Turning the Corner

One day, after the heartache, The Maybe, the tears, and the anguish…

You turn the corner.

And it all looks different.

You can breathe more deeply, your future looks bright, you start to dream again.

You understand that thing–that ass-kicking thing that was so hard–happened for you and not to you.

And you begin to walk the new path.

The Truth

Hello readers! Here’s an update to The Maybe post–I promised I would keep you apprised.

Here’s what I learned about my time in The Maybe:

I knew exactly what I wanted.

It scared the living hell of out me.

I was living in The Maybe because I was not ready for The Truth.

There’s nothing bad about living in The Maybe, it’s necessary. It’s like standing at the top of the high dive before taking the plunge. Except you have no idea you’re on a high dive and you certainly don’t think you’re going to plunge. You’re more like, “Gee, it’s kinda windy and wobbly up here, and why the hell am I wearing a swimsuit?” You know you’re on the edge of something big, but you have no clue what it is.

The Maybe is the precursor to The Truth.

The Truth is the scary-yet-deeply-resonant thing right there in front of you that you don’t want to see. Maybe you’ve tried to make it go away. Maybe you’ve told yourself you were confused. Maybe you told yourself you shouldn’t have that thing. Maybe you said it’s not this thing–certainly not!–it’s this much easier-to-digest and socially acceptable thing over here. It’s most certainly not that wild thing–because if it is, there’s gonna be a shitstorm.

The Truth means big, scary changes.

The Truth sometimes means tears and heartbreak.

At the very least The Truth means much gnashing of teeth and sleepless nights.

The Truth is big, it’s disruptive, and it’s gonna bring all your crap up.

The Truth means not everyone is going to agree with or like you. Guaranteed.

The Truth is gnarly.

The Truth is not the easy way out.

By now you’re saying why the hell would I ever choose The Truth? Because.

The Truth also means deep joy and fulfillment.

The Truth means living authentically.

The Truth is full-on living.

The Truth means answering the call of who you are and what you’re supposed to do in the world.

The Truth is freedom.

When I stopped resisting The Maybe, The Truth became apparent. A note here for the gentle reader who might be quaking in her shoes: Just because you tell yourself The Truth does not mean you have to do a darn thing about it. Or that acting on your Truth looks like you think. What comes after telling yourself The Truth are The Insights; your marching orders for living your Truth. We try to access The Insights before we acknowledge The Truth–we want to know how before we know exactly what. In my experience it doesn’t work that way. You have to leap before you can know what the water feels like. I’m here to tell you, the water feels divine. And while it’s not always easy, I’m swimming just fine.

PS

My truth involved a hummingbird tattoo.

Thanks to Suzy from Two Birds Tattoo, Seattle.

Africa and The Maybe

Many of you know I recently had the extreme privilege of joining Martha Beck and twelve fabulous men and women for this year’s African STAR. It was amazing. Life-changing. Transformative. We saw leopards mating, need I say more?

Leopard foreplay...

Here’s what I thought would happen before I left:
I’ve been working on revamping my coaching practice and figuring out “what’s next” for me. I’ve met with some really cool experts who have helped me flesh out messaging and ideas, and even though it’s been hard work (Big clue alert! While a business revamp can be a big project, it shouldn’t feel like hard work. I wasn’t feeling the flow with it.) I felt like I was in the home stretch. I figured I would go to Africa, it would all gel and I would come home energized (after a day to recover from jet lag of course!), inspired and ready to LAUNCH my new COACHING PRACTICE. Dun, dun DUN!

The Universe, as played by Africa with a supporting cast of wild animals,  was like, “HA!”

Hyenas say "Ha!"

This is what actually happened:
I’m about an hour into the first leg of the flight and I’m talking to Martha about my FUTURE COACHING PRACTICE! (dun, dun, DUN!) And I realize what I was creating was not it at all. Sure, parts of what I created are it. But the whole, nope, too small. Huh.

Hippo says, "Ha!"

So I’m on the plane to Africa and I joke to Martha that I know less now than I did before I left the ground. But, I say confidently, I’m sure it will all come together in Africa!

Lioness says, "Ha!" (Well she's totally saying "Ha!" inside.)

It didn’t.

I went to Africa searching for inspiration and answers, and I got Maybe.

I didn’t know what I was experiencing could be called “The Maybe” until one of my fellow STARlings sent me this post from Mastin Kipp of Thedailylove.com called “Can You Live In The Maybe?” In it, he says,

Instead of demanding what we want and wanting it now, can we ask The Uni-verse for what we want, and then let go? Can we rest in the peace of the moment knowing we are provided for and that the perfect thing, which is probably better than what we asked for in the first place, will show up?

I am not a fan of The Maybe. I think The Maybe can bite it. Yet here I am. I’ve been here before, but this Maybe feels big. And it’s being stubbornly Maybe-ish about the whole thing.

I seem to be constitutionally incapable of applying my mind to the problem of “what next” and coming up with an answer that inspires me. That’s because it’s not a mind thing. I’m finally learning that all the real things are soul things, and I can’t think my way through them. I have to be and feel my way through. Which is living in The Maybe. To do like Mastin says, to truly learn to let go–as opposed to kinda sorta not really letting go–to be here now and to do whatever feels good in this moment. What feels good in the moment are things like talking to friends, attempting to connect to my body and emotions (I resist this a lot, it’s ok), sitting outside, doing fun things like going to comedy shows, trying stand-up paddling, and taking a running class.

I’m doing this because I have faith. Faith that the Maybe can imagine a hell of a lot bigger and cooler than I can. Faith that now is not the time to gallop forward. Faith that I can relax, give up the reins, and let the universe drive for a while.

I’m going to take a shot at deeply trusting The Maybe.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

There’s Nothing Wrong with You

There is nothing wrong with you.

It’s true.

I see your raised eyebrow, stick with me here for a sec.

You are not broken, you do not need to be fixed.
Your soul is whole.
The shitty things you believe about yourself are not true.
Even if you’ve done shitty things, you are not a shitty person.

You might be misguided and misinformed about yourself.
You might be disconnected from your true nature.
You may have forgotten who you really are.
Hell, your chakras might be out of whack.

But there’s nothing wrong with you.

You only believe there is.

I know you’ll try to convince me. You’ll give me a list of your transgressions ranging from lying, cheating and stealing to the size of your thighs.

I’m not buying it.
Not one bit.

You only transgressed because you believed that was how to get your needs met.
You only feel ashamed because you think you’re a bad person for what you did.
And what the heck did your thighs do to you to deserve this harsh treatment anyway?

That’s not to say that we aren’t flawed human beings. Oh we are!
It’s to say there’s nothing wrong with that.

That’s not to say that we don’t have darkness, struggles, imperfections. We do.
It’s to say that our flaws, darkness, struggles, imperfections and occasional shit-fits are all part of us. They make us whole.

Life is not about fixing what is wrong with you. It’s about throwing your arms wide, digging deep and embracing all that is you.

Find compassion for yourself rather than abuse.
Think about it, has abusing yourself and your body gotten you what you wanted?
Try giving yourself the benefit of the doubt.
Try forgiving.
Try to see how that thing you did–that awful thing–was about trying to meet your own needs. And then meet your own needs.

Try kindness.

You give so much kindness to others.

There’s nothing wrong with giving some to you.

Pedestal Syndrome

*** I wrote this piece about a year and a half ago as part of my Master Coach Training. Recently I felt compelled to send it to a couple of friends. And, when I reread it I thought, “What was the big deal about this?” rather than cringing like every other time I’d read it. So I figured it was time to pull the trigger.

And, if you’re wondering about “Kate” — we’re cool.****

I wanted her to like me, really like me—Sally-Fields-at-the-Oscars like me. I hired Kate to mentor me. She had everything I wanted as a coach; a booming practice, supreme confidence, and mad coaching Kung Fu.

My new coaching gig was by far the most challenging thing I’d ever done. I was spending a lot of time curled up in a ball under my desk–I’m not being figurative. If Kate liked me and told me I was a good coach, preferably repeatedly and effusively, that would mean I was indeed worthy. I began a campaign of attention-grabbing that made Britney Spears’ head shaving incident look mildly needy by comparison.

I was in the grip of Pedestal Syndrome again, the phenomenon of glomming onto someone you admire and dysfunctionally hero-worshipping them. If you’ve ever put someone on a pedestal, chances are you’re already cringing in memory of your clingy behavior and cringe-worthy antics.

I was acting like a lovestruck 12-year-old. I would send Kate emails and immediately overanalyze everything I said. The grown up equivalent of “Does she like me?” and “OMG I’m so lame!!!” Truth be told, I was not acting very grown up. And, like any obsessive 12-year-old, these questions would keep me up at night, my mood soaring or plummeting with every response—or non-response.

You know you’ve got a case of Pedestal Syndrome when you spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about your object of worship and more importantly, what they think of you.

You may find yourself:
- Working overly hard to be funny and charming.
- Oversharing intimate or shocking details of your life.
- Obsessing over the meaning of their every move.
- Making their actions about you.
- Analyzing everything you say.

If this sounds a little creepy and stalkerish, you’re right. That’s the irony, the whole idea of putting someone on a pedestal is to get them to like and approve of you, but by doing it, you become less likable.

I was looking for approval and confidence in the wrong place. I didn’t believe I had these qualities so I desperately wanted someone else to tell me I did. But, when you’re looking for approval from someone else, they could back up a truck filled with approval and dump it on you and it would never be enough.

Approval is an inside job.

Until you believe you are worthy, no amount of external approval will do.

Recovering from Pedestal Syndrome isn’t about knocking your object of worship off the pedestal, but about raising yourself up and standing tall as an equal.

Here’s how to raise yourself up and make that pedestal disappear.

1. Spot It, You’ve Got It
Usually “Spot It, You’ve Got It” is used to explain the idea that what we find annoying in others is what we don’t like in ourselves. But it’s also true for positive qualities. If you are hero-worshipping, realize that you are drawn to those qualities because they are innately present in you. The reason I was drawn to Kate is because I’m a strong, confident, highly insightful woman who has her own kickass coaching Kung Fu. I was using Kate as a mirror, only I couldn’t see my reflection.

Cultivate belief in yourself. Instead of focusing on how great your object of worship is, start finding evidence that you already have the qualities you are waiting for the object of your adulation to bestow upon you.

2. Mind Your Own Biz
When I was focused on Kate, I was in her business. I raised myself up when I started minding my own business.

When you mind your own business, you are focused on what you can control. For me this meant continually bringing my straying mind back to me. Getting back to my business meant creating my own opportunities, seeing and congratulating myself for my own wins and focusing on my healthy and supportive non-Pedestal relationships.

3. Gain Perspective
Putting someone on a pedestal blinds you from seeing who they really are. All you can see is your story about them through the filter of your own skewed perception.

When I removed the filter of making everything she did about me, I could see that she had a full life and other things to think about. She was not interested in coddling my emotional needs. She was very aware that I had put her on a pedestal and was not playing my game. My ego put me at the center of her universe when I was actually a small satellite.

Gain perspective by starting to see that your object of worship’s behavior might not be about you. Might they be human too? Might they have their own insecurities and problems? Might they be focused on something besides you? Is it possible they’re intimidated by YOU? These kinds of questions are the beginning of the shift.

You rise up as an equal when you:
- Understand that you put this person on a pedestal because you’ve spotted qualities in them that you already possess.
- Stay focused on your own business and start actively finding evidence for your own worth.
- Gain perspective by seeing your object of worship as a flawed human being, just like the rest of us.

Stand up within yourself, give yourself all the approval and attention you’ve been waiting for someone else to hand you. You will see the world with clearer eyes. You may not decide to continue your relationship with your former object of worship, but if you do, the relationship will be right-sized—eye-to-eye, human-to-human, heart-to-heart. Equal.