018, I have been on a quest to memorize my favorite poems. The sunrise near the start of my birthday hike seemed liked the perfect opportunity to recite Why I Wake Early, by Mary Oliver.
To celebrate my last day of being 49 years old, I went on a 25-mile epic hike with my husband. We started under a full moon, and then a couple of miles into the hike, we stopped at this point, and watched the sun rise. (Sunrise is my favorite time of day!) I continue to memorize my favorite poems. I figured this was a good time to recite one of my favorite poems, Why I Wake Early, by Mary Oliver. It's my 10th poem to memorize this year. #maryoliver #whyiwakeearly #poetry #memorizingpoetry #sunrise
