You can say no
There’s one of you. There are many, many “others.”
You have every right to dictate where and how you spend your time.
Creating with intention
There’s one of you. There are many, many “others.”
You have every right to dictate where and how you spend your time.
I send students home with newspapers and tell them to come ready to discuss one article tomorrow.
Newspapers are incredible learning tools; they don’t carry the “uncool” stigma of textbooks, they’re lightweight and can easily fold into bags and purses and pockets. Not only can papers be scribbled upon (great for note-taking and analysis), they have an inviting quality: “Pick me up! Read me! Pass me on!” I know when newspapers are brought home, it isn’t just the student reading it but family and friends as well.
I stress 6 Ws in these newspaper assignments:
who
what
where
why
when
Instructing my students,
Who wrote it?
What’s the point of the article?
Where does it take place?
Why was the article written?
When was the article written or when did the events take place?
And most importantly,
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
It seems many of my students haven’t been asked this question before. Public schools in Nepal teach obedience and power hierarchy, not critical thinking or self-expression. Unfortunately, even native English speakers aren’t necessarily adept at communicating their own thoughts and opinions.
As you read articles, yes, read them for content, but read between the lines. Formulate your own ideas about the topic at hand. Do you agree or disagree, strongly, or not at all? Why?
The whole point of language is to communicate. To release your thoughts into the world, to express what’s inside. Beyond the grammar, theory and parts of speech, it comes down to expression. Can you express what is in your mind and your heart?
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.
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.
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.
When life gets uncomfortable, it’s easy to run. We bury our noses in our phones when we’re bored or anxious. Waiting in line at the store, riding the train to work, even walking around town. A kind word can redirect a bad day, but we’re afraid to say hello.
It’s become too easy to hide. “I’m busy!” “I’m late!” “They don’t know me.”
We’re hiding from ourselves, too, short-changing not only our own potential but that of those around us. Social gatherings have become marred by superficial exchanges. Instead of investing in heart-to-heart exchange, rooms are worked and business cards are flippantly shared. Quantity of connections have trumped quality of conversations.
Relationships can be the spark we need to make big decisions. Stop hiding.