Managing Change

Longing For The Missing Thing

July 9, 2018 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment

We human beings are funny creatures.

Sometimes we feel the most motivated when someone tells us what we’re NOT allowed to do.

After a lifetime of being a regular Sporty Spice, I developed arthritis in my right knee and ended up with a total replacement in February of this year. Once I had checked some post-surgery milestones off the list, my kind and handsome doctor said, “Well, Michele, you are cleared to do pretty much whatever you want. You can walk wherever you want to go, you can play golf, or tennis. You can ride a bike or use the elliptical. You can ski!”

I silently contemplated the last time I had skiied (15 years ago) or played tennis (summer camp?), while he paused.

“The one thing I don’t want you to do, though, is run. Your new knee just won’t tolerate that.”

“OK,” I said, with relief. See, I’m not built for running. I have short legs and a long torso, and other than that three weeks about ten years ago where I put my heart into finding the runner’s high (eluded me), I’ve realized that I’m built more for rambling than running.

The rehab for my knee replacement involved a lot of walking. I walked to the post office. I walked my dogs. I walked just to walk.

I watched my step count climb as my knee got stronger and stronger.

And one day while walking across a bridge, the most powerful feeling overcame me. I felt the profound and urgent need to break into a run.

Me. A non-runner. A lifetime non-runner. A softball player who specialized in hitting homers because then I could trot around the bases rather than sprint.

On that bridge, I found myself inexplicably longing to do the one thing my doctor explicitly forbid me to do.

I longed, beyond all reason, to do something I’m not actually built to do. The thing I actually have never really liked to do.

I wanted in that moment, with my whole heart and soul, to run.

This is human nature, isn’t it? Whenever something is placed “off-limits”, it becomes tantalizing.

It’s like there’s a huge neon sign in our brains flashing “You can’t! You can’t! But you wanna!”

A friend of mine suggests that when anything becomes a taboo, our minds go instantly into a famine mentality and all we can think about is the thing we can’t have.

If you’re on a diet and constantly remind yourself that you can’t eat french fries, all your darling human brain will think about is the fries.

If your boss directs you to never have anything to do with the IT department, you’ll see those nerds everywhere. (And your laptop will constantly fritz out, too.)

You will fixate on the thing you feel you lack, even if the thing you lack is something you don’t really want.

Weird, huh?

So it seems to me that now may be the time to take a look at two things in your own life. One, what have you placed “off-limits” for the people in your life? Your partner, your kids, your friends? Your direct reports? Your co-workers? Are you setting them up, then, to fixate on the wrong thing?

And, two, where have you done the same thing to yourself?

The cure for this extremely human drive toward Longing For The Missing Thing, though, is deceptively easy.

Rather than say, “I can’t run now that I have a bionic knee”, simply say, “I’m the kind of person who rambles.”

This affirmative statement makes all the difference in where you put your attention. And makes your choices easier.

When offered fries on the side, you can come back with, “Thanks, but I’m the kind of person who eats leafy greens.”

See how focusing on what you have over what you lack makes your life get easier? And more full. And you feel more effective and engaged.

And that is especially true when you no longer feel compelled to do something you never really wanted to do in the first place.

Worth Failing For

July 1, 2018 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment

Workshop and seminar leaders, Little League coaches and life coaches, parents and priests. What do they possibly have in common?

My guess is that at some point or the other they may have asked someone, “What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?”

They ask this question in an attempt to figure out goals and dreams. To understand where someone might be holding themselves back out of fear of failing. To inspire.

All well and good.

The amazing, inspiring Brené Brown, though, asks the question in a powerful and different way.

She asks, “What’s worth failing for?”

I mean, really. Brené nails it. That is one piercing question.

So, let me ask you: What are you willing to stand up for? What are you willing to use your voice for?

Regardless of the consequences?

What do you love enough to risk everything for?

I ask it that way because I know myself and if my kids were ever threatened, I’d put myself between them and harm’s way in a nanosecond.

It comes down to this, then: Love is absolutely worth failing for.

Because I love so deeply and passionately about what’s happening in our world, I am conscious that I must my voice to say the things that need to be said. I am willing to put myself out there even if people disagree with me.

(And as an aside – disagreement doesn’t need to mean the end of a relationship. In fact, disagreement can bring people closer together as they grow to understand each other. Remember that next time you get in a Twitter war, will you?)

You may find this hard to believe, but there was a time in my life when I swallowed my words because I felt as though there was going to be a tough consequence if I spoke up. It was only after I was clear of this situation that I realized the toll silence took on me. And I felt the relief and coming-home-ness which came from learning to use my voice again.

When you look at things not from a vantage point of “how can I make sure I don’t lose?” but from the “what am I willing to lose for?” things change.

Even in the face of sure loss.

Even when things are tough.

Even when you know you are not going to win.

When you show up as yourself, put it out there, own it, love it…you’ve already won.

And whatever happens next doesn’t even matter.

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

April 16, 2018 By Michele Woodward 1 Comment

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.

Prepared? Or Just Reacting?

March 25, 2018 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment

There are a lot of choices you make in the course of your day.

Paper or plastic.

Doughnuts or vegetables.

Car or bus.

Honesty or fudging.

Tweeting or keeping your thoughts to yourself.

So many choices.

There’s one big, unspoken choice many of us feel like we have no choice about at all: whether to be prepared or to simply react.

When I’m called into an underfunctioning organization with underfunctioning leaders, know what I see most often? Folks in back-to-back meetings from 8:15am until 6:30pm (or later), every single day with no time to prepare for any of these meetings let alone prepare for tomorrow’s meetings. They just sit in their chair at the table in the conference room and do their best to wing it based on what they know in the moment.

What’s the problem with that, you ask? Doesn’t that just mean that the work they’re doing is critically important? That they are a fast-paced, high-stakes, high-pressure, cool kids sort of organization?

Let me get back to that and tell you a story first.

I was an advanceman at the White House, and in a bunch of campaigns. The job of the advanceman is to go ahead of the principal and set everything up in advance (get it?) so the events flow easily and go off without a hitch.

For multi-day meetings with other foreign leaders, we might have five to six weeks of preparation and would get our schedule down to a minute-by-minute timeline.

This was all about being prepared.

Which really paid off when the event was underway and something unexpected happened. Like, meetings ran too long. Or news broke elsewhere. Or the button popped off the President’s suit coat (really happened. It was sewn back on by the traveling nurse with suture since no one had a sewing kit).

Through all my years of this kind of work, I discovered that the more prepared I was, the better I was able to react. Preparation had given me a container to work within, and even if something happened I hadn’t planned for I was able to get back on track quickly – because I was prepared to execute successfully.

Today’s workplace has lost the ability to prepare, it seems to me. We’re all about reacting.

And there is a certain adrenaline rush to being fully in reactive mode. It’s like being on the back of a bucking bronco, holding on for dear life. That frisson of energy: Can I pull it off?

Plus, there’s a lot of drama involved with living in a reactive mode which is entirely intoxicating to many, many people in the average office.

Finally, when you’re simply reacting with no preparation, it’s super easy to say, “Well, that went badly. Too bad we didn’t have time to think it through! We’ll get ’em next time!” and folks escape all responsibility for a less than ideal outcome.

Some folks like this. A lot.

So they spend more than 95% of their time reacting and, if they’re lucky, less than 5% prepping.

I’d like to propose a new approach to our days. What do you think would be different in your life if you spent 60% of your time preparing and 40% reacting? What could you achieve?

What if, rather than back-to-back meetings, you had back-to-back planning time?

What if every meeting you did attend was focused on preparation? What if every meeting drove toward decision-making, backed up by prep done in advance of the meeting?

What could you accomplish if you actually had time to think during the day?

The current paradigm of “You know you’re important if you have no time to actually get anything done” has got to go. People who are too busy to perform – don’t answer email, can’t take phone calls, winging meetings, on the road and unavailable all the time – are not cool.

They’re actually holding everyone else back.

I challenge you – especially if you lead a group of people and are intent upon reaching certain goals and even if you’re a full-time parent or retiree – to flip your paradigm away from willy-nilly reaction to purposeful preparation.

The promise is that you’ll get what you want more quickly, easier, with a greater ability to flow with anything unexpected which might come your way.

And that is how the real cool kids roll.

Go Ahead, Criticize

January 7, 2018 By Michele Woodward 1 Comment

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.

Things Have To Change

November 27, 2016 By Michele Woodward Leave a Comment

The more I live this life the more I am sure that in order to get anything I have to be willing to let some things go. Sometimes what I need to let go feels very precious – until I release it and realize that what shows up afterward is even better.

I often tell a parable to illuminate this point:

Let’s say you’re walking down the road one day, completely minding your own business, carrying a gold coin held tightly in each fist because they’re the only gold coins you’ve ever had and you want to keep them safe. And, as you’re walking down the road, minding your own business, you happen to meet the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow, sitting by his pot of gold.

He says, in his best Lucky Charms voice: “Good day to you! Dip your hands into this here cauldron of shining gold coins and you can keep whatever you can hold.”

Now is the moment of decision for you.

Do you hold tightly to the two gold coins you have – hey, they’re a sure thing! – and try to scoop with closed fists? How much gold do you think you can gather when your hands are closed?

Or, do you open your fists – maybe losing your two precious gold coins – so you can use your open hands to gather as much as you could manage?

I know myself and I know that I would, without hesitation, make my hands as big as they could be and attempt to scoop up twenty or thirty gold pieces – even if I ended up losing the two I came in with. This is probably why I’ve been able to keep my business running since 1997 – I have a high tolerance for risk and for not knowing how things will turn out.

[The truth is I generally assume things are going to turn out all right and you know what? They almost always do.]

However, if you have a high need for certainty, control, comfort – well, you might just tip your hat to the leprechaun and keep walking down the road. Because, for you, the assurance of your two gold coins matters more than the risk of losing them.

And this is where people get stuck. The proverbial bird in the hand. The demon you know. The at-least-I-know-what-to-expect.

The comfortable.

For all of us, though, there are times when the comfortable becomes uncomfortable. When the demon you know becomes a demon who’s destroying you. When the bird in your hand flies away. When the rules change abruptly or no longer apply.

And those are the moments when you have to – must – let go.

It’s so hard. It can change your definition of yourself. It can hurt.

But to become unstuck – to be happy and fulfilled – you must let go of those two gold coins you’ve been clutching in your tight little fists for so long, and begin to claim the treasure that’s being offered you.

Open your heart and mind. Rethink your assumptions. Allow your open hands to scoop as much as you can hold.

I promise you – it’s right here for the taking.

Nine Eleven

September 11, 2016 By Michele Woodward 1 Comment

I wrote this on the ten year anniversary of 9/11, and re-reading again this year, the fifteenth anniversary, seems appropriate to read it again, this year.

I was feeling rather smug that morning.

I stood on the tee box of the seventh hole, under the bluest sky I’d seen in some time, the crisp early fall air like a tonic in my lungs. And I was playing my brains out – 2 strokes over par after the first six holes of a nine hole golf tournament.

I was even nervously allowing myself to think, “I could win this thing!”

I stood on the tee box in the casual pose I’d seen pro golfers strike, arm on hip, hand on the end of the club, leg crossed over. I posed like a woman who was going to win, baby.But then I saw something. Coming over the ridge, a golf cart. I squinted. It was the young golf pro, and she was barreling directly for me. She screeched to a halt and breathlessly said, “Mrs. Woodward, you have to come in. Your husband called.” She must have read something on my face, because she quickly added, “Your kids are fine. Everyone’s fine. It’s just that both World Trade Towers in New York have collapsed, there’s a bomb at the Pentagon, there’s a bomb at the State Department and something up at the Capitol.” Panic started to well up inside me. “Your husband wants you to get the kids and go home.” I nodded, processing it all, and threw my bag on the back of her cart and we sped off. My playing partner stepped out of the porta-potty just in time to hear me say, “I concede. I have to go.”

And I didn’t think about golf again for a very long time.

It took well over an hour to drive the six miles home. I picked up the kids – confused, frightened – on the way. During those gridlocked minutes in the car, I felt like a sitting duck. The local all-news radio station was reporting on fighter planes scrambling, and commercial planes landing. They also reported that there was one more plane, on the way to The White House.

The White House, where I had worked, and where so many friends were working that day.

Crossing the Chain Bridge, I glanced to my left and saw a column of black smoke streaming over the tree tops. The Pentagon burning.

I could smell it.

It was surreal.

Our house is about a quarter of a mile from the Potomac River. Between the house and the river is the busy and noisy George Washington Parkway, which is traveled by 80,000 people every day. Usually, the hum of the cars whizzing past creates a gentle susurrus that can be as comforting as sitting by the ocean. And we also live under the flight path for Reagan National Airport, and the steady rumble of landing and taking off every six minutes is a part of the environment. It’s a noisy place.

But that morning, under the bluest sky, I stood in my front yard and heard… nothing. No traffic. No planes. Nothing. I held my arms out, as if I could embrace the world and share our pain, when I heard the first one. One deep tone. Then another. The National Cathedral had begun tolling its bells. Then the bells from other churches began to ring. Mournful, yes. But hope, too, in each tone. Hope. Hope. Hope.

I stood there, barefoot, broken-hearted, on one of the most beautiful days of the year. Worried. What could possibly come next?

I did an inventory: I had a husband I loved, I had great kids I could parent full-time. I had my family, my friends. We were blessed. We were safe. We were going to be okay.

That’s what it looked like under the bluest sky. But the reality of the next ten years proved to be quite different than I ever could have imagined.If a visitor from the future had told me, that morning out on my front lawn, that in the next ten years:

I would divorce the man whose ring I wore on September 11, 2001, after learning some hard truths.

He would move away, remarry and start a new family.

I would be a single parent.

I would give up being a full-time mom and go back to work.

I would be diagnosed with cancer.

I would struggle financially.

Family and dear friends would die unexpectedly, some painfully.

My children would face challenges which would stop us in our tracks.

If the future visitor told me all that on September 11, 2001, I would have said, “You have to be kidding. It can’t possibly go that way.”

But if that visitor was telling the truth, he’d also have had to tell me the fantastic parts of the coming years:

That I would be known as a writer, with blogs and books.

That I would work with people all over the world – from Asia to Europe, from Canada to Mexico, from Alaska to The Keys – and help them find more fulfilling work, and meaningful lives.

That I’d meet strangers who would grow dear to my heart.

That a certain 8-year old third grader would become a happy, thoughtful, kind, six foot tall college man with a thriving business he created from scratch.

That a little kindergartner would grow into a willowy high school athlete who studies Latin and history, and never forgets a friend.

That I would fund my own retirement account.

That I would own my resilience, know myself and grow comfortable in my own skin.

If the visitor from the future had told me under the bluest sky that I would grow to be more myself – more happy, centered and creative – than I’ve ever been, I would have said, “Dude, you’re talking to the wrong person.”

Because I hadn’t a clue on September 11, 2001. I thought I was happy. What could possibly change?

Only everything.

And always for the better, I’ve learned. No matter how it seems in the moment.

Looking forward the next 10 years, to September 11, 2021, what will happen? What change will I meet, and how will I handle it?

I have no idea. None. But I do know this: I am not afraid.

Because even all the pain of the last ten years has been exponentially outweighed by all the love. By all the connections. By all the growth. By all the learning.

On September 11, 2001, three thousand people lost their lives. They had no chance to experience the last ten years of living. But we did. We still do.

Don’t you think we owe it to them to embrace whatever it is that’s coming? And embrace it with love? With kindness? With creativity?

Yes, we do. And I will. I will live with my feet in the grass under skies both blue and gray, and remember the sound of bells tolling, hope, hope, hope.

Stand with me?

It’s Been A Tough Summer

August 1, 2016 By Michele Woodward 1 Comment

May 1st. That’s the last time I wrote a blog post.

All of May went by. Then June. Now July.

And you’re probably wondering why.

Some dear readers have even written to me, asking if I’m OK – thank you. You remind me that the words I write are helpful.

But even that awareness hasn’t been enough.

Because it’s hard to write 10 Things You Need To Know About Networking when people are getting shot.

When Dallas happens. When Orlando happens. When Nice happens. Yemen, Baghdad, Cairo, Munich, Kabul.

Syria. Boko Haram. ISIS.

Philando Castile. Alton Sterling. A therapist trying to help an autistic man.

It seems trivial and superficial for me to write about How To Be Yourself when the US is facing one of the most consequential elections in history. When the UK deals with Brexit. When Turkey has a coup.

I’ve been over here gawping for air like a fish washed up on the shore, people.

Then I remembered my four words for 2016: Real. Presence. Generous. Opportunities.

I’m not being very real or generous by staying silent. I don’t have a presence if I’m not here.

I’m not using the opportunities I have to say the things that might help you (and me) cope through these difficult days.

So, I’m going to try. Let me tell you a story.

About ten years ago – it was a Friday night in January – I was home with my sick son. We heard a loud bang and then smelled the acrid scent of burning electrical wiring. If you’ve ever smelled it, you never forget it.

I ran to every room in the house, trying to figure out what had happened. As I careened down the steps to the basement, I saw thick, white smoke hanging from the ceiling. Not good. Threw open the door to the room where the HVAC system and circuit breaker box is located, and smoke was two feet thick there. I grabbed the phone, dialed 911, took my son by the hand and quickly left the house.

My next-door-neighbor had invited me for wine earlier, which I had declined because my son was sick and I didn’t want him to feel puny and all alone. When I knocked on her door, she was delighted. “You can have wine!” I said, “No. Hear those sirens in the distance? They’re coming to my house.” I explained the situation, she took my son in hand and I went to meet the fire trucks.

Nine of them.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach when firefighters with axes prepare to enter your home is like nothing you can imagine. And seeing the hoses uncoiled, ready to soak your house is both encouraging and terrifying.

The red lights were turning, the fire chief in his white hat was talking with me, and my heart was pounding like I’d run a marathon.

After they had inspected the house, determined that the circuit breaker board had exploded (thankfully, it’s mounted on a cinder block wall or else those hoses and axes might have had to have been used), and turned off all power to the house, the most extraordinary thing happened.

My neighbors started coming.

First, the close in neighbors who I know well, asking if I needed anything. It was January, after all. Did we have a place to stay?

Then, the farther out neighbors. Elderly neighbors. Young neighbors. Could they pitch in? Did I need anything? Did the kids need anything?

Folks walked up the hill, and around the corner. Not looky-loos, but people who wanted to help. Who were ready to help.

It was so kind, and made me feel so connected and cared for. I wasn’t all by myself dealing with a catastrophe – I was part of a community who was looking out for one of its own.

And this is what we need to remember during these trying times.

When we feel like we’re all alone and there’s nothing we can do – there’s always something we can do.

Because when neighbors help neighbors, communities thrive. When communities thrive, nations thrive.

And when your neighborhood extends to those you don’t know, who don’t look like you, whose life experiences are different from yours, who think differently, who are in need…the planet thrives.

So, let’s all be a community, shall we? Let’s be kind to one another and find ways to connect and help.

There’s a lot coming at all of us these days, sugars, and the only way to get past it is to get through it. Together.