November 25:  My Journals Make Me Better

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NaBloPoMo 2019

“You both have multiple journals that are all partially written in?” I asked, feeling vaguely twitchy.

On an online forum where I like to think I’m making new friends, three of us have bonded over our shared love of journals.  I wrote to the group last week, “I may have almost as many blank journals as I have books–the potential in them, the invitation to fill them with experience and life–they just make me so happy.”  The other two musketeers described their journals of various sizes, shapes, and designs, scattered about their homes.  They get written in whenever inspiration strikes.

That idea made me a little uncomfortable—that thoughts and ideas might be strewn about in different books, lying randomly around a home, disconnected, alone!  Hence the question above that I keyboard-blurted tonight.  I thought at first, “I can’t do that.”  Then I realized, I do do that—I have at least 4 journals going at the same time.  But I do organize them (not that my friends don’t—I have asked them to clarify).  I have a personal one, where I keep all original content. This one has at least three different designs of washi tape tabs, for blog ideas, presentation ideas, and other recurrent themes.  One is for work–a record of meetings, tasks, initiatives and their progress.  In a third I take notes at conferences or other formal learning.  Yet another holds insights from coaching calls and exercises from LOH.  I carry at least two, sometimes all, of them around with me every day. It’s common for me to have at least two out and be writing in both of them at the same time–taking notes from a meeting or presentation in one, then writing reflections, insights, and revelations in the other.  I often flip them over and write from the back covers, to keep lists and other short, serial records.  I attach email printouts and sticky notes, and when I reread I highlight and write in the margins.  These are well-used and well-loved books.

***

In 2010 I went to a Mindfulness in Medical Education retreat.  I was physically ill that week with a respiratory virus.  But I had been mentally and emotionally unwell for months, turbulent and restless inside.  All I could do was ruminate, turning thoughts, conversations, and memories over, raking the same terrain, uncovering nothing new, no insights to show for all that psychic energy spent.  On the first night of the retreat we were given some quiet time and a pad of paper.  I filled my mug with hot tea, climbed into the bay window, and started writing.  For a month I had had inexplicable and persistent cubital tunnel syndrome—inflammation of the ulnar nerve at my right elbow that caused such sensitivity and pain in my forearm that I could hardly stand wearing long sleeves.  That night I unloaded the whole of my pent up frustrations onto that legal pad, many pages worth—a total brain dump.  I always journaled growing up, and somehow it had been years since I had last penned for myself.  I had forgotten how cathartic, how therapeutic, it was.  The next morning my arm felt normal.  I have kept a journal ever since, and that pain has never recurred.

***

Another friend mentioned recently that he may leave his house without his wallet or his keys, but he never steps out the door without his journal.  I can totally relate!  Now I suspect there are more of us than I thought.  It’s the most satisfying feeling to have a reliable, accessible repository to record insights, ideas, and discernments, whenever they occur.  When I cannot do this—usually when I’m driving—it’s like having to pee until I can get out the journal at the next stoplight (or pull over).  It occurs to me occasionally to stop accumulating blank journals.  I’ve already set a moratorium on buying yoga pants and washi tape (for now).  But if a blank journal calls to me, I will buy it.  It’s good for my soul.

November 20:  A Little Profanity Makes Me Better

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NaBloPoMo 2019

I swear I was surrounded by idiots today.  Not at work or home…  Mostly on the roads.  It started early, my friends, and they were everywhere.  Is the moon full?  Maybe there’s a toxic gas leak somewhere?  I found myself aggravated before I even got to the office, where usual hiccups in schedule and daily operations continued to poke my inner rage monster.

*deep breath*

Thankfully, I have learned a few helpful strategies over the years.

One is to vocalize.  There is a reason babies and little kids cry and scream at the drop of a hat.  It’s the most efficient way to discharge an acute emotion.  Then it’s over and they can get on with playing and learning.  As adults, this isn’t socially acceptable most the time.  But in the privacy of one’s own car, it can help.  After the fourth or fifth encounter with the truly insane on my morning commute, I growled.  It was not a planned, but I’m doing it more often over the years, perhaps.  It was spontaneous, and I noticed instant release and relief.  Then I literally chuckled a little.  I continued on my way and forgot about those vehicular fools.  I even found a little charity—must be the weather, or that toxic gas.

A dear friend recommended a book this year, The 15 Commitments of Conscious Leadership, which I love.  The third commitment is ‘Feeling all the Feelings’.  The authors explain: “Feeling a feeling all the way through means letting that feeling have its full life cycle (less than 90 seconds) by breathing, moving and vocalizing, resting in calmness, and riding the next wave through to completion.”  In other words, rather than repressing, denying, or wallowing in our emotions, we can acknowledge, identify, accept, honor, and release them.  Then they don’t rule us, driving us to hurtful action, damaged relationships, and toxic work environments.

Here is their method:

When a feeling arises, pause and…

  • Locate the sensation in your body. What are the ‘bits’ doing?
  • Breathe and allow the bits to simply do what they do.
  • Move and/or make a sound to match what the bits are doing.

Sometimes the bits need something more than private growl.

Recall the daily work hiccups.  Most of the time, I can roll with them easily.  I am blessed with a truly amazing team—flexible and smart, able to anticipate patients’ and my needs with keen precision.  But today was a true aberration for me—my already tenuous mental state (apparently not yet resolved) unraveled quickly in the first hour of work.  So, in the safety of the workroom, surrounded by the team I knew could hold the space, I let loose at least two or three sonorous f-bombs, accompanied by some appropriately expressive full-body gestures.  Not only did the team tolerate the outburst, they offered loving support and encouragement.  “Let it out,” one told me.  Once again, I felt instantly better.  I took a deep breath, thanked them, exited the Cave of Camaraderie, and faced the rest of my day with exponentially more grace and generosity.

It was not my best moment.  I should apologize for making anyone feel uncomfortable—cursing in the workroom is not the example of professionalism that I aspire to set.  Still, I don’t regret it.  And it will not become a recurring pattern, I can say with confidence.

Some evidence suggests that swearing raises pain tolerance and relieves stress.  I didn’t lash out at anyone, I didn’t destroy any property.  But my little episode helped me regroup, get my head on straight, and show up my best for my patients today.

Looking back, there were probably no more insane drivers out today than any other day. I will reflect more on what I brought to this day that created my experience. I attribute my ability to approach this reflection with calm and intention to the freedom from emotional tumult that vocalization and a little swearing affords me.

Recent research has shown that swearing while exercising increases physical strength and power.  I may test this self-improvement theory in my workouts this week—in the seclusion of my home gym, of course.

The Importance of Peer Support

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What a privilege to present again to a group of smart, creative, fun, and engaging designers on Friday.  This time I was asked to address burnout, as so many folks are feeling overwhelmed and stressed.  I did my homework on stress and burnout in the creative fields, and found enough similarities in medicine to feel like a credible speaker.  “It’s not just a job, it’s a way of life,” seemed to capture how we see our respective vocations.

I presented a brief mini-lecture on self-care practices, including habit formation and maintenance in the 5 reciprocal domains of health, and narrative awareness.  The latter is always something we can do when we find ourselves in untenable circumstances:  Ask ourselves what story we tell about the situation, how that story compounds our suffering, and then tell a new story that does nothing to change the objective reality, but can dramatically improve our personal experience of it.  I have learned from work in physician burnout that people don’t just want to be told how to fix themselves.  They want someone to address the problems of the system that oppresses them.  So that’s where I tried to go next.

I started with an Appreciative Inquiry (AI) exercise.  In small groups, I asked participants to share team success stories, and listen for recurring themes around what’s already great about their teams, their work, and their organization.  Words like openness, flexibility, and “we have leaders, not bosses” made the Post-It easel list.  Then, in this headspace, I asked the groups to identify issues they wanted to address.  Instructions were to find important, urgent, and solvable challenges.  Guiding questions included, “Why will the organization be better if it’s addressed?” and “What does better look like?”

Similar to the AI results, common issues arose from multiple groups.  There was general consensus, reviewing the list at the end of 20 minutes, that overall work satisfaction would improve with less digital and more face to face communication, better project clarity, and taking better care of the shared spaces.  I would meet with team leaders and show them the list later in the day.

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When I opened the floor to questions, a self-proclaimed ‘Debbie Downer’ presented a query that I will ponder for many months as I prepare upcoming talks:  “When you ask someone how they’re doing and they say they feel like they’re drinking from a firehose, telling them to adjust their attitude is probably not helpful…  How can we change things that are not in our control?” The Universe had prepared me for this question by sending a new mentor who taught me to ask, “Who owns the things we don’t control?”  Thank you, my loving Cosmos.

I only partially answered Debbie’s question by suggesting she think about how she might influence the owner(s), how she might impact decisions being made in those spaces.  I segued too quickly, I’m afraid, to the question that I wanted to ask the group:  “When someone asks you how you are and you express that you are overwhelmed and drowning, what is a helpful response?”  I thought the discussion that ensued was productive…  It seemed to stimulate people’s intrinsic empathy and compassion.  We recognized the importance of feeling connected, that I’m not the only one feeling this way.  People recognized the relief found in just speaking aloud the list of stressors to a sincere and empathic listener.  We also talked about being prepared to hold space for any potential answer when we ask, “How are you?”  Even if we have no control over the flow out of the fire hose, maybe we can take turns holding the nozzle steady, and at a slightly oblique angle for each drinker, so it doesn’t have to knock us all over when we try to take a gulp.

I had a chance to talk to Debbie a little later (Cosmos offering me a second chance, Thank You Again), and we agreed that stress and burnout, in both medicine and design, are best addressed at both the individual and systems levels.  We can each start with personal accountability for our own experience of the system.  Then we can decide how we show up in the system each day.  We can choose, at any time, to either participate passively in the status quo (which is what we all need to do sometimes), or find a way, however small, to advocate effectively for change.

The latter is much better done with peers, with friends.  Take time to connect (no lunch meetings, let’s just eat together!).  Share stories.  What do we love about this work?  What’s already great?  How could it [realistically] be even better?  How can we help one another, including our leaders, envision and pave the way there?  Who else needs to be enrolled?

My meeting with the team leaders was less structured.  I worried that they left feeling disappointed because I did not offer more concrete advice on personal resilience practices for leaders, and ‘how to lead’ teams in burnout.  But over the hour, I felt no desire or need to lecture.  I queried various aspects of their self- and team awareness, personal resilience practices, and communication.  We briefly reviewed the issues list from the morning workshop, and I left with confidence that they would take it seriously.  It also occurred to me that these designated leaders were already supporting one another in their efforts to lead intentionally, effectively, and compassionately.  Maybe they have also felt overwhelmed sometimes.  Maybe it was also good for them just to talk it out with each other this day.  Maybe we can all do this for one another a little more often.

 

We Are Really Bad At This

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Sylvan Dale Guest Ranch, Loveland, Colorado, March 2019

How many truly meaningful and fulfilling conversations do you have in a day?

How many such relationships do you have?

Though I wrote my Pit Crew post almost a year ago, its ideas recur regularly.  I have linked to it on multiple subsequent posts.  I share it with patients and reference it in conversations often.  My patients are leaders of large corporations and organizations.  My colleagues and I lead teams in the hospital, the medical group, and the medical school.  My friends lead their families and communities.  When I think about our health and its consequences, it’s about taking care of those for whom we are responsible, ourselves included.

Are you generally the one who always takes care of others?  How does this affect your style and effectiveness as a leader?

Who Takes Care of You?

I estimate that about 20% of the time when I ask this question, my patients say that nobody takes care of them; they do it themselves.  They don’t mean that nobody cares about them.  It’s that they don’t really depend on anyone for counsel and/or support.  They hold everything together themselves.  I always have mixed feelings when the conversation takes this turn.  On one hand I feel admiration and respect, especially when they seem generally healthy—apparently unaffected by physical, mental, and emotional dysfunction.  On the other, I get curious.  How do they sustain this Lone Ranger method?  And what does it cost them?  I believe we all need tight, vulnerable, and safe connections through which we can get raw and real, and work through life’s ultimately messy sh*t.  We need others, even if it’s only one or two, to help us truly hold it all together.  My default assumption is that if we don’t have such connections, we are not living into our full potential.

And today I feel cynical.  I think we are getting really, really bad at taking care of each other.

Driving to work this week I wondered to myself, why do we feel the dearth of mental health services so acutely these days?  Is it that more of us are living on the psychological razor’s edge of mental health and illness?  Are we not diagnosably mentally ill but simply, profoundly, stressed to our limits of sanity and function?  Is that why none of my patients can get in to see a psychiatrist or therapist for weeks to months?  Is that why physicians are increasingly leaving the profession and killing ourselves?  Why do we feel so hopeless?

It’s easy to blame social media.  And I do, partially.  The cruelest irony lives here.  My non-evidence based impression is that cyberbullying bears equally life-threatening consequences as face to face bullying.  If you know of evidence to support or refute this premise, please share.  Negative interactions on social media, which rage so easily like wildfires, are now understood to contribute significantly to the rise in loneliness across the country.  Worse, cultivating truly positive relationships via social media is much harder and more complex, even deceptive.   So on balance the risks and harms of social media may far outweigh the benefits.  There simply is no substitute for personal, physical contact, for sharing the same space, breathing the same air, experiencing another’s full presence.

Worse yet, too often we can’t even get that right!  Ozan Varol wrote about this in his last post, “3 Ways to Be Insufferable In Coversation.”  They are:  1. Always turn the conversation back to yourself; 2. Pretend to listen; and 3. Ask no questions.  How many people have you already met today who do this on the regular?  If you’re honest, how many times today have you committed these relational sins?  It’s okay, we all do it sometimes.  As GI Joe says, knowing is half the battle.  The other half is doing something about it!

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Smart Museum of Art, Chicago, July 2019

So what do we do?

First, Attend.  Pay attention.  How much time do I spend on social media?  What do I get out of it?  When does Fear Of Missing Out (FOMO) drive my scrolling?  Am I really connecting?  Or am I stalking, comparing, judging, flaming, agitating the echo chamber, and otherwise wasting time and energy?  How can I set alerts and redirect my routine?

Second, Intend.  What is the best use of my time?  If I want to see how my friends are doing, rather than check my Facebook feed, why not call them up?  Send a text, photo, or—gasp—a handwritten note just to say hi, I’m thinking of you?  It may cost you time, energy, and $0.55 in postage.  But aren’t your real friends worth the investment?  You can do it on social media too—if you slow down and think about it first.  Consider the return—brightening someone’s day, feeling that personal connection.  Dopamine drives FOMO, and is also associated with addictive behaviors.  Bonding behaviors elevate oxytocin, the hormone that mediates empathy, safety, and connection.  There is even evidence that higher levels of oxytocin correlate with increased longevity of romantic relationships, or even a person’s own life span (could not find a reliable, peer-reviewed source for this claim—I just believe it intuitively).

Third, Get Curious.  This was the first skill I (re)learned in life coaching, ‘way back in 2005, and it serves me well every single day.  If we let go of the competitive, scarcity-based thinking that surrounds us, what more could we learn?  What novel and inspiring stories could we hear from anyone we meet, or even our closest friends?  If we listen to understand rather than to reload and refute or one-up, what vexing problems could we solve, together?  Just wondering about it makes me feel lighter and more optimistic, what about you?

Subscribe to Ozan’s newsletter, the Weekly Contrarian, to get his list of solutions to conversation insufferability this Thursday, 9am Central Time (I have no financial interests in Ozan’s site; I just really admire his work and the community of critical thinkers he has convened).  And today, I challenge us all:  Monitor our attitudes and facial expressions.  Manage our self-absorption for a few minutes at a time.  Look strangers in the eye and smile as if they’re already our friends.  Ask a Facebook friend what they did this weekend that really made them feel alive and well.  Let’s all get our caring on, shall we?

 

Shoots in the Poop

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It’s December 4th… Time to look back?  Honestly, I’d rather just get this year over with and move on,  because I have already been looking back all this time.  Since January I have counted—weeks and months since the knee injury, months since starting the new job, since surgery, since a spring crisis, since the last this or the first that.  What was it all for?  I think I was just reminding myself that there’s been a lot going on, reassuring myself that I’m not just whining, not being weak for letting my personal health habits slip.

I’ve felt like a relative slug for the last 6 months, despite my best efforts.  I think I must have eaten a pint of ice cream every two days for most of the spring and early summer.  Looking back on the calendar, I stopped using smiley stickers to mark workouts around July—their intensity was only worth hand-drawn smileys.  By and since August they aren’t worth smileys at all—I just jot down what I did in shorthand.  Some weeks it was barely anything.   I judge myself every day—perhaps less harshly than I might have a few years ago, and also less compassionately than I might a few more years from now.  I still struggle with the fear of self-indulgence if I allow myself too much self-compassion.  I am still learning self-compassion.  I know it takes time to rewire our limbic brain patterns with knew learnings from our cognitive brains.  So I will keep trying, because I know it’s helping.  And I’m modeling for the kids.  We can do our best and still fail.  The key is to keep moving.  We can practice admitting we need help, seek it from the appropriate sources, lean on it heavily, and stand back up eventually.  And then we remember those who helped us, and prepare to be helpful in return.

I have leaned on so many this year, I feel almost speechless at the outpouring of support and love.  The only way I don’t collapse from this weight of gratitude is by storing it like a battery—ready to be discharged, full power, when someone needs to plug into me.  This may be my favorite thing about humanity—that we are wired to connect so tightly, to help one another in webs of mutual love and kindness that can extend ad infinitum.

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So I’ll look back a little.  This week I feel a turning.  Did I say this already recently?  Oh yes, it was November 12.  I was making more room for books, trying to stay off of my phone, off of Facebook.  Being on the laptop every night to post to the blog stymied that last part, but it also bought awareness of how I find loopholes in the best plans for self-discipline.  And the daily writing practice also contributed loads to this internal revolution.  This was my fourth year doing NaBloPoMo.  It was by far the most fun, the smoothest, and the most rewarding attempt yet (I think I also said this last year?), and now I miss writing every day (definitely have not said this before).  Maybe it was the daily dopamine hit of views and likes.  But I think it’s more than that.  Through the daily discipline, I had a chance to process and synthesize so many ideas and connections that had been marinating for months, maybe even years.  I practiced prioritizing, selecting, and distilling those ideas into about 1000 words each day, more for my own benefit than anyone else’s.  That people read and related to them was definitely a happy bonus.

Besides NBPM, I attribute this turnaround to two books that Donna recommended to me earlier this fall:  Leadership and Self-Deception and The Anatomy of Peace, both by The Arbinger Institute.  I have wanted to write about them for the last several weeks, but I haven’t yet figured out how to prioritize, select, and distill the lessons coherently.  The foundational ideas are not necessarily new, but they are profound.  The books are written as modern allegories, and there is just something about the metaphors and analogies that has unlocked and integrated everything I have learned about inner work, communication, relationships, and leadership to date.  And that is saying a lot.  Because of these books, the daily writing, and all the conversations I’m having (with myself and with others) as a result of both, the two most challenging relationships in my life right now have fundamentally improved—mostly because I have been able to shift my own attitude.  As with all things, this new ‘way of being’ will take practice.  I need to keep the training wheels on for a while yet.  But now that I have made this turn, the path looks straight, and I see light.

The manure has piled on all year.  So much fertilizer, oh my gosh.  It’s done its job, though, because I have definitely grown.  I feel strong, healthy shoots of green popping out through the thick, dark carpet of poop.

We Are Tested

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What a shit week.  I wonder, how are you doing, my friends?  Because I look around and it really seems like I’m not the only one feeling it.  A friend’s young, healthy sister-in-law was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer and possibly also lymphoma.  Another friend’s cousin died from a drug overdose after recently completing rehab and getting back to her young family.  Patients are sick with mysterious and disconcerting illnesses.  Pipe bombs were sent to a slew of Democratic leaders and supporters.  And today a man commits yet another deadly, hate-driven shooting.  Seriously, WTAF?  And I honestly think we have yet to hit rock bottom.  I don’t see any of it turning around anytime soon.

I have barely made it through—so much psychic energy required to simply move from one task to the next, taking care of many (and not so much some others).  This past year, actually, sometimes I’m barely holding it together.  First the knee injury, then taking on a new big role at work.  Then surgery/rehab, and another personal crisis that derailed all of my health habits for spring and summer.  As I go around the country talking about personal resilience and culture of wellness, I wonder, am I being a hypocrite?  Am I really walking my talk?  Because if I’m not, I had better just sit down and shut up.

I wrote to a friend today, “I hope you are able to take care of yourself and recharge.  The energy in the world is so tumultuous and agitated.  It’s no help to blame and lament (well maybe lamenting can be a bit cathartic—for a while).  I guess this is a time to exercise our best skills—sharpen them against the harsh and jagged surfaces of challenge and trial.  I feel like all year my professed self-care practices have been called out and called forth—TESTED.  And I’m still here…  Still doing some good every day (I think), alongside the mistakes, the sub-par moments, the not-my-best words, actions, and thoughts…  But hey, who’s perfect?  Nobody.  And are we all here doing the best we can?  I agree with Brené Brown’s husband Steve, the pediatrician: It helps me live better when I choose to believe that we are—all visible evidence to the contrary.” (Here is another article that describes well the benefits of this mindset.)

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Similar to last week, as I consider this idea, I am met with readings and conversations that deepen the exploration.  Friend and author Donna Cameron published an op-ed today in which she, in her typically kind and gentle style, encourages us all to be our best and see the best in others—on November 7, a day full of potential for vehement loathing and gloating celebration.  In her wisdom, Donna urges us to think ahead and decide in advance how we will choose to think, speak, and act.  How can we be our best on that day, to ourselves and to one another, no matter what the circumstances?

Recently I have had conversations with trusted friends, my coach, and my therapist, focused on my own most cavernous arenas of personal self-loathing and shame.  How lucky that I have such generous, loving, wise, candid, and brave people holding me up.  With their help, I can move past shame, take a step back, and recognize that I simply have some dysfunctional patterns, just like everybody else.  I slide into these deep grooves when I’m stressed, exhausted, and distracted—they are the default. They are part of me, and also subject to change—to intentional modification, gradual evolution.  These days I meditate often on the distinction between perfection and healthy striving, and I’m also reminded daily of the benefits of cultivating a growth mindset.  These days, instead of berating myself for falling into the same deep hole in my sidewalk, I can hold it more lightly, laugh, and exclaim, “How Fascinating!” climb out (often with a little help from my friends), and walk—ever onward.

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Today as I walked outside, slowly (I’m so tired), I noticed the leaves again.  I think autumn is my favorite season.  It reminds me of the wholeness and beauty of transitions.  They are inevitable.  They are temporary (or constant?).  They are unpredictable, at times prolonged, at other times sudden and acute.  They can feel at once painful, joyous, terrifying, shocking, enlightening, overwhelming, confusing, awe-inspiring (or simply inspiring).  It occurs to me that the best way through them involves practicing some combination of mindfulness, self-compassion, empathy, generosity, deep breathing, sleep, connection, self-awareness, magnanimity, and of course love.  The only way out is through, and if we do it well, we can grow a little at a time in the process.

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Who knows what shit will be flung our way and hit the fan next week?  How will we cope?  I know I will be leaning on my tribe and looking to make our ties ever stronger and thicker.  Thank you for being here to share the journey.

One Cheek in the Saddle

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Hello friends!  I live!

The blog is now two years old (celebratory post forthcoming).  Looking back, I have strayed often from the declared theme of patient-physician relationship and communication.  I have yet to figure out my optimum writing practice and discipline.  And every day the thing I long for most is to write for fun!  *sigh* Life.

If my world were a horse, happily trotting along a winding dirt trail in the Rockies, oblivious to my riding its back, then I would have fallen off multiple times from confusion, inexperience, fear, overreaction, awe, inattention, and impulse.  Sometimes I roll a ways down the hill, too.  The past two months or so have seen all of these and more.  Thankfully, as dust-covered and disoriented as I stand at times, the horse always allows me to remount.  At this point I’m about halfway back in the saddle again—one cheek on.  The next few posts will document my return to two-buttock riding.

***

So much inner work done to date, and so much yet to do!  And I am infinitely grateful for the dense, strong, and unfailing network of support that surrounds me.  2017 could be my most productive and effective year yet, and I need help organizing.  So a couple weeks ago, I scheduled a session with my life coach of 12 years.

Her pre-call questions for me, and my spontaneous answers:

What do I want more of?

Connection, understanding, civil discourse.

To see people being kind to one another.

For people to truly listen to one another and try to understand each other’s points of view.

For us all to hold our shared humanity above all else, and see one another as fellow humans, all trying to make our way through an uncertain life.

Inner Peace.

Time outside, preferably in Colorado, in the mountains, but pretty much anywhere is good.

To write with purpose, discipline, and impact.

Integration—of everything I do, even the small things—for my Why to show up everywhere I go, with everybody I meet, most of all with my kids—to model the Why for them, in person and out loud.

To read primary literature, writings of the great thinkers and contemplatives, past and present.

Discernment—what is worth my time, contributes to my purpose, vs. what detracts from it?

Focus on what I’m for, rather than what I’m against.

Focus in general—to channel my energy to activities that align most with my central mission.  See Distraction below.

 

What do I want less of?

Rage and seething.

Repression of rage and seething.

Time wasted for lack of discernment.

Distraction.  I feel like Doug, the dog from the movie “Up”—Squirrel!  It all matters, but I cannot do everything at the same time.

 

What thoughts are uppermost in my mind these days?

The daily shit show that is our government and how it vexes me (see above, rage and seething)—sooo many squirrels.

I need to do something useful, to help, to contribute.

We are all in this together, we have to get through it together.

This is a test.  We can pass, and with flying colors, and only if we work together.

Every time I get angry, sarcastic, etc., I contribute to the negativity and morass.  I need to be better.

Why have I so much trouble walking the talk?  Why have I not achieved inner peace althef*ingready?

 

I present thusly to my trusted coach. The process always brings new insights, connections, and openings of mind and heart.  I plan to emerge on the other side of 60 minutes with increased clarity, confidence, and drive.  I’ll let you know! 😉

Oh yeah, and the Rules of Engagement also live, just taking an unplanned hiatus.  More of those to come, also.  Like I said, I’m only one cheek back on right now. 😉