Michele Woodward

Powerful Coaching. Powerful Results.

waiting

I Don’t Know What I Should Be Doing

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Two Elevator DoorsSometimes there’s a lull.

A moment in-between.

You’ve focused, produced, attained, driven, strained. And you know there’s going to be another period of more of the same, soon.

But here you are, today, in a relatively quiet place with the past behind you and a little bit of time before the next thing starts.

There’s a chance you don’t even know if there will be a next thing.

Or what it might look like.

There’s that distinct possibility that you’ll completely shift your sights and do something altogether new.

So here you are, my friend.

And it feels…weird, to tell the truth. Because you have always thought of yourself as a doer. A high-achiever, even.

What’s with all this nothing going on?

It’s like, “shouldn’t I be doing something?”

Like, “I don’t know what the hell I should be doing.”

Like, “I always thought I wanted one thing but now I’m not so sure.”

Like, “I feel like a total slacker but, wow, I am exhausted right down to my bones.”

This.

This moment right now.

This one. Right here.

Is OK.

Absolutely OK.

It’s OK to be between. It’s OK to not know. It’s OK to rest.

This is precisely what the space in-between is for.

And if you fully stretch into the moment you’re in, and relax, and free yourself to consider your options unbound by the rules of the past, you might just find that the in-between time becomes the most productive time you’ve ever experienced.

 

On The Eve

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There’s this restless moment of anticipation.

Something’s about to happen, and you’re not sure about it. But there is no question that you stand right on its cusp.

Waiting.

A little impatient. Maybe a lot impatient.

[You say, “Let’s get on with it already.” Or, “Give me a little more time – I’m not ready.”]

Yes, something new is about to come.

And, darlings, one thing you fear is true: you may not be in total control of every element of the situation. Which is quite uncomfortable for those among us who have an eensy weensy control issue.

There’s a lot we don’t know.

What will it be? Will I like it? Will it be good for me?

Well, sugar, you’re just about to find out.

And I will give you one tip. One helpful thing you need to know to make this new thing the best it can possibly be. Ready?

Whatever energy you bring determines the result you achieve.

Go into this expecting the worst, and guess what you’ll get? But, go into it with your glass half full, and you will love watching your glass fill up completely. Maybe even overflow.

You’re on the edge, my friend, and it’s about to happen.

All you have to do is… let it.

 

The Inner Voice of “Now”

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It’s important to listen.

To others – yes, most certainly. It’s a sign of respect to listen well, and fully.

But it’s a sign of self-respect to listen most closely to yourself.

And trust that inner voice that says, “now”.

The voice that says:

Rest, and do it now.

Speak, and do it now.

Walk, and do it now.

Run, and do it now.

At this very moment, my inner guidance is saying, “Be still. Be still, and do it right now.”

There’s some urgency to this stillness.

Like, “be still, Michele, until the tiger passes.”

Be still.

And observe.

Watch.

Learn.

Learn whatever you can in the stillness.

Then – you’ll know when the time is right – move.

So, I am.

Being still.

And preparing for when the time is right.

When the time is right to move.

Like a tiger myself.

 

 

 

Small Green Shoots of Faith

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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.

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?

 

 

 

 

Trusting The Wait

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Sometimes you just don’t know.

Sometimes you have to wait.

With your senses alert and your intuition set to Receive.

Thus, you walk through your day absorbing, absorbing, absorbing. Listening. Learning.

But still waiting.

Until, one day (one happy day), whatever it is that’s coming is just a little bit more clear.

[What a relief.]

And you take that little opening, that small guidance, and you make something of it.

Unless, of course, you don’t. Because you might think it’s too small.

Or, you might not notice. Or, you might notice and think that it can’t possibly be an opening.

Because an opening should look a certain way. And we can’t recognize something that looks different from what we expect.

Yes, your opening may surprise you. And right there – that’s your opportunity.

So if you’ve waited, and you’ve watched, and you’re really ready to receive…trust it.

Walk through the door that opens for you.

Whatever it looks like.

It’ll be worth the wait.

Lessons From Lifeguarding

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When I was about thirteen or fourteen I thought being a lifeguard was probably the coolest job on earth.

  1. They had deep, dark, Bain de Soleil St. Tropez tans;
  2. They looked awesome in bathing suits;
  3. They were totally in charge;
  4. They appeared not to do any work whatsoever;
  5. They made a staggering $5 per hour; and,
  6. They could twirl their whistle by the lanyard, around and around their fingers, quite effortlessly (and slightly hypnotically).

Intoxicating combo of cool.  I decided to become a lifeguard.

Bad news, though – you had to be sixteen.  So I signed up for Junior Lifeguard Training. 

Now, I figured my sixth grade stint as a safety patrol put me in a pretty good position to be a lifeguard – no walker had been hit by a car on my watch, although when Valerie Perry decided to rollerskate to school she nearly got mowed down by a frazzled mom in a big, old, honking Chevy station wagon.  I, of course, saved Valerie’s life by grabbing her hand at the very last minute and pulling her to safety. [OK, my account may be a little over-dramaticized, but that’s the story we breathlessly told upon arriving at school.  Drama is to pre-teens as air is to breathing, as you very well know.]

So you can understand why I was pretty cocky and full of myself as the Junior Lifeguard Training commenced.  I had already saved a life, had read the Red Cross book, and even read the Coast Guard manual – hey, you can never know too much – and figured I’d breeze through.

I was on my way to cool.

But I hadn’t counted on the test.

Because there’s always a test.

The Junior Lifeguard test included mock rescues and using your clothing as a flotation device and a written exam.

And treading water for twenty minutes.

Straight. In the deep end. Which meant there was going to be no way to get a little bit of a rest by touching the bottom for just a minute. Constant movement of the body, but total staying-in-one-place.

I think about it now – how in the world did I tread water for twenty minutes?  If my memory serves me, I employed simple scissor kicks and wide sweeping arms to keep my head above water.  I paced myself.  I relaxed.

And I passed.

This treading water memory came to mind this week as two clients shared their current situations.  He, after two years of treading water, has finally sold his business and is moving on to the next thing.  She’s at the decision point – does she close her struggling consulting practice? Sell it? Take a regular job with a paycheck? She’s surely treading water at the moment.

In his book Transitions, author William Bridges suggests that any transition starts off with an ending, moves into a kind of waiting which he calls “the neutral zone”, and then ends with a new beginning.

Treading water is what’s happening in the neutral zone, and it’s a critical phase that you can’t rush through and out of, try as you might. You’re in the deep end, and you can’t touch bottom.

And we all know, as the poet Tom Petty famously said, “The waiting is the hardest part.”

There’s not much to do while treading water but wait.

Or, is there?

I know that treading water gives you time to find the horizon.  It gives you a chance to scan the options.  It allows you to take stock and get clear before you start swimming. Swimming in the right direction.

If you find yourself treading water right now, you can stop beating yourself up for not going anywhere.

You don’t need to go anywhere other than where you are. Treading water is part of what you have to do to pass the test.

So wait a little bit. Learn what needs to be learned. Relax. Pace yourself. Hey, when you’re in the middle of it, it’ll feel like you’re churning forever – but when you’re done, you’ll see it’s only been twenty minutes.

You’re so going to pass this test.

A Change Is Going to Come

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I don’t know about you, but it feels like a change is coming.

Something’s in the air, and I can’t quite get my finger on it.

In the last two weeks, I’ve spoken in front of five audiences. I’ve led another three small groups. Worked with a number of individuals. I’ve talked with a bunch of friends. And all the questions, and most of the coaching, has touched on the pervasive feeling that something’s about to happen.

A shoe is ready to drop.

Do you feel it?

Don’t you want it to happen already?

Me, too.

But one thing I’ve learned is that you can’t rush waiting.

You’ve got to let it happen at its own time and its own pace.

Make the time to be quiet, and still, and listen with your heart.

And love that change whenever it comes. Whatever it looks like.

Because it’s probably going to be great.

It usually is.

Procrastinate…Later

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People certainly beat themselves up for procrastinating. Well, when they get around to it, they beat themselves up.

But what if procrastinating wasn’t that bad? Just think: what if procrastination could actually be good for you?

Example One: You procrastinate about buying that house you toured with your spouse. And three months later, the price has dropped significantly so you buy it at a great savings.

Example Two: You procrastinate about writing that report the boss talked about. And the day before it’s due, information comes out that changes the entire strategy — making your report irrelevant.

Example Three: You procrastinate about having that difficult conversation with your co-worker, only to have her come in and apologize — and accept responsibility for her actions.

Sure, you could come up with plenty of examples where procrastination can hurt you, like ignoring those stabbing sharp pains on your lower right side (“It’s probably just gas, not appendicitis”) and ending up with emergency surgery. Granted.

But when you take a look at why you’re procrastinating, you can determine whether it’s the right thing to do or not.

When you evaluate The Why, you need to consider how you feel about the decision or task at hand. So, sit with it for a minute. How would it feel to own that house? Scary? Too expensive? Is that why you’re procrastinating? In this case, procrastination is sending you information — this house is overpriced. Yay, procrastination!

Sometimes procrastination is a sign that we really don’t want to do something. This happens when someone else forces their will on you — remember when your mother ordered you to clean your room, even though it looked fine to you? When you feel you have no control, you might procrastinate in a slightly passive-aggressive way (“I don’t wanna, and I’m not gonna”) until you provoke a fight that unleashes all your fury and anger. Cue the slamming door portion of the program.

But you might also procrastinate because you need time to collect your thoughts and make your plans. Planning People may appear to be “last-minute” when they’ve really been working out the problem in their head for some time. This is the way I write, as a matter of fact. I compose in my noggin all week, then sit down to write in one fell swoop.

Seems to work.

One other reason folks can procrastinate is possibly the most difficult to be aware of — they procrastinate so they can get out of their own way. These are our friends The Perfectionists.

Perfectionists can’t help themselves. They add, or take away, or refine, or fiddle, or tweak. The more time they have, the more they tinker. I once saw a time-elapse film of Picasso creating a painting. There was a point at which he could have stopped and had a masterpiece. But he kept on fiddling and adding. And ended up with a ruined canvas.

When perfectionists learn to get out of their own way by giving themselves less time, rather than more time, they can deliver a more perfect product. Then they have to deal with what might have been if they really had enough time to do it right.

But that’s a different column.

Procrastinating might be central to the way you function in the world, and, if that’s so, then embrace it. Use it for good. If procrastinating hurts you, or keeps you from fully enjoying your life, then you might spend more time examining exactly why you keep putting things off. Because once you understand that, you understand yourself. Which is central to living a happy life.