“courageous conversations”
courageous conversations :: getting it all done
by Kate Swoboda
“How do they get it all done?” It’s easy to look at people in the online world and ask how it is that they’re juggling writing books and blog posts, booking speaking gigs, working with clients one-on-one–and still having time to, you know, live.
The answer–in the interests of transparency–is that the people who are successful at getting things done will reframe what’s important to them in the contexts of staying focused on the vision that they have. They drop balls in other arenas, but not around their vision. They also stop trying to maintain any semblance of “life balance,” in favor of attending to whatever is needed in the moment.
For the past several months, I’ve been working on a new e-program called The Coaching Blueprint, and one of the questions I’ve been asked frequently is how I’m getting it all done. The process of interviewing 10 coaches and 2 counselors, editing the interviews, writing all of the content, formatting it, getting the shop pages up, setting up affiliates, collaborating on a pre-order bonus offer, organizing the pre-launch…it’s been a juggling act of epic proportions.
And now, in the interests of transparency, here’s how I juggle. Take note: I don’t believe that life should be juggled on a perpetual basis. But there are times when, immersed in a special project with a specific deadline, juggling is necessary, and to carry the metaphor further, I’d like those times to feel effortless rather than strained.
1.) Be clear on your vision. When I take on a project with a long development lead-time, such as The Coaching Blueprint, I’m clear that any other idea that I have for my business takes a back burner to that project. So–get clear. At the same time that I’m clear on my priorities for my business, I’m clear on my priorities for my life. I will work long hours at the computer, but I won’t skip meals, bail on committed time with my partner, or continue to use a mouse if my wrist starts to hurt.
2.) Take the long view. I sit down on Sundays to look at the week ahead, my deadlines, and my to-do list, and then I schedule in the time to get things done. I’ve tried all manner of electronic calendars, but for some reason find that a three-ring binder with the Day Timer 2-page per month lets me see the broad view of my schedule more easily.
Self-care and time to connect with others should be just as present. As you’re considering when you’re going to create that video or set up that new info page on your website, also make sure that you’re creating time to do absolutely nothing, or getting some alone time with your partner.
3.) Work in Blocks. Some people are big fans of the daily routine approach, but that’s never worked as well for me as working in blocks. I’ll sit down and churn, churn, churn on work for a few hours at a time rather than an hour here or there. The resistance that most people have to this approach is all about frame of mind–if someone doesn’t like writing blog posts for their business, for instance, but they feel like they “have to,” then they’re going to feel like this task is monumental. By contrast, if you’re like me and love to write, the idea of sitting down for a few hours in a favorite chair with a yummy latte is a little piece of heaven. So–create circumstances that you’ll look forward to with these blocks.
The other resistance: people say that they cannot find a block of time once a week to do the work. I confess that I have a “take no prisoners” perspective: We make choices. We choose how we organize our time. I’ve never met someone who literally could not find some way to put aside a few hours of time each week for something that they’ve decided fits their big vision.
Either a person wants to make choices that support their vision, or they want to make choices that are in support of something else. It’s not bad or wrong if they make choices that support something else–let’s just do so with consciousness about what we’re choosing. We need to get out of the mindset that we “can’t” find the time. We can.
4.) Know how to say “no,” and renegotiate as needed. Just say “no.” Start practicing. “No, no, no,” or “Right now, that doesn’t fit with my vision” or “It sounds like a great project and I’d love to help–and right now I’m really focused on ______. Can you talk to me about that again in _____ weeks/months?”
5.) Figure out what you will compromise–temporarily. I’ll compromise on not keeping the house as clean or eating a lot of Amy’s organic canned soup rather than taking time to cook. Decide what you can compromise on–and then follow through. Telling yourself that you’ll compromise on something and then beating yourself up with guilt for feeding the kids so much spaghetti is going to be an exercise in frustration. Breathe. The kids will not be eating spaghetti, forever. The cat hair will be vacuumed up, eventually. The in-laws do not have to come visit this month, no matter how much they insist that if it doesn’t happen NOW NOW NOW they’ll miss an airfare promotion and it’ll be your fault–sometimes in life, everyone has to suck it up and pay more for air fare. At the end of the day, nobody’s bleeding–so everything’s okay.
If all of these collectively seem overwhelming, try implementing just one–you’ll create just an inch more room for yourself as you adjust to the changes that inevitably accompany investing yourself in something that grows you or your business.
courageous conversations :: loss and surrender
by kate swoboda
I wrote here (http://wishstudio.com/2011/03/02/courageous-conversations-surrender-again/) about how my beloved cat Poppy had cheated death.
But now, here I am.
And now, she is not. She crashed suddenly, and hard, in July–her liver failing.
They called me while I was on retreat at zen center–imagine the irony, to be on retreat at a place that focuses so heavily on the concept of impermanence, and get a call to drive home and deal with impermanence.
–To drive home and take a living thing in to an office where she would no longer be living, and by my hand.
At home, I had a few hours with her before the appointment. She laid on the floor, sick and struggling to breathe. I cried into her fur and breathed in her smell and tried to memorize it. Sometimes she would put her head in my cupped hand and rest it there. Other times, I picked her up and held her against my chest the way I would every morning–it was our routine, you see: I got out of bed, she was waiting at the bedroom door, I’d sit on the couch to do my breathing practice, she’d crawl up onto my lap to tell me that she didn’t care about that because, why, it was time for breakfast!
So I sat in that same morning spot with her, on the couch. I kissed her ears. I whispered that I was absolutely sure that there was a kitty heaven and that in kitty heaven, you can eat whatever you want, there are no diabetes injections, and most certainly no scary vacuum cleaners.
I held her and thought of how many parents sit in hospital wards every day, holding sick children and praying that they’ll get better, and that that must be ten times worse than this, and this feels like agony–so how in the hell do they do it? I wanted to hold every parent of a sick child, and cook them meals, and rub their shoulders, and tell them that they were strong and could do this, and take care of them, somehow.
We took her in. The vet said before the injection that it would “take a minute.” Somehow, I thought that this was a figure of speech. The liquid in the vial was pink, of all things.
It literally–quite literally–took one minute.
I was holding her head in one hand while she lay on the table at the vet’s office. The interesting thing was this: I could feel when she left. It wasn’t the weight of her head. It wasn’t blood pressure. It was, literally, the passing of energy–the energy was “there” and then suddenly, “not there.” I felt the change.
I don’t fully understand the connections that life brings us. I couldn’t tell you why I got so attached to this cat, rather than that cat, or unlike any other pet.
I can only tell you that her loss is very real to me–and that it would be lovely if the inner critic voices would stop telling me that I’m lame to be sad over “just a cat.”
In service to owning where I’m at, I confess:
I am sad.
I miss her.
When I come into the house from running errands, I still look for her, before I remember.
I haven’t put away her food or water dish. They sit, filled, in the kitty corner.
If there’s a noise, for a split second I think it’s her.
I think irrational things, like, “Surely she could have pushed through, if she’d just tried.”
This is loss. I know that.
This is surrender. I know that, too.
No lesson, no wise words of wisdom wrapping it all up–just being here, now, in it, with what-is, with loss.
–And I think that the raw honesty of that is a “courageous conversation,” indeed.
Read more >>courageous conversations :: working with right now
by kate swoboda
“To change one’s life: Start immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions.” –William James
I really do believe that this is it.
More time? No.
More money? No.
Better ideas? No.
Better timing? No.
I recently interviewed Dyana Valentine for my next e-program, which is going to be something just for Life Coaches. I was tapping Dyana’s wisdom as it related to the coaching industry, but as we spoke I realized something huge–she was expressing, in story after story, her rootedness in noticing her “inner YES!” and then taking action.
Not taking more time.
Not waiting for more money.
Not second-guessing her ideas.
Not thinking about how someday, when the stars align, the time will be “right.”
Dyana expressed again and again the wisdom of working with whatever is right there, right then…
… right now.
You’ve got all the time you need.
The money will come, or it won’t, and you’ll deal–either way.
The ideas are great, and if you look at them critically and objectively, you’ll refine them into something even greater as you go (the birthing/molding process does not happen overnight).
The timing is rarely ever “right.” The timing is about what we make of it–not grasping and wrestling when we say now is the time, but rather, deciding something and getting behind that choice, and then watching the alchemy that follows.
You’ve got everything you need, sitting right within the package reading these words.
Trust.
courageous conversations :: life and running
by kate swoboda
Running has been on my mind, lately, because–well–I’ve been training for Bay to Breakers, a 7.47 mile road race. I’m finally going to make my grand comeback from a foot injury that defied logic yet was this incredible teacher and shape-shifter, in the way all things are terrifying and murky when we are in the midst of them and praying to come out on the other side.
Here’s what is on my mind these days: how training for a race is this really translatable lesson in knowing when to push ourselves and when to hold back, in life.
By nature, I’m a pusher–someone who can easily identify what she wants, jump in there, start messing around, and then push through when the going gets tough. The work in the midst of that becomes knowing my limits, because it is all too easy to cross that seemingly invisible threshold between rising to a challenge and masochistic, overbearing, unnatural pain.
Like most things, this quality of mine is both the source of my superhero powers and my kryptonite. At its best, it results in passion, commitment, determination, and teaching me the very definition of courage, allowing fear to be part of the process that transforms me. When the doctor(s) told me that I would simply need to wear an orthotic for the rest of my life to deal with my foot injury, and that running was out of the question, I said, “No. That’s not how my story is going to end.” I did not give up, and eventually I found the doctor who fixed my foot, and then I did the rest with the power of my mind, taking a 30-minute walk every single day for a month in which I recited in my head: “With every step I take, my foot is getting better and better. With every step I take, my foot is healed. With every step I take…”
Lesson One: Commit to your own truth, despite the naysayers.
Lesson Two: Never, ever–ever!–underestimate the power of your own mind.
At its worst, this pushing quality is exactly why I’ve had so many fits and starts with running. My previous attempts to re-establish myself as a runner after an injury now strike me as laughable. Over the course of a few years, I started and failed to rehab my injury because I went straight back to immediately miles and miles at a time, pushing myself to run at a fast clip…and I inevitably re-injured or caused myself some other malady that required taking 4-6 weeks off just to recuperate.
Lesson Three: “Go hard or go home” is a mantra of fear recited by the insecure.
So in October of 2010, my new mantra was: “Just do what you can do.” I went to the gym and walked, because that was what I could do. A few weeks in, I had this hit of, “I want to run!” and so I lightly jogged for a few minutes (chest heaving) and then went back to walking. By early December, doing this jog/walk dance, I could jog for up to ten to fifteen minutes at a low speed.
Want to know when it’s time to push, and when it’s time to loosen the reins in your own life?
Lesson Four: Listen. Watch. Wait. The cues are always there.
When I decided to start getting active again, I kept listening. Waiting. Watching. I was practicing tuning in to what felt right for me, what my limits were, and accepting my limits rather than pushing against them.
Some weeks, what I could do was alternate between jogging and walking. Other weeks, tuning into my body and noticing where things felt tight and sore, I elected to spend my entire time on the treadmill, walking. No pressure. Also? No racing, no pressure to train or increase speed or mileage.
But then I received my annual registration notice for Bay to Breakers. I hesitated for a long time, really pausing before I filled out the form. Was I really going to do this? I flipped through my calendar, looking at the months that spanned between me and the race. I was tuning in, listening. Did this “feel” right? Okay? Would it upset the delicate balance of the mild training I’d just started, to run this race?
I hit the submit button and registered, willing to find out.
Lesson Five: You can always pay attention, re-evaluate from a place of presence, and shift course if needed.
So now I needed to work with pressure, even though it scared me. How do you work with pressure when the only kind of pressure you know is going full throttle? And isn’t “pressure” what being an athlete is about? “No pain, no gain,” said Cher in the 80’s.
But there was another sign hanging up at my gym: “Smiling is optional. Finishing’s not,” it said, above a photograph of a woman lifting weights.
Taking a cue from that sign, my new mantra was born: “I just need to finish.” That was it, I decided. I wanted to finish that race. I’d enrolled in it three years in a row, and never even made it to the starting line. Now, however? I was going to finish–even if it meant walking the entire way. I would “just do what I could do” (mantra 1) and “just finish” (mantra 2).
Lesson Six: It’s okay to commit to finishing something, even if you’re not going to be a superstar.
I began going to the gym and running the entire time I was on the treadmill. I had days where I felt resistant, where I just didn’t waaaaant to. I kept listening, tuning in, considering. Many of those mornings, I simply told myself that I’d head to the gym and if I had too much resistance, I’d walk instead of run. That never ended up happening.
Lesson seven: Sometimes, it’s enough to just start moving.
The first time I was able to run three miles, I came home shining with pride. Pre-injury, the most I’d ever run was three miles. To be back to three miles again felt like a milestone. Within weeks of hitting that milestone, I was able to up my mileage to four miles, and then to five. Then the shin splints started. I knew why they were happening–in my newfound running confidence, I’d gotten sloppy about icing and stretching.
Lesson eight: It never, ever, ever works out well when you neglect self-care.
I’d be lying to you if I said that I took all of this in stride. No–I cried. I cried in fear that I might have re-injured myself, and out of frustration that I’d need to take time off from running in order to rest the inflamed muscles.
I took one week off, and then came back…my endurance was better than ever. The rest had allowed me to cross yet another threshold–one of running five miles and no longer feeling like an exhausted wreck, afterwards.
Lesson nine: Stepping back is not equivalent to failure.
And now, race day–petrified, surrounded by throngs of people…
“ All I need to do is finish. I’m doing great…with every step I take, my foot is better and better. With every step I take, my foot is healed…”
I passed some, and others passed me. “All you need to do is finish.”
My legs felt lighter some miles, heavier during others. “All you need to do is finish.”
I thought of every mile logged. I thought of the day the injury occurred. Mostly, I felt gratitude for of all of the love and care and support I’d received along the way. I didn’t care how long it had taken me to get here. I only cared that I was here.
Lesson ten: All you need to do is finish.
Read more >>courageous conversations :: what nourishes you (part II)
In my last post, I talked about the intersection of diet + exercise + Resistance, and how acknowledging Resistance is helpful, and how turning to this great question—What nourishes you?—is key. If you haven’t already read through that, take a moment to pop on over…
Now I want to share a bit about diet. First, I think—and without being an actual nutritionist myself, there are people who agree with me on this—that the average Westerner has been so tipped upside down when it comes to what to eat. We’re told to eat vegetables and then warned that carrots have too much sugar. We’re told not to eat bread at all, unless it’s whole grain bread, and then we buy whole grain bread only to discover that actually, what your body needs is to break down a whole grain, so if the whole grains are ground up and dumped into the flour and nothing is broken down, you’re really not getting all that much more of a benefit. Food manufacturers are finding all sorts of ways to call sugar something other than what it is. I’ve seen soda cans that say “All natural—made with real cane sugar!” as though this is somehow a new rationale for drinking soda.
So how would I bring in this question: What nourishes you?**
What I advise (and practice myself) is this: Asking yourself, “What nourishes me?” with every meal.
Growing up, the only vegetables I saw ever came out of a can. For instance, we ate green beans at some meals. The green beans were put in a pot of water and boiled. In Crisco. With bacon. So please don’t take me lightly when I share that I was not predisposed to liking vegetables. In fact, I resented every single diet book that suggested “eating more vegetables” as a way to lose weight or be healthier. But because I worried about gaining weight, I ate salads with bitter vinaigrette low-cal dressing, or choked down broccoli sans butter or salt because, as “everyone knows,” butter and salt are bad for you.
I realized later that because I was focusing solely on what magazines told me to eat (or tried to instill fear in me about in order to sell more subscriptions!), I was eating “healthy” food with resentment, and leaving the table without feeling nourished. Feeling nourished is the most important thing.
There were a few lucky things that changed that. One is that I met my boyfriend, and he and his family are pretty healthy eating folk. Through exposure to them, I learned that I really like a number of vegetables…when they are prepared in the right way. I like steamed asparagus (not boiled). And I love steamed Brussels sprouts (not boiled). And I love, love, love steamed kale (not boiled). The more exposure I had to these vegetables prepared well, the more I developed a taste for them. No wonder so many kids hate brussels sprouts! They are often prepared boiled, in a sea of oil, and this gives them a distinctly swampy taste and smell.
Speaking of oil, I also came to realize that I love all three of these vegetables with a bit of butter and sea salt. When I eat these vegetables without some butter and sea salt, I don’t feel nourished. When I add these flavors, I do. The experience is savory. I also discovered that I am eager about eating salads with dark lettuce that have olive oil on them, or ranch dressing. Since dumping a full cup of those condiments on my salad would leave me feeling heavy, tired, or digestively unsound, I choose not to do that—doing so would take away from feeling nourished. But a tablespoon or two? That’s a totally enjoyable salad, one that I feel nourished from eating. Wouldn’t you like to feel excited about eating salads?
But here’s the better part—it goes beyond vegetables. Tiramisu also nourishes me! That is, it nourishes me when sugar is a rare treat, and when I eat it slowly, when I let it be part of an experience that I am having at a restaurant. If I scarf it down after a meal just to have something sweet in my mouth, or if I have dessert all of the time, it does not nourish me. In comes the shame hangover of knowing I’ve eaten something that is not really life-sustaining.
Interestingly, I heard about a study that was conducted a few years ago where couples were treated to a free meal at a decadent restaurant. Prior to going into the restaurant, the women had their blood sugars, metabolism, etc., calculated. After eating, the women were quizzed on how they felt about the experience, and readings of their blood sugars, etc., were taken a second time. The women who enthusiastically enjoyed the meal had metabolisms that perked up more after eating. The women who bemoaned themselves for the indulgence had metabolisms that slowed down.
So let me tell you, next time I eat the tiramisu, I’m going to stop and enjoy the tiramisu! I believe that this is often cited as the reason for why obesity rates in Europe are so much lower, despite the decadent eating. People take time to really enjoy what they’re eating, making the experience an overall fulfilling (and nourishing) one, and because they are more tuned in with that aspect of eating, they can stop at multiple portions and truly savor good food.
This question, What nourishes me?, frees us up from the diet talk, which, frankly, I’m as sick of hearing about as you probably are. Make the experience nourishing, and my belief is that you will step into greater acceptance of your wonderful, beautiful body, while also tuning in to what that beautiful body is really craving (and if your cravings ever result in a shame hangover, guess what? What you thought you were craving is not actually what you wanted).
So here’s your exercise: Take out a post-it note and write “What nourishes me?” on it, and post it on your refrigerator. See what happens next time you head over there to open the door.
And once you’ve become acquainted with asking this question in regards to diet, start asking it with exercise…with relationships…with work…with how you spend your down time…with the way you connect with you, your kids, your partner.
What nourishes you?
** I’m not a dietician or nutritionist or medical professional, so consult with the person of your choice about anything you read here.
courageous conversations :: what nourishes you (part 1)
by kate swoboda
Recently, I was on a call with a coaching client and we were talking about diets and exercise. More specifically, we were talking about diets and exercise and Resistance.
I’m not a dietician or nutritionist or personal trainer, but I think that I have some insights into diet + exercise + Resistance that I’ve gleaned from these past few years of working with clients, doing my own work around body and body image, and from trying a number of different styles of eating before gradually carving out what worked best for me. With that said, I encourage anyone who is dieting to consult a doctor or other trusted professional—all of that stuff, disclaimer, disclaimer—and then consider what it might be like to totally shift the approach towards diet and exercise. Mentally shift it, that is.
I think that Resistance is one way that the Inner Critic shows up. And, if you didn’t already know, I believe that the Inner Critic is your best friend, with lousy communication skills. Sometimes the Inner Critic shows up with condescension and lots of rudeness, and other times it shows up with larger than life Fear (“You’re going to lose every friend you have and live homeless for a year before finally deciding to off yourself if you try that”). And other times it shows up as Resistance: “I just. Don’t. Feel. Like. It.” Or, “I don’t have time.” Or “I don’t have money.” Or “I was going to do it, but I forgot.” Or “This is bullshit and I’m not doing it.” Or “It’s so-and-so’s fault that this didn’t work out for me. I could have changed if she would have made ________ better!”
Yup, all Resistance. Normal stuff. Working with clients, I see it all of the time. Hell, working with me I see it all of the time! I believe that we don’t get to a point where we never again see Resistance in the face of change, so much as we get smarter about noticing it for what it is, responding appropriately, and lessening our reactions to what comes up.
Here’s part of working with Resistance: It has something to tell you. And when it shows up as “I just don’t feeeeel like it!” what it’s trying to tell you is that it wants you to get honest with yourself.
Statement: “I want to eat healthfully.”
Truth: Nope, probably not. Frankly, I know few people who actually want to eat vegetables. I really believe that if we could all get away with eating all of the white flour our hearts desired, with no negative effects to our waistlines (or hearts), we’d do it. Why not? We want to eat what tastes good, and most of us have been socialized to believe that vegetables do not taste good. Thus, we don’t actually want to eat healthfully, and Resistance is pointing that out: Cut it with the crap. We do not want to eat healthfully. Quit putting that on the goal sheet, and hand me the chocolate.
Same with exercise.
Resistance is asking us to get real, to get honest. The first time someone pointed out to me that Resistance was fulfilling that role, my honest reaction was: “Well, I don’t want it to get honest with me! Then I’d never do anything I want to do! How would anything get done! Don’t tell me Resistance is good!”
I’m not suggesting that it’s good—or bad—just that it is, and that if a person really hunkers down and listens to their Resistance, they usually find that the Resistance is often trying to get them to quit being a liar-liar-pants on fire. That’s all.
So what to do, with all of that?
Well, acknowledging the Resistance helps. I talk to my Resistance. What is it trying to tell me? What does it want me to know? Then acknowledge the truth of what it wants me to know. If I don’t want to eat healthfully, there’s a reason for that. If I don’t want to exercise, there’s a reason for that.
What are the reasons for that? Well, they differ for everyone. For me, they almost always boil down to a lack of self-care. Not wanting to eat healthfully, for me, is often connected to not giving myself enough rewards in my daily life such that I then want rewards like oatmeal cookies. Not putting in enough time for self-care sets me up to not want to cook, to say that I “don’t have time.” Not wanting to exercise has historically been tied to not having a sense of play attached to the exercise. I don’t want to run on a treadmill, because it’s not fun. Nor do I want to be on an elliptical. But get me into a Bikram yoga room? I’m ready to rock that out. I look forward to certain poses. I flagrantly admit that I spend much of class being very un-yoga-like and admiring how all that yoga has made my arms look pretty sassy. And if I still have Resistance, even to going to yoga? There’s probably some area in my life where I am in need of more rest (again, self-care).
All of these answers, so far, lead up to one really great question, a question that turns this whole diet and exercise thing on its head: What nourishes you?
You can already see how this would be applied with the exercise examples I give, above. To find the style of exercise that you like, ask: What nourishes me? Running on a treadmill felt like an obligatory dread. Spending 90 minutes in a 105-degree room doing yoga postures, however? I feel nourished. I feel nourished during class, and when I’m done, and notice other aspects of nourishment—discipline, acceptance, stepping into relaxation (savasana)—peppered throughout my life. Another style of exercise that I like? Weight-lifting with resistance machines. I started it because I thought I “had to” and later discovered that I liked it. “It’s like a kind of meditation,” I reported to my boyfriend once I realized that I looked forward to lifting. The “What nourishes you?” question really came into clear focus when I began working through Danielle LaPorte’s book Style Statement and found that my grounding word, my 80%, was sacred. Of course! Yoga, even Bikram yoga which strips away most of the esoteric aspects, has a sacred component to it. And because I found weight-lifting meditative, that also tied in with “sacred.”
When we find what nourishes us, we tap into what will motivate us as well. And we also tap into understanding why Resistance crops up. When a person is devoid of actual nutritional nourishment in their life, they’re going to start feeling the ailments. When we are doing things that don’t nourish us, life is going to start feeling pretty blecch.
So how does that tie into diet? Check back next month for Part II…
courageous conversations :: surrender (again)
by kate swoboda
People who are fans of my YCL website sometimes find their way over to my personal Facebook page, which I mostly use for communicating with family and friends and jabbering a bit about life throughout each day, and I often wonder what they think when they see me posting about my kitty, Poppy. It is generally acknowledged by all who know me that the word that best describes my relationship with her is this: obsessed.
I met Poppy when I was a house-sitter, during a time of travel that included a summer spent in Italy. I fell in love with her from day one–I came downstairs to meditate in this new, unfamiliar house, and a few moments later found a kitty curling up in my lap, making biscuits on my tummy pudge. When her owners returned from their travels, having decided they’d like to fully retire and didn’t want to find a house-sitter each time they left, I jumped at the chance to adopt her. For the past year, she’s been my little compadre, hanging out on a chair in my office to groom herself and sleep and wake from her naps when I pet her and tell her (in a high-pitched voice) that she is the Best Kitty in the Whole Wide World.
In my defense: I have never before been this way about an animal. The only plausible explanation is that she and I know each other from another lifetime, perhaps when we were both cats, laying around in sun patches grooming ourselves after eating a can of Friskies.
So, suffice to say, when Poppy recently took ill, this hit me hard–harder than I would have expected. It basically happened like this–she had been overfed in her previous environment and for many years, carried around extra weight. Living with us on a controlled diet, she slowly lost weight over the course of a year, leaving behind excess skin that I lovingly called her “fatty flaps.”
It was all good, until it wasn’t–a sudden diabetes diagnosis, which we first tried to manage with prescription food until the recent weekend that she crashed out entirely and it was too late to regulate her with insulin or routine subcutaneous fluids at the local vet. She was throwing up, completely sick, wasting away before my eyes–in a matter of two days. I brought her in to the vet hospital and they found her glucose off the charts and excess bilirubin, indicating that her liver might be failing.
When the vet explained to me that she might need to be euthanized, I listened calmly to the description of the euthanasia process, until the moment that she said the words, “…and that would stop her heart.” Then I couldn’t keep it together anymore.
Long story short? She was diagnosed with pancreatitis, for which she received several days of treatments, and now I have a massive vet bill.
For those of you who think that people like me are nuts to be so crazy about a pet, you might want to click away, now–because it’s only going to get worse. Now I’m going to talk about surrendering in the face of the unknown, which is what I practiced again and again during the week when Poppy was in the hospital, and that I continue to practice now that she’s home and making a slow, two steps forward, one step back recovery (complete with me now being the person who has to give her injections with needles).
So, sure–my cat’s life is not Darfur, earthquakes in Haiti, divorce, death of a parent, or flooding in Brazil. Nonetheless, she’s a part of my life that I would feel acutely if she were not around. It was a hard week.
It was hard because I had no control. I couldn’t make her eat or drink (which is extraordinarily frustrating when eating and drinking would help). I couldn’t make her get better. I couldn’t make the vet bills cheaper so that saving her would be an easier process, financially. Time to surrender.
It was hard because I didn’t know what was going to happen, next. I didn’t know where the money would come from. I had ideas of possible sources, but I didn’t know how I’d pay back those sources. Time to surrender.
It was hard because I was making a decision based on money, and making decisions based on money is absolutely contrary to my values. My heart of course wanted to simply save her from a curable illness. My bank account was stark black and white. Time to surrender.
It was hard because the solution that I did find for affording the treatments involves some trade-offs–physical and mental, as well as in how I’m organizing my time–and I felt resistant to those trade-offs. Time to surrender.
Surrender is not giving up–it’s surrendering to “what is.” I surrendered to Poppy being sick, the clarity I had that I didn’t want to let her go without at least trying to save her, the extra workload. My word for 2011 is “ease.” I found myself often asking, “How can I create ‘ease’ in the midst of this?”
The answer, again and again: Surrender.
There’s a larger context for this, of course–that we needn’t wait for life to unravel a bit before we practice surrendering. How much more ease could we walk with if we were living in a way that was wholeheartedly BEing our journey, embracing everything that came into the circle of our existence?
There’s new clarity, too–clarity with fear–and that is that if Poppy doesn’t recover in the coming weeks, I won’t be making the same choices to save her. That, too, requires surrender and acceptance, even though it hints at the possibility that in this story, there won’t be a happy ending. I’m even willing to practice surrendering to the concept that really no story does–because we all let go eventually.
When I’m willing to breathe past the fear that inevitably accompanies a thought like that, something else emerges–a desire to live more fully, to appreciate more, to experience more, to get present more. To notice how great the house is, even if it’s messy; to notice how great the extra teaching work is, even if it’s tiring; to notice and notice and notice, and then surrender without attachment–not to become detached, but because living that way is practicing living with more ease and really, living even bigger–Fuller–More 100% fully alive.
courageous conversations :: an audio post with kate swoboda!
kate an i recently had the chance to chat and catch up, and thanks to miss courageous and her wonderful tech savvy we recorded the conversation just for you (thanks kate!). get ready to celebrate with her on 1/1/11 when she launches a brand new, exciting project! have a listen to get the whole scoop ;) enjoy!
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
courageous conversations :: a call to courageous living
by kate swoboda
“The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.” –Joseph Campbell
In my coaching practice, it’s my job to step into the role of powerfully holding space for someone when they have difficulty seeing the forest for the trees, getting a larger perspective. It’s not uncommon for me to offer a gentle reminder for the person on the other end of the line that, in fact, crisis can be a divine opportunity. If nothing else, crisis can sometimes be the catalyst for moving and shaking in ways that one might not have otherwise risked.
But a few months ago–I was the one who needed some space held. I had been working for myself for 10 months, and now I was the one who couldn’t see the forest for the trees with my business. I was working, all of the time–coming up with new ideas, working on writing projects, guest posting, updating my site, refreshing content, running my e-course, The Courageous Year, doing more interviews. Along the way, I allowed myself plenty of permission for mistake-making and have some finely chiseled muscles that can do some heavy lifting when it’s time to stop, take inventory, and then make a change if needed.
But now I was tired. To stop and take inventory and change directions is fine a few times, but I had been doing it for 10 months. I had been working myself to come up with a constant stream of new content, for most of a year. I felt clear that I was being called to stop, but I also knew that I didn’t want to stop if I didn’t feel I was clear on what was next.
I’ve often said since I began working for myself that starting a business is the ultimate declaration to the world of personal responsibility. It is literally taking your life into your own hands in every possible way to say that you will steer your own ship. It was thrilling and exhilarating–and I was seeing quite clearly that I was suffering from burnout.
And yet, I resisted asking for help. Maybe I needed more time, I thought. Or perhaps I needed to read more (off I went for another trip to the library, or another read of the recent blog posts arguing both for and against turning off comments). The parts of me that are fierce and feisty wanted to figure it out for myself, while the parts of me that have a Vision for my life that are larger than Ego gently said: “Kate. Lay it all down. Slow down, for just a moment.”
So I called in the expert to hold space (for me, that would be Danielle LaPorte). I booked a one-on-one Fire Starter Session and took deep breaths because I knew that the biggest question on my mind was where to go next with the e-course meets e-book that I’d created and had been running for a year: The Courageous Year.
If you’ve ever created something or worked on a project dear to your heart, you know that it’s your baby. When challenges arise, you don’t give up–you dive in to smooth over rough edges, to cradle your creation ever more gently. You ask for feedback. You take in everything you hear, and then you decide what is best for all concerned.
In the midst of our session, Danielle gave it to me straight, as I trusted she would. “I get hung up on the ‘year,’ ” she told me. “Can it be a…Courageous Season? Can I just have a Courageous Month?”
Here’s what happens sometimes when something is your baby: you’re willing to look past the imperfections, because you know that the basic character is just so juicy, true, and good. When I’d first come up with the concept and started writing The Courageous Year, I’d been so enthusiastic about the idea that I hadn’t given much heed to anyone who had said something like: “Does it have to be a Year?”
The grace of having someone else hold your work, your baby, tenderly in their hands, is that it gives you a moment to pause and stop having to hold it yourself. It’s hard to let go, isn’t it? But I did, using that session as a space to try out mentally imagining where I would go next. After my session with Danielle, it was clear to me: as much as my inner perfectionist wishes she’d gotten it right the first time, the heart of what I’d written in all of my books wasn’t about being tied to an entire Year. I had felt called to let that piece of my work go.
The heart of what I’d written was about Courageous Living, and if I was really willing to live courageously, that meant rocking as many turns as is it took to be able to stand behind what I’d created…and sit down, and give myself a break.
Refreshed by the call, I went back to my desk with a new vision: to create a series of Courageous Living Guides, and to keep the focus purely on the full-tilt love of writing, the questions that dug deep, and the wisdom of others who were willing to share what they knew.
To that end, I’ve been working on creating four new books that will be available in January 2011: Courageous Beginnings, Courageous Commitments, Courageous Passion, Courageous Power.
One year ago, I went to bed knowing that on Monday, it was time for me to take my life in a different direction. There were so many reasons why I knew that this moment was the time to start, but the question that loomed largest for me was this one: Would I be okay?
Behind that question was a desire to know that if I didn’t do it all perfectly, would I still be okay in the eyes of others, and–more importantly–my own?
And a year later, it’s a relief–a shaking, joyful tears relief–to know the answer. I had known it all along but had not ever tested it as fully as I had this year. The answer is this: regardless of the twists and turns of any challenge, when you stand naked in your own beautiful truth, and then you fully claim the journey you’ve taken as being your own, there is nothing more beautiful.
courageous conversations :: on kindness
by kate swoboda
Writing on kindness today, I find that what I really want to acknowledge for a moment, and hold tenderly, are those parts of us that can feel anything but kind.
The parts of us that feel we’re too tired for compassion, too worn out to make that stretch when someone has just been rude.
The parts of us that see the kind acts of others and then compare ourselves, thinking that someone else has got it figured out–but not us.
The parts of us that feel frustrated by our own lost tempers or passive-aggressive behaviors–the parts that ask, “If I know better, then why don’t I do better?”
The parts of us that wonder sometimes whether or not we even have a kind bone in our bodies.
I want to cradle gently the parts of us that feel we’re lacking and not enough. I want to hold the small spaces that feel constricted. I want to comfort those parts of you that won’t cut yourself a break.
Hurt, pain, suffering–they come up in life. And when we meet these feelings with unkindness, with an unwillingness to even throw ourselves a bone, they stick around a lot longer. Yet we’re oddly conditioned into not “cutting ourselves too much slack” in the screwups department. Doing that, we’re taught, could cause us to run amok, forgiving any transgression.
Here’s a radical thought: Why not forgive any transgression? Why not find the kindest possible point of view in light of unspeakable pain? Why not extend that compassion first and foremost to our own souls (thus teaching ourselves how to extend it to others)? Why not let go of the resentments towards our parents or former friends?
What have we got to lose–other than some old, tired baggage?
Of course it sounds easier said than done, but I’m committed to the belief that in fact it’s easier to forgive than to carry around the old muck. I’m not successful in every moment at using kindness as my tool, but by golly–I’m racking up more and more of those moments. They are my lilly pads along the way. Each kind moment seems to pave the way for the next one.
As a society, we are most inspired by those who emerge from horrific circumstances to shine bright. The people who do this are not superheroes but everyday heroes–and they would love for all of us to join them.
What is one–just one kindness–you could extend to yours
Read more >>-
Archives
