Small Green Shoots of Faith

 

 

On a cool October day, I knelt with my knees in the dirt to plant tulip bulbs. I used a special bulb planting tool that I’ve owned so long that I’ve forgotten where it came from. Dig the hole, drop in the bulb flat side down/tip up, fill the hole, scooch over, dig another hole. Water the whole lot in.

I love the rhythm of bulb-planting.

And the very best part?

Every bulb planted reminds me of  how important it is to have faith. And to be able to wait.

Because when you plant a tulip bulb in October, then all you can do is… wait.

Wait through the snows, the torrential rains, the short, dark days, the gloom of January…. you patiently wait.

And if you got all worried and anxious about the bulbs – were they okay? would they come up? – and you went out on a frosty February Saturday to dig them up just to check, you’d kill ‘em.

So tulip growers must wait, and have faith.

Faith that you dug the hole deep enough.

Faith that nature will take its course (which, naturally means you plan that 25% of what you plant will feed the neighborhood squirrels).

Faith that on one March morning you’ll see tiny green shoots pushing up through the earth.

Tiny, mighty green shoots.

That’s the magic moment for me, the moment when my faith pays off.

Every time I see those small green shoots of possibility.

You see, I plant mixed tulip bulbs and never know what color will come up where, which makes that small green shoot a promise of the surprise to come. Doubling my delight.

All because I had the faith to plant them that October morning and resisted the urge to dig them up just to check.

Oh, plenty of us are too cautious to plant the bulb in the first place – we’ve been told for far too long not to get our hopes up. Why make the effort? We’d probably plant the bulbs upside down, or they’d rot, or the squirrels would have a family reunion feast in our front yard, leaving us with nothing.

And some of us need constant reassurance that we did the right thing by taking the time to plant bulbs. Are other people planting? Did I do it right? Do you think it’s working? How can I know for sure it’ll work?

Then there are those of us who are in-between and wonder why to plant anything at all when we’re just going to be moving on before anything happens.

Fear, insecurity, hopelessness set in and the opportunity to create something truly beautiful escapes us.

You know this is a metaphor, right?

Planting = your best work.

Waiting = faith that consistently doing what’s right is the most fulfilling part of the journey.

Green shoots of possibility = proof that you did the right thing most of the time.

Fully grown tulips = your beautiful, precious reward.

You, my friend, are the master gardener of your life and your career.

Every single day, with your choices, you are planting seeds and bulbs, trees and shrubs – in the ways you talk to others, the ways you show appreciation, the ways you collaborate, the ways you encourage, the ways you take responsibility.

Every single day, you have the choice to plant your seeds in your own rhythm, with the faith that – someday – you’ll see those small green shoots break through the earth with the promise of something quite spectacular on the way.

It’s all up to you to create your fabulous garden of a life. What will you plant today?

 

 

 

 

The Provocative Edge

In a coaching session this past week, I used a tactic that sometimes gets good results.

[Sometimes. Whether it did this time remains to be seen.]

My client is a very smart, very talented, very successful guy who is in a leadership role in an industry that’s failing, in a company that’s panicked. From the day he started the job almost two years ago, he knew something was wrong. Something was off. And now he’s seeing all the bad stuff come to fruition. He’s exhausted, burned out and stressed. Yet he’s spending 80 hours a week stacking the deck chairs on what feels like a sinking ship, and there’s never enough time to do everything that could be done.

“But,” he asks me.

“But, at his level can you leave a job after less than two years in the role?”

“But, I”m a smart guy – isn’t it my obligation to make it work?”

“But, shouldn’t I have another job in hand before I leave?

“But, they’re paying me – don’t I owe them?”

I call this The Motorboat moment: But, but, but, but.

Which is no pleasure trip. It’s more like bumping through heavy chop in high winds. It’s no fun, and a little nauseating.

So I whipped out my best coaching stuff – I put on my figurative trench coat, dark glasses and beret – and I became The Coach Provocateur.

For every “but” he said, I said, “Go ahead, quit.”

For every reason he offered for staying, I offered a vision for what’s next.

For every “no”, I said “yes”.

Because time after time I have seen that when I offer a rather outlandish suggestion – “Quit today and move to Tahiti” – it allows the client to say, “Well, not Tahiti, but maybe Atlanta.”

And there you have it – Atlanta. A workable goal. A clear objective.  Something that feels pretty good.

But you only get there by considering the extreme potential.

My client’s homework is to consider what it would be like to leave in three months. What it would be like to take some time to recoup and renew – his soul, his body, his psyche. And he may come back with another solution than the one I offered. And that is perfectly OK – as long as it’s a solution he can use.

As long as it expands his comfort zone and gives him the relief he craves.

So, no doubt you have something you’d like to address.  To fix. To do better.

OK, what’s the most extreme, Lady Gaga-esque approach you can think of? Dream it up. Biggify it.

Then say, “If not that, then what?”

You may find that by considering that provocative edge, you’ll find your perfect solution.

 

3 a.m.

 

When my belly got big with my son, I started routinely waking up around 3 a.m. as the pressure on my pea-sized bladder got to be too much. Same thing happened with my daughter – up at 3 a.m. like clockwork.

Then, for several years in a row, I found myself awake at 3 a.m. nourishing hungry, growing babies.

Of course, for any child there are night time fevers, and bad dreams, and then my own grief which prompted quiet 3 a.m. checks to make sure they were still breathing. Sometimes I needed that silent nighttime check to reassure myself that everything was going to be OK. So I could sleep.

And after so many years of that routine, I guess I got used to it.

Today, I find myself awake at 3 a.m. more often than not – an echo of the past lodged deep in my bones.

[Plus, there's still that pea-sized bladder issue.]

And I have come to love 3 a.m.

It’s wonderful. Unless you live in a college town, there’s no one coming home at that time of the morning. There’s no one heading off to work, either. There is nothing in the sky except stars. No cars whooshing by on the streets.

Even the birds are asleep.

It’s so still. So quiet. So calm. Creating an open, inviting space to just… be.

3 a.m. is a drink of cold water to a thirsty woman in the desert of busyness and doing-doing-doing that seems to be the way of our modern world.

At 3 a.m., I find I can breathe. I can lean against the door jamb for a minute and just be in the stillness, full of remembrance. And gratitude for this life, this time.

Aware of the gift of it all.

Which never fails to usher me back into a restful sleep.

The other night at 3 a.m., I heard a fox call in the night. Perhaps – a mom, too – she was up nursing her kits, and was looking for a kindred spirit who loves the morning.

She certainly found me. And me, her.

And, you know, I would never have heard her call in the regular hubbub of the day.

Your time for stillness and gratitude may not be at 3 a.m., but you’ve got a special time. You sure do – we all do – maybe you’re just too busy to recognize it.

But you need it.You need your own still, calm time as the antidote to the stress of your day.

So find it. Ready?

Deep breath.

Discover stillness.

Locate gratitude.

Hear the call in the quiet.

And live happier.

 

Drive For Show

 

If you hang around a golf course or a golfer, you’re bound to hear the phrase:

“Drive for show, putt for dough.”

The drive – the big swing a the start of the hole – takes a lot of muscle.Your core is engaged, your legs need to work, your arms and shoulders rotate fully. It’s a really big movement. Watch this video of golf great Ben Hogan discussing the basics of a swing.

It’s big. It’s muscular. It’s showy.

A lot of people spend a ton of time practicing their drive. Hey, there might be people watching that shot. There might be a chance the audience will applaud, or at least say, “wow” under their breath at that magnificent, powerful, arcing ball flight.

Ah, the prospect of adulation. Extremely compelling for so many of us.

Yet, a big, muscular, showy drive has very little to do with a great golf score.

Because the real place to score is on the green, when you putt.

In a typical par four hole, the idea is that you hit a good drive, make a decent approach shot, and then you have two putts on the green to get in the hole.  If you’re a good putter, you might sink it in one stroke, giving you a birdie – which is a great score. A series of birdies and you win the tournament, or at least a couple of bucks from your buddies.

That’s the reason people say, “Drive for show, putt for dough.”

A putt is the opposite of a drive. Rather than big movements, a great putt is minimal movement, controlled, small. Repeatable.  Watch Tiger Woods putt and you’ll see what I mean.

So, it’s big and showy vs. smaller and purposeful.

And now you know why I’m writing this blog, even if you don’t play golf.

The big, showy effort is so fulfilling, yet it’s often the small, focused, repetitive stuff that pays off.

You know this.

So, if you’re burned out, you may want to do the big swing by quitting in a huff, but you might just want to putt it. Do some small, repetitive steps – like leaving on time. Like tending to your self care. Like having a life outside the office. Like saying no sometimes. Like making time to connect with people who can help you find a new job.

If you’re stuck, putt it.  Test and try in tiny chunks, and see what feels better than whatever you’ve got right now.

If you want to grow, putt it.  Read a book. Take a class. Get a mentor.

Practice, practice, practice.

Think small.

Because if you really want to win the dough, you become a great putter.

 

From Here To There

 

 

I am rather smitten with the idea of transformation. Utterly fascinates me.

It fascinates me how common things like today’s newspaper gets recycled into tomorrow’s paper towels. Like how left over table scraps can become food for tomorrow’s flowers.

Magical things fascinate me, too, like how a little baby grows into a tall adult.

And then there are amazing things like how simple trial and error leads to a new invention that changes the world. Like the light bulb. Or the Internet.

To some of these things we say, “Yes, but…”

Yes, but that’s nature’s way of doing things – has nothing to do with me.

Yes, but that’s somebody like Thomas Edison. That’s somebody like Steve Jobs. Not somebody like me.

Rarely, it seems, do we say, “Yes, but…I can do that, too.”

But it’s more than possible.

You absolutely have the power to transform things.

You.

And you can do it all by yourself, when you think about it.

You can transform the challenge of sickness into the relief of healing, just by talking about it in a different way.

As in, “I am on my way toward remission.”

You can transform the stress of working with a difficult person into calm productivity, just by managing your own energy and being an advocate for yourself.

As in, “I am not jumping into that drama with him. No, I am not.”

You can transform your business from struggling to succeeding, just by focusing on your strengths and what really matters.

As in, “Despite the advice of marketing gurus, I know I am an introvert and not at my best in large networking events. I’m going to meet people my own way.”

It’s daunting and a little confusing to think that you have any power to change anything. Because so many of us have lived our lives believing we’re at the mercy of others. That power belongs to someone else. That we’re small, insignificant, unable.

But we’re not.

I know you’re not.

The power to transform – to shift one thing into another – is your greatest superpower.

And, if you open your eyes and see, you will find that you use this great skill of yours every day, in ways large and small.

Every time you open a door, turn a corner, start a new document, begin a conversation, you have the ability to transform one thing into something else.

And guess what? The more you use this superpower, the stronger it will get.

The stronger you will get.

So begin today. Begin by transforming where you are right now, to where you’d like to be.

And that’s as easy as getting up from your chair and moving some place else.