Michele Woodward

Powerful Coaching. Powerful Results.

inspiration

What Brave Really Looks Like

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It’s easy to forget, in the rush of the day-to-day, what brave really looks like – so let me remind you of one or two things:

Sometimes brave simply looks like getting out of bed in the morning.

Sure, it’s brave to try something new. Admitting you have no idea how to do it is very brave.

Brave also looks like voicing an opinion.

Or respectfully disagreeing.

Or admitting you haven’t made your mind up yet.

Brave is being a true and kind friend to yourself.

Brave is extending your hand to a stranger.

And, brave is standing up for the rights of a stranger.

Anyone who creates art – using paint, clay, stone, words, numbers, performance, color, texture, shape – is incredibly brave.

Brave looks like absolutely loving the body you have.

And it’s brave to know you need to change something – and taking the steps toward that change.

Listening is brave.

Loving is brave.

Breathing is brave.

That means you, my friend, are so very brave.

Remember this the next time you have doubt or wonder where your confidence has gone.

It really hasn’t gone anywhere – you just forgot for a minute exactly how brave you are every single day.

 

How Are You Connected…To Yourself?

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I invested some time watching an interesting video, and the further I got into the video the more I was sure you’d enjoy watching it, too.

It’s Oprah Winfrey at the Stanford Business School, talking about her career path and how she found her purpose and while it’s “classic Oprah” in tenor and tone, it’s something different, too. Maybe because she’s being interviewed by a student, maybe because the audience is mostly students, maybe because she’s in full mentor mode – regardless – Oprah is loose, comfortable and really giving of herself. Watch:

If you’re at a crossroads and can’t figure out where to go next, or what to do next – you will learn something by watching. My hunch is that you’ll get some insight about at least one thing you can do differently. Or do more of.

Because I most certainly did.

 

When You’re Not On Fire

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You know what? I started writing this post last Tuesday.

Got a couple of sentences together, then deleted them because they were stupid. Thought I’d start again on Wednesday.

Wednesday came and went in a flurry of meetings and appointments.

Thursday. On Thursday, I vowed to start again.

I really did.

Thursday came. Wrote no lines. Not even one sentence.

And then, of course, it was Friday and everyone knows that no one writes on a Friday.

Saturday was a chore day. I amused myself by running themes through my mind as I mopped, convincing myself that something brilliant would emerge.

It didn’t.

Today, I sat at the keyboard at 9am.

Until 10am.

Then, with no advance notice, it was 11am.

No words. No. Words. Came.

I decided that I would take a walk and think about what to write. And, to kill two birds with one stone, I decided to walk at the grocery store.

This strategy failed.

Then, I had lunch, imagining food would help.

It was delicious but no ideas came into my head.

I returned to the keyboard in search of something, anything, to say to you. To inspire you, to motivate you, to help you do that thing you really want to do.

And…I got nothing.

So, that’s what I’m going to leave you with. If you find yourself feeling like there’s something you should do but you find that day after day you don’t actually do it – well, then you owe it to yourself to take a break. And figure out how to get on fire about it so you can begin again.

I think all of us get to this place from time to time – when it feels like we’re pushing a rock uphill. When things really don’t flow. When we’re just not on fire. 

When those moments happen, just relax. And wait for the spark. Because it will come.

It always does.

It may look different than what you expected, but there is going to be a spark of a great idea. And a big, creative, warming fire.

Got a match?

 

Inspiration Out Of The Blue

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As I sit here on a Sunday morning, it’s raining outside – a steady, cold drizzle.

“Sunday morning?” you wonder. Isn’t that kinda late to be writing something that usually goes out on… Sunday?

Yep.

It is.

But I’ve struggled this week to find the right subject to write about. Just couldn’t find anything. I have, I fear, lacked for inspiration.

And when I find myself in this situation – oh, yes, believe me, it’s happened before – I step back, let my vision get all fuzzy, and see what happens.

And guess what?

Something happened this morning. Something that brought a great topic right into focus. And I wasn’t even looking for it. Cool, huh?

It happened when I read novelist Ann Patchett’s great piece in the Washington Post this morning. I am fond of Ann Patchett’s writing. You may know some of her books – Run, Bel Canto, The Patron Saint of Liars. In the Washington Post, Patchett writes that she fears she doesn’t treat her writing as if it’s a full time job, and resolves to do so in 2010. At least for the first 32 days of the year. Because, you see, a friend told her that doing something different for 32 days will make a permanent change.

So, Ann Patchett, 46 year-old author of five novels, two non-fiction books and a zillion essays and articles needs to make her writing a full-time job?

Funny, that. And familiar.

See, this week two different people told me that I didn’t work full-time.

I know. Me. Not full-time. Funny, right?

And I think it’s all about their idea of what full-time looks like. It’s all about quantity over quality. As if being chained to a desk for 60+ hours a week is the only respectable measure of full-time work. And the idea that you can set office hours, and not work on weekends, and make a respectable living is a mind blower.

Did you know that there are 42 million Americans who are self-employed, freelance or do temp work? That’s 30 percent of our workforce. Forty-two million people who decide what their work hours will be. Forty-two million people who make their own salaries, pay their own health insurance and fund their own retirement accounts. Forty-two million people who have decided for themselves what full-time looks like.

My dear friend Pam Slim, author of Escape From Cubicle Nation, tackles the subject of becoming one of the 42 million beautifully.

And I’m going to suggest her next book be titled Escape From Cubicle Mindset.

Because Cubicle Mindset says that the only work that’s valid is done from sunrise to sunset in an office, directed by a supervisor a pay grade above you, and rewarded with a steady, reliable, marginally increasing paycheck.

But Cubicle Mindset is woefully outdated. Cubicle Mindset tells us that there is only one way to make money. And be productive. And be valued.

And I disagree. And plenty of other people disagree, too. Forty-two million disagreers, actually.

Because I can make more money working on my terms than I have ever made working for someone else. And the best thing? I have time. I have time to create, to connect, and to let inspiration find me.

Oh, and it comes in the most unlikely places. Especially when I’m not looking. Or when I don’t look like I’m working.

And what Ann Patchett may find she’s missing when she moves to writing one hour a day to writing ten or how many ever hours she considers “full-time”, is the time to gestate. The time to let inspiration find her, maybe even find her while she’s at Costco with her mother. After 32 days she may have a quantity of words on paper, but as to quality?

Maybe she’ll write a book about it.

On My Mind

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Just some random thoughts…

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou still sounds pretty good to me.

A lot of stuff we spend time on just isn’t that important. Think reality TV, for instance.

Wonder what the world would look like if every boss was a trained coach.

You know you have done an OK job parenting when see your children spontaneously do a kindness for a stranger.

If you’re over 35, stop saying “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.” You’re doing it already. And if you don’t like what you’re doing, shut up and do something different.

It’s possible to be tidy without being clean, and clean without being tidy.

You are the best expert on what makes you tick. Have the courage to be your own guru.

Happiness is not the absence of pain. Nor is it a reward for doing things right. You were born happy, and can return to happiness whenever you want by simply entering the slipstream of being.

My best summer memory has its own soundtrack.

Regardless of what you think, you are probably more than good enough.

Successful business strategy: Strive to serve repeat customers, rather than focus on one-hit wonders.

I am old enough to call anyone “darling” and “sugar” and get away with it.

Strangers are just people I haven’t Twittered yet.

Looking back on my life, my single biggest regret may be that I didn’t think up “Lady GaGa” first.

Democracy will always topple tyrants.

Remember when fashion was all big hair, big shoulder pads and big earrings? Someday, we’ll look back at 2009 fashions and hoot with laughter, saying, “What was I thinking?”

The world is full of good people whose basic instinct is to help another person in need. I think you are one.

It is possible to re-wire your brain by examining your thoughts and changing them.

I have a great life. I’d say I’m lucky, but really it’s more like I’m just letting the good stuff happen by staying out of my own way.

How about that?

Your Hidden Treasure

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Once upon a time a baby girl was born to loving parents. On the day of her birth they gave her a beautiful box, a treasured gift. By her second birthday, the loving parents had died and the little girl was living with her aunt.

Now, Auntie was a mean-spirited, angry and bitter old crone. As the girl grew into a lovely young woman, Auntie would remind her, “You’re no better than anyone else”, and “Don’t get too big for your britches”, and, more painfully, “You are as ugly as your mother”, for Auntie had doted on the girl’s father and ignorantly blamed the girl’s mother for his death.

So, the girl grew up believing that she was, indeed, unattractive, and hid herself behind unfashionable and unflattering clothes.

At school, the girl worked hard and excelled at her studies. In fifth grade, jealous and deceitful Teacher took her aside and said, “You’re not as smart as you think you are — you’re just lucky. Once your luck fades, you will fail.” The girl did not know that luck was more important than hard work. Auntie had never told her that. She began to worry more about her luck running out than her studies, and soon her grades began to fall. “Teacher was right,” she thought. “I am not smart. Auntie is right, too. Who do I think I am, anyway?”

The girl struggled to finish her schooling and began to look for a job. Auntie said, “Don’t aim too high, you’ll be disappointed,” so the girl took a job cleaning offices. It was difficult, dirty, boring work, but the girl believed she was not smart enough to do anything else. Hadn’t Teacher said? Hadn’t Auntie said?

Every day she rode the bus to work. One day Nice Man started a conversation with the girl. She liked how his eyes twinkled. He had a kind face. He was a happy fellow. He asked her to go with him for a cup of coffee. Now, the girl had never been on a date with a boy before because Auntie had told her that all men, save her dead father, were useless bullies. “Men are interested in only one thing,” Auntie would say. “And once they get it, they dump you in a hot second.” The girl did not know what to do — this man seemed nice. But he might be fooling her.

She did not trust her own instincts. Auntie had been right about so many things — perhaps she was right about men and relationships. So with a sad shake of the head she said no to the coffee, and from that day on did not talk to any men.

Ten years later the girl was numb, living the same kind of small, safe life Auntie led. She was old before her time. That spring, Auntie died. The girl did not know what to do. She had looked to Auntie for so much. How could an old, ugly, stupid cleaning lady make it in the world, all alone?

As she cleaned the small house she shared with Auntie, she found the beautiful box her parents had given her on the day of her birth. She did not know what it was as spiteful Auntie had hidden the treasure away. The girl gently lifted the lid and a small piece of paper fluttered to her feet.

She opened it. It was from her parents. It said, “You are the treasure. May you live a life worthy of all of your gifts.” Inside the box was an intricately engraved silver mirror. The girl took the beautiful, cool metal in her hands and held it up to her face.

With a blinding flash, the girl saw what her parents had seen in her even as a baby. She saw clearly into her own heart and she was astonished. Rather than the ugly woman she had thought herself for so many years, suddenly she saw a lovely young woman. Was that her? Was she really that pretty?

In a moment, her limiting thoughts about herself fell away. She was beautiful, for she could see that clearly with her parents’ gift. She was able to love, for she had loved even unlovable Auntie. And she was smart, because she had figured out these things about herself.

And she knew, too, that all of those things had been inside her, hidden her whole life, because that’s how others had wanted it to be. She had been made to act small so that others could feel big. She straightened her spine at that thought, and vowed to never again allow herself to be framed by what others thought about her.

The next day the girl sold Auntie’s house, quit her job, enrolled in college and began her life anew, knowing that her greatest treasure was within her. It always had been there, and always would be.

Moral of the story: To live fully, you must live without limits — whether imposed by yourself or imposed by others. Everything you need to be your best self is already within you. That is your greatest treasure.