Category Archives: big lessons
It’s not you. It’s me.
“All suffering is caused by ignorance. People inflict pain on others in the selfish pursuit of their own happiness or satisfaction.” — Dalai Lama
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“He ate the last one, and he knows they’re my favorite!”
“What do you mean it’s sold out? You just don’t want me to have one.”
“I know he cut me off on purpose…”
Really, people. Let’s be reasonable about this. With the exception of maybe a few select sociopaths, no one plots over their Wheaties in the morning trying to find ways to ruin your day. They were most likely pondering ways to make their day better – and chances are you just stumbled into their way.
We human beings are inherently selfish animals, and we default to the path that serves our own best interests without thinking much more about it. Unfortunately we forget that taking that particular path might cause us to trample on other people’s interests along the way. I’ve done it. So have you. It doesn’t make us bad people, just occasionally inconsiderate and fallible. Human.
We could all stand a bit more tolerance and forgiveness in our lives. So the next time you find yourself getting your undies in a bunch over something “done to you” in the course of your day, try this:
- Take a deep breath or two.
- Grasp your bunched undies firmly with both hands and tug them back down where they belong.
- Treat it as a bump in your path instead of a collision, and continue about your day.
Try it. What could it hurt?
Even better – what could it heal?
Nope. Didn’t need to know that.
This morning I went to the dentist. I’ve been seeing the same dentist since I was five and the staff there has always been great, so I don’t actually mind going.
Well, I didn’t mind going until today.
Promptly at 9am I was greeted by my hygienist and escorted back to the chair, and as I got settled in she started to.. um… “share.”
She told me about her dog that died recently, and that they got a new one that they named after her dad who passed away a few months ago. And she thinks that could have been prevented, because he had a heart attack 6 weeks before the scheduled EKG he was supposed to have. And her husband’s been out of work for the last 18 months, and he can’t find another job. And he doesn’t do anything around the house, even though he’s not working. And they have no health insurance. So it’s a good thing that she had those breast lumps removed before he lost his job (and the insurance). The doctor she went to was a complete butcher, I should see the scars. (No, thank you.) And her sister-in-law is moving in with them next month with her husband and their 4 kids. Now that dad died, they have extra room. The sister-in-law also just adopted a pit bull, which she thinks is totally irresponsible. The dog’s coming, too. To join their 5 dogs. All of the dogs can’t fit in bed with them, so she and her husband sleep in separate beds. And the one dog has a bladder issue and very short legs, so she has to get up a couple of times a night to lift the dog on and off the bed and let him out. The dogs are her kids, because she can’t have them. And her nephew’s baseball team just won the regional championships. (OH MY GOD! A BRIGHT SPOT!!) He didn’t look very happy after the win, but that was because he was so nervous about the big game that her sister had to pump him full of Immodium to make it through the whole thing. (Yep, should’ve seen that one coming…) She has a really bad stomach, too. In fact her whole family does, and they all eat Immodium like candy. She was so glad she brought a whole purse full on her Florida trip…
At this point she has finally gotten the tools unpacked and is ready to start the cleaning.
Yes. Really. If it wasn’t so damn hard to get an appointment rescheduled I would have been sprinting for the door like… well, like her family without Immodium apparently. I began to pray for an emergency dental surgery that would require full anesthesia.
No such luck.
For the next 30 minutes she regaled me with stories of every ill visited upon her and her extended family while she gouged at my gums. Her mother’s recurring headaches. Her cousin’s cancer. Her dog’s incontinence. There was apparently nothing too horrible or trifling to dump in my lap as I lay trapped in the chair. I was her captive audience.
Now I’m one of those people who believes that there are lessons to be learned from everything. So after the torture cleaning was complete and I was escaping driving home I realized that this situation taught me two:
Lesson #1: Be thoughtful about what you share. It’s perfectly fine to show your human side and let people into your world, but try to keep it reasonable. Even though it may be important to you, complete strangers don’t want to hear about your crap. Save it for your therapist or BFF.
Lesson #2: ”Whoever’s available” are two very dangerous words. Choose a hygienist in advance.
Open doors
Isn’t it amazing how much one person can affect the life of another, and not even know it?
Back when I was in high school, I was one of those kids who never really felt like they belonged. The town I lived in felt too constraining, too small to hold all of my dreams and ambitions. None of my friends shared the same musical tastes or career goals. None of them shared my need to escape the familiar and see what the wider world had to offer. They happily aspired to living normal lives with normal jobs; perhaps they’d even in stay in Deptford to raise their families just as their parents had done.
I wanted out.
When I was about 16, I complained to my mother in an overdramatized outpouring of teenage melancholy about how trapped I felt in this town. That, having been born and raised here, I was doomed. Probably stuck here forever. Why on earth would the big exciting wide world ever accept me in, some podunk chick from such a small, unexciting place?
Without a word my mother got up and left the room. (I figured she had had enough of my whiny rant.) A few minutes later she came back in, toting a slightly yellowing copy of the 1964 Dorian — her high school yearbook.
My mom was quite familiar with this town I was complaining about, because she grew up in it, too. In fact, it was even smaller when she was my age, barely a blip on the South Jersey map. In high school I wandered the same halls she did a generation before, and even had some of the same teachers. Her classmates were the parents of many of mine, and she had even dated the father of one of the boys I was dying to kiss. (This was, no doubt, a strong contributing factor to my small-town angst.)
Anyway, back to that yearbook.
She leafed through the pages of senior photos until she came to one in particular — Patricia Lee Smith. A small-town girl like me who had ambitions and dreams. A small-town girl who didn’t feel like she fit there. A small-town girl who, not too long after this picture was taken, moved to New York and started her journey to becoming Patti Smith, the revered Godmother of Punk.
“She made it out. You can, too, if you want to.”
And right then, without her permission or her knowledge, Patti Smith became my liberator . My mother was right — I wasn’t stuck here (or anywhere for that matter) unless I wanted to be. The doors to that big world were indeed open — Patti had already swung ‘em wide. All I had to do was choose.
At this point of the story I’d like to tell you that, spurred on by Patti’s lead, I also went headlong into the world to become an amazing artist and do legendary things.
But I didn’t.
I went to college and travelled around a bit. I met kindred spirits, and people even stranger than me. I figured out who I was. And then, after years of trying to escape South Jersey, it suddenly occurred to me — I really liked it there. So I moved back. I currently live one town over from the one I spent my “trapped” teenage years in. (And no, the irony of this does not escape me.)
I bet when Patricia Lee Smith had her photo taken that day in 1964, she had no idea it would ever be more than just another face in the Dorian. But for me her presence in that yearbook signaled the promise of “possible;” photographic proof that you can go on to do great things no matter where you start out from. She became my guide through the fear of doing things differently and being myself. In many ways she still is.
Thanks, Patti. I owe you one.
Are all your company’s oars in the water?
If they’re not, you’re not alone. It’s quite a common problem, especially for small businesses in the process of growth.
When you first started the business, it was probably with a handful of people who you picked because they shared your vison, and everyone was pretty tuned-in to the common mission. You only had a handful of core products or services, so it was easy for your group to stay focused. You shared a common culture and set of beliefs that guided you in making decisions, and everyone pitched in wherever they could. All oars paddled in the same direction.
And then you started to become more successful. The clients started rolling in, the orders were more than your small group could handle alone, and you needed more oars in the water to move the boat forward. And so you started hiring.
With all these additional rowers your corporate boat should be clipping right along, right?
But it’s not… Your well-oiled machine starts to develop some squeaks. Things aren’t running quite as smoothly. Your employees aren’t getting along as well as they once did. The hull starts to spring a few leaks. The team’s mantra of “what else can I do?” starts to morph into a cranky whine of “that’s not my job.” Everyone’s paddling away, but the boat’s going nowhere fast. What happened?
Odds are you were so busy minding your business that you neglected to mind your culture.
Because your original team operated easily under the same guiding principals for so long, your corporate culture seems like a no-brainer — you start to take it for granted. Doesn’t everyone want this? Doesn’t everyone share these goals, this work ethic? Isn’t it natural for everyone to pull together? In the beginning that was probably true of your team — and probably why you ended up together (and were successful) in the first place.
When you started hiring new employees, did you hire for cultural fit, or a disembodied skill set? If you’re like most companies, you figured that as long as you filled the new seats with people who had the right qualifications in their resume they’ll naturally fall in line with your culture. Everyone would get along and play along. Everything would be fine. The new rowers would figure out the rhythm and the boat would move faster, right?
Wrong.
The more people you have in the boat, the more important synchronization becomes.
Sure, you need people with the right know-how to keep the business moving forward, but you also need the right beliefs and attitudes as well. Culture is an organic and ever-changing thing, and every person you hire has the ability to influence it — positively or negatively. Personal interaction is at the core of culture, and the types of people you hire (not you) will largely define it.
You need to make sure all your oarsmen are pulling to the same cadence.
Companies like Southwest Airlines and Zappos recognize this, and they go to great lengths to hire based on cultural fit as well as job skills. In fact, the importance of cultural fit actually outweighs raw talent in their interviewing process. Southwest has stated straight out that they hire for attitude and train for skill — that the candidate with the right personality type can be taught the job skills they need to be successful, but not vice versa. Zappos applicants interview with numerous employees throughout the company to test for cultural fit. These companies go to great lengths at the start to make sure that everyone will row in the same direction, regardless of the current size of their paddle. It’s really no coincidence that these companies have been so successful.
If you find yourself dealing with more issues inside your company than outside, perhaps it’s time to rethink how you think about hiring. Take the time to look for oarsmen who are willing to paddle in the same direction as your existing team. Once they’re on board you can always help them find a better oar.
A bad paddle is easily replaced. A bad oarsman can cost you the race.
Before the moment has flown
One of the things that I have learned in my creative life: the muse will visit you at the most unexpected times.
One of the things I need to un-learn in my life: the little voice in the back of my head that says “do the chores first.”
It never fails. I’m cleaning the bathroom, washing dishes, vacuuming, or doing some other completely mundane yet necessary task. And — BLAM! — inspiration comes zooming in out of the blue. A creative epiphany. A gift from the gods!
BUT…
There’s that “necessary” task I was in the middle of… Let me just finish this, and then get to that, and maybe tidy up something else, and then later I’ll get to that creative thing…
BUT…
By the time I get this and that and the other thing out of the way, the muse has flown. The inspiration is gone. The words are lost.
The lesson here, despite being terribly trite, is to strike while the iron is hot. You may never get a second chance. You may never have that same opportunity again. Whether it’s writing, or painting, or calling up a long-lost friend, or giving your kid an impromptu bear hug, do it when you’re inspired to do it. Whatever it is, it is a gift from the gods, so treat it as such. Take the few moments to act on that inspiration, and then go back to what you were doing.
The mundane stuff will always be there. Those rare precious moments may not.
A good night’s sleep
I just bought a new bed.
I’ve been sleeping on an old worn-out mattress for a couple of years too long. Tossing, turning, and not really getting a good night’s sleep. Waking up with aches and pains. But I lived with it. I’m looking for a new house, and figured I would just wait it out and buy a new bed when I move. Whenever that finally happens. Someday, hopefully soon. I could live with it until then.
But then I realized I couldn’t. I just couldn’t take another night of that godawful mattress. So I broke down and bought a new one last week. And you know what? I love it. I sleep like a baby. I wake up refreshed and more ready to take on whatever the day throws at me.
Change is like that. We avoid it like the plague, waiting out our current situation, always believing that change is better suited for sometime in the future. When the timing is right, and the stars align properly. Whenever that finally happens. Someday, hopefully soon.
Maybe we should try to make more change right now. Maybe it would be better for us. Maybe we would be happier sooner.
Sleep on that thought.
The future awaits…
Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.
Aren’t we all afraid of change, to some degree or another? It’s part of the human condition to seek a stable and predictable world. We all worry about the unknown, and what will happen next. If we decide to do something differently, what might we accidentally and irreversibly put into play?
The funny thing is, our whole existence – our whole universe – is predicated on change. From the day we were conceived until the day we die, “change” is truly the only constant. Our bodies change. Our beliefs and opinions change. Our situations change. Hell, even the weather around us changes on a daily basis. You’d think we’d be OK with it by now.
When things do change (as they inevitably will), we manage to find ways to adapt and adjust. The world doesn’t end, it just becomes a little bit different. We know this. We’ve experienced it a thousand times over. So why do we fight so vehemently against it? Why do we fearfully wait for change to overtake us, instead of running alongside it?
The future awaits, and like it or not it won’t be exactly like today.
What if we didn’t hold on to our familiar ways so tightly, let go a little of our “tried and true” that ultimately has a limited shelf life? Instead of steeling ourselves against it, what if we dove straight into change with both feet?
I’m betting we’d come out on the other side just fine. We’d adapt and adjust. The world wouldn’t end, but it would probably be different. Perhaps different in a way that was far better than we could have imagined.
(Silence)
True silence is the rest of the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment. ~William Penn
Absolute silence. When is the last time you really enjoyed it?
These days we seem to go to great lengths to avoid it. We constantly talk and tweet and email and FaceBook. We consume great quantities of stuff to fill the voids in our days, from books and blogs to video games and movies. We keep the TV or the radio on for “company.” We seek out every distraction imaginable.
We’ve developed this insistent need to be constantly stimulated, constantly plugged in. We’re afraid that if we disconnect ourselves – even for a minute – we’ll miss out on something really important. But by not disconnecting, we are missing out on something very important – ourselves.
All that noise drowns us out. It keeps us from hearing our own inner voice, and distracts us from thinking our own thoughts. It rushes us through out daily lives like a raging river. It shakes us awake from our dreams.
Why are we so eager to spend time with everyone else’s ideas, rather than our own? When did spending some quiet time alone become a social stigma instead of a refreshing break from it all?
We need to bring more quiet into our lives. We need to give ourselves the opportunity to think more clearly about who we are, and where we’re headed. We need to push all that noise aside so that our own ideas can come into focus. We need to get comfortable with silence again and relax into it like a big comfy armchair with a warm cup of tea.
Unwind. Decompress. Just be.
Talisman
I have this thumb ring. Well, I used to have one.
Many moons ago, my husband (or at least he was at the time) and I were just starting our week’s vacation in New Orleans. We grabbed a couple of daquiris and sat on a bench to watch the street performers and artists in and around Jackson Square. A beautiful day. Or it was, until he told be he was in love with someone else. So much for a perfect vacation.
As I wandered that day alone through the city trying to get my head around this new revelation out of left field, I found it. The thumb ring. A simple silver band. I purchased it on the spot.
This is it. This will be my talisman. This will be my constant reminder of who I am, my uniqueness, my independence. This will never happen to me again.
For years I wore this ring, and every time I twirled it absentmindedly around my thumb I was reminded of the kind of person I wanted to be. Reminded that I needed to be my true self. Reminded that I needed to stand up for what I believed in and to live my life the way I wanted to live it. It reassured me that I could do this. I could be this woman.
And then, about six weeks ago it happened — the thumb ring was gone. Somewhere between Virginia and New Jersey it had disappeared, somehow slipped off my finger and lost forever. One of my friends at work asked me where it was, and I quite frankly hadn’t a clue. (In retrospect it’s interesting that she noticed it was missing and I didn’t.) Immediately panic ensued in my brain.
My thumb ring! My talisman! Where had it gone? I need it to remember who I am!
I added a line item to my to-do list: Get new thumb ring. But other things became priority, and I just haven’t gotten to the store to look for one.
And then today it hit me. I don’t need it. Not anymore.
You see, that ring was there to remind me of the person I wanted to be. And now, I’ve just realized, I’m there. I am a very unique and independent person. I do live life now on my own terms. I don’t let other people’s whims and shortcomings overshadow my life. I don’t need a reminder to be this person anymore, no more than I need a reminder to breathe.
For many years it guided me, but I’ve happily grown beyond it.
It served its purpose, and now I let it go.
Letting go
To truly be free we need to let go.
I realized that I’ve been holding on to bits and pieces of my past lives, carrying them with me every time I move. They clog up my house, they take over my closets, they tie me to a person I no longer am. They hold me back from becoming the person I truly am and want to be.
It’s time to clean house. Literally.
Tonight I went through closets and drawers, ruthlessly tossing the “one day I might use this” stuff. Because I won’t. I chucked the “it’s perfectly good” stuff. Because it’s perfectly good for someone else, not me. It’s not my taste and not my style, so why do I insist on keeping it? No more. Out it goes.
Pretty teal sheets? Never use them because they feel scratchy. Goodbye.
Expensive dress? Looks like hell on me, actually. Goodbye.
Writing desk that my mother hand-stained for me when I was seven, but even she didn’t really like? It just takes up space. Goodbye.
A barely opened tube of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste? My son is almost five. Goodbye.
I’m tired of opening up closets, cabinets and drawers and being confronted by things that no longer have a useful life here. Tired of paying penance daily for bad buying decisions. Tired of so much… well, crap, quite frankly. So into a legion of trash bags it goes, destined for the dumpster or the nearest Good Will bin. Good riddance.
It’s amazing how good this purging feels. I thought I would feel guilty about getting rid of all of this “perfectly good stuff,” but instead I feel refreshed, cleansed, renewed. Even with the closet doors closed, the rooms now feel somehow lighter and more spacious when I walk into them. The weight of the past is lifted. I’m free.
I’ve let go of the past. And now I’ve made room for the future to come in.
Have you?
