Lessons In Patience; Or, How I Learned To Surrender At The Post Office

As soon as I put their leashes on, I started to doubt this idea. There was no way they'd make it the whole way, there was no way I could carry the mail and navigate my criss-crossing, zooming pups at the same time, and it was just dumb.

All of those negative thoughts meant one thing: I absolutely had to do it.

We had a typical start with Henry trying to partake in a sprinting competition that no one else knew was going on, and Layla trying to (literally) smell all the flowers along the journey of life, and me looking like I was about to be drawn and quartered the old fashioned way (is there a new way? not sure why I included old fashioned there..) with my left arm pulling as far as it can go to the left and the right arm pulling as far as it can go to the right, and the quiet whisper of the word 'help' escaping from my lips.

We had finally made it around the corner and I was sighing as we waited for Layla to fully sniff this particular blade of grass, when I turned to Henry and said, "Your sister sure does teach us patience, doesn't she?"

And that's when it hit me. She absolutely does. And I absolutely need it. And it's absolutely beautifully timed.

I like to believe I'm in control of my day, my life, and how things go. And I'm so not. Spoiler alert: neither are you! I can hear the sound of so many people clicking out of this blog post at this very moment, but it's true. I'm sorry, because I know how much you want to believe you are. Probably at least half as much as my control freak self wants to believe it.

But you know what's even more delicious than being that person who is totally in control? The person who is in full surrender. That is some yummy, sexy, powerful shit.

Our walk to the post office took much longer than it would have if I went alone, and I had to take deep breaths of patience several times. We don't learn how to surrender in one quick moment, it's something to keep practicing. I was convinced it must have been at least an hour or two by the time we got to the center of town, but the large clock told me it had only been about twenty minutes. Isn't it fascinating how freaking long everything feels when we just want to get there now now now? Don't we decide just exactly how long something should take and if it's any longer (or just feels it) we're stomping our feet in frustration. When really, in the grand scheme of things, we're just barely into the adventure, with everything carefully and thoughtfully planned out for us ahead of time.

When we made it to the post office, and I popped those letters into the mailbox, I pretty much pumped my arms into the air and cheered, and announced that 'we made it, you guys, we made it!', with the exhaustion and pride that one might attribute to, say, someone who had just journeyed across the ocean on a raft. And you better believe I hope some passersby heard me and questioned my sanity. Cause that's always the true sign that I'm doing something right.

Think of something that you think is going to be unnecessarily hard to do, and do that thing. Prove to yourself you can do it. Think of something that you're desperately waiting on and wanting to happen now and allow yourself to surrender to the fact that it's already decided on when and how and if it will come to fruition. Show yourself you can surrender.

And then throw your arms up into the air and cheer for yourself a little bit. Preferably in public.

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.