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Tag: confidence

“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.

“Maybe this doesn’t work.”

This feeling! It’s scary as hell. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve found yourself whispering it, “This might not work” often accompanies a flailing leap into uncertainty.
But here’s the deal: all good projects, the very best work stem from this idea. “It might not work” is the risk we have to buy into if we want more.
As Steven Pressfield writes, “If we call ourselves artists or entrepreneurs, that’s where you and I have to live too.”

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.

Lead with your art

I’ve been transfixed by the story of Vidal, the random kid photographed on the street and the subsequent events that have followed — over one million dollars raised, scholarships, field trips, a meeting with the President.

Vidal’s principal, who publicly admitted to feeling discouraged and ready to throw in towel before this fantastic story unfurled, asked President Obama, “When is the time you felt most broken?”

He tells the story of losing a Congress bid. His relationship with his wife was on the rocks, he was questioning himself, his work, his decisions. He was 40. He had invested time and energy and great sacrifice but didn’t feel like anything was working.

He decided to shift his focus and concentrate on the work.

“…If you can keep it about the work, you’ll always have a path. There’s always something to be done,” he answered, “…if you’re worrying about yourself — if you’re thinking: ‘Am I succeeding? Am I in the right position? Am I being appreciated?’— then you’re going to end up feeling frustrated and stuck.”

I remember when HONY first began. Brandon took photos quietly, documenting photos of strangers on the street and posting accompanying blurbs.

“There were a lot of lonely times…All I did was take photographs. I never took a day off. I worked every single holiday. I took thousands of portraits before anyone paid attention. But even though I didn’t have much to show for it, I knew that I was getting better, and I knew the photographs were special,” Brandon writes. Drip by drip, his photos became a Facebook page with thousands of loyal and inspired followers. He got a [best-selling!] book deal and a partnership with the UN.

Recommit if you must: Lead with your art, focus on the work. It will fall into place.

What if it felt like heli-skiing from your desk?

James Altucher recently interviewed Seth Godin on fear, anxiety and doing work that matters. They discuss the separation between the Do-ers and the Sitters, those who put themselves in the game and those who watch from the sidelines wishing they could play.

One of the main categorical differences is fear: the Do-ers don’t let it stop them. They find ways to circumnavigate their anxiety so that slowly, overtime, they can act and experience, learning tactics to manage stress along the way. The Sitters haven’t quite figured out how to conquer their fear. Paralyzed, they’re crippled by the weight of self-expectation and prediction.

Seth brings up an excellent point (41:25): no one learning to ski signs up for heli-skiing. First, they hit the bunny slopes, building up their skills before dropping down black diamonds and exploring out-of-bounds terrain. Some start climbing mountains. With adrenaline pulsing through their veins, they crave more — a greater rush, bigger accomplishments, challenge. Perhaps THEN they purchase a heli-tour to destinations they never before imagined navigating on skis.

Not everyone enjoys heli-skiing, or even skiing for that matter. We have different thresholds for anxiety and adrenaline. Your task is to find your edge, the line that seems scary to cross. The place you are most true to yourself, where your best and most meaningful work await. That moment you’re afraid. That’s when you have to sign yourself up.

Maybe you find that jumping-out-of-a-plane feeling writing silently at your desk. It might be ten minutes of scribbling in a private journal. A comment placed on a public forum. Emails sent to authors you admire. A site launch to publish your ideas.

We’re more forgiving to athletes than we are to ourselves.