I know a German man who grew up in Germany and lived there until he was eighteen. From the age of eighteen to the present day, in his thirties, he’s lived outside of Germany. You know what he told me, once? That he’s forgotten a decent chunk of spoken German. He never thinks in it or dreams in it. When he runs into another German, it takes him a few moments to get going.

Yes, that’s right–you can speak a language every day of your life for eighteen years, even during those crucial formative years where neurological wires are fusing, and still–if you don’t practice regularly? Things un-fuse.

Nothing is self-sustaining. Marriages don’t survive on a bit of effort put in once; they require ongoing nurturance. No one eats once a day and then says, “Ah, yes, I’m done for the day.” Pro-athletes who are immensely gifted cannot simply lie back and rest on their natural talent.

How to Lose the “It”

With that said–I’ll tell you how to lose, and lose big every time: buy the book, take the workshop, resolve to stop doing XYZ, and then decide that whatever gifts it gave you, “it doesn’t last.”

What’s underneath “it doesn’t last”? “It’s not enough.”

The reasoning goes that if it were enough, if the workshop or book or coach or whatever were *truly* effective… “it” would have lasted.

If I believe that, I’m in the hell of my own choosing. I’ve set myself up to lose: if I don’t do the work, I feel bad because I’m not doing the work, and if I do do the work, I feel bad because I decide that “it doesn’t last” and the experience is only worthy in proportion to how long it lasted.

By the way–what’s “it”?

The sense of connection to ourselves.

What’s Obvious is Not Obvious

This is one of those strange topics where “everyone knows this, already.”

“Kate, everyone knows this, already–that they have to practice regularly. Duh.”

Everyone “knows this, already,” but it’s impossible for the self-help market to be the gazillion dollar industry it is if people “really know that” they can’t expect permanent fixes.

Whatever work one is doing to stay connected with themselves, that work needs regular care.

We are living, breathing things, and everything that is living and breathing needs some kind of care.

Tap the Goods You Got

I’d like to invite everyone reading this to stop and think for a moment about the last great non-fiction book they read that was a personal growth or development persuasion. Have you really kept up with the practices introduced to you in that book?

How about workshops? Are you still aligned with the energy that you left that workshop with? (P.S. There’s a reason that the term “workshop high” exists).

What about the last retreat you went on? Were you relaxed coming out of the retreat? Are you still as blissed out and connected, now?

–and if you’re not, why not?

The truth is that that book, workshop, or retreat–it gave you nothing.

You gave you, to yourself.

You gave yourself the openness to take into your heart the ideas in that book.

You gave yourself the permission to live in a high-vibration when you were at that workshop.

You gave yourself the gift of allowing and non-attachment that had you so relaxed at that retreat.

You’ve got to keep on being open, giving yourself permission, and releasing and not getting attached, in order for that flow to continue.

Here’s More Obvious

Life is an ebb/flow equation, of course. We’ll all inevitably be open, give ourselves permission, release–and then one day, find that “it doesn’t work.”

Nah. Stop. Do you see how much suffering will await you if you head towards that road? (Do you see how it’s a choice to head in that direction?)

It’s not that “it’s not working.” It’s more like new circumstances are called for. New challenges are ahead.

With those challenges, new growth. You’re a living, breathing organism and you were meant to grow, not hunker down into a squat with the same old day-to-day.

And just notice how as soon as you think, “It doesn’t last,” and then decide that “That’s not true; I’ve changed and life has changed, and I now need to get curious as to what will reconnect me with myself in this new context,”

–it’s a whole different game of life that you’re playing. New opportunities, new places where you’ll shift and stretch and move, to experience being open, permissive, and releasing in an entirely different way.

Even More Good News

If it’s true that that which we want to keep in our lives will need some care, then this is also true:

that which we do not want in our lives can recede when we stop giving it care.

We give our negative criticism “care” when we continue to “practice” negative internal criticism, or criticism of others. We can practically make stuckness a houseguest when we decide that rather than doing anything…we’ll watch more television.

If you want more of something in your life, especially more of whatever you got from that book, workshop, retreat, coach, therapist, friend, etc., then cultivate it by offering it care. Provide the conditions for it to thrive and flourish.

If you want less of something in your life, stop providing such fertile ground for it to flourish.

Seems impossible? But consider this–my German friend has forgotten vast chunks of the language he grew up with. Really think about the magnitude of that! You probably cannot imagine forgetting vast chunks of English, but if you weren’t practicing it consistently, of course it would start to break up and become spotty (if you’re truly interested in the science behind this language phenomenon, read the book “Dreaming in Hindi”).

Start now, by not providing a second more fertile ground for any thoughts that “it won’t happen” for you.

You are who you say you are.

“Nietzsche was the one who did the job for me. At a certain moment in his life, the idea came to him of what he called ‘the love of your fate.’ Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, ‘This is what I need.’ It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment–not discouragement–you will find the strength is there. Any disaster you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege! this is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow.” –Joseph Campbell

This seems hard, doesn’t it? This letting go and agreeing to say “This is what I need” to whatever comes your way. I’ve called it by a few different names, whether it’s what I refer to in The Courageous Living Guides as “embracing all that comes into the circle of your existence” or simply being willing to say thank you in the midst of crisis.

It seems hard, but whenever we step in this direction, we quickly discover that it’s not hard–that what was harder all along was the resistance.

Radical Responsibility
I’ve been asking myself this question a lot, lately:

It’s like I’ve become hungry for it–to take this radical responsibility.

I call it “radical” because I’m talking about taking the kind of responsibility where, say, someone could get in my face and tell me that I’m a pathetic f*ckwad or some other series of names that “anyone” who is a “normal” human being would “naturally” respond to by “not taking it” and “stepping up to defend” themselves, and instead of all that, I want to…

…observe what comes up for me. Feel the anger rise in my body. Sense the despair that truly lies underneath. Accept all of it. Look at this person who is so mired in their Story about me and themselves and the world, and …take radical responsibility for my life by responding from the place of my highest self and the world that I want to create, rather than by meeting hatred with hatred.

I want to take radical responsibility for my life by noticing the places where I put myself in powerless positions, where I’m unwilling to speak my own truth in the face of someone else’s agenda, and then I want to make it about them and how they’re being so unfair with their demands.

I want to take radical responsibility for my life by noticing every single area where there is disconnection between me and myself, me and another, me and any thing that is in the world, and instead of bolstering more justifications for separation, I want to ferret them out and just figure out what I need in order to drop the separation.

What a Pollyanna. Lost Touch With Reality. A Little Too Purple Light Woo-Woo For My Tastes. Happy People Are So Annoying.

By the way, taking radical responsibility for my life would also mean a keen awareness, and acceptance of, the Stories that other people might run about who I am, or their capacity to connect with me, if I do any of this.

Bringing Love

“If you bring love to that moment–not discouragement–you will find the strength is there.” — Joseph Campbell

There’s no need to wait for life’s disasters. We can start practicing with everything that is before us, including the bad drivers, testy cashiers, and long lines at the post office that life brings.

And once we-you-me-I start practicing, it becomes quickly evident that it took far more effort to keep putting up those fearful defenses against life, and that life is waiting for us with open arms, whenever we’re ready.

“It must have felt terrible to have had that counselor being so unsupportive,” she said, her face pulled into a sympathetic smile.

She was referring to what I’d shared with the group when asked about the extent of experience that I’d had with narrative therapy or related techniques. I’d related to the group that I’d had a counselor who, after having worked with me for awhile and after having heard my (affectionately termed) “boo-hoo poor me” story several times, would smile gently at me and say, “Well, Kate–if you say so.”

Hearing this statement then would have me respond, “What do you mean, ‘if I say so’?” Then I’d tell him about five other things that had gone so horribly wrong and were so horribly stuck and there was no way out, and–well, then he just did the same thing. With love, and with care, he’d say, “Well, Kate–if you say so.”

In essence, he had simply been unwilling–loving, caring, gentle, but unwilling–to collude with my Story of defeat and victimization. (This is not straight “narrative therapy technique,” but it was, as requested, my share on the extent of my experience with anything related to narrative therapy).

I had shared this with the group and said that it had been “one of the most powerful and transformative experiences of my life” because what had happened when he refused to collude with my story was this–I got really good and pissed. I began lashing out at him. I made him the problem and started off in my head about how he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do and supporting me and…

…and suddenly I saw myself, quite clearly, defending the very Story that I was claiming I wanted freedom from, and instead finding more “evidence” to support the Story. Once again, I was casting myself in this narrative as the victim, only this time I was a victim of the person I’d gone to seeking help.

–and it was all bullshit. My Story was bullshit.

But despite sharing the power of that experience, at this narrative therapy meeting something was lost in translation for that woman, who thought that I’d been the victim of a shitty practitioner who had been unsympathetic towards his clients.

And that got me to thinking about patterns, and Stories, and how hard we’ll work to defend them, and why I believe this controversial statement:

A good coach, counselor, or therapist will piss you off just a bit.

This statement is controversial because there’s a generally accepted idea that whether it’s therapy, counseling, or coaching, you’re going to get “support.” People have different ideas about what “support” looks like, but almost no one thinks that “support” looks like the person you’re working with smiling at you and saying, “Well, Kate–if you say so,” when you’re in the middle of sobbing (again) over your life experience.

A good counselor, coach, or therapist will piss you off a bit, and here’s why: because those patterns and Stories that we run are not around for nothing. They’re there to shield us from pain, hide things, help us function around something that feels dysfunctional. The patterns or Stories aren’t particularly helpful or useful, but they feel better (for the time being) than seeing whatever is underneath them.

When someone starts poking around at those patterns or Stories–which is what it takes to actually shift something, for cryin’ out loud--the claws will come out to defend that position.

Generally, when someone like a counselor, coach, or therapist starts prodding at those patterns or Stories, the first thing that will come up is for a client is rationalization.

“Well, yes, I didn’t do that thing I said I was going to do [that was really important, that the client had put a lot of time into deciding she wanted],” someone will explain to me with complete calm in her voice, “but the thing was, I decided that I needed to give myself a break–why, if I had done that [the thing that the client had spent a lot of time saying was really important], I would have been acting like a perfectionist!”

See how that works? See how neatly packaged that looks? And a counselor, coach, or therapist might hear that and go, “Oh, yes. Good for my client. She didn’t want to be a perfectionist.”

I hear that and think, “Possible fear. Let’s check it out.”

My client who just put a ton of time and effort into deciding what she wanted and clarifying and establishing a plan has just told me that she didn’t execute. So here’s what I do as a coach in such situations–I start asking about fear. I start asking about feelings. I start asking about what perfectionism looks like, for her.

As a general rule, if the client starts explaining that they felt this or that fear, and had this or that feeling, and is very transparent about their experience of perfectionism, I’ll think, “Okay, then, yes–nothing is being hidden, here. They made a choice that supported where they’re at, this week. Now let’s talk about what would support working on this thing that was really important, that the client has put a lot of time into.”

But if the client starts justifying? Rationalizing? Red flag. And–getting a little irritated with me for asking further questions?

Well, then. Something’s up.

The next question becomes: Will I be the coach that simply holds up a mirror for what I see–with love and with care–even if this client gets a little pissed at me? Or will I be the coach that is afraid of my clients not liking me, and then backs down?

That experience that I had years ago with my own coach taught me that the greatest act of love we can give a client in those situations is to not collude with their Story–their Story of lack, of weakness, of “can’t do it,” of being a victim, of “nothing ever goes right,” of “why me?”, of “it’s my husband’s fault.” In no way am I saying to pretend as if the hurts don’t really hurt (they do; that’s an accurate Story) or to disagree with their Story outright (I believe in accepting that they have legitimate reasons for believing what they believe and I won’t tell them they don’t “really think” what they clearly really think) or to take a hard line with clients and treat them with “tough love” (real love isn’t tough; it melts hearts right open).

I am saying that as humans, we will defend out Stories with our lives (literally and figuratively) and that this process is not always pretty.

I am saying that these Stories are tricky, and that if we go into a coaching, counseling, or therapeutic situation and just have our Stories validated, we’ll never get anywhere.

I am saying that at some point, someone has to be willing to step up to the firing squad and say, “Fire away. Take me down if you must. But I will not pretend as if you are weaker than I know you really are, or less beautiful than I know you really are, or less capable, or less intelligent, or less willing, or lesser in any form. I have too much love and care for you to collude with those Stories.”

The world is one big mirror, after all–it’s just reflecting back to us our narrative, our Story, about how things work. We get to choose.

I cannot be alone in noticing that there are those who freely admit to liking their money, and those who, when asked such a question, will smile demurely while everything else about their body language suggests white-knuckled restraint, and say with measured tones, “Well, money is nice, but there’s more to life than money.”

First Big Statement: Of course there’s more to life than money.

Here’s the thing: that second person is not necessarily living a bigger or bolder life than the “I love myself some money” person.

The person who tries to “play it cool” around money is living a Story about money–that it is bad, that it is wrong to have too much of it. The amount of money that person has is really irrelevant–

–because the suffering that they won’t get away from in that Story will follow them, no matter how much money they ever make. Money is bad money is bad money is bad will go with them wherever they go, like a nagging headache.

If someone makes $200 a year, but they don’t have that “money is bad” Story dragging around with them, or some other Story (such as “I’m worthless because I make so little”) they are living the far richer life.

Stories separate us. Stories become our fuel for judgment, and our fuel for limiting our lives.

For instance: what is “too much,” anyway? This is another Story; a complete mental construction of right and wrong that is based on…nothing. Absolutely nothing, except some idea that I made up that it means…something.

Power Over Your Money Story

More confessions: I have a Story that people who have and spend money like Paris Hilton are “bad” people. I notice that this is a judgment and causes me to separate from another human being. I notice that I don’t really know her, and that having Stories about her really only limits my own money flow–because if I carry a Story that people who have more money are “bad,” then I’m not likely to be comfortable making more money, myself, for fear of being one of the “bad” ones. I notice that it’s not my business how she spends her money, but it sure as hell is my business how much compassion, acceptance, and love I have for another human being.

Doubtless, there are people who will read that and want to send me an email saying, “Kate, I’m so with you on the Paris thing. I can’t stand that bitch; the way she spends money makes me sick.”

I’d like to ask you not to send me that email. I’d like to ask both of us to consider why we allow a Story about someone else’s spending habits to “make us sick.” I’d like to ask everyone to consider whether or not our attitudes about money are making our lives sick.

We have power over these Stories–we choose them, and we get to choose to take on a different one.

Doing Your Thang
I am not suggesting that where we see money being mis-used, we just say, “Hey, it’s cool, do your thang.” We can notice that these multi-million dollar corporations paid nothing in taxes in 2010 and speak up to say that that is neither right nor fair in a society that has chosen to structure itself in such a way that everyone is supposed to contribute something.

It’s important that when BP causes a massive oil spill, people speak up when they try to write off the cleanup costs as a tax-deductible business expense.

If a poor person steals, we say something. If a rich person steals, we say something. We say it not because of Stories about money but because it’s not morally right to take something that is not ours.

But Paris Hilton, buying purses that cost thousands of dollars, or whatever the hell she does with those millions? None of my business (or yours).

Second Big Statement: How we approach money is related to how we approach life.

Imagine if I’d started this piece by saying, “I want joy. I like joy. I like having more joy than less and I like being joyful and still having more joy left over.”

You’d (hopefully) say: “Kate, you rock!”

So why not say that with money?

If I approach money with an attitude of restraint based on fear, or making myself bad for wanting it, or with insatiable need, then this is a golden opportunity to notice where I’m holding those attitudes somewhere else in my life, and it’s just getting projected onto some flimsy pieces of green pulp.

Get Out of Denial
Money is just one channel to offer us gateways to things that we want in our lives. Let’s stop denying that! In the quest to make sure everyone knows that “money isn’t everything,” we’ve gone to the opposite end of the spectrum and tried to make it…nothing.

Denying that money is a vehicle in life is the equivalent of denying that we have sexual feelings–that sometimes, even when we have the most amazing partner on the planet, we can still look over at some hot person and think, “Mmm, yummy.”

It’s not wrong to want certain things in our lives, whether those things are literal “things,” or experiences, or teachers who can guide us, or books, or to give to others, or…

The simple wanting of those good things is not some sign that you’re inherently flawed and need to get your desires “under control,” nor does it mean that you’re living an empty and meaningless existence, or that your partner isn’t The One.

We’re not bad or wrong for wanting more joy. We’re not bad or wrong for wanting more money–and we’re definitely not bad or wrong for wanting as much sex in our lives as possible (hell, I know I’m not!).

Need More Need More Need More

Back to the “money isn’t everything” part. When we bring in Stories, that’s when things get up-ended, again.

Let’s review: It’s not bad or wrong to want more joy, or more money, or more sex.

Now notice: What does “wanting more” mean for you? Is it “wanting more of a good thing” or is it “wanting more because there’s never enough”?

It’s probably not going to feel good to carry a Story that no amount of joy is ever enough (so I need more! I need more! I need more!) or that no amount of money is ever enough (so I need more! I need more! I need more!) or that no amount of partnership is ever enough (so I need that partner to fulfill all my needs! That partner couldn’t, so I need that partner over there! That partner couldn’t, so I need that partner over there!)

See what I mean? Joy is great, money is great, the sex (and emotional intimacy, of course) is great.

Insatiable, unfulfilled, never-enough, perpetual and perennial wanting? It has elements to it that can feel passionate (craving and desire can have an element of deliciousness to them), but every spiritual master you’ve ever met who says that this endless pursuit is hollow and empty is dead-on.

The trick is knowing the line–and it is tricky. The line is different for all of us, and only I can know when I’m thinking that the guy or gal across the room is a hottie because I’m appreciating the hotness, or because I’m feeling unfulfilled in my own relationship and in need of a “grass is greener” distraction.

We’re cautioned not to use money or sex to get to the joy, and we’re cautioned so strongly because it is so, so fucking easy to mix them up.

Wow! In Three Easy Steps…

“Notice. Choose. Act.” –Challenge Day

I will offer you the tried-and-true, no-fail, 100%-guaranteed method for working with money. Are you ready?

There are only three steps: Notice. Choose. Act.

Notice your money stuff. You’ll probably spend a lot of time, here. Notice and notice and notice.

Choose. Choose new patterns. Choose new money Stories.

Act. Follow up your decisions with action.

The steps are decidedly un-sexy (hint: most of the “real work” in life is not sexy, in part because it usually involves crying, snot, and lots of tissues).

Keep practicing, even if it’s not sexy or glamorous. This is courageous work.

Want to live with true richness? Uncover your money Stories, and powerfully choose from there.

It’s tricky because it’s hard to acknowledge. No one wants to own that they’re being a Victim, the agent of their own suffering.

That and–Victims get a bad rap. Anger? We just try to avoid it. Sadness? There’s compassion for what someone’s gone through.

But acting like a Victim?–ugh! Quit feeling sorry for yourself! Get over it, already, you sad sack! Do you think you have it worse than everyone else? Puh-leeze.

Here’s why seeing clearly, acknowledging, and understanding your own inner Victim is so important–it’s this huge gateway to forgiveness.

I held on to anger towards my mother for years. The story is not really very sordid–I was angry because when I was a kid, she’d been so angry. I grew up with periods of shame, rage, or blame that overshadowed the good, and I framed my personal Story about who I was from that place of “I’m the kid with the screwed up childhood.” I had a whole identity from it (which I didn’t realize). For instance, there was a time in my life where I felt like I’d made a true friend only when she knew the story of how my mother and I didn’t get along; then, I thought, that friend “knew me” because she knew what I’d “gone through.”

Then, at a certain point, that went to its polar opposite, and I’d say to myself, “I’m supposed to be “powerful,” aren’t I? Get over it, Kate! You didn’t have it so bad. Your mother brought shame, rage, and blame to the scene because of the shame, rage, and blame that she experienced. Don’t you get that?”

So I would take a deep breath and decide that yes, that was it–I was OVER IT.

Then my mother would say something and I’d have a serious over-reaction to it, and the things I’d say to her or about her when I was upset were all still from that same Victim place.

Maybe these words really resonate with you, so let me condense things a bit and cut to the chase–I waffled back and forth between these spaces for years and years. Years. But I just kept plugging away at it. I sort of designed “forgiving my mother” as my issue that I brought to every single workshop and therapy session and coaching session I attended.

I began to understand my Victim Story, which was, in its simplest form, this: She messed me up.

Oh, wait–did I say “messed”? I’ll revise that–in my fullest moments of anger, I would have said it more like, “She fucked me up.”

Now, hopefully that statement gives you some insight into this picture–into the hurt I was experiencing, the sense of hopelessness around it, the anger, the rage.

If my Story was that someone else had “fucked me up,” can you see the powerlessness that I felt, in that?

I can tell you the very moment when I first released around this. I had just finished a Next Step Workshop and I was driving home, moving slowly in heavy traffic. I wasn’t even thinking about my mother. Then, a little whisper from the Universe came in, simple and clear:

“How she treated you is irrelevant.”

Huh?

Again: “How she treated you is irrelevant.”

Zip zap zoom–an A-ha! moment flooded me.

My thoughts were: “How my mother treated me is irrelevant. I decide who I am. I decide whether or not I carry on the legacy of that pain. I decide whether or not I rage or shame or blame. She was always simply doing the best she could with what she had–and in fact–she’s not even that PERSON anymore! Even I can see that! Why am I holding onto it, then? It’s totally irrelevant to who I am, because I decide who I am! Even if she hadn’t shifted a lot of her behaviors, it wouldn’t matter–because I decide who I am! In fact, my childhood was..it was hard, but–there were so many good things about it! How did I not see that, before? What have I been doing? It’s so simple! I DECIDE WHO I AM!”

And the moment was actually full of…joy! I was smiling, and crying, my heart swelling with gratitude for this moment, this beautiful moment when I realized…I decide who I am! No one else can decide that for me! I’m not a Victim of my past, or of another person! Oh, my, god!

I started testing this out over the next few months. I would notice that first of all, I really liked my mother. I wanted to call her. I missed her. I liked hanging out on the phone with her. I wasn’t judging her opinions, even if I disagreed.

Occasionally I’d feel triggered, though never to the level I’d felt, before. I’d ask myself, “Have you forgiven her? Really? Is this frustration in the moment, or frustration in the past?”

Zip Zap Zoom– either it was easy to link it to a past trigger and I could just go, “Eh, that’s old. I decide who I am,” and let it go, or I’d recognize that the issue wasn’t her–it was hunger, or being tired, or feeling stressed. No need to build into that Story that she’s this certain way and because of her, I’m limited!

So–I recognized that I wasn’t anyone else’s Victim.

Here’s the other piece, though–and it’s such a good piece…I’m not a Victim of myself, either. It occurred to me while watching Brene Brown’s lecture on shame that the places where I hold shame are the places where I haven’t forgiven myself for something, I’ve constructed an identity out of that experience (like “I am bad”), and I’m Victimizing myself by holding onto it.

Deep breath: This is not about just flipping some cognitive switch.

It’s about getting–really getting–that just because I’ve “always been” the type of person who did XYZ, doesn’t mean that that’s how I will choose to be in this moment.

I choose who I am. I decide. Other experiences and people don’t define me. I do.

My choices from the past needn’t define who I say I am, either.

You decide who you are–you say who you will be in this life. Not your past, or the shitty circumstances, or the people.

Are you living as an expression of that truth?

My new mantra around Stories is this: “Check it out, and let it go.” Stories are those beliefs that we assume as fact–that the world is or isn’t this way, or that so-and-so really meant this when she said that…and everything is a Story.

If I think someone’s pissed at me? If I’m worried that someone thinks I dropped the ball on something? Those times when I suspect that something is up with someone, but I’m not sure what? Check it out–and let. it. go.

We are the agents of our own suffering. We do this in no more concise and direct way than when we run Stories endlessly, but don’t check them out or let them go.

What does it look like to check out a Story?

Well, if I think that someone’s pissed, I’ll say something like: “I could be running a Story, but I notice myself thinking that perhaps you’re mad at me, and I wanted to check that out with you and see if it’s true.”

If I’m worried that someone thinks I dropped the ball on something: “I’m running a Story that you might think I’m a complete flake. I’m really sorry for forgetting about XYZ, and want to reassure you that it’s not a pattern.”

If I suspect that something’s up with someone, but I’m not sure what: “I keep getting this weird feeling and I have a Story that it means something’s off between us. Are you feeling anything, too?”

Clean. Concise. Direct. In integrity.

But admittedly, with this there is a scary possibility that stops people from checking out Stories: What if everyone starts telling the “truth”?

What if I tell the truth about what I notice, but then the person I’m speaking with pulls out a can of whoop-ass and wallops me with “truth” in the form of unfair criticisms? Or what if they’re perfectly honest and kind, but it still stings to hear?

First, let’s address the honest and kind yet “stings to hear” response: This is part of being in integrity. It’s straightforward and simple–but not always easy. You’re asking questions and getting to the heart of the matter because then you get to drop the suffering of the Story and have clean energy between yourself and another human being. There’s richness in that. There’s richness in working through the sting, and forgiving yourself for being human. The richness is–and I can say this without hesitation–worth the risk. If you’re going to live this life, live rich!

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s address the “they respond by pulling out a can of whoop-ass” response: When you align with an unwavering commitment to have a respectful conversation with someone, you align with love. When you align with love, you’re setting yourself up to make true, revolutionary changes, regardless of words spoken.

Here’s what you do. You interrupt them before it can get uglier, to say this: “Whoa” [insert holding up your hands; visual cues are helpful reinforcement when someone’s going ape-shit on you] “I do want to talk about this with you, and I want to own my part. Right now, this conversation isn’t feeling respectful. Can we shift this so that it is a respectful conversation?”

Get behind the choice to have respectful communication–no matter what.

If they immediately say yes to speaking respectfully, then everyone takes a second to breathe (note the importance of breathing) and then you try again.

If they immediately say no, or launch straight into how you “asked for it” or “shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want the truth” or are trying to control “the way they express themselves” and force them to use communication that sounds like a “script” (can you tell that I’m relating this from, I dunno…personal experience?) then you say: “Okay, I want to work this out, but it sounds like now is not the best time, so let me know when we can have a respectful conversation.” You tell them this while swallowing big gulps of air to keep calm and not sink to the level of disrespect.

Now, for some challenging possibilities:

Challenging Possibility #1: With some people in your life, especially people who have not done much work with effective communication, or people who are wounded around “being right,” you might be told to go fuck yourself.

Challenging Possibility #2: Someone who is annoyed at being called out on their own pattern or who is resisting acting with integrity might tell you that you are “too sensitive” or that “everything doesn’t need to be analyzed.”

I can say this with good authority, because not only have I been on the receiving end of these responses–I’ve also been the one who was furious that someone dared to insist on respectful communication. Huge admission: I have told people I loved to go fuck themselves if they refused to allow me to express my anger by taking it out on them. (I can only stand before you today and admit that so nakedly because I’ve forgiven myself for it.)

I’ve been on both sides of the equation. Disrespectful communication just does not work.

It’s worth saying that perhaps neither of those possibilities will come up for you (fear that they will is another Story!). Your experience might be one of utter power–especially if you’re rooted in your commitment to only engage in respectful communication.

Nonetheless, it’s important to commit to this: If the disrespect keeps coming back into the conversation, you walk. Respect is non-negotiable. You stamp “TBD” on that conversation until it’s respectful.

And, of course–you let it go.

You say your piece. You do what you can. You communicate respectfully.

Then you let it go. If the conversation is unfinished, let it go–it’ll get finished when the time is right. If they said mean things–let it go. People’s interpretations of our behavior are really reflections of their own. If all went well–let it go. Stop apologizing. I once cleaned up an issue with someone where it was clear-cut that I was in the wrong. I apologized three different times, hoping that she’d forgive me and stop holding me at a distance. Nope, she never has.

Let it go.

It all happened how it happened. They said what they said. You apologized and did the best you could.

It is what it is. Release the grip.

Working with a coaching client, for instance, I’ve heard clients say that they were afraid that if they didn’t finish their practices for the week, I’d be unwilling to continue working with them (punishment) or would think they were lazy (judgement), completely in line with the model they experienced with their own parents. As a professor of English, it took me years to understand why some students seemed to feel that I was an asshole from day one–then I read a bit more about transference and went, “Ohhhh. Authority issues with me = unresolved issues with your parental authority figures. Not personal. Got it.”

Transference is easier to spot in those relationships where one person is holding the role of “helper” and another is in the role of “recipient.” Where it’s not as easy to spot is in those regular, seemingly ordinary, everyday interactions and relationships. When we aren’t present to transference, we aren’t clued in to the fact that we are participating in a daily, ongoing performance in Transference Theatre.

Here’s what I mean by that: that we’re running around in our lives, playing roles and assigning roles to others. It’s a trip to think about once you get going–that right now there are people in your life to whom you have assigned the role of the Villain and the Hero, for instance. You probably have someone in your life who plays the role of Healer and someone else you’ve labeled as Annoying Problem Person and someone else you’ve decided is a Drama Queen, and someone else or a whole group of people who are playing the role(s) of Out to Get You, or the Guru, or the Village Idiot, or a Kill Joy, or Too Rigid, or Sidekick Who Validates My Naughty Behavior.

Transference, in this sense, is taking experiences from the past and transferring those old ways of thinking onto the people/situations/environments that are current in our lives.

Your own role in the midst of this is fluid and changing. When things happen that you like, you probably think of yourself as the Hero. When things happen that you don’t like, you probably think of yourself as the Victim. And unfairly, we tend to prefer that other people’s roles stay the same–it’s easier for us that way.

Not being aware of your performance in Transference Theatre–and the performance roles that you’re assigning others–becomes a block. It blocks us from being present to what is. It puts us into a rigid default mode in our assessments of others. And finally, it becomes a block to change, because we’re so used to seeing ourselves as ThisWay and someone else as ThatWay that one might not even consider that there’s that OtherWay to choose.

Once I was speaking to a student who was dealing with a lot of emotional baggage. I’d been trying to help, and somewhere along the line, my attempts at help (initially well-received) became something different for this person. I was listening to this person describe their anger at me, watching as it flickered across this person’s face, staying present to not taking things personally as I heard accusations and blame. It felt very much like having compassion for the ranting of a drunk on the street. Rather than taking things personally, I knew that the illness was talking, not the student.

It hit me as I was looking into this person’s eyes: “I’ve just been cast as another person who is ‘out to get’ [this person]. They have a story that everyone is ‘out to get’ them, and I’ve just been put into that role, even though nothing could be further from the truth.”

It stayed with me that day, this concept of the roles we play and how distorted stories can become. It’s easier to see when someone is dealing with extraordinarily distorted thinking–not so easy when it’s our own. But don’t we do it, as well? Don’t we cast that person who nearly cut us off on the highway as the Village Idiot? Don’t we put our angry boss in the role of Villain? Don’t we exalt those people with the inspiring blogs into the role of Guru?

We can be categorizing machines, run amok, not ever truly seeing ourselves or others for the complicated layers or humanity that we are.

We can get out of that if we try on a (frightening) possibility as a practice: The practice of, “I don’t know.”

Try it, sometime: I don’t know. I simply don’t. I just don’t know if my mother is this way or that way. I just don’t know if my parents really did the best they could. I just don’t know if working for myself would really make me happier. I just don’t know if this person is being a jerk on purpose. I just don’t know if the guy who cut me off in traffic is an idiot. I just don’t know if my life is good. I just don’t know if my life is bad.

This sort of practice derives from a Zen Buddhist idea of “don’t know mind” or “beginner’s mind.” You just…don’t know. You don’t attach. When you’re a beginner, you don’t know yet how it is “supposed to” look, so you just go with it and have an openness to seeing things unfold.

There’s a lot of space that gets created around a practice of “I don’t know.” Even with some of the examples above, you might have felt triggered–if you’re still working through old stuff from your childhood, it might feel like putting needles under your fingernails to consider the possibility that you “don’t know” if your parents could have done better. Your mind will want to jump up and say, “Of course they should have done better! Anyone would have known better than to do XYZ!”

Just notice that as soon as you say that, in that example, parents have been cast into Villains, and you have been cast into Victim.

The theatre is open, the stage lights are set and waiting. Meanwhile, as the drama plays itself out, however they raised you is 20, 30, 40 years in the past–they aren’t raising you, anymore. You’re raising you. You’re the one who chooses, today.

Essentially, it’s irrelevant to who they are, and to who you are, today.

Take a moment now to think of a problem you’re encountering in your life. What roles are people playing? What role are you playing? What assumptions (stories) lie behind those roles or the problem itself?

Then consider: What kind of spaciousness might open up if you simply practiced…

“I don’t know.”

There were days when I just ached from the feelings of disappointment. First of all, I had thought that working for myself was going to be this grand adventure! with explosions of inspiration! and passionate excitement! Also, I wanted so badly to do work I loved and combine that with being of service, but I was met with what I perceived to be a deafening silence. Actually, that was not true–no one was silent. In fact, the praise and gratitude came in. However, at the end of the day, I was paying my rent and not much else. My credit card bills were slowly rising, and then my self-loathing would spike upwards as well, requiring quite a few talks with myself to Calm the Fuck Down (gentleness, gentleness).

So here’s what happened, the life-changing event: A tooth filling fell out. My tongue ran over a little grooved divet on a back molar, and my very first thought, before anything else, was this: “I’m done with this.”

As in, I’m done with solely working for myself.

It was not just a bad day. It was a realization that working for myself required girding my loins for stress in a way that I had hung with for the better part of a year, doing the credit card juggle and getting up close and personal with the word sacrifice, mostly because that’s what I believed the first three years of working for yourself had to be all about. And at the risk of…

…sounding un-cool…

…sounding like I didn’t “have what it takes”…

…not being one of those slick-talkin SEO hipsters…

…not “following my dreams”…

…at the risk of all that, this. just. simply. was. not. what. I. wanted. anymore.

Perhaps in the face of that inner critic voice, you are much like I was, and you respond by buying another Seth Godin book or reading the websites of people who have “made the leap” and are now working for themselves, cashing those fat checks, happy to dispense advice about how you can do it, too (and, uh, P.S.? Comparing yourself and hating yourself).

But in that moment when the filling was out and I was staring at my teeth in the mirror, I knew that I was done reading articles on personal branding do’s and don’ts. That very day, I emailed my department chair at the college where I’d been an English professor and asked about classes for the upcoming semester.

Done.

For me, it was the best decision ever. All the drama I’d put into this question of whether or not to work for myself was reduced to this simple series of events: I had tried quitting my job, but hated working entirely for myself and the pressure it demanded of me, and so I went back to working for someone else, part-time.

So, sure. It’s un-hip and un-cool, and sometimes when students get particularly whiny, I do think to myself, jokingly, that I really ought to look up the symptoms of a nervous breakdown, just so I know them should I be in the midst of having one.

But at the end of the day, which is to say most of the time, it’s more like this: Honey, there’s just no shame in having health insurance. Or paying rent. Or being debt free. Or even being a professor of English (someone needs to get me a pipe and monocle, yes?).

I know that it’s not… sexy to talk about health insurance and rent and debt and jobs. But it is courageous.

Say what? Courageous?

Yes. Courageous.

How’s that? you say.

I’ll tell you: there is something really juicy and rich, I’ve found, about working with the what-is-ness of my life. This is it, right here, my life. I am not the next internet cool kid. I probably never will be. I might never completely and totally be a solopreneur. That what-is-ness of my life is that I do work part-time, and that sometimes I don’t like it. Then I work with that, and try to get into the what-is-ness of that.

>But I do feel free of the fears I’d had, before: I’m not a sell-out, and I’m not copping out on my dreams. Hell, I’m not even dreaming, really–I’m living. I’m living my life. I’m coaching, I’m writing books, I’m leading retreats. I’m doing it in a way that might not be as fantastically daring as others, but it is a way that works for me. It’s a way that I like. It’s a way that provides an enormous amount of lee-way for me to do all of the things that I want to do.

Sometimes when I have a particularly rough time with teaching, my critic will be triggered and I’ll be thinking all of those old thoughts again. But then I remember myself running my tongue over the dent in my tooth where that filling fell out, completely out of nowhere, and how I didn’t have dental insurance and my health insurance was crap and I was just so sick of trying so hard.

Yep, there’s just no shame in having health insurance.

The great moral of the story, of course, is that as soon as I surrendered and let go and created some space for myself by doing the thing that I had been so afraid would mark me was a failure–get part-time work–that’s when my business really took off. I gave it room to breathe. I also began to enjoy it in a new, fresh, exciting way.

So I just want to say, for all the people out there whose inner critics are telling them that they should have “flown the coop” already, and “taken the leap” and “trusted that the net will appear” and “risked everything for what they believe in” and all of that?

You’re fine. Really. It’s all happening in exactly the way it needs to. Let the drama of “it’s not happening the way it should” die down enough for you to get present, and quiet, and still–and when the moment comes for you to make a change?

You’ll know.

* * *

After you’ve read this post, head on over to Danielle LaPorte’s site to get a little more of the love.

Which of those sentences seemingly does not belong?

Most people probably read through the paragraph and then did a little double-take with the last sentence, the brain alerting you that something didn’t fit. “Wait—she said it was a great day, but it’s raining outside?” Then perhaps you went to, “Well, she must like rain.” The brain needs to fill in a story—“She must like rain”—in order to make sense of that paragraph, because usually rainy weather is associated with doldrums and depression.

(But actually, I’m glad that it’s raining because last year California had a drought, and I’ve read quite a bit about a growing water crisis that is developing in the United States, so when I see rain coming down, I’m thinking it’s a positive thing overall.)

Let’s go back to the part where the brain filled something in—that’s the part where the brain inserted what I’ll refer to as a “Story.” Some may say “perspective,” and that’s sort of what I mean, another way to think of it. When I say “running a Story” I am referring to “tapping into my perspective.”

We run Stories all day long. It’s how we make sense of the world, and it’s not a bad thing, it’s just something that we DO.

However, sometimes we can start to run Stories that don’t serve us.

Those Stories can include:
“I’ll never make money as an artist.”
“I’m lazy/unmotivated/never finish anything I start.”
“I can’t tell my husband the truth.”
“I’m always late.”
“I’m so disorganized.”

When a Story does not serve us, there’s no reason to keep it. Plain and simple.

Any Story that diminishes who we are, our power and capability, or that is not in alignment with our visions for our lives is a Story that does not serve us.

Positive Thinking (or, “Think Positive!”)

Am I just talking about positive thinking? No. There’s been a movement in the past few decades to “think positively.” I believe that choosing to think positively is a powerful choice. However, I also believe that it’s unrealistic to simply say that you’re going to “think positively” and that’s it. Positive thinking reaps results when it is accompanied by action and the person is fully behind their newer, reframed positive Story.

It’s also relatively ineffective if someone still believes in Stories that don’t serve them—it becomes an exercise in arguing with yourself that would look something like this:

Positive Thinking: I am ORGANIZED!
Old Pattern/Triggered Inner Kid: No, you’re not. That’s such a line of bullshit. You’re just faking it.

Positive Thinking: I am ORGANIZED!
Old Pattern/Triggered Inner Kid: Stupid, I already told you—no you’re not. You’re not organized at all. Do you not see the laundry on the floor? Am I thinking of someone else who totally forgot to take care of dinner…no, wait–that’s…YOU!

Positive Thinking: I am ORGANIZED!
[ You get the picture…]

Letting go of a Story that does not serve you would look more like this:
“I’m so disorganized.”

Letting go of the Story: “In the past, I’ve been disorganized. I’m committed
to getting more organized.”

And really, isn’t the second statement truer? In this moment, reading this entry, are you actively involved in disorganization? It’s hard to read and be disorganized in the same moment, since you can only do one thing at a time! ! In this moment, is it impossible to change? If it’s possible to change, then you are not disorganized, you’ve been someone who has been disorganized in the past. Have you always, in every single instance, handled things in a disorganized way? If there is even one time that you have handled thing in an organized fashion, isn’t it technically a lie to describe yourself as “disorganized,” in the same way that you would describe your gender or eye color? Organization and disorganization are patterns of behavior and they can change. Eye color and gender (usually) cannot.

Let’s try again. Story : “I can’t tell my husband.”
Letting go of the Story: “I’m choosing not to tell my husband” or “I’m afraid to tell my husband.”

Is it physically impossible for you to tell your husband? Nope.

Story: “I’ll never make money as an artist.”
Letting go of the Story: “I’m not currently making money, and I hope to in the future, maybe even starting today.”

Can you predict with absolute certainty that you will never make money? Then why repeat that Story? How is it serving you? How do you feel every time you repeat that Story?

One of the questions that I recently asked of participants during a Create Stillness retreat was this: “If life is just one big, long, meditation, consider: what are you choosing to meditate upon?”

Where are you focusing your thoughts, energy, action–what Stories are you choosing to create? Are they Stories that serve you or Stories that drag you down? And who is in the driver’s seat in choosing something different?

Of course, you already know the answer to that one–it’s all you, and that’s the best news around, because the power to change is right where it should be…with you.

Transformation doesn’t always mean “complete life overhaul.” But in bits and pieces, the circle of that with which we are comfortable widens, and becomes bigger, and then there’s less to be afraid of. Also–and this is pretty cool–fear just stops being as big of a deal. Instead, it just becomes part of the process.

To be fair, it’s not nuts to imagine that someone would be frustrated with a statement like that: “Fear just becomes part of the process? Oh, yeah, sure–I’ll just flip a freakin’ switch and not be afraid! Is that what you’re peddling?”

Nope. Not at all. What I’m peddling is letting fear literally be…part…of…the…ride.

Assumption #1 about anyone working as a Life Coach or counselor is that they have their shizzle figured out and that’s what makes them competent to work with others. Ha! I only wish it were so. True, the competency in supporting others does come from working through lots of my stuff and seeing what that process is like–I’ve done a lot of personal work. If asked my opinion of the Coaching industry, I’ll be frank in saying that I think that simply going through a training program is not enough–we’re only as helpful to others as we can be to ourselves, so that means personal growth and self-inquiry, not to mention a shitload of integrity. In other words: Coaches need to be working on their personal stuff on a continuous basis.

So, even though I’m a coach, there are still those things in life that one finds terrifying, things I’m working on. And I’ll be honest about one of mine: I have huge issues around my body. Nope, not my curves (spend enough time in San Francisco and inevitably, you’ll attend a body-positive naked workshop. I’ve done two). I’m talking about mistrust of my body.

Years ago, I had a foot injury that defied logic. The doctors couldn’t understand how it happened or why my foot wasn’t responding to treatment. It was two years after I was injured before I found a doctor who could help, and that 2 years was a difficult time. After finding the doc who could help, it was another two years before I was back to running again–when you spend a prolonged time limping, all sorts of other things in the body get out of whack, and I spent a long time with hip, knee, lower back and neck problems. It was painful and costly and both the most difficult thing as well as the most beautiful experience–beautiful, because it opened me up to a whole new meaning of surrendering to what-is and spiritual practice.

Fast forward to the relative present: For the past three years, I’ve entered myself in Bay to Breakers, San Francisco’s quintessential 12k race. Each year, I never even made it to the starting line.

Yes, that’s right–the Life Coach who encourages everyone else to stay the course has quit something (more than once). A combination of my body simply not being ready, as well as training too hard too fast, have been the fatal flaws. Last year, I threw my neck out in early January and when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to train for the race until at least March, I bowed out early on and decided to do six months of Bikram yoga, instead (and that, frankly, was amazing, and my neuromuscular therapist dude said that he’d never seen anyone progress so quickly with treatment, which he ascribed to the yoga practice).

So now it’s 2011, and I still want to run this race–and–I don’t trust my body. Why? Because my injury from so many years ago came out of nowhere. It felt like some kind of cosmic joke, a karmic punishment for some misdeed I’d done. Imagine if, for two years, you couldn’t stand for more than 5 minutes and you kind of limped everywhere else. Not fun.

So, there’s baggage–I have serious fears that come up around trying to run, again, even after MRIs revealing that there is no scar tissue, and even after I run four miles without pain. The fear is chronic. The fear is always the same: This could happen to you again, out of nowhere, and then what would you do? Go through all of that, again?

My foot stuff might seem like no big cheese compared to the larger ills of the world–heartbreaks and deaths and layoffs. But the fear pattern is the same for all of us. The woman afraid of getting into another relationship is afraid of going through the pain of rejection (again). The person who temporarily numbs out after grieving a death is afraid of loving big and losing (again). The person who was laid off gets a new job and feels anxiety that their new position could be downsized (again).

So, rather than trying to affirm my fears away (which felt fake) or push them away and ignore them, I’m with my fear. I accept, I surrender, I will simply be with this process–my fear is along for this ride.

My fear is there when I’m heading up hills, or if I stumble even slightly, or if I have sore muscles the day after a run. My fear is there even though I now know the doctors who could fix my foot if it ever injured again. My fear is there, chattering away, telling me that I am not enough, I am not ready, I cannot do it.

And this past Saturday, I finished a small 5k race–in part to prep for the 12k Bay to Breakers in May, and in part to prove to myself that I could run a race and not lose my shit.

The fear showed up as starting to cry in the parking lot outside the race because I was so scared. The fear showed up as me assuming that of course I’d be one of the slowest runners, and thus I went to the back of the line.

But then I got about a half mile in. It was raining. We were running right along the bay, and the wind was whipping the rain right in my face. The clump of people thinned out as people settled into their paces. I settled into mine.

I had only two goals: finish the race, and run the entire time. I had no pacing goals, no fantasies of coming in first or even tenth. Just finish, and run the entire time.

Feel the fear, dive in anyway, transform. Don’t let the fear stop me from doing this thing that I want to do.

And here I am, crossing the 5k finish line (yellow rain slicker is around my waist; Andy is videographer):

I know that it isn’t the easiest thing to be with your fear. But I know this: it gets easier to BE with fear, with practice. Running this race proved something to myself–and the thing it proved was not that I could run a race. What it proved was that I could meet my fear, and move towards it, into it, and beyond it.

That’s the gift of learning how to BE your journey, BE with your fear, practice courage.

And–I assure you–it’s absolutely priceless.