Intaglio

He’s just observed a truth I think I'm doing a decent job of concealing.  He’s wrapped it with a reasonable dose of compassion yet I still experience its sting.  I hadn’t realized how transparent I’m being, and what burns more than anything is the idea that I am inadvertently hurting him; I may be driving him away, and this could possibly be more than I can bear.  While I acknowledge he’s right, telling him I’m working on it, I can hear the impatience in his voice.  It’s like he’s wondering what I’ve been doing all this time, why I haven’t fixed this yet.

I’m reading about the root cause of yelling.  The author of this particular piece says yelling is about our inability to deal with our own feelings of frustration, fear or being overwhelmed.  It’s about attempting to feel heard, and at the same time woefully ineffective at helping us actually be heard.  And I can’t help but think about the impossibly difficult climb I’ve made up this mountain over the last several years, coming close to eradicating this invasive disease.

When we’re really open to the feedback others give us about what’s holding us back, whether it’s a potentially career limiting behavior at work or marring our relationships in life, and decide to work on making a change,  we need real life experience to operationalize the change.  This is how we take the big idea we want to embrace and actually start living it.  Many promising, even groundbreaking concepts have died on the table because no one did the hard work to fold them into daily life. 

Although the product we’re developing at the office is still basically in the womb, we’re watching it as it shapes into our baby, almost as a mother looks at her developing fetus through an ultrasound.  And we’re also beginning to think about how we will infuse this tool into the way we deliver our services.  We know the change will be unsettling for many and take time to embrace, just as even the most coveted of newborns disrupts a household. How are we forever altered as that new baby becomes part of how we live?  There is no amount of training or pre-work that will prepare us for the experience of motherhood.  We need to live it.

I think about how communication in my home has changed from yelling to open, honest, even vulnerable dialogue.  I make a concerted effort every time a potentially explosive situation presents itself.  I ask myself who I’m upset with, me or the one I’m yelling at?  I vocalize this process over and over again so my kids learn it too. And over time yelling diminishes, becoming the exception, not the rule.  We’ve come up with phrases we’re trained to use with each other which after years of practice immediately diffuse an escalating situation.  But for this to happen, we need to live it, to operationalize the approach, to make it the way we love, not just some big idea sitting on a shelf to be pulled off and somehow work magic when we need it.

And so when I think about this truth he’s exposed, I’m not defensive about why it’s not yet fixed; I’m not taking his rejection personally.  What he doesn’t realize, because he’s not far enough along on his own journey yet, is this:  When we find another who will listen when we voice even the most painful of observations, digest what is said, own what’s rightfully theirs and make that conscious effort to operationalize change, this is all we could ever want in a relationship.  Not just because the fixing needs to become part of the way we love, but because as life ebbs and flows, there will always be something new to fix. 

Namaste

“Your goal today”, she tells me, “is simply to stay in the room for the full class.”   I smile. Does she know I’ve just consumed Kristin Armstrong’s most recent blog post?  "Pin it On" is all about how setting a simple, achievable goal frees us from the stress of performing, allowing us to bring all of ourselves to whatever we do. In this case, whatever I’m doing is hot yoga. The Polar Vortex has driven me to the opposite extreme; I have no idea what 90 minutes at 105F while exercising feels like.  I’m not prepared for how challenging this is, or for the sweat teeming from my pores.  But it’s 30 days of unlimited yoga for $30, and I’m wondering how low I can get my per class cost.

 

The instructor ensures today’s slew of newcomers that it’s hardest at the onset.  The workout consists of the same 26 poses; we hew and hone our frames each and every time we repeat them. In Bikram yoga the practice never changes, but our bodies do.  She cues us through the postures, confident as she describes optimal form that we’ll all get there. I can actually see my future self in perfect poses and I believe. And I can say it’s taken every minute of my lifetime to find that kind of faith in myself.

Nothing happens overnight, but it takes many years of living to understand the truth in these words.  Seth Godin presents this concept in his blog post titled "Gradually and then Suddenly".

It’s the media equivalent of an overnight sensation, or devastation that seems to come out of nowhere.  It’s the idea that someone has arrived or that they’ve fallen from grace.  In the hoopla surrounding our broadcast world, no one is ever reporting on the slow plugging away at daily life.  It’s not until a momentous event occurs that the spotlight glares.  It’s only after our suddenly happens, that maybe someone may take the time to trace our gradually.

Strangely, we can be blind to our own gradually, too. While I accepted one challenging and (sometimes) thankless assignment after another at the office, I felt like I struggled to get promoted. In spite of volunteering for outside projects to broaden my network, a trip into the corporate office felt like a visit to a foreign country.  And then one day I lift my head up and notice the shift.  I’m where I dreamed I’d be, with an impressive array of accomplishments in my wake.  When I’m able to get outside of myself and look in objectively, I might say I could retire tomorrow the proud owner of a spectacular career.

 

I like to think this works with parenting and relationships too. Teenagers don’t seem to be making much progress on the maturity curve and then you look up and notice your son has a pretty impressive string of good decision making. I would imagine, too, that in a healthy relationship where every day we make the conscious choice to love our partner, we one day celebrate an unbreakable bond.

 

What if gradually becomes the new suddenly?  What if we look a little closer at the ships we’re steering and give ourselves a pat on the back for the sheer power and tenacity it takes to show up every day and slowly turn the vessels we inhabit?  The gradually is what sits firmly in our wheelhouse.

Soaked head to toe in sweat, I’m lying on a yoga mat in Shavasana, or dead body pose, having successfully completed my first session.  I stayed in the room, and am rewarded with respite, for this is the only pose in yoga where energy is gained. The instructor reminds us to hurry back to class soon.  "Your body", she says, "is changing already after one class."  

Artistamp

You would think I am a student again, back at college cramming for exams.  As a Contributing Artist to The Sketchbook Project with the submission deadline looming it feels oddly similar. I've been working all weekend.  Here's a look at the fruits of my labor:

Colorimetry

I am the red.  You are the blue.  Basic color theory tells us that together we make purple.  The purple is where we come together as human beings and create a hue that is unique to us.  So much of our time together is in blending to create that perfect purple.  The trouble is we each see color differently, have a distinct picture of what our ideal shade looks like. And so we mess with the saturation:  You might think we need a red that is a little more jewel-toned; maybe I think your blue should be slightly deeper, because, oh, that shade we’d create together would be nothing less than stunning.

What if, instead, we simply put our colors together and live in the blend we make as we are?  What if we find that sweet spot in our intersection, that vantage point from where you get to adore my red and I revel in your blue?  What if we just stay there, wherever there is, enjoying each other?  Because no one else on earth can create our purple. It’s the joy in love we often forget to behold.

Throes

Knee deep in this year’s submission for The Sketchbook Project, I’m wondering if I’ll come up for air between now and the day the postmark is slated to hit the envelope.  Good thing the weather forecast for the weekend calls for hibernation.

Here’s a sneak peek: