Words That Matter

Some recent testimonials from clients. Every time an email like this shows up in my inbox, I'm blown away. We're in this together, friends. Spread kindness, help where you can, use your gifts, believe in each other, let's go, let's go, let's go.

Lessons in Listening and Soup

I've been speaking with a client about a potential move lately. There's really no "reason" for her to spend time in another place, and many are quick to point that out. There's really no "reason" for her to leave where she is, and many are quick to point that out. There's also no "reasonable" way any city could be better than the one she's currently in.. you know the next line, right?

But what if the fact that she feels the urge to go is exactly the right reason?
What if the annoying nagging voice that tells her to do it is the only reason?
What if just wanting to go is the best reason she could ever have?
What if she just feels called?
What if that's enough?

I can't tell you how many times I'm working with clients who are struggling to make a decision and without fail, each and every time, they already know what they are going to do. They already hold the answer in their hands, like a bowl of soup that makes them feel like they're slightly on fire or hot with desire. Instead of seeing the soup in their hands, they're running around, sloshing soup out the sides of the bowl, trying to figure out why they are suddenly feeling so hot. And with each person they run to and ask what to do, they spill just a bit more soup until all they have left is the bowl and they can't figure out why, why, why they have an empty bowl in their hands, so they put it down to start trying to figure that out and get completely distracted and walk away from it.

Two days later, the whole thing repeats.

Aside from the fact that this is one of the strangest metaphors I've ever written (and also that now I want a bowl of soup), it's exactly what happens to all of us.

Friends, that gently nudging you feel, that soft calling, that idea that dances through your head sixty-five times a year (or day), is enough. Trust that whatever, or whoever, or wherever it is leading you to will have something very important waiting there, just for you. Trust there is something on the other side of that feeling. And that the feeling alone is worth pursuing.

Find the bowl of soup you've been running around with, the answer that is already in your hands, and go. Run as fast as you can toward that calling. Go.

Lessons in Running

"Ready?", I asked as we turned into Central Park. "Let's do it.", he agreed, and we started jogging at the same time. Left, right, left, right.

The other night, while communicating via email, I felt like this client needed a change of pace - literally and metaphorically. I wrote him back to meet me at my place, running shoes on and ready to go. For some strange reason, people seem to really trust me so he showed up this morning, dropped off his stuff and we took off.

As we started running, I asked him to jut his neck out forward and did it with him. If you're a runner, or even if you've ever just enjoyed a casual jog, you know that it's pretty hard to run with your head leading. It throws you off balance and it doesn't feel too good.

"Here's the thing," I started talking, continuing to run with my neck out, "when we run with our heads moving before out feet, we get uncomfortable, feel awkward, cause ourselves pain, and feel like we're doing something wrong." I eased my neck back into it's rightful and comfortable position before continuing, asking him to do the same. "When we let our feet lead us, it feels much better, and we get to where we're going easier, with less pain. It's the same in life. We can't let our mind move before our actions, just as we can't let our heads move before our feet."

It's something I actually say to myself on my runs: feet before head, just like actions before mind. I repeat this as I loop around corners, as the sweat settles in, and when I think I can't keep going. Somehow, when I get back home and back to work, these words have tucked themselves into my being and I take action much more freely, without worrying about what anyone will think or what the outcome may be. Feet first, actions first.

Slowing him back to a walking pace, I pointed to where we had wound up, at a beautiful fountain in the middle of the most beautiful park in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. "Sometimes it feels like we can't keep going, or that we're pushing ourselves too hard, or that we'll never get out of an uncomfortable place we happen to be in. That our feelings will last forever." I gestured the scenery we had wound up at, "But life is like this. Uncomfortable feelings and situations lead us to beautiful places."

We took off again and instead of going my regular route, I followed a new path and promptly announced I had no idea where we were or how we'd get home (seriously, why do people trust me?). He laughed because I think he was catching on now. "But here's the thing, I'm safe. I'm okay. Nothing bad is happening to me, right?" He agreed. "Just because I don't know where I'm going doesn't mean I won't get there eventually. I'm not going to get stuck here forever. I'm just going to keep going until I find my way to where I need to be."

Have you ever heard that quote about Love being the gentle process of leading ourselves home? Wait, I'll find it. Okay, got it: "Perhaps Love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself." Running, for me, is love/hate. Most of the things I love most in the world feels a little love/hate sometimes, actually. But running especially. However, I consistently find that running leads me slowly and steadily back to the truth of who I am. It shows me that I'm not someone who gives up, that I can feel like I'm going to die but in actuality I'm totally fine, and that when I'm in pain I am always getting stronger. It reminds me that when I'm receptive to life, I'm flooded with gorgeous lessons that are aligned with what I need to learn at the moment.

We were nearly done by now and running easily down a hill. When we came to a walk again, I mentioned how easy it can feel during the downhill times, when everything feels like it's going great and you want to push forward and go faster to get to where you're going sooner. "But even in those times of feeling easy and free, we still have to maintain our pace, use our core, and not go crazy. If we speed up really fast, there's a chance we'll trip on our own feet and faceplant. It's the same in taking action. If you get a burst of motivation and do everything at once, you might find yourself tripping up and wishing you'd kept your even pace. It's not about getting there faster, it's about trusting that we're on the path we're meant to be on and we'll get there exactly when we're meant to."

Coaching, for me, is not about acting like I have it all together or I know secret things that no one else can ever know. It's about using examples in my own life, admitting to my own flaws and shortcomings, and reminding my clients, and the people around me, that we are all in this together. In essence, we're jogging alongside one another, urging each other on, experiencing all of the same feelings, and trusting that when we're struggling to keep going, a friend will catch our pace and stay next to us awhile, and we'll do that for someone else a little later down the line.

Lace up your shoes, friends. We've got places to go.