Michele Woodward

Powerful Coaching. Powerful Results.

Clarity

Who’d Like A Little Homework?

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It’s that time of year. That time when we draw one year to a close and prepare for a new one.

I don’t know about you but sometimes I get to December 10th and ask myself whether I accomplished anything at all in the entire year. I’m so focused on the here and now that I’ve forgotten what, oh, February of last year was really like. (I think it was cold. And I think I got my knee replaced…?) But real accomplishments? They are all distant, fuzzy memories at best.

Have you ever noticed that we tend to discount the things that come easiest to us? As if some measure of struggle is required to make anything we’ve done “worth it”.

Last week I did a little exercise with myself and I invite you to join me in this wee bit of homework –  just 10 steps – because once I completed this process myself, I felt a lot more accomplished. And also rather awesome, in a total Ron Burgundy kinda way.

Step 1: Grab yourself some paper and a pencil. Or pen. Or colorful marker. Really, don’t get hung up on what you’re writing with. It’s a distraction. What was I saying? Oh, yeah…

Step 2: Optional beverage of your choice.

Step 3: Flip your calendar to January 1, 2018.

NOTE: “Flip” may be a euphemism for clicking on a back arrow until you get to January 2018. Access your calendar however you keep a calendar. And if you don’t keep a calendar, then you have no homework. Have a lovely day!

Step 4: Look at that first week of January, 2018. Anything interesting or unusual? Stuff you forgot? Stuff you forgot you accomplished? Write it down on your paper.

Step 5: Go through every week of the year and make notes.

Step 6: Look at your paper. You got more done than you thought you did, right? Go ahead, say it: “Wow! Look at me!”

Step 7: Replenish your beverage.

Step 8: Look again at your paper. Look at all those things you got done. Now, ask yourself a question:

“What do those accomplishments say about my goals for 2018?”

(I never said this homework was going to be an easy A, y’all.)

Step 9: If you set goals before 2018 started, compare your actual results to the goals you set out to achieve. How did you do? If you had no goals for 2018, it’s likely that some sneaked up on their own when you take a look at your accomplishments. Capture those, and be amazed at the ability of your subconscious to make things happen on your behalf.

Step 10: Now, knowing what you know about 2018, what do you want to do more of in 2019? What do you want to never do again? What do you want more than anything? What’s your dream? What would feel great to accomplish in the coming months? Write that down. Then make a promise to yourself to do one thing each week in 2019 to make that thing happen.

Easy.

Bonus Question: If you fell short or didn’t accomplish what you wanted to accomplish in 2018, what’s one small action you can do today to at least get momentum going in your favor? Even an  eensy-weensy step in the right direction still gets you headed in the right direction. And if you actually accomplished what you set out to do in 2018 (virtual pat on the back to you!), how could you amplify that thing for the coming year? Or build on it? Or solidify it?

Or maybe choose something wholly new? Think about the possibilities!

You have this one life, this one moment in time. Don’t wait. Don’t put off your hopes and dreams and fondest desires.

You have the power to make things happen. You’ve done it, and you’re going to do it.

And it’s going to be so gratifying when you get to December 10, 2019, do this exercise again, and say to yourself, “Wow! Look at me!” because you moved – maybe slowly, sure, but you moved – closer and closer to the thing you’ve always wanted to do.

Maybe You’re An Anxious Striver

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Years ago I learned something from my friend Jen Louden. It’s her idea of “Conditions of Enoughness”. Basically, it’s deciding before you set out to do anything what “enough” will feel like, so you know when you’re done.

I thought of this brilliant concept recently when hearing people talk about their drive for constant improvement. It occurred to me that constant improvement could actually be a bad thing.

Like, how you remove minute parts of a knife everytime you sharpen it. And, if you persist in sharpening the edge, at some point the knife loses its structural integrity and becomes a wisp of a thing rather than the sharp thing it once was.

I was reflecting on people who are what I call “anxious strivers”. The kinds of folks who are driven to go-go-go and do-do-do. Who only eat foods which have a point – their diet exists merely to provide protein, minerals, and “good fats”. They only read books which will improve their lives. Every spare minute is devoted to Doing Something In Service To Something Else.

Joy has very little role in their lives.

I have to ask, though: When you live in pursuit of constant improvement, when do you know how to stop? When do you know what enough is like? Because of the relentless “constant” in “constant improvement”, are you putting yourself on a hamster wheel that never stops and calling it exemplary performance?

Perhaps then, rather than constant improvement, we need to think about simply having clear goals and working to meet them. In that context, the questions become more like: How did I do yesterday? Do I need to do something differently than yesterday to reach my goal? Is it enough to keep doing what I’m doing and stay on this path I’ve set? Does this feel like enough yet?

That’s not to say stop learning. To stop incorporating your learning into your actions. I would never say that, because I’m a learner through and through.

I am suggesting that anxious striving, never knowing what enoughness looks like, never doing something just for the fun of it, sharpening your edge until you have nothing left… this is the recipe for burnout and unhappiness and, oddly enough, ultimately leads to a lack of real, meaningful progress.

That Time I Learned Something New About Myself

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When I was just getting started in my career, a slightly old friend passed along some advice.

“If anyone important asks you to lunch,” she said, “make sure you order steak tartare and Scotch neat, just to show them how tough you are.”

My nose wrinkled at the thought of raw meat mixed with raw egg yolk and firewater for lunch. It’s highly probable that I responded with, “I dunno. How about a Cobb salad and a Diet Coke?”

Truth is, I’ve never been one to choose something just to make a point. It’s not how I’m wired.

Plus, even at a young age, I had decided that Scotch was not the distilled spirit for me.

I mean, Scotch. Just the sound of it conjures up people with expense account lunches and questionable moral underpinnings. Like club members at a club I wouldn’t want to join. Like your lawyer’s lawyer’s drink of choice.

I wrote off Scotch years ago with the throwaway line, “I am not grown-up enough for Scotch.” Oh, I had tried it, like everyone did. And it smoked, and burned, and made my eyes water, and was highly unpleasant. So deciding I wasn’t a Scotch drinker was easy – I merrily went along my way without the slightest bit of angst that I was missing something by exempting whisky.

Until, that is, I went to Scotland this summer and my mind changed.

Because there in the windswept Orkney Islands, I was finally taught how to drink whisky properly.

Hadn’t realized there was a right and a wrong way to drink liquor until a wise, gruff Viking of a man opened my mind and showed me a thing or two. Turns out I had been doing it wrong.

He taught me that fine single malt whisky needs to be treated the way you’d treat a fine red wine. You drink it warm. In a small, special glass. Maybe add a drop of water to open up the flavors.

I mean, who knew Scotch even had flavors?

You sip it. You let the flavors settle in. You appreciate the long finish.

You enjoy, in a slow and reasoned way.

And guess what? The whisky I drank became a pleasure.

The thing I thought I was not grown-up enough for became something I was excited to learn more about.

All I needed was to be taught by someone with deep knowledge.

Funny, huh?

Now that I’m home, I find my mind turning to other areas of my life where this might also be true. What could I possibly come to enjoy if I were just taught by the right person?

It’s a great question, isn’t it? And perhaps one you can ask yourself today, too.

Because the world is a big place, just packed with interesting things to learn and do. And, asking to be taught a thing or two by someone with deep knowledge isn’t a sign of weakness – maybe it’s your passport to new adventures.

 

Plenty for Everyone

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Let’s say you feel frustrated and unhappy and can’t really put your finger on the “why” of it. Let’s also say that you’re someone who’s always putting the needs of other people ahead of your own, but you wouldn’t call it that. You’d call it “doing what I’m supposed to be doing” or “what I have to do right now”. Or “love”.

But there’s that niggling frustration, every single day. The sense that there’s something you’re not doing that you could be doing. Something that would be delightful and fun. Nourishing even. You just can’t see a way to do that AND do the thing you’re supposed to be doing.

So, let me ask you this:

If you went on a picnic with three of the dearest people in your life, and you opened the picnic basket and there were only three sandwiches, what would you do?

Would you say, “Oh, it’s okay. I love you so much and want you to be fed and happy, so eat the sandwiches. I’ll just sit here and pass you the mustard and a napkin and anything else you need.”

Would you squish down your own hunger so the hunger of others could be satisfied?

(Plenty of us do this every single day. We do it because we have heard that parenting, partnering, working, or serving needs to look a very specific way. We let that strict definition shape a box that’s increasingly smaller and harder to live in.)

(And sometimes we live inside the teeny tiny box because we’re not sure who we would be outside of it. We’re not sure if we’re exactly comfortable with how big we might become if we were to step outside.)

(And, then again, we worry that the person who’s not having a whole sandwich because of our needs might be mad or resentful. That’s awkward, uncomfortable and possibly fatal to the relationship.)

(And we are doing this in the first place because relationships with others are so important. More important, in fact, than our relationship with ourselves.)

(And we might have learned that love looks like doing stuff for other people all the time, regardless of the impact on ourselves.)

Back to the picnic scenario. You’re hungry and there aren’t enough sandwiches. Your gut says to let other people have what is there because it’s appropriate, it’s right, it’s safe. But you’re starving, aren’t you?

Might you consider a simple solution of dividing each sandwich into four equal parts so that everyone could have some? So everyone could be nourished? Including you?

It’s time to ease your frustration and own your right to your own well-being, my friends. And while asking for your portion might be scary, the odds are it will turn out beautifully. Because I know for a fact that the three people you love most in the world want nothing more than to share their sandwich with you.

Because they love you just as much as you love them.

 

[This piece appeared first on my Facebook page. Are we connected there?]

What You Fear Most

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If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this lifetime, it’s that anything I fear finds a way to poke its head up routinely.

If I fear bursting into tears in a difficult conversation, guess what happens? I fight tears all the way through until I explode.

If I fear bombing a speaking engagement, guess what happens? I fumble, mumble and fall flat.

If I fear saying something racially, culturally, gender-ly insensitive to a person I care about, guess what happens? I’m not really present and forget that Frances wants to be called “they” and that Ashley is now Chris and I feel like a dope.

Y’all, I am a mistake making machine. And that is because I am a human being. Human beings make mistakes.

And, here’s the trick, I’ve gotten to the place where I no longer fear making mistakes. I know, right?

Because I no longer fear making mistakes – because I know I am a mistake making machine – rather than beat myself up for stuff I do wrong, I take them as moments for learning. I can appreciate the clarity that comes from a mistake. I can find the illumination. The grace.

And, of course, when I make the inevitable mistake, I know the Aftermath Process: I acknowledge the mistake, I make all repairs necessary (including apologies or restitution) and I make a promise to try my very best to never, ever repeat that particular mistake again.

Many of us fear (that word again) being told we’re wrong. It’s like being called out as the mistake making machine that we humans are is the worst possible outcome.

But it’s not. It’s simply our opportunity to learn. To grow. To do something new.

I will admit to enjoying schadenfreude – delight in the misery of others – just as much as the next mistake making machine. And, yet, I have taught myself to not live in that gloating space.

Because I know that one of these minutes-hours-days-weeks it will be my turn.

And when it happens I want you all to help me acknowledge that I screwed up, help me find a way to repair and hold me to my promise to do better next time.

Because when we hold each other this way, we are building something together, rather than tearing one another apart.

And this is a second thing I have learned in this lifetime.

You Do You (As Long As You Agree With Me)

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The cool kids like to say, “You do you” as a way of showing they’re not judging and we’re all free to be… you and me.

Yet, have you ever noticed that when you actually do yourself, some people will hurry to tell you just how wrong you are?

You: I really like lime LaCroix water.

Somebody: You know that stuff is horrible. It’ll strip the enamel off your teeth. You should just drink regular water.

You: (blink, blink)

***

You: I think Taylor Swift is great.

Somebody: Seriously? She can only sing four notes and she should have never covered Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September”. Who does she think she is?

You: (blink, blink, blink)

***

You: I love Facebook.

Somebody: First of all, they steal your data. Second of all, who wants to know what you had for lunch. And third of all, do you not have a life?

You: (blinkety, blink, blink)

***

So, “You do you” becomes “You do what I say because I’m right and you’re wrong”.

Kinda icky, huh?

The Somebodies who would criticize your Being You-ness are investing not in the relationship but more in their own feeling of being right. They seek to validate their own viewpoints or to emphasize their own importance.

Don’t be that person.

When you make the space for someone to fully do themselves, you’re giving them a great gift – the gift of real acceptance. Because whatever they’re doing is ok by you.

But, then, when someone’s Being Them-ness is full of hate, or violence, or unkindness, what do you do? Do you suck it up and let them do them?

In a way, you do. But not without honestly saying your piece, such as, “I completely disagree with you” or “That is not my experience at all”.

You can firmly and without reservations do yourself and voice your perspective in the face of hate speech. In fact, you have a responsibility to do so.

When it’s not a high-stakes conversation, it pays to get curious. You might try something like this:

You ask why they like lime LaCroix. Their answer might be, “Because I’m working on my sobriety and I’m substituting a couple of glasses of LaCroix in the evening for a fifth of vodka.”

You ask why they like Taylor Swift. Their answer might be, “Because my mom and her mom are first cousins.”

You ask why they like Facebook. Their answer might be, “Because my aunt is homebound and it’s a good way for us to stay connected.”

All perfectly fine reasons, don’t you think?

They’re doing them. Which is very cool.

And now you know a little bit more about them, and your relationship benefits.

I know what I’m suggesting here is hard. Listening and not correcting is really tough for us human beings. And as a human being, I struggle with this – boy, do I struggle with this.

I’m trying to do it differently, though, by holding onto the idea that when you do you at your very best and I build you up rather than tear you down, we create enough space for me to be me at my very best, too.

I remember that it’s all about building stronger relationships.

Which is what the really cool kids are doing these days.

 

 

 

 

Talking About The Elephant In The Room

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Missed me the last couple of weeks? Yeah, it’s been frustrating for me, too. Try as I might, I’ve been unable to write anything I felt good about.

And that’s because there’s a very large, very gray, very wrinkly elephant in the room. Standing right there between us.

See, it’s like there are competing voices in my head. One says “write things people who might hire you will like because you are a business person, after all.” And another voice says, “Wow, writing like that feels contrived and inauthentic. Don’t do that.”

After some reflection and journaling and a few macaroons (the kind dipped in dark chocolate, if you’re interested), I’ve realized that when I merely show up and show myself, things tend to work out just fine.So that’s my intention with this space.

It’s a crazy world out there and – elephant alert – I want to write about how to cope and how to manage dealing with it all.

Here’s this week’s critical topic: How can you express yourself – how can you show up and be seen – in times like these?

Times where partisanship is applauded more than cooperation.

Times when trolls with screen courage unleash blistering vitriol at the slightest provocation.

Times when you’re not sure if you can take one more news report, one more headline.

But I’m here to tell you that if you swallow your voice, if you make yourself mouse-like, if you keep your head down and mind your own business, you will feel increasingly more awful than you feel now.

You will begin to feel as though you’re vanishing.

I work with clients who are Democrats, and clients who are Republicans, and clients who are independents. And some who live in Europe, Latin American or Asia. All of them – each and every one – are stressed by the tenor and tone of even chatting with people we’ve always thought of as friends these days.

Want to know how I try to navigate?

First, I never assume that anyone believes what I believe or interprets situations exactly how I do. As Stephen Covey suggests in his classic Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, I seek to understand and then to be understood.

This means that sometimes I get to say, “I get what you’re saying. I don’t happen to agree – can I tell you why?”

The best case scenario is when they say, “Yes, I’d love to hear your perspective.” And if they say, no, they’re not at all interested in what I have to say…I move along.

Second, I remind myself all the time that I am a learner. Curiosity is my hallmark and my day is not quite complete if I haven’t satisfied that particular interest. With that framework, I can hear your perspective with and open heart and mind…

Unless, third, you are voicing hateful, exclusionary, racist beliefs. If that happens, I will tell you directly that you are wrong and I will not stand for slurs, epithets or threats. And then I get myself out of your presence.

Because what we need in our world today is far less hate and far more cooperation.

We need people to show up and show themselves – the best parts of themselves – as we find solutions to all the problems we face.

I’m going to do my part in my own little patch. Join me by doing what you can in your own patch. And, patch by patch, we’ll become the change we seek.

Go Ahead, Criticize

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Loading the dishwasher can be very instructive.

Once, during a family gathering, a lovely person commented as I added the dishwashing soap and closed the door, “Oh, my mother would kill you. That dishwasher isn’t full – she never let us run it unless it was completely packed.”

I smiled as I turned on the power button and let it run, knowing that we’d need those dishes for the next family meal, and we’d have another huge load to run afterwards.

So, the dishwasher was 7/8s full when I ran it rather than 9/8s full when she wanted to run it.

And I was completely confident in my choice. Because I knew exactly why I was running the dishwasher at that moment. Plus, it was my damn dishwasher.

Some of us go into things with a highly critical approach. We’re wired like Mr. Spock from Star Trek to look at things logically, analytically, coolly. When a kid comes home with an A-, our first instinct is to ask “Why wasn’t it an A?”

Doesn’t that make you wince to see it written like that? But some of us just can’t seem to help it.

And if your critical nature is getting you the results you want, then by all means keep going. If, however, you’re not building the bridges you want, creating the relationships you seek or getting the results you aim for, then you owe it to yourself and others to change your approach.

The drive for analytical perfection eats people up. Executives who create unrealistic standards, impossible goals and nitpick results are executives who have employee churn and, ultimately, lower productivity.They think they’ll do better by applying pressure, but exactly the opposite is true.

I mean, even Spock was half human. And it’s tapping into your human side which changes things.

It’s “I’d love to understand your process – tell me how you came to this conclusion.”

It’s “I can see you worked hard on this and I appreciate it.”

It’s “May I give you some feedback on this?”

It’s “Wow, I would have never approached it this way, but what you’ve got here is really good.”

You might feel like perfection is a dishwasher crammed your way – as full as it can possibly get –  but I’m here to tell you that real perfection is paying attention to the reality of the moment. It’s knowing what’s needed yet being aware that someone else might have a very good plan you simply hadn’t thought of before.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dishwasher to run before I start making dinner.