The Scarcity Spiral

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens. 
-Carl Jung

It’s been a big week.  Understatement of the century.  It’s been a historically and politically raucous year that just climaxed with the most wildly controversial election of our time.  How are you doing?

Cocktails

I’m relieved.  No, not because these two candidates got an A+++ in their favorite class, Scandal and Mud-slinging 101, their gold stars deserve gold stars,  and the American people can get back to “normal” life as we know it. (What is normal anyway?) I’ve purposefully shied away from personal political rants on social media and even ignored those of others if at all possible; it’s a stiff time suck shaken and stirred with a twist of boring and a heavy dash of depressing.  My relief is rooted in the hopeful shift that perhaps we might start to step out of this vicious spin cycle of scarcity.

Wield

Don’t worry, this is not a political post, so stay with me.  This is a post inspired by the phenomenal power we as humans have to wield moments, conversations, attitudes, days, lives, relationships, finances, careers, health, performances, paradigms, politics, culture, and most of all, hearts.  I sincerely believe we can all learn something vital from both Mr. Trump and Mrs. Clinton.  Despite the media’s stellar job at eliciting constant knee-jerk reactions from our two, at times, less than inspiring candidates, I’ve observed the thing that will undoubtedly keep us down is a scarcity mindset: that ever ready spiral of never enough.  Winners, quite simply, focus on winning.   These two candidates have done just that in the scowling face of great odds; whatever your politics, I think it’s is pretty remarkable.

The West Wing

My all-time favorite tv series to date is The West Wing, a political drama created and largely written by the masterfully clever Aaron Sorkin.  I think I’ve seen all seven seasons about four times.  It’s brilliant.  Martin Sheen plays the fair, compassionate, and good-humored President Jed Bartlett; he and Hollywood NAILED it.

Thorns

He’s not without flaw, mind you.  Sorkin made this abundantly clear as his character battles multiple sclerosis and a nagging flair for the dramatic.  These are those proverbial thorns in his side that keep him humble, nimble I suppose.   Thankfully, his whip-smart, feisty aids consistently keep him tethered by their steady accountability and merciless hole-poking.

Other People Win

In one episode,  Pres. Bartlett complains to Press Secretary C.J. Cregg, (played by Allison Janney), about his former rival winning a school board election back in their home state of New Hampshire.  Like a victimized and petulant child, Bartlett goes on and on, recounting all of the terrible things his opponent had said and done along the way to climb the ethically wobbly ladder to his new found seat of victory.  CJ looks at him, and with her razor sharp no-nonsense wit replies, “Then, that’s the way it is.  In a democracy, often times other people win.”  She exits the room.

Death and Taxes

Yes, other people win and disappointments in this life are as certain as death and taxes.  We all experience pain and discomfort, however the broad spectrum of circumstance tends to be gracious over time allowing for joy and excitement to balance this process out.  Suffering is the story we make up about our pain and it ensues as we cultivate ongoing, frenetic relationships with those stories.  At the heart and hub of this suffering wheel we inevitably find scarcity: not enough. 

Grey

Carl Jung talks about a certain unnecessary plight occurring in this world because we reject “legitimate suffering” that goes along with the territory of simply being human.  This is in step with what I’ve learned about the etymology of the word “human”.  As opposed to a god-like, perfect and divine nature, the word human originates in an earth-dwelling, mistake-prone form.  This legitimate suffering, as Jung describes, should not be a shock or surprise. In fact, neurotic behavior results when we reject it and treat it as such!

Here’s the deal:  there is a thin grey line between the often bruised skin of our human condition and a pessimistic anticipation that bad things will happen and we should all go live in a cave. 

Excuses

I believe our attachment to unnecessary suffering stays intact and well-fed via the steady drip of scarcity mindset.  I have become so aware of my own scarcity narrative as of late.  It’s insidious and feels almost responsible at times.  I suppose that’s why I put up with it.  It sounds something like this:  “Oh, I don’t have time for that” and “I didn’t get enough sleep last night” or “What I have to say has already been said a thousand times; who really cares?”  Sound familiar?

Pollyanna

On the flip side, there is also this fear of living in denial; of the detached, “Pollyanna” glazed-over stare that lacks reality and substance.  After all, isn’t the opposite of scarcity total abundance?  I would heartily disagree. Brené Brown says, “For me, the opposite of scarcity is not abundance.  It’s enough.  I’m enough.”  She disagrees as well; I’m in good company.  Discomfort signals opportunity which makes the pinch of failure wholeheartedly acceptable in my book.  As we embrace the possibility of enough, we reject a scarcity mindset.  

Playground

Like anything, scarcity is learned.  Want proof? Go hang out with a bunch of 5 year-olds on a playground.  I would bet you a coffee or lunch or a very small fortune they aren’t all standing around with their arms crossed reciting reasons the old swing set may collapse mid-air, or envisioning the party of germs camped out on the slide, or even ponderinghow pointless and unsanitary the sandbox is.  Doubtful at best.  Chances are, they are just happy to explore some new scenery and burn off the sugar buzz they got at snack time.

Payoff

What is your scarcity narrative convincing you of?  What’s the payoff involved in giving it a voice?  Perhaps it’s safe because it’s what you know.  You’ve worn it in and out like an old pair of sweatpants your significant other hides behind the washer and dryer in hopes that you’ll just forget about them and move on (not a chance).  Perhaps the payoff is to keep you in a safe and steady state of numb.  After all, success is often far more terrifying than failure.

Paul Simon

Something hard and heavy struck me the other day.  I went for a hike around Radnor Lake this past week and was absolutely transfixed by the beauty of fall. I’m pretty sure everyone else felt the same as they walked around in yoga pants with their iPhone cameras as heads.  It was perfect: the crisp leaves, the burn-your-eyes-out blue sky, the pristine dry air, and the speckles of warm light that looked like a vintage Instagram filterjust had her way with nature.  I was expecting a scarf and fedora clad Paul Simon to jump out of the woods and start strumming The Boxer while simultaneously handing me a pumpkin spice latte at any moment.  No dice there.

Death and all his friends

Hold on a minute?!  These leaves are really just dying.  Likewise, the air, light, and blue skies are in on it as well playing respective roles in this seasonal shedding quickly ushering in the cold, bleak, and short days of winter.  It happens every year, without mistake.  Why then, are we so transfixed by this lovely, yet predictable procession of nature’s hibernation?

Building a Mystery

What I came to understand is we’re all actually experts at reframing scarcity.

As humans, we’re wired not only for connection, but for beauty and mystery.  We are also resilient creatures who long to witness something magical in this given moment.  That is the inner child in each of us; oh, they’re in there alright.  This is the practice of presence, enough, possibility, or whatever you choose over scarcity.

Six

The choice is ours in every breath of every day.  It’s easy to fall into the scarcity trap surrounded by these loud, abrasive voices violently dueling it out for the office of Presidency in all kinds of below the belt ways.  I get it; it’s a crucial time.  However, we must not abandon the soul of our six year-old that desperately needs some fresh air and a proper playground tumble.  Let’s powerfully, intentionally wield our own hearts away from scarcity and towards that beautiful mystery.

Love,

katie

A Date with Procrastination

The more important the activity is to our soul’s evolution, the more resistance you will feel.

-Steven Pressfield

I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, Procrastination.  Well, he’s not really new, quite old come to think of it.  We go way back.  I suppose we’ve rekindled something as of late, something good, different.

Stuck places, friendly faces

Our rendezvous happened this past Tuesday morning as I was about to sit down and write this week’s blog post.  I typically have some foggy idea as to what I’ll write about from week to week which is always nice.  Like many bloggers, my ideas come from a storehouse of life experience, connections made in random and serendipitous ways, books I am reading, and most of all, the resilience stories of heroes I observe around me; friends and peers alike.  Lovely, right?  Well, this past Tuesday it wasn’t working out so well for me.

Wildlife

Earlier that morning, I decided to take a walk in order to clear my head, breathe some crisp fall air, and behold the magical leaves shamelessly showing off in the sun drenched blue sky.  It seems we have been cheering on the fulfillment of fall in Nashville the past several weeks and my, she certainly knows how to make a grand, fashionably late entrance.  Despite my morning jaunt out into her glorious embrace, I still had nothing.  Nada. Zip. Zilch.  I saw a few wild turkeys though.

Clean

When I have a deadline, be it taxes, writing, learning a new song, homework of any kind, (did I say taxes?), I don’t just procrastinate, I clean.  This is hilarious because I hate to clean.  I am not a cleaner.  Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a slob, I just tend to wait until I literally can’t see the bottom of my closet, throw my hands up in the air, and have a full on closet detox, as my brilliant friend Lindsley calls them.  Intentional, “unnecessary” cleaning always happens as a familiar step beforeI actually procrastinate.

Just one more cup

I sat down at my (clean) kitchen table only to decide I needed to make another pot of coffee.  That’s it!  Perhaps have another slice of gluten-free pumpkin bread, too. (Trader Joe’s makes the best mix.  I’m not even gluten sensitive, I suppose I just feel better about eating half the loaf.)  There we were, me, my coffee, my second breakfast, and my devilishly charming friend Procrastination.  “Dear God, I feel like a hobbit,” I thought to myself.  What now?  Pinterest, then a few quick emails, yoga anyone? I had forgotten how entertaining my old friend was.

Steven Pressfield

My absolute favorite book on the topic of the creative pursuit and process is Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art.  I’m a dreadfully slow reader and finished this little number in one afternoon on a park bench somewhere in the West Village while visiting NYC several years ago. No doubt, this was the most inspiring city to read those words in what with the beautifully diverse collection of roughly 1.5 million people tirelessly pushing their dreams forward to the rhythm of steely tenacity, very little sleep, and a whole lot of espresso .  From that day forward, I’ve been an evangelist of this book, giving away countless copies to friends and clients, alike.  He pretty much rocked my world with his jolting if not merciless approach to procrastination.

Here’s what he says:

“The most pernicious aspect of procrastination is that it can become a habit. We don’t just put off our lives today; we put them off till our deathbed.  Never forget: This very moment, we can change our lives. There never was a moment, and never will be, when we are without the power to alter our destiny. This second we can turn the tables on Resistance. This second, we can sit down and do our work.”

Can I get a witness?

Amen, yes?! If you read this post and all you take away is that one quote and a kick in the pants to hop on Amazon immediately and order The War of Art, I have succeeded.  Pressfield introduced me to this curious idea of Resistance, as was mentioned in the quote.  We all know what resistance is: that tight feeling we have in our chest and muscles, the thoughts of unworthiness that pop up like clockwork saying, “I don’t deserve to carve out the next hour and write, I’ve got so much to do!”, the anxiety that seeps in perpetrating those once calm and contented cells in our body.  Pressfield explains, “The more important the activity is to our soul’s evolution, the more resistance you will feel to it-the more fear you will feel.”

The Gift

If resistance resulting in procrastination is actually a sign of our soul’s deepest expression and evolution as Pressfield waxes so poetically, then I am convinced we are in dire need of a sit down “come to Jesus” reckoning with it! My avoidant and dreaded coffee date with Procrastination was in fact, profoundly necessary.  It was my heart’s battle cry against that nasty gremlin, perfectionism.  It was an invitation to show up and reclaim the very act that keeps my soul alive and grounded.  Someone out there may hopefully read the words I write through email or a Facebook feed or something and that is truly an honor. There is a much higher purpose though. The invaluable gift of resistance is the power that flows from our choice to lean in, show up, and give sacred space to our voice when the easy way out is to organize our sock drawer three times instead.  We align with our destiny when we lean into resistance.  This feels really good.

In Repair

As a lifelong perfectionist in a constant, sobering state of recovery, I am learning to become my own sponsor.  This is the credo that keeps me showing up and sitting down with pen and paper in hand: Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly.

Anne Lamott spins it this way in her brilliant Bird by Bird (another must read): “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something—anything—down on paper. What I’ve learned to do when I sit down to work on a shitty first draft is to quiet the voices in my head.” 

I would extend that to say almost all creative endeavors begin with terrible first efforts!

Say Yes

Procrastination has gotten a bad wrap over time.  I want to help clean up the confusion.  After all, procrastination is merely saying no to something and yes to another, more attractive option, yes?  I say we wise up, stay very present to that knowing, if not uncomfortable nudge called resistance, and have our way with those illusive little pixies, perfectionism and projection.  They have stolen us away from our dreams, one bad, distracting idea at a time, for long enough. Today, let’s begin again.

Love,

katie

xoxo

Legacy & A Broken Hallelujah

Please think about your legacy, because you’re writing it every day.

-Gary Vaynerchuck

I have a confession to make.

Despite years of deep south steeping growing up in Mobile, AL,  I have never been a huge fan of country music.  In fact, I always felt like the odd man out during those fragile years of middle school when the cool kids where discovering the likes of Alan Jackson, The Judds, John Michael Montgomery, and most curiously to me, Billy Ray Cyrus.  I was totally stumped, yet went along with it as my awkward stage lasted painfully longer than everyone else’s and I had just switched to a preppy new school.  The part of me that wanted to be liked was much bigger than the part that couldn’t be bothered.

So I succumbed to country music peer pressure and owned all the cds to prove it.  Looking back, I stand by the fact that it didn’t make sense to me then and it still doesn’t now, not even “Old Country.”  There, I said it. Hilariously, I now live in the country music mecca of Nashville,  and am married to a man who works in that industry.  God truly has an impeccable sense of humor.

Storytellers

What I am a fan of are the rich stories those often simple songs have told over time and the legends who did the telling.  You know the stories: about family, hard work, love, tradition, heartache, and a good time.  From what I’ve learned, the largest radio format in the world is that of country music and has been for quite some time.  My uneducated guess as to why is that these songs and stories are more widely accessible for most people.  They tell normal, relatable  stories and in that normalcy, provide a familiar  and welcoming place to visit.  I’m clearly no expert, it’s just a hunch.

A league of their own

My appreciation of this genre hiked up a few notches on Sunday night as I got to tag along with Daniel for an induction ceremony at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Three icons were to be honored: the legendary songwriter, producer, and founder of Monument Records, Fred Foster (think Dolly Parton and Roy Orbison), Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis.  I felt completely honored to be there and stepped into a totally next level cool kids club upon arrival…way out of my league.   Dolly sang, and in my estimation, definitely still has it.  She could give Adele a run for her money at age 70!  The tiny but mighty Brenda Lee presented as did the likes of Garth Brooks and Vince Gill, (personal crush since forever and the one exception to my apathy for country music).

I mention all of this for one reason: the three icons inducted into the Hall of Fame on Sunday night were honored because of their unique gift and contribution to their fans and the world at large through music.  These three great men were honored for their Legacy.  Merriam-Webster defines legacy this way:

Full Definition of legacy

plural legacies

1:  a gift by will especially of money or other personal property :  bequest

2:  something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past <the legacy of the ancient philosophers>

Shrink

I define legacy with a vivid memory.  I was sitting in a psychiatrists office around age twenty-four and in the throes of some pretty rocking anxiety and depression to the point where I hated to be alone and had tons of trouble sleeping.  Four hours a night was success.  This psychiatrist was unlike most who focus mainly on medication prescription and maintenance (which greatly helped me at the time).  The touchy feel-y talk stuff typically didn’t show up in these types of offices all that often.  My doctor, however, would always spend the extra time asking insightful open-ended questions and practicing the kind of active listening that would make Oprah squirm.

The Big Question

This particular day I was feeling pretty frail.  Upon my impasse of despair, he looked at me with eyes full of compassion as asked, “Katie, what kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?”  Mic drop.  Are you kidding me? I thought to myself.  I’m in tons of excruciating emotional pain and confusion over here and you are asking me to tell you what I want my grandkids to say about me when I’m gone?  That is just cruel and unusual punishment.

Ansel Adams

He didn’t flinch.  Dammit, I had to dig deep for this one.   As I sat there, something shifted inside.  It was like a massive wide-lens movie camera zoomed out and captured my life in an epic, Ansel Adams kind of way.  I saw vast nuances instead of harsh details and gentle peaks and valleys instead of the unflattering flatlined monotony of my current reality.  It was as if someone took a soft, forgiving filter and appropriated it to my life.  It was that good lighting on a first date kind of luck, you know?  There was a spike of hope that arose in my soul.  My heart perked up like the ears of a bored dog who just heard the garage door open.

Desire

I didn’t have a grand, clever answer for him.  I actually can’t even remember what I said.  I do, however remember the gravity of that perspective shift.  The truth was, all I could see and feel in that moment was the intense barrage of my current emotions.  I was landlocked in that sense, but I wanted so much more.

I wanted the freedom of an ocean so I could look back 10 years from then and see a gift I gave along the way to others who may have felt a similar sadness.  I wanted to give so much, do so much, be so much! I wanted to write songs, write books, have a family, love wildly, throw dinner parties, travel the world, run for public office (it was just a phase), own at least one pair of Jimmy Choo’s, you know…the important stuff!  In that moment, I got angry at my sadness.  That anger felt really good.

This highly annoying legacy question gave me the nudge I needed to start making future-based decisions that didn’t always reflect the way I felt in the moment.  

Serendipity

What I later discovered in our work together was that my psychiatrist went to med school at the University of South Alabama and did his cardiac rotation under the instruction of my Grandfather, a talented and respected heart surgeon in Mobile at the time.  All those years later in Nashville, I held in my needy hands the gift of hope and tangled proof of a beautiful legacy.  My own Grandfather paid it forward for me in that moment, unbeknownst to him.  If that isn’t serendipity, I don’t know what is.  I’m reminded of that story every time I want to give up.

I guarantee if Fred Foster, Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis would have listened to the discouragement and naysayers along the way, caving into popular demands instead of following their heart as crazy as it seemed against the great odds of their humble beginnings,  there would not have been a big ceremony on Sunday night.  Well, I suppose there would, yet faces and stories belonging to a different cast of characters.

Amazing Grace

The night ended as it should, with a song.  Not just any song though: an imperfect and a capella Amazing Grace, led by Randy Travis. His words were barely understood due to a severely paralyzing stroke he suffered in 2013.  His velvety baritone still shone through the cracks though.  A tear soaked audience sang along, humbly, lovingly.  A man who had made his mark with that undeniably iconic voice stood at the helm of the night  inviting us to something greater.  He lost control of the masterful, tangible gift we know so well, however, legacy runs deeper than just a pretty voice and a knock out career.  His legacy is the gift of a life well-lived, full of peaks and valleys:  the character of oak and heart of gold that inspires us to keep showing up, one broken hallelujah at a time.  So, my friends, you knew I’d ask:

What will your legacy be?

Love,

katie

Dinner Parties & The Hospitality of Emotion

Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place.

-Henri Nouwen

I love food: the planning, shopping, prepping, pairing, cooking, eating, hell, I don’t even mind the cleaning up so much.  My most domestic moments happen in the kitchen.  Laundry?  Not my gig, much to my husband’s chagrin.  Cooking has always been a creative outlet as well as a therapeutic one for me.   For a hot minute in my mid-twenties I toyed with the idea of culinary school yet found in my short-lived career as a sous chef at a local wine bar/cafe that cooking on someone else’s watch for people I couldn’t actually connect with was a deal breaker; it hijacked the joy of it.

Slow down

I eventually discovered two real driving passions behind my love for all things culinary: the connection that happens around it and the creativity had in the process, ( oh, and there is that eating thing as well).  As a result, one of my favorite pastimes has become throwing dinner parties.  I get a buzz just thinking about it.  We live in a world on crack; a world jacked up and in a constant crazed state of busy, exhausted, immediacy, devices, and traffic, all set to repeat.  Hospitality has become a lost art.  It forces us to slow down and do things that can be automated and/or bypassed by hitting the nearest Chipotle and inhaling it in front of our current Netflix series of choice.  As a result, we lose out on a beautiful process that facilitates good old-fashioned real-time connection, intimacy, and laughter.

Friends who cook together

My dearest friend Anna Watson Carl, author of The Yellow Table cookbook and dinner party partner in crime since high school, has been in town from Brooklyn for the last couple of weeks.  As a result, we have gotten some sacred, much-needed girl time together hiking (read: getting lost) at Percy Warner park as well as sharing a few meals.  She inspires me to dream big; to dive in heart first, with little personal regard for certainty and all the “why nots”.  She leads her life openly, with curiosity.  As a result, incredible opportunities present.  Her childlike sense of wonder lands her in all kinds of juicy and fabulous predicaments.  I’ve had the distinct pleasure of tagging along for some of them.

This past Saturday Anna and I threw a dinner party.  It was delicious and lovely complete with clinking glasses, a stained table runner,  and hours of clean up the next morning.  Perhaps my favorite part of the evening was the interesting mix of friends who came.  Stories were shared and wild connections made, which blows my mind often in this small town of Nashville.  As I sat back contentedly and observed conversations happening around the table, glasses being filled, and fall flavors offering up their glory, something occurred to me; something big.

Set a new table

Why can’t we learn to practice hospitality internally, with our own full cast of emotions? What if, we welcomed them openly, leaning in to the complex story they are trying to tell instead of running from their  grey state of purgatory?  I’ve been intrigued by this idea ever since, playing around with it in my head and heart…and I like it.

The hidden gift

Emotions are a gift if you can believe it.  I sure didn’t for long stretches of my existence.  I always thought emotions had all the power, dictating the success of any given day from the moment my eyeballs popped open in the morning.  I used to feel totally powerless over my emotions, especially anxiety, she was a loud and clumsy beast.  What I have come to learn and embrace with open arms and a big fat sigh of relief is that my emotions are not who I am.  I am not my anxiety, sadness, hurt, anger, etc.

They are also not against me.  Of course, there are more enjoyable ones we feel such as glad and excited; we tend to coddle them like spoiled children.  Then there are negative ones such as guilt and anger we avoid at all costs like that annoying, messy roommate. However, the truth is, each unique emotion invites us to the greater wisdom of our needs and desires and ultimately propel us forward.  Our emotions are a gift nudging us towards colorful truth and authentic experience.

Conversation starter

Just as the generous practice of hospitality beckons deeper connection and understanding of our unique perspectives and experiences across a dinner table, our chatty interior friends long for a space to be heard.  How will we host these voices, facilitating a curious exchange, an open conversation?  Here are a couple of questions to ask them when they chime in, with their often abrasive tone.

• What am I feeling?  Sad, hurt, fear, anger, lonely, guilt, glad?  Naming it identifies and externalizes it.
• What is the story you are trying to tell me?  i.e “I am afraid I don’t have what it takes to succeed, i’m not enough”.  “I am guilty because I spoke harshly to my co-worker”.
• What is the need attached to the emotion? i.e. “I need some encouragement and affirmation”, or “I need to apologize for reacting at work, I was pretty fried and took it out on Sarah”
• How will I meet that need?  i.e. Reach out to a trusted friend or have a conversation to set the record straight, etc…

Emotional hospitality removes unnecessary shame from our internal experience by letting light and air into dingy, dusty corners of our beings.  It swings wide open the door of our heart and places a mix of fresh flowers to claim the space, welcoming deeper connection and cohesion.  It nourishes our beings to live with presence and generosity.  This week, I invite you to set this strange new interior table and play around with the role of host.   Get into it, wear it, engage it.  I’d love to hear all about your discoveries along the way…

Love,

katie

xoxo

Rio Gold: Words on Winning

Winning is showing up, staying present in our truth, and leaning into love every step of the way.

Did anyone besides me watch the Olympic Opening Ceremony last Friday night? Well, despite apparent low network ratings (38% down from 2012’s London Ceremony), and a self-proclaimed nervy and “slow” catwalk strut delivered by the ever leggy and lovely Brazilian bombshell, Gisele Bündchen, I was totally mesmerized.  The grand parade of nations proudly flying their flags, donning those thoughtfully designed and crafted costumes, one after another, oozed a colorful and unmasked joy that was completely contagious; that buzzy energy, palpable.

I think I even caught North Korea crack a smile or two!  After hours of sitting on the couch glued to NBC, I breathed a deep and victorious breath, finished my second dinner of popcorn and dark chocolate, and wiped off the mascara stained tears tattooed on my cheeks, calling it a day.  You would have thought I had just beat out Katie Ledecky in the 400 meter freestyle. Nope, swimming was never my thing… couldn’t get the breathing down.

WHAT’S THE DEAL?

I digress.  Suffice it to say, the Olympic games have been something of a teacher for me this past week.  Though I have not gotten to watch much of the actual games, I have been fascinated to hear about and read the highlights, perhaps even grabbing online recaps during breaks throughout the day.  Why on earth am I so obsessed?  I mean, I’ve been watching the Olympics since I was a kid!?  What makes this go-round so special?  What is it about a bunch of diverse people getting together to play sports that has our modern world in a state of, well, grace?

I am a total sucker for story and a big believer in the human spirit, against all odds.  Not only that, I was simply overwhelmed and moved to tears hearing the backstory and obstacles overcome by individuals and nations alike as I witnessed the globe pouring into Rio’s Olympic Stadium last Friday night.  Perhaps the constant barrage of global hate crimes and terrorism begs for a different voice; one of hope and generosity.  Or maybe I’m just getting old and sappy; more skin in the game, perhaps?  I don’t know…

A DIFFERENT VOICE

I hear a simple truth reverberate loud and clear within each and every athletes story as I follow the 2016 games. It’s clear as a bell.  I see it on hallowed risers as medals are placed on those well-deserving, chiseled bodies.  I see it when the tears flow steadily and uncontrollably down winners’ faces, exhausted and delirious, yet more present than ever.  I hear it perhaps the loudest when the bright and hopeful stars of tomorrow don’t make the cut for whatever reason, falling with devastation and disappointment into the arms of their lifetime advocates, coaches, and teammates.

WHAT BRINGS US TOGETHER

The journey of greatness is one of presence, engagement.  It is made up of thousands of weeks, hundreds of thousands of days and practices, millions of hours, and countless decisions; all kissed by unmistakeable failure, heartache, waiting, sometimes bliss.  The bleeding heart pushing it all forward, day after grueling day is quite simply…Belief.

Though separated by culture, creed, economy, language, religion, and politic, there is a universal force that unites us all: Belief.

Sure, you can hire the best coach money can buy and crystallize a flawless strategy, yet without a mindset of belief in our core value and worth, we are stymied by self-doubt, never leaving the gate.

Digging even deeper, I can guarantee most, if not every single Olympian, experiences seasons of total unbelief.  I imagine depression, loneliness, injury, and discouragement often taint this less than hopeful view.  You don’t have to be a world-class athlete to dance with those demons; we’ve all been there.  Those are times we lean heavily on the belief of others.  Whethercoaches, teammates, loved ones, and/or counselors; those steady and loving mirrors bolster the unwavering belief we need until we are able to embrace that reality for ourselves.   

WHO’S ON YOUR TEAM?

Who are the people in your court who know you, see you, and speak the same language of belief, no matter what? They use the same currency of hopes and dreams?  They live in the same state of vulnerability and presence, risky as it may feel?  Even on defeated days, they see the winner that becomes you.   If I have learned anything in this life, it is the incomparable value of trusted relationship and community that make bitter days a bit sweeter.   I’m a big believer in quality over quantity.  Having three to five fiercely committed teammates feels stronger and more sincere than 25.  It’s more difficult to intentionally nurture the masses, however, I suppose it can be done, especially by all you extroverts out there. 

I saw this quote on a friend’s Instagram yesterday: “Winners focus on winning.  Losers focus on winners.”  Wow. That’s it!  The picture displayed above accompanied the quote and paints a hauntingly true picture of that tragic dynamic.  Whatever the challenge, whatever the task at hand; I am learning the importance of presence, not perfection (Thank you Shauna Niequist!), and the pursuit of belief, not comparison. Winning goes far beyond a gold medal.  Winning is showing up, staying present in our truth, and leaning into love every step of the way.