“Getting lost was not a matter of geography so much as identity, a passionate desire, even an urgent need, to become no one and anyone, to shake off the shackles that remind you who you are, who others think you are.” ― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
This message is for anyone and everyone. But it’s especially for women.
I don’t know about you, but especially after COVID19 and the last 12 months, I could use a break. A change of scenery. Some fresh air and some quiet. A few days of not being needed by anyone.
Would you like to get away from the pressures and trappings of your life and work–just for a few days? How about some time in the wilderness where you’re not available to anyone but yourself?
You could hike to the top of a mountain or walk in a river through a canyon whose walls tower 1,500’ above you? Or you could simply linger in a beautiful place, take in the scenery, clear your mind, and dream.
Imagine hearing nothing, absolutely nothing, but the songs of birds and maybe a babbling brook from a nearby stream.
If any of this sounds enticing, then I’m looking for you. I’m offering inspiring, unforgettable, and fun Epic Adventure programs, bundled with coaching in the months leading up to, and post-adventure.
If you’d like to experience my remote and spectacularly scenic backyard, Wyoming’s Wind River Range, or have an Epic experience in one of the most unique and beautiful national parks in the world, please message me.
Right now, I’ve got a few spots left in my Epic Women September 22-26 Zion National Park program, and in my October 13-17 program. I’m also recruiting for a backpacking/mountain-climbing trip in the Wind River Range of Wyoming that’s in the latter part of July.
If none of those sound enticing, I can provide a customized program for just you, or for you and your special tribe, that will be epic, inspiring, restorative, fun, and unforgettable. Email me for more information and/or to schedule a call.
One of our campsites on the Epic Wind River expedition.
A room with a view.
Epic sunsets included.
Here, you aren’t needed by anyone but yourself.
Climb a mountain or two with me. “You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.” ― René Daumal
Zion National Park. Enjoy epic day hikes that provide hard-earned views like this one, and then enjoy luxurious hotel lodging every night.
Let me take you on some of the most unforgettable hikes you’ve ever been on, including The Narrows in Zion National Park.
Leave your comfort zone on the Angels Landing hike.
And, also, on the topic of the pandemic and the way the last 12 months have left many of us feeling, I want to include links to two insightful articles–one was written recently Adam Grant (Wharton professor and author of three books I highly recommend, including, Give and Take, Originals: How Non-Conformists Move the World, and his recent book, Think Again) and the other was written by Austin Kleon (author of Steal Like An Artist).
NOTE: If you’re interested in working with a coach, or could just use a sounding board and some support right now, I’m offering a free, no obligation 1-hour call. In the meantime, you can watch a video I had produced during the pandemic that features several men and women I’ve worked with, who share some of their thoughts on what it’s like to work with me.
Sometimes my life probably appears to be perfect. Especially on Facebook. It’s not perfect, but at least right now, my life is pretty amazing. (For what it’s worth, everything I post on Facebook is true; I don’t work to make my life look better than it is.)
That said, I’m human, and like everyone, I suffer depressive moments and hardships. (If I had been active on Facebook 10-12 years ago, my posts would look very different from my posts these days. Actually, unless I’m asked, I don’t like to talk about my problems, so probably I would have been “hiding,” and not very visible on Facebook back then.)
Josh Waitzkin, a former chess champion, and author of the awesome book, The Art of Learning, once said in an interview, “There is no such thing as good weather or bad weather, only weather.” The same could be said for life. It’s full of depressions and celebrations. Nobody’s life is perfect, not even my current one, which, as I said, feels amazing.
When I share with coaching clients, or friends, or groups I present to about my vulnerabilities, failures and about why my current blessed life is “hard earned,” people often respond with surprise – and relief. They wouldn’t have guessed my life was me-sy because unless you’re one of the aforementioned, you often don’t see that part of the “profile.” So this blog post will share about something near and dear to me – the importance of daring to fail, and in sometimes failing, including some of my messier parts. (There is a lot more where this came from, and I’m happy to share more personally if you’d email me and request it.)
One of my darkest times was during a time when I had so much to celebrate… We had sold our company of 15 years to a company I respected, and suddenly I had time, additional security, and very importantly, the opportunity to reinvent myself.
When I suddenly had time, and my pause button was pushed, I found I had a lot of hard personal truths to confront. Such as: I was overweight, sedentary, addicted to technology, drinking wine on too many weeknights, and depressed. For two years, every night after Jerry and the boys were asleep I’d beat myself up (in the form of self loathing) about the fact I let another day go by without taking a step to improve my health, and to get re-engaged in my family and my life. To get conscious again. This self loathing stemmed from a feeling of deep regret – for not taking action at something that could be life-altering, and that, in fact, was in my control.
I share this because I don’t know about you, but for me, nothing motivates me more than my not wanting to have any regrets. I’ve been there, and it was paralyzing, and an awful place to be.
I have recovered from the earlier bout of regret and self loathing, but life will always have some mess and heartbreak and hardship in it. I know this. It is for certain.
While I’m healthy and hopefully only midway through my life, for all I know, I may not wake up tomorrow. So I’m not going to take any chances. I think one of the hardest things any of can do is dare to live the life we are yearning to live – our life, not the life others expect us to live. Not a life where we play it safe. In fact, ironically I think we can risk our life by not living it. (One of the greatest regrets of the dying is that they didn’t have the courage to live their life, rather than a life others expected them to live, or a life that was safer and easier.)
Speaking of regret, when you talk to people who are approaching the end of their life, and you ask them, “What, if anything, do you regret?” most of the time, they list the things they didn’t do that they wish they could do that they can no longer do. In other words, they regret their inactions more than their actions.
What is something you’re wanting to do, but you’re not doing because you’re afraid? Take a minute and think about that. I know there is at least something that will come to mind if you’re honest with yourself.
Despite a range of life and work experiences, and expertise, I don’t consider myself an expert on anything. But I love to learn, and, I am pretty good at it. And thanks to the more than 200 individuals I’ve coached in the last six years, including the 100+ people I’ve led on wilderness adventures, I’ve learned a lot.
Here is one of the most important things I’ve learned: The number one reason we don’t do the things we want, need, or could do is because we are afraid. When I ask people, What are you afraid of? Almost always I hear, “That I will fail.” And when I drill down even further and ask, What do you mean by fail?, One or more of these are what I almost always here in response:
-I’m afraid I will fail. The thing will not be success, and I may not be able to recover.
-I’m afraid I will disappoint others.
-I’m afraid I will disappoint myself.
-I’m afraid I’ll look bad or that I’ll make a fool out of myself. I’m afraid I won’t know what I am doing, and that I won’t have what it takes.
By the way, I use all of the above excuses, too. I have things to share on each of these, including some things I’ve never shared publicly before, so I hope you’ll read on. Thanks in advance if you do.
I’m afraid I will fail. The thing will not be success, and I may not be able to recover.
Well, first off, we learn more from our failures than successes. There’s the saying, “Win or Lose” and “You win some and you lose some.” I can’t recall who said this, but someone suggested we change those sayings to “Win or Learn,” and “You win some and you learn some.” I love the suggested modifications.
I have written about it before, but as an adult, my first significant failure was losing my Division I basketball scholarship at University of Montana. I just wasn’t good enough, and the coach told me this much, and my scholarship went to a more capable player. I’m 52 now, and while I know a basketball scholarship is not a big deal, at the time, when I was just 21, it was a big deal. It was devastating. Feeling like a failure, and far from home, I suddenly found myself without a map. You can read the blog post about that, but, in short, as a result of that failure, I started hiking, I started spending time in solitude, first out of necessity but later out of desire, and I fell in love with reading. It was 28 years ago that I lost my scholarship, and for the past several years, hiking, solitude and reading have been tremendous sources of inspiration for me, and are critical components of my work and mission here at Epic Life Inc. I don’t think these three things would have become important, or that my life would be as amazing as it is today, had I continued riding the bench and having basketball play such a big part of my life. So, like so many people would say of their failures when looking back at them, my first significant failure turned out to be one of my biggest blessings.
I have also failed financially. My husband, Jerry, and I, got into deep personal financial struggles early in our marriage. In 1995, year three of our marriage, we had racked up almost $40,000 in personal credit card debt. In the beginning we joked that the debt was worthwhile because the the start of our debt had accumulated as a result of our using credit cards to pay for long distance phone bills and plane tickets during our two year, long-distance courtship from 1990-1992. But by 1995, it was no joke. We weren’t laughing, but crying. We sold our first home, and downsized to a very tiny and humble (a little better than a shack) of a house. It took a lot of humility to do that, but we were determined to turn things around for ourselves. It took four years, but we were able to fix up the small house, and pay off our debt with the equity from its sale. Today, we have financial skills we would not have developed if not for that financial failure early on in our marriage and partnership. It was during those financial struggles that Jerry and I committed to eating out only one time a month. Now, more than 20 years later, and the parents of three sons, ages 13, 18, and 20, except for when we’re traveling, we still hold fast to that rule, along with other restraints and financial habits we developed only as a result of overcoming our financial failures. Oh, and today, I am happy to report that we are free of debt.
We also had many failures along our way to success with our first business, Yellowstone Journal Corporation and YellowstonePark.com. We started that company in 1995. The first year we generated a whopping $18,000 in revenue. Over the course of 15 years, we failed a lot, and ate a lot of bread and water for meals, but we always recovered stronger and wiser, and eventually sold the company in 2008 to Active Interest Media.
Now I’m in my 6th year of our second venture, Epic Life Inc, and while being an entrepreneur and running and growing my own business is challenging, I’m so much wiser as a result of all of the struggles during the first go-round, and I’m more resilient when I do run into struggles or failures.
I’m often hired as a keynote presenter and/or speaker. (I prefer to call myself an inspired speaker rather than a motivational speaker) Often people will come up to me after my presentation, and ask how they can do the same work as I do, to which I respond by saying, “I’m a 30-year overnight success.” None of what I have has come easy, and I would argue that most of what’s great in my work and my life has come largely as a result of daring to fail, failing often, and learning more, and developing into a better person and leader as a result of both the daring to to fail, and the failures.
And if we’re committed to fulfilling our potential and to a self actualizing life, we must acknowledge that we will never have arrived. Life is one big journey that is full of both depths and heights.
Along those lines, I am happy(?) to report I’m currently as fallible as ever. In fact, just last year, while leading my flagship program, the Epic Women Wind River backpacking adventure, I made a leadership error. Even after years of leading expeditions and having expertise and knowing better, I made an unexpected mistake. The learning is never over, and I have learned to be humble enough to know this, and to learn as much as I can when I do fail.
I gave up Facebook for 30 days, and “failed” on at least four days when I found myself – you guessed it – on Facebook. I caught myself almost immediately, but only after a little perusing…
I fail as a parent, and as a wife, on a regular basis. I have failed in friendships, and other relationships. I I am likely failing at a couple of things right now, today…
Finally, one final item to share under the “I’m afraid I will fail” excuse. I led a Mt. Whitney co-ed expedition for 10 men and women a few years back. I partnered with a guiding company in the Sierras. Well, as a long-time adventurer, and adventure guide, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that seldom does an adventure go exactly as planned. But my co-ed Epic Whitney expedition had all kinds of challenges. The weather was a huge factor. By the time our 4-day expedition came to an end, we had gone from Plan A, to Plan B, to Plan C and finally to Plan D, which didn’t look anything like our Plan A.
Mt. Whitney. The summit was a No Go.
The year before, during the exact same dates, I went on the same expedition with Backpacker Magazine as part of a Summit for Someone fundraiser for Big City Mountaineers. Everything went better than planned. It went so well that we spent almost 2 hours lounging like marmots under a blue sky on Whitney’s summit. The expedition was inspiring, and it was also a blast. But can you guess which Mt. Whitney expedition developed me more as a leader and as a person? Hands down the second one that went through 4 iterations, and involved 60mph wind gusts, winter blizzards and below zero wind chill – oh, and not standing on top of a mountain. To be sure, we wouldn’t choose these failures, but I personally wouldn’t trade them for anything.
As my partner in the Mt. Whitney expedition so eloquently stated, “The journey is for the soul, the summit is for the ego.” Cheers to the journey, which will almost certainly include some failing.
And trust me, the best, most impactful people and business leaders fail often. They’re not special. They aren’t immune to failure, and in fact, they have the same fears we do.
But don’t just take my word for it – take Adam Grant’s. Grant is the author of two of my favorite leadership books, Give and Take, and Originals. He is also the top-rated professor at Wharton Business School. (Check out these Ted talks, Are You a Giver or a Taker? and The Surprising Habits of Original Thinkers.) While researching and writing Originals, Grant sat down with some of the most original entrepreneurs of our time, including Larry Page, Elon Musk, Jack Dorsey and Mark Cuban. Grant writes, “When I asked them to take me back to the early days, they caught me off guard. They all felt the same fear of failure that the rest of us do. They just responded to it differently.
“When most of us fear failure, we walk away from our boldest ideas. Instead of being original, we play it safe… But great entrepreneurs have a different response to the fear of failure. Yes, they’re afraid of failing, but they’re even more afraid of failing to try.”
Grant was talking about business when he wrote the above, but it applies to our personal endeavors too. All entrepreneurs are human beings, after all.
By the way, I’m even more inspired by a person’s willingness to be brave and vulnerable than I am by his or her greatness. Daring to fail takes daring, and that daring is inspiring to witness. When we dare to fail, we inspire others to dare to fail.
I remember an expedition where we climbed four mountains. One man had never climbed a mountain before, and I hiked right in front or behind him on the first mountain we climbed. The climb took several hours. Every single step the man took was full of fear. His fear was palpable. He was stepping out of his comfort zone and into his potential thousands and thousands of times during what was a 10-hour effort.
Climbing mountains in high winds, on loose terrain and in a blizzard.
The late Abraham Maslow, an American psychologist who developed ideas related to the “hierarchy of needs,” said, “In any given moment we have two options: to step forward into growth or to step back into safety.”
When we dare to fail, we’re stepping forward into growth. We’re not playing it safe. We’re showing up even though we’re scared, and we’re not playing small. We’re afraid, and we’re proceeding anyway.
One final and important bit about failure. Let’s not be reckless. I’m not recommending being reckless in our daring to fail. No, we must dare to fail with tremendous care. When I work with leaders who are about to launch a new program or product, or who are considering making a major change, we often do an exercise called a pre-mortem. This is basically the act of articulating and writing down your worst fears, the worst case scenarios. I do this same work with my life coaching clients. Often, just by acknowledging and listing our fears, we realize they aren’t as great as we were previously making them out to be. But just as important as acknowledging worst case scenarios, is our need to have ideas for what we do should any of our our worst fears come true.
I recently watched Alex Honnold present here in my hometown of Lander, WY, about his solo climb of El Capitan with no rope. His is an astonishing feat, and it was incredible to see him in person and to meet him. Honnold was saying that in preparation for the challenge (where the stakes are literally his life), he invested significant time climbing the route, and memorizing the moves for the entire 3,000-foot-long route. After the presentation, I went up to Honnold, and asked him more about his process. He explained that he not only rehearsed and memorized the moves of the route, but also visualized and imagined all the “what could go wrongs,” so that on the day of the big event, he felt ready and not afraid.
Finally, I think we ought to look back on our life and our work path, and look for, and reflect on our “failures.” Think of one of them, and examine it for lessons you learned, and how that failure may be continuing to inform your life in a positive way. Rinse and repeat. In my experience, this is such fascinating, and useful work, not to mention we can make all kinds of new discoveries about ourselves, and our life.
These failures make for such interesting stories, and they can help and inspire others when we share them.
A Princeton professor, Johannes Haushofer, published a CV listing his career failures on Twitter, in an attempt to “balance the record.” I think keeping a “resume of failures” is a brilliant idea. Otherwise a resume or CV doesn’t tell the whole story. “Every resume and bio that you put together is basically just stringing one success next to another, and we erase all the failures in between,” explains Adam Grant, who keeps a resume of failures after being inspired by Haushofer.
I’m afraid I will disappoint others
First off, the feeling of disappointment is one of my least favorite. And I care deeply about people. So the threat of causing others disappointment is a legitimate and understandable fear.
Good human beings, which describes everyone I know and work with, are always concerned about others. They care for people, and don’t want to disappoint them or let them down. As a result, we often don’t do things we want, need or could do because we just can’t bear to risk letting others down.
But I’ve learned that those “others” in our world, whether they’re our friends, family members, co-workers, or colleagues, prefer that we take chances. They trust we’ll give it our best and that we’re not out to disappoint them.
Think about your friends, family, co-workers and colleagues for a minute. Do you think they’d prefer you take chances and try things that are challenging that will make you better and smarter and more fulfilled, or do you think they’d prefer you play it safe and play small and take no chances.
Marianne Williamson has a great quote that is probably famous because it rings true for so many of us, even if its truth can be inconvenient: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
I’m afraid I will disappoint myself
I said at the beginning that I don’t consider myself an expert at anything. I want to take that back. I’m an expert at self criticism. I’m a master at it. I’m very hard on myself, and my expectations for myself are often so high that they’re unachievable.
I’m here to report that almost 100% of the people I’ve coached, or led into the wilderness on adventures, tend to be self critical. We often don’t see this in the people we know or admire. On the outside they appear strong and confident. I bet I appear strong and confident. But inside, there’s a whole different story being told.
I’ve taken many leaders up mountains they didn’t know how to climb. As hard as it is for them to climb a mountain they don’t know how to climb, there’s one thing that’s even harder: Fighting the personal narrative that is often, during times of struggle, a negative one. Most of us battle the inner critic, self doubts that flood our minds when we’re doing something hard that we’re not certain we can do. It’s that voice that’s yelling at us inside, right in the crux of our struggle, saying things like: “You gotta quit! You’re going to die! You look like a fool! You’re holding people up. Whose idea was this? You can’t do this. What were you thinking?” And on and on and on. Fill in the blank with your own inner critic monologue.
Stanford University psychologist Kelly McGonigal has done a lot of research and work related to self criticism. I listened to a series of audio files by her a few years back and found her work about self criticism and self compassion to be informative and hopeful. In short, McGonigal says self criticism is not motivating. We just tell ourselves that it is. We think that if we give ourselves a good butt-kicking, it will motivate us to do more and better. But McGonigal says it’s just not true. She argues that self compassion is more motivating.
Loving ourselves, although that should be a top priority for all of us, can seem like too big of a stretch for those of us who are self critical. Self compassion is a better first step, I think.
There’s that wonderful saying, “Treat others as you’d like to be treated.” I endorse this message. But I’ve added my own twist, that I often share with people I work with and care about, and that is: “Treat yourself the way you’d like to treat others.” This constructive behavior toward self during struggle and doubt can make the challenging experiences in our life and work more tolerable and, in the end, more worthwhile. It can also be the difference between quitting and hanging in there when we really, really want to hang in there.
So many times when I’m leading a person up a mountain, or through any wilderness situation that’s challenging, a person who is struggling will be encouraging to all of those around her or him, while inside unleashing the wrath of the criticism on himself or herself. Like I said, these same people are often loving and supportive and compassionate to others. So we know how to encourage. We have that skill. We simply have to turn that skill onto ourselves, and when we do, it makes all the difference. It’s not easy work, but it’s worthwhile work.
One final thought on this fear of disappointing our self… There’s a quote by Terry Tempest Williams, from her wonderful book, The Hour of Land and it is, “Wilderness is an antidote to the war within ourselves.” Hear Hear. One of the main reasons I love using the wilderness as a platform from which my clients can practice doing the hard work that living our epic life and being our best requires is because in the wilderness we can’t run from our self. We can’t hide. During adversity, we are forced to confront our inner critic. In real time, during those struggles, we learn new, gentler, more compassionate ways to be with our self that then carry over into other areas of our lives after the adventure has ended.
The last thing I want to say on this fear of disappointing ourselves, is often the disappointment we have in ourselves is a result of the comparing we do. We compare ourselves to those around us, and then we are disappointed when we don’t measure up. We need to stop comparing. Theodore Roosevelt said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Byron Katie says, “Without comparison, our life is perfect.” If you want to be disappointed or miserable, just start comparing yourself, and your life, to others.
Finally, in my experience, we are much more likely to be disappointed in ourselves when we don’t do the thing we are yearning to do than when we dare to do it.
Designer, author and professor Debbie Millman said something on a recent podcast interview that I haven’t quit thinking about. She asked this question: What are you more afraid of – regret or rejection? Regret will be my answer every time. I think Millman’s is a great question to think about.
I’m afraid I’ll make a fool out of myself. I don’t know what I am doing. I’m afraid I’ll look bad
My friend, Trevor Ragan, perhaps says it best. He says “Getting better and looking good don’t happen at the same time.” Amen to that. Let’s just acknowledge this fact, and agree to look bad every now and then so we can get better. Deal? I’m in.
When I recall all the times I feared I would look like a fool, and/or did look like a fool, I can’t help but think of when I decided I wanted to learn how to skate ski. I didn’t take a lesson; I just rented the gear and went to our local golf course where there were groomed trails. I’m athletic, but skate skiing is very physically demanding and technically challenging to learn. I had not a clue what to do and I fell no fewer than 1oo times in an hour. It was ugly, and painful, and it was humiliating. But I’m so glad I did that. I’ve been skate skiing for six years now and it’s one of the reasons I love, and can tolerate our long winters.
So daring to fail means being willing to look bad.
As I mentioned before, I’ve led people up mountains who didn’t know how to climb a mountain. In July of 2013, I led my first Epic Women backpacking program. On Day 2, we let the eight women – none who had ever climbed a mountain – lead us up a tall mountain. They didn’t have mountain climbing skills, or experience at high altitudes. The process was therefore laborious, and the women were at times apprehensive. The ascent took longer than if the guides or I led us up the mountain. And, our chances of summiting were lower also, since summit attempts are limited by changing weather so the longer the effort takes, the lower the chance we’ll be able to continue toward the summit. But if the goal is to develop the women’s skills and leadership, then it’s worth it. We made it to the top, and the result was not only the accomplishment of standing on the summit, but even more importantly, each woman, and our entire expedition team was more than we were before.
I’m coaching two people who have cancer. It is meaningful work, and I want to do more of this work. But often, during a call with one of these people, I find myself telling myself, “I don’t know how to do this.” I don’t, but I’m listening and I’m giving it my best. I am learning by daring to fail.
Daring to fail, even though it means risking looking bad, and looking like a fool, and stumbling our way through, is about becoming actually what we are potentially.
I think it was Charlie Chaplin who said, “Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself.”
But my favorite quote for this section of the blog post is something said by my friend, the late Todd Skinner, who was a world-famous, big wall climbing legend, and an amazing human being: “We cannot lower the mountain, therefore we must elevate ourselves.” The best way to learn how to do something is to dare to do it, even if you don’t know how to do it.
In closing, I want to go back to something I said earlier in the post.
When you talk to people who are approaching the end of their life, and you ask them, “What, if anything, do you regret?”, do you know how most of them respond? Most of the time, they list the things they didn’t do that they wish they could do that they can no longer do. They regret their inactions more than their action. They regret the things they did not do.
This is so important for us to remember. Let’s not be sorry for not doing something we wanted to do because we were afraid.
Here’s to all of us daring to fail more often. Here’s to leading a more fulfilling life. Here’s to having more interesting stories to share. And finally, here’s to not having any regrets – now, or in the end!
Thank you so much for reading.
Part of my work is keynote presenting. I’m hired by organizations or events to deliver my keynote presentation, “Epic Lessons Learned in the Field.” I also provide leadership development training and facilitation. One of the workshops I’m most passionate about is DARE TO FAIL. I also have a little availability right now for coaching if you or anyone you know would like to have someone dare, support and hold them accountable in making some positive changes in their life or leadership.
Email me if you’d like to learn more about any of these offerings. Thanks!
“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” –Henry David Thoreau
I have a lot of wonderful people in my life and I share considerable time with them. Sharing time with people I love and work with are some of the most meaningful experiences of my life.
But I also spend a lot of time alone. In fact, I’ve come to yearn for Solitude. Here’s a video blog I recorded on a recent solo hike in my backyard. I hope you’ll watch it and that it may inspire you to spend more time alone–if you don’t already.
If you’re interested in working with a coach and having someone “in your corner” championing you while you work to make changes to yourself and your life, then I’m looking for you. I’m happy to provide a free exploratory call to share about what my coaching looks like and for you to see if I’m a good fit. At the very least, I’ll give you my very best coaching in an hour’s time. If you’d like to schedule a call, please email me.
“Humans don’t mind hardship. In fact, they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary. It’s time for that to end.” –Sebastian Junger
A few years ago, I read the fantastic book, Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging, by Sebastian Junger. With the author’s permission, I’m excerpting the text from the book’s Introduction.
I am sharing this wonderful excerpt from Junger’s book now because by all indications, the time for taking responsibility for one another has arrived in the form of the COVID-19 pandemic.
The great opportunity for all of us during the hardship and uncertainty of the pandemic is that we are being called to care for and take responsibility for one another.
In the fall of 1986, just out of college, I set out to hitchhike across the northwestern part of the United States. I’d hardly ever been west of the Hudson River, and in my mind what waited for me out in Dakota and Wyoming and Montana was not only the real America but the real me as well.
I’d grown up in a Boston suburb where people’s homes were set behind deep hedges or protected by huge yards and neighbors hardly knew each other. And they didn’t need to: nothing ever happened in my town that required anything close to a collective effort. Anything bad that happened was taken care of by the police or the fire department, or at the very least the town maintenance crews. (I worked for them one summer. I remember shoveling a little too hard one day and the foreman telling me to slow down because, as he said, “Some of us have to get through a lifetime of this.”)
The sheer predictability of life in an American suburb left me hoping—somewhat irresponsibly —for a hurricane or a tornado or something that would require us to all band together to survive. Something that would make us feel like a tribe. What I wanted wasn’t destruction and mayhem but the opposite: solidarity. I wanted the chance to prove my worth to my community and my peers, but I lived in a time and a place where nothing dangerous ever really happened. Surely this was new in the human experience, I thought. How do you become an adult in a society that doesn’t ask for sacrifice? How do you become a man in a world that doesn’t require courage?
Those kinds of tests clearly weren’t going to happen in my hometown, but putting myself in a situation where I had very little control—like hitchhiking across the country—seemed like a decent substitute. That’s how I wound up outside Gillette, Wyoming, one morning in late October 1986, with my pack leaned against the guardrail and an interstate map in my back pocket. Semis rattled over the bridge spacers and hurtled on toward the Rockies a hundred miles away. Pickup trucks passed with men in them who turned to stare as they went by. A few unrolled their window and threw beer bottles at me that exploded harmlessly against the asphalt.
In my pack I had a tent and sleeping bag, a set of aluminum cookpots, and a Swedish- made camping stove that ran on gasoline and had to be pressurized with a thumb pump. That and a week’s worth of food was all I had with me outside Gillette, Wyoming, that morning, when I saw a man walking toward me up the on‑ramp from town.
From a distance I could see that he wore a quilted old canvas union suit and carried a black lunch box. I took my hands out of my pockets and turned to face him. He walked up and stood there studying me. His hair was wild and matted and his union suit was shiny with filth and grease at the thighs. He didn’t look unkindly but I was young and alone and I watched him like a hawk. He asked me where I was headed. “California,” I said. He nodded.
“How much food do you got?” he asked.
I thought about this. I had plenty of food—along with all the rest of my gear—and he obviously didn’t have much. I’d give food to anyone who said he was hungry, but I didn’t want to get robbed, and that’s what seemed was about to happen.
“Oh, I just got a little cheese,” I lied. I stood there, ready, but he just shook his head.
“You can’t get to California on just a little cheese,” he said. “You need more than that.”
The man said that he lived in a broken-down car and that every morning he walked three miles to a coal mine outside of town to see if they needed fill‑in work. Some days they did, some days they didn’t, and this was one of the days that they didn’t. “So I won’t be needing this,” he said, opening his black lunch box. “I saw you from town and just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
The lunch box contained a bologna sandwich, an apple, and a bag of potato chips. The food had probably come from a local church. I had no choice but to take it. I thanked him and put the food in my pack for later and wished him luck. Then he turned and made his way back down the on‑ramp toward Gillette.
I thought about that man for the rest of my trip. I thought about him for the rest of my life.
He’d been generous, yes, but lots of people are generous; what made him different was the fact that he’d taken responsibility for me. He’d spotted me from town and walked half a mile out a highway to make sure I was okay. Robert Frost famously wrote that home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. The word “tribe” is far harder to define, but a start might be the people you feel compelled to share the last of your food with. For reasons I’ll never know, the man in Gillette decided to treat me like a member of his tribe.
This book is about why that sentiment is such a rare and precious thing in modern society, and how the lack of it has affected us all. It’s about what we can learn from tribal societies about loyalty and belonging and the eternal human quest for meaning.
It’s about why—for many people—war feels better than peace and hardship can turn out to be a great blessing and disasters are sometimes remembered more fondly than weddings or tropical vacations. Humans don’t mind hardship, in fact, they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary.
It was March 2011, and I was on a flight from Denver to San Francisco. I was traveling to California for my final coaching course. An exhausted mother of three young sons, I couldn’t wait for the “me-time” the flight would provide. I wouldn’t squander it for anything. At the time, I was reading Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand, and I couldn’t wait to bury my head in the book for two solid hours.
After finding my window seat near the back of the plane, I sat with the book on my lap and my headphones on. I wasn’t actually listening to anything. Rather I wanted to send a signal to those around me that I was otherwise encumbered. As in, Please Do Not Disturb.
Soon the middle and aisle seat passengers–a man and woman–arrived and sat in their seats next to me. Once buckled in, the man to my left in the middle seat, greeted me with a friendly smile and Hello, and the woman in the aisle seat did the same. I reciprocated before returning to my book.
The man then asked me if I was traveling for work or fun. A little annoyed at the interruption, but wanting to be friendly, I said, “mostly for work.” I shared that I was going to my last coaching course but that I had also built in some fun. My husband would fly out to join me in a few days and we’d hike and make a quick trip to Napa. The man introduced himself as Kit and then introduced me to the woman in the aisle seat, his sister. Kit shared that they were going to San Francisco to visit their niece. It was a pleasant exchange but I really wanted to get back to my book so I put my headphones back on and returned to Unbroken.
A few minutes later, Kit asked me something else. I can’t recall exactly what because it was almost nine years ago, but I kindly answered, while closing my book and removing my headphones.
I love people, and I’m curious to a fault so I did what I often do when I meet someone new: I started asking questions. A lot of them. Before long, I knew that Kit lived in Colorado Springs, that he was divorced, semi-retired from a job that had something to do with computer chips, and that he had recently begun drawing on his Social Security. I learned that he was taking an art history class and that he had dreams of traveling the world, but wished he had someone to do it with. He told me about his children and grandchildren. He asked me questions too, and we had a wonderful conversation that covered a range of topics and lasted most of the flight.
After exiting the plane, I walked with Kit and his sister to the baggage claim. They introduced me to their niece, who was lovely and there to pick them up. Kit and I exchanged contact information and I promised to email him information about my favorite hikes in Muir Woods. After our farewells, I watched as Kit and his sister loaded their luggage into the trunk of their niece’s car, and I felt blessed to have met them. While I didn’t get to read my book, I definitely did not squander my time!
A week and a half later, following my California trip, I was on a road-trip with two of my best friends, Kathy and Holly. We were driving to West Yellowstone, MT., to cross country ski in a 24-hour ski festival. Like me, Holly and Kathy are voracious readers and we often discuss books. I had finally finished reading Unbroken and I was giving it rave reviews.
As I was telling them about the book, I mentioned my recent San Francisco flight and how I had planned on reading the book during the flight if not for the friendly man seated next to me.
I explained that instead of reading, I engaged in conversation with the man, named Kit. Proud of my “interviewing” skills, I shared with Kathy and Holly a sampling of what I was able to learn about Kit during our flight. More or less, I told them Kit was “a handsome man from Colorado who was divorced, semi-retired, had just started drawing on his social security, was interested in art history, and had dreams of traveling the world.”
Holly, in the back seat, suggested, “Maybe we should introduce him to my Mom.”
Holly’s mom, Sharon, is one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. Tragically, her husband had passed away two years earlier. Holly’s mom was healing but still grieving the loss of her beloved life partner, with whom she had made so many plans for the future.
At first, I chuckled at Holly’s suggestion. It seemed preposterous. But then I told her I had the man’s email address and if she was serious, and her mom agreed to it, I could send an email to Kit about a possible intro. Upon our return from the ski trip, Holly asked her mom if she was open to such an introduction, and while Holly’s mom wasn’t particularly optimistic given the geographical distance, she gave us the green light.
I emailed Kit and explained that I was sorry if I was overstepping and sorry if my note was awkward. I wrote that I enjoyed meeting him and that he seemed like a wonderful catch for someone I knew. I shared briefly about my dear friend’s mom, an amazing woman who had lost her husband two years earlier. I wondered if he’d be open to an introduction. I included Sharon’s phone number in the email before signing off.
Kit emailed me back. He appreciated that I thought of him as a suitable prospect for my friend’s mom and said he’d consider reaching out to her.
A couple of days passed and on March 23, 2011, Kit called Sharon.
And the rest is history.
“Something clicked on that first call,” explains Sharon. “We ended up talking every evening for a couple of weeks before finally meeting in person. It was obvious that we had many shared goals and values, and there was mutual chemistry that made it worth dealing with the distance issue however we could.”
It’s been almost nine years since that first phone call and by all indications, Kit and Sharon are living happily ever after. They share two homes, one in Colorado Springs and the other in San Diego. They spend time with their blended families, including their children and grandchildren. They have enjoyed countless adventures and have traveled extensively.
“We are seeing the world together,” reports Kit. “Our first trip was to Prague, then down the Danube to Budapest, seeing the sights and cities (Salzburg, Vienna, etc.) along the way. Next we went to Greece, Turkey, Montenegro, Croatia, and Italy. Then it was to Russia with friends, cruising from Moscow to St. Petersburg , stopping at lots of smaller towns between the two. After that we cruised down the Rhine River from Switzerland, where we went high into the Alps, and to Amsterdam and to France and Germany.”
They also traveled to Africa (Tanzania) with Sharon’s daughter Holly and family in 2017, and in 2018, they traveled to Vietnam and Cambodia, and to England, Scotland, and Norway. They are currently planning trips to Italy and Switzerland. In addition to their international travels, they’ve also enjoyed many trips throughout the U.S. Currently, they are looking forward to a trip to Isle Royale National Park, and a Viking Baltic Cruise.
“After eight years we still love each other dearly, have a deep concern for each other’s happiness, and can’t imagine not being together,” says Sharon.
A few years ago, I was in San Diego for work and Kit and Sharon invited me to stay with them in their new home. (I was their first house guest.) After arriving, we took a stroll on a nearby beach before Sharon cooked a delicious meal for us. After much wonderful and meaningful conversation, we said our goodnights and I retreated to the guest room.
As I got settled, I noticed a book on the nightstand.
P. S. I don’t believe in coincidences. On that March day in 2011, while flying through the skies between Denver and San Francisco, I think was an instrument for the Universe, placed in that particular seat to facilitate what could, if all the necessary and subsequent “connections” were made, facilitate a love story. What if I would have kept my head buried in the book during my flight? What if I hadn’t mentioned reading the book, Unbroken, during my road-trip with Kathy and Holly? I’m so glad I didn’t squander my time reading my book. And finally, one more thing: Since helping to matchmake Kit and Sharon, I have match-made another couple, Florian and Mary. Florian and Mary are married and have a 3-year-old son. But that’s another story that I will tell another time.)
Following are some photos Sharon and Kit shared with me:
Cambodia, 2017.
Russia, 2014.
Celebrating their new home in San Diego, 2014.
With Sharon’s daughter Holly and her family in Africa, 2017.
Note: This particular blog post is written for women. However, if you’re a man and you’re reading this, you may learn something that’s helpful with respect to women who are in the middle of their life.
“Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.” –Nora Ephron
“The body is not a thing, it is a situation.” —Simone de Beauvoir
Hi. My name is Shelli. I’m 51 years old and I’m going through perimenopause. 🤪💃🏿
Hi! I’m Shelli.
By definition, perimenopause means “around menopause” and refers to the time during which a woman’s body makes its natural transition to menopause, marking the end of the reproductive years. Technically speaking, this is a time when a woman’s level of estrogen–the main female hormone–rises and falls unevenly. A woman’s menstrual cycle may lengthen or shorten, and she may begin having menstrual cycles in which her ovaries don’t release an egg (ovulate).
Can I just call it what it is? This is a time when all hell breaks loose for a woman. (Note: Not all women struggle in perimenopause/midlife. There are some who sail through this stage without incident. I just don’t know any of them.)
But before we get to the hell-breaking-loose part, let me say for the record that the middle of life is an extremely meaningful and beautiful stage of life. This is a time of harvest and reaping the benefits of years of striving, raising children (or not), overcoming challenges, making memories, and more. It’s a time for reflecting, to be grateful for the blessings in our life while looking forward with hope and anticipation. Personally, and honestly, this is the best time of my life.
And, it’s a hard and disorienting time.
For example, the other night my husband, Jerry, brought home flowers for me. Upon discovering them, I kissed the flowers and then smelled my husband while saying Thank You. (And by the way, I didn’t deserve the flowers, but that’s another story. For now, suffice it to say that my husband is thoughtful, but also probably concerned. After all, these days I often enter a room and can’t remember why. I am more easily overwhelmed. I sometimes think I’m losing my mind, and I’m often not recognizable to myself, let alone to those who love me.)
I’ve been soliciting and compiling a list of unusual or “crazy” things women have done or experienced as a result of the physiological and psychological changes in midlife. (If you’re a woman, please consider sharing anecdotes and stories with me. I promise to not disclose your identity.) The first woman who shared about her experience with perimenopause did so a couple of years ago when I ran into her at a community event. This is a woman that I have always considered to be a rockstar–a superwoman who is extremely accomplished, involved in her community, and who isn’t easily fazed. I hadn’t seen or talked to her in over a year. She explained that perimenopause had turned her life upside down. She explained that for over a year she was for the most part “emotionally disabled,” and shared with me intimate details about how particular parts of her body were breaking down in all kinds of unexpected and painful ways. I have been scared ever since.
A woman I used to coach who is also in this stage of life, shared with me that one day she walked to the gas station to fill her car up. Yes, you read that correctly.
Another woman told me she has been waking up almost every night with what feels like panic attacks. Once awake, she feels an impending doom and cannot get through it without getting up and going outside, even if it’s dark and even if it’s raining or snowing out. She explained that she could not bear the thought of even one more night like that, so she went to the doctor to get a prescription for anti-anxiety meds, which she hopes will prevent future panic attacks and feelings of doom.
I belong to a few online communities that cater to women who are over 40 and it’s common to read of women suffering existential crises. Another woman wrote to me that after she spent an evening reading in bed like she typically does (“with the perfect eyesight I’ve always had”) she woke up and it was the end of her perfect eyesight. Just like that. Literally overnight. While checking emails on her phone at breakfast, the words were so blurry she had to strain hard with her eyes just to try to read it. Her great vision never returned and she now wears progressive lenses. Are eyesight problems due to perimenopause? I don’t know, but at this point, I’d say, of course! 🙂
Several women have shared with me how they wake up in the early morning hours to discover themselves stripped naked, and their bedsheets totally drenched all the way through the mattress pad. At the same time, they feel mentally scattered and confused.
Educator and author Darcey Steinke, in her latest book, Flash Count Diary: Menopause and the Vindication of Natural Life, describes one of her hot flashes: “I throw off my covers and feel, in the first pocket of spooky quiet, that flames are burning from my inner organs up into my muscles toward the skin. I’d run away but how does one flee one’s own body? Each hair is a thin electric coil heating up my head.”
Hot flash cure. This is how we do it on the Frontier. 😉
Like I was saying, the struggle is real.
Jenny Offill, author of Dept. of Speculation, praises Steinke’s book: calling it “a profound white-knuckle ride through unnamed territories.”
I love Offill’s description because as I find myself experiencing symptoms of perimenopause, I do indeed feel like I’m in an unnamed territory. It is as if I’m standing with a great expanse of uncharted land before me, for which I do not have a map. And by all early indications, the terrain will at times be severe and dramatic.
Add to that, I’ve learned that the physiological and psychological symptoms that come with this stage of a woman’s life, can last 4-12 years. In other words, this won’t be a quick adventure, and I’m going to need some help.
Fortunately, help is available in many forms. First, there are forms of support that address physiological and psychological symptoms. There is hormone replacement. There are antidepressants and anxiety meds. There is therapy. Meditation. Exercise. Time spent outdoors. Yoga. Acupuncture. Massages. There are numerous recommended supplements that reportedly help relieve midlife ailments, including Magnesium L-Threonate, Vitamin D, Vitamin B12, melatonin, and others. There are herbs like Black Cohosh, Vitex Berry, and other natural solutions–where legal–such as cannabis (CBD and THC). And the list goes on and on.
Our experience in this wilderness that is midlife can feel lonely.
This is a good time to mention that we are in a Loneliness Epidemic in the United States. Some 50% of Americans report feeling lonely. This is compared to just 20% in the 1980s. During a time when we’ve never been more connected, we are increasingly lonely. Loneliness doesn’t only bring emotional suffering that results in increased rates of depression, anxiety, and rates of suicide, but also results in real health ramifications. One Cigna study reported that experiencing loneliness is the equivalent of smoking 15 cigarettes a day. People who regularly experience loneliness are more likely to get sick and to live shorter lives.
I’ve been doing research and writing on belonging and loneliness and will be publishing a separate blog post about that soon. But I mention loneliness here because it’s relevant. If you’re a midlife woman, experiencing even just some of the many symptoms of perimenopause, it’s likely you’ll sometimes experience loneliness. I know I have experienced loneliness, despite the fact I have a number of friends and good people in my life.
But I offer some encouragement: We’re not alone. At least we don’t have to be.
The most helpful “medicine”/cure I’ve found so far for the challenges of perimenopause and all things midlife–of all of the solutions I’ve purchased or tried–has been connecting with other women. I have found support and guidance from the women in my life, including my mother, my sisters and my friends, and all of the women I have coached or worked with who are experiencing midlife or who have gone before me and made it to the other side of The Change. I find tremendous comfort in the meaningful conversations and intimate sharing of knowledge and experiences that result when women in midlife are together.
So I would like to facilitate more of that.
In an effort to do this, I’m launching a new program called “Epic Midlife Women.” I’ve designed the program that I want to attend. If you’re a woman in your 40s or 50s, dealing with any of the things I’ve mentioned in this blog post, then I’m looking for you.
I hope you’ll consider joining me on the journey through the wilderness of midlife.
The Epic Midlife Women program will include many of the components I incorporate in my coaching, presentation, and other Epic programs, but will follow a new format. While we’ll have some time offsite in a beautiful outdoor location, this program will be more of an event and gathering. In addition to programming that will be related to all things midlife, there will be a lot of facilitated, as well as organic, conversation, connection, and sharing.
Here’s a personal video message I made:
If you’re interested in learning more about the program, please email me. The program is being offered on a first-come, first-served basis.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your time and support.
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.
