We Are Not Alone

On a rainy Thursday morning I unexpectedly found myself alone in a coffee shop. There to meet a new friend, we’d gotten our wires crossed on the time we were to meet. I had at least an hour before an upcoming appointment. Ordering an Americano—with an extra shot of course—I sat down at a table, my journal sitting next to me. It was then that I wondered if the morning wasn’t a mistake after all. If, in fact, I was there to have a date with God. An hour of quiet to sit together, to listen, and to be heard.

Earlier that morning I’d had one of those powerful, messy, raw, and ultimately beautiful FaceTime conversations with one of my daughters. Our conversation wandered through home decorating ideas, upcoming pre-school schedules, parenting challenges, and grocery shopping lists. And then suddenly we found ourselves at the crossroads of her past, the challenges of the present, and her hopes for the future. Which landed us on the painful topic of past trauma and wounding, which then led us to the possibility of generational healing.

Looking through my own lens, and speaking only for myself, ours is a family that has struggled with anger and rage, impacting multiple people on multiple fronts. It was true of the generations before me, and it was a part of my own experience growing up. Add to that the fact that the first time around I chose to marry someone who had his own issues with anger and rage. With good help, I’ve worked to understand those rageful roots, and undo their patterns. My daughter and I talked about how those roots and patterns were part of the soil in which she grew up, and in which her own family is now growing. None of us wants to pass on those parts of ourselves that are unhealed, but left untended, we do. Her pain around anger and its impact on her and now her own family was tangible as we sat together screen to screen. I expressed my deep sadness that she had to experience that in her past, and now has to encounter this same family tendency in her present. I apologized for the part I played in passing that tendency on. Our conversation mattered. My apology mattered. Her need to hear that apology mattered. We ended the time grateful for the safe space we’ve created to talk about scary things.

Sitting in the coffee shop with my Americano, my journal, and God, I picked up a pen and started writing. What does it take to do the hard work to heal from our past? To mend from the uninvited, and perhaps unintended, pain and trauma that make up part of our history? Unintended or not, generational wounding and trauma are inconvenient truths that come with being human. Generational healing is only possible when we encounter and engage with our wounds.

Our unhealed pain always reveals itself, and when it does, that is the moment of invitation…

“Will you meet me head on?” it asks. “ Will you confront me? Will you look me in the eye? Will you put your forehead to mine so that together we can find our way out of this cage of your past that imprisons us both? I want out of here as much as you do, because our freedom, and the freedom of the generations to come are inextricably linked. Know that you are not alone in this quest for wholeness. It is the path all are called to walk if they have the courage to do so. You are not meant to navigate such difficult terrain alone, so seek wise traveling companions, and ask for their help. ”

Closing my journal and heading for the car, I was reminded that we are not alone in our brokenness. None of us make it through unscathed. Our pasts are some combination of the good, the bad, and sometimes, the seriously ugly. Our healing begins when we are courageous enough to look that truth in the eye, and discover what it has to tell us. Because only the truth can set us free. Us, and the generations to come.

Amen.

May it be so.

Going First

One Friday afternoon in February I sat down to watch a virtual keynote I’d recently delivered to a live leadership development event. While the message was good, my delivery was anything but. I certainly wouldn’t have been inspired by me if I was watching me. Granted, it was the day after the sudden death of my brother, and I knew I could give myself a pass for that. But even still. The energy, juice and mojo that usually characterize my work were missing. Were they gone for good? Could I get them back? Was I losing my relevance?

The following Monday I wrote an email to two friends about the experience of watching myself in sub-par action. The three of us have had a standing monthly virtual meeting for several years now, and together have created a safe space where we can show up in whatever state we find ourselves. Once I started my email to them, the words wouldn’t stop. Lump in my throat, I uncovered a fear that has been lurking inside for some time, and the longer it lurks, the stronger its grip.

Re-reading what I had written, it felt so raw, so real, and so exposed, that I was tempted to hit delete.

I hit send instead.

“As much as I believe in the beauty of aging, and the importance of doing everything I can to be the very best, most vibrant, strong, wholehearted, and attractive me possible, and of being an example of what real aging looks like to my daughters and the world at large, it is a lot easier said than done when it's me staring back at me.”

Both friends got back to me in short order. Not with words about why I shouldn’t feel that way, or to boost my confidence, but with gratitude for having told the truth, and inviting a conversation they were eager to have and in need of themselves.

Putting my experience into words and sharing them loosened fear’s grip, and paved the way for me to find a new interpretation of an old story. Rather than sliding into irrelevance with each new trip around the sun, I am being invited to step into my role as a teacher of the well and hard earned wisdom collected along my way. I can even say that I’m (mostly) looking forward to bringing my communication skills to a new kind of stage.

As it turned out, after watching the video, one of those same friends left me a voice mail that brought us both to tears. While my message might not have been delivered in the visual way I would have wished, she said that she couldn’t take notes fast enough on what I’d shared, and it paved her way for a new interpretation of an old story too.

That’s what happens when we tell the truth.

What happens is that we find out that we are not alone.

What happens is that we give other people permission to tell the truth too.

What happens is that we start a conversation where it is safe to tell the truth, which in the long run, is the only kind of conversation worth having.

Ours is an if-you-show-me-yours maybe I-will-show-you-mine kind of culture. It simply feels too risky to go first, and so usually, no one does. Better safe, isolated with our own fear, pain and insecurity, than risk being sorry to have shared them at all. It’s a vicious cycle. One that can only be broken when someone dares to go first.

A Buffer

A buffer serves as a shield or defense. It is a protective barrier that prevents contact between things. There are times when we are called to serve as a buffer for others. To protect them from the raging storm that threatens to overwhelm and overtake them.

And.

There are times when, as difficult as it is, we are called to move out of the way and let things collide in order for a reckoning with what is to occur. This is true everywhere. Whether talking about the workplace, financial realities, a family, a friendship, a marriage, an athletic team, or a corner office on the C-Suite, change and transformation can’t occur without rubbing directly up against the truth.

Serving as a buffer is an act of love.

So is stepping aside.

Photo from pexels.com

The Truth

The art of telling the truth takes a lifetime to master. Every day we are surrounded with opportunities to practice saying what we mean and meaning what we say. Telling the truth is as simple as that and as hard as it gets.

When it comes to having the real conversations, the ones that matter, it is tempting to take an easier way out. To couch what we say in general terms and hope they figure it out. To soften the message so that we don’t have to own up to what we really want to say if we had the courage.

Any truth, no matter how inconvenient, can be shared in a way that comes from the best of us. With practice, we can become more skilled at telling the truth as we see it, and more open to hearing how others see it. And that is how it can set us free.

Photo by Daniel Bendig from Pexels

More Than A Thousand Words

Do you ever feel like this?

Yeah. Me too. 

In Honor of President's Day

Who voted for you?

Today is President's Day.  Smack dab in the middle of the campaign season leading up to election day, November 8, 2016, if you are like me, the days between now and then are painful.  Painfully slow.  Painful to watch.  Painful to listen to the gaggle of candidates campaign for our votes.  This election cycle, perhaps more than ever before, it is so easy for me to look at them and criticize and find fault; with their platform, their flip-flops, their promises... not to mention their hair. It is so easy to judge, and let's be honest here, it is also wickedly fun and self-satisfying...to make fun of them.  So easy in fact that it's easy to forget that I am always in the midst of my own campaign season.  We all are.

The Platform

Our platform is our declaration of who we are and what we stand for.  It is the basis from which we operate.  It is where the rubber meets our road.  Our platform connects who we are with what we do and how we do it.  Votes are earned when our words are seen in action, reflecting who we are and what we care about.

Flip-Flopping

Flip-flopping has unfairly earned a bad name.  It all depends on a flip of that coin. HEADS: We adjust our stance because we've learned something new, seen the issue in a different light, stood in someone else's shoes, realized we only had part of the information.  This side of the coin says we are open to new ideas, willing to stay in the conversation, able to acknowledge our mistakes.  This side of the coin earns the best kind of vote.  TAILS: We change our position to be accepted, to win more votes, to lose as little as possible, to look good, to avoid taking a courageous stand for what we believe, to play it safe.  But playing this side of the coin is a dangerous game, as it might earn us a vote in the short term, but only at the steep price of lost trust over the long haul.

The Promises

These are the things we put our good name behind should we earn your vote.  This is what we've committed to.  These are our marching orders once elected.  This is what you can count on us for. A campaign promise kept is a deposit in our trust account, a down-payment for a future project, a security deposit against possible damage.  A promise kept earns a future vote.  A broken promise loses the vote we have. 

Over the years many people have cast their vote for me, and a lot more will before it's all over.  When people choose us they are casting their vote, checking the box with our name next to it.  They choose us as a friend, a life partner, a team leader, a trusted colleague, a keynote speaker, a painter, doctor.  They choose to read our book, eat at our restaurant, watch our movie, buy our artwork.  They make a choice to listen to our perspective, share their fears with us, expose their weaknesses and allow us to see their dreams-still-in-the-making.  They vote for us based on our campaign.

What is your platform?

Which side of the coin are you playing?

What have you promised?