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Tag: awareness

“Live a story.”

I saw this written on a climber’s memorial along the trail to Mount Everest. It haunted me as I walked the ridges leading to Base Camp. Mostly, it got me thinking about the story I was telling. I wasn’t sure if the way I was living was leaving a legacy. I certainly wasn’t convinced I’d be missed.
What’s beautiful about stories is they are always changing. Like a river, our lives encounter different obstacles that can reroute our course. If we remain open to possibility, there’s no limit to the chapters to be written.
I’m grateful I found the guts to quit, even when it felt like stepping off a ledge. I made a few bargains with chance and risk, shook hands with disappointment and failure, but I knew it was part of the deal. I did it because I wanted to see what was on the other side.
No, I’m not immune to anxiety and black confusion. I am refusing to let either get the best of me. Instead, I’m clawing my way towards the unexpected, and it’s taking me down paths of problem solving and giving.
Everyone is writing their story as they go. Listen, and share yours.

On days you don’t feel like showing up

Nothing is right. You feel poorly. The deadline was missed. Your team isn’t pulling weight. The download is taking too long. He shouted as you walked out of the room. A dish was broken. You’re batting less than average. And now it’s raining.

What if you coaxed yourself into believing your “C performance” is OK? That sometimes, being there is enough. Maybe you’re not brilliant, but you’re here. You’re functioning. You’re committed. You’re owning your work: This is you, it’s yours, and you’re not going anywhere.

What if I told you this was OK? You are OK. Could you step into a gentle place of acceptance? Would you have more compassion for yourself and more importantly, the people around you?

On days you’re less than great, sometimes this is when it counts most.

The boy who hung the curtain rod

I went downstairs to bring the workers coffee. When I returned, the boy, age 16 or 17, was standing on a table hammering enthusiastically. He had set three fixtures in place, and the curtain rod rested squarely upon them. Great work — except he was standing outside.

“What are you doing?” I asked, somewhat perplexed to see adornment of this kind hanging on a building’s exterior. “Have you ever seen curtains on the outside of a house?”

“Brother says me to,” was his reply. It was an order, the task assigned to him.

We need to teach our young people to think, not to follow.

 

Fear and places we connect

On Valentine’s Day, I gave roses to strangers in Nepal. It sounds beautiful, but it began as a terrifying experience. I couldn’t bring myself to hand the first rose to an adult, I was too petrified. “What will she think? What will I say? What if the gift isn’t appreciated?” Instead, I approached a ten-year-old sitting beside her grandmother. The smile on the little girl’s face and her accompanying enthusiasm gave me the courage I needed to continue. Almost three dozen roses were distributed throughout the day.

Brené Brown discusses this kind of fear in Krista Tippett’s podcast (On Being is one of my favorites). She labels moments of vulnerability and insecurity as opportunities, treasures that allow us to connect more deeply with others. When we open ourselves to uncertainty and encounter moments of fear, we step into the doorway of stronger relationships. So we do shy away from these moments of doubt?

It takes courage to connect, but the rewards are endless.

PS – Invitations will soon be sent for March’s dinner event in New York City. Make sure you’re on the list or send me a note if you’re interested in attending.

Everything I learned is wrong.

Somewhere along the way, I was taught:quote

Doing nothing is bad.

FAST is always best!

Rice is bad for your health.

You will marry your soul mate.

My time in Nepal has caused some major reassessment.

There are certain beliefs we hold onto. They damage our progress, our potential, even our relationships. And we don’t always realize it.

It’s worth taking a look at what you “know” and why.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

-by Oriah