photo credit: xoque

Do you ever get to the place in your work where you feel like there is too much to do, to remember, to track? I used to pride myself in being able to hold a lot at once — in my mind, for my clients, and about my work. As the complexity of our world increases almost geometrically and I find myself affected by the simple arithmetic progression of aging, I find that harder and harder to do.

I thought about this the other day in the context of launching a narrative coaching center with a team in Toronto and the first narrative design lab in Sydney. Add that to my full-time practice, research and writing projects, and a personal life — and it started to feel a bit much.  I had the chance to talk with my  friend and colleague Andrea J. Lee about my plans. In the course of doing so, she suggested that I might need to release my need to understand it all — and just do the next thing that needs doing. It was a wonderful insight that really hit home for me.

Enjoy the vista, but watch your feet

As I put this approach into practice the next day on a planning call with Toronto, there was a much greater sense of ease and grace in our conversation. What had become long lists of tasks quickly distilled into some immediate actions to take. It felt liberating. This is not about ticking lots of ‘to do’ boxes like a mouse running in a wheel; it’s about building toward something meaningful one step at a time. The era of seeing the whole picture, knowing everything about something, and planning the entire journey is over. Now, it is about doing what needs to be done next — and from there seeing what the world looks like and acting accordingly.

It’s like a good story. The magic is in the suspense of wondering what will happen next, and long arc of the plot often only becomes apparent in the end. I think our work is more and more like that. How about you? We take the steps we need to take in order to respond to and create what is emerging . . . and soon marvel at how far we have come and where we have arrived! Like stories, understanding is in retrospect, not a requirement for getting started.

If you feel stuck or daunted by all that needs to be done, ask yourself right now, “What’s the next thing that needs doing?”

Have you ever noticed that certain stories or story lines keep returning in your life? Sometimes these returns are developmental, e.g., as with the notion of karma and the integration of shadow elements we’ve discarded along the way. Sometimes these returns are intentional, e.g., the final stage of the heroic journey as we return ‘home’ with the gains from our passage. I see this all the time with clients who keep circling back through a series of stories—all revolving around a similar theme that slowly crystallizes and the heart of it becomes clear. It is from this clarity that the deepest sense of their calling becomes apparent . . . and they now know what must be done.

Finding our way

The goal as narrative-based coaches is to be patient and present enough to let clients’ stories flow, gently guiding them along the path as it emerges.

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
(Lao-Tzu)

In the busyness of our lives, it is so easy to overlook these often subtle rhythms and patterns. As part of my own discernment process these past few weeks, I’ve been slowing down to think about the purpose of money in my life. One outcome of this process led me to Frederick Marx, a documentary film maker most well-known for his role in Hoop Dreams. In doing so, I realized that I had lost touch with the importance of place, of home, of sanctuary to me. Is not that in some ways what the innate drive for “return” all about?

Making new choices

As a result, I’ve decided to make a serious donation to help him finish his next film about Zanskar, the last remaining Tibetan Buddhist society with a continuous lineage (dating back thousands of years). The story is about two monks who are instructed by the Dalai Lama to do everything in their power to insure that Zanskar’s culture, language, and religion survive. This is a movie about their journey back to Zanskar. You can read about the 17 paths here.

What stories are cycling back into your life these days, carrying with them messages for you? What “mud” needs to settle in your life settle so you can more clearly see the next right action on your journey?

photo credit: Aidan M. Grey

I was away last weekend in the mountains of New Mexico for a New Warriors Weekend sponsored by the ManKind Project. It truly was a transformative experience for me both personally and professionally. I would highly recommend it to any man who wants to honestly engage his deeper masculinity and his submerged shadows in order to take both his life and his service to a higher level. The world needs us to be more awake and alive. I was privileged to be a man among men who are committed to that journey.

Where are you holding on?

The thought for today’s post came while I was holding a pine cone while out on a brief walk as part of the experience. I flashed back to a time when I was holding a similar pine cone. I was standing on the western coast of Italy in 1999 overlooking the ocean near the town of Portofino. I had received news the night before that my father had died back in California. I had been led by Spirit to find this spot in order to say good-bye to my dear father since I would not make it back there for a few days. I arrived there just as the sun was setting and in a place that reminded me of the coast of northern California where we had grown up. I’ve held on to that pine cone, both literally and figuratively, as a link to my dad and a memory of that place ever since then.

Where can you now let go?

While I’ve always held the pine cone as a symbol of new life, its meaning shifted for me in the context of the recent weekend. Standing in the high desert mountains, I came to realize that the pine cone’s true purpose is to “die” and fall to the ground so that new trees can be born. It was no longer of service to my father or myself to act as a guardian of the sacred cone. Rather, my choice now is to release it so that its mission can be accomplished. As part of this process, I released another huge layer of my own illusions of immortality in order to turn more of my attention to the “trees” I want to leave behind.

Pine cones need to fall to the ground. In honoring this truth, I was able to leave the weekend much lighter and committed to doing the work that needs to be done. I invite you to identify the “pine cones” you carry for others — and the stories you keep telling yourself in order to keep them in place. Let me fall to the ground so they can fulfill their purpose in the world and you can more passionately and completely fulfill yours. Nothing grows from seeds you hold.

David

photo credit: Shereen M
It has been awhile since I posted. I’ve been quite engaged on two other fronts: One is an intense and wonderful coaching project in Australia.

The other arose just before I left when I followed a gut feeling (reinforced in my dreams) that something was not quite right in my body. I discovered through an ultrasound that I have a large nodule on my thyroid. The biopsies were inconclusive and so I will have surgery sooner rather than later to take part of it out – and find out for sure.

They say the chance it is cancerous is about 5%. However, I soon discovered that while the statistical difference between the 0% chance I had before and the 5% I have now is not all that significant, the emotional difference was huge. I’ve since moved to a better space where I’ve come to appreciate this wake-up call.

I found that in this time of waiting—and the not knowing that comes with it—it was hard to know what story tell about my situation. I was not well but I was not sick. In some people I evoked a story of great concern while others resorted to hurried optimism. I came to realize in some important new ways both the power of the choices we make about how we narrate our lived experience and the power of the stories that are told about us.

I am choosing to be grateful for what IS — an opportunity to recalibrate some elements in my life. Oddly, this re-balancing process mirrors a dilemma that surfaced in my Hogan assessment where I scored very high on ambition and fairly low on power. No wonder my thyroid is out of balance!

The fact that the problem is there has important symbolic, energetic and practical implications in terms of how I express myself and live my life. What a gift! Regardless of the biopsy outcome, I am using this time to be more courageous and clear about the story I tell through my life and work.

What story is your body telling you? What story are you telling through your body?