Articles
Because
I kissed my daughter's forehead.
She slept through the love.
Oblivious to the prayers hopes dreams,
I sent up with the pursing of my lips, the intent of my heart.
I can't help but wonder how many silent blessings have been released,
like floating lanterns of love.
Millions + billions, I suppose.
And look, here's another, expressed on the breast of this dawn.
Mine.
For you.
Because.
Bill got up to pee
Many years ago, we hung out in the bar that I had worked at throughout university. It was a crossroads kinda place in a crossroads kinda location at a crossroads kinda time of my life.
Once or twice a week, we’d convene with a delightfully motley crew of musicians, grad students, bartenders, interns, and executives. We’d sling back pitchers of beer (or spritzers in my case), suck on saucy chicken wings and debate “–isms” or the Canadian music scene.
If it happened to be on a “school” night, my now-husband Greg and I would agree ahead of time that THIS time, we’d leave by midnight.
And then 12 would come faster than we’d hoped and someone would ask the seminal question::
Another round?
One of our friends, let’s call him Bill, would witness the silent debate passing between Greg’s and my eyes.
But we have so far to go home. Just one more. No, we have to get up early to go to work. I can't handle that place on no sleep. Well, maybe just a cigarette more. I don't know...
Guys, Bill would say. I get up at 4 o’clock. Stay for one more round.
And begrudgingly (but in truth? gleefully) we would stay. And the next week. And the next week and then the week after that.
Until finally, Greg (or I…too many spritzers to recall) asked Bill the Music Exec why he needed to get up so early.
I get up to pee at 4, then I go back to bed.
{I'm pretty sure we toasted his cleverness with another round of drinks and wings.}
Point is...
We hear what we want to hear, my friends. We hear what we want to hear.
And
People tell us what we want to hear.
I believe it's called marketing.
Learning the whole story, doing the due diligence rests with us. If we choose to, that is.
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
Unclenching boundaries
There’s a lot of talk in the entrepreneurial ethers about what to do when people ask you for advice, or “to pick your brain”, from the position that these requests are a mild nuisance at best and inconsiderate at worst. It’s an interesting discussion and there are plenty of useful scripts being shared if this is a big issue for you and your business. In my business and in my life, I don’t see it as an issue.
I am a firm proponent of boundaries. I am also a firm proponent of asking for help.
The two are NOT mutually exclusive.
The wonderful thing about boundaries is that they actually create spaciousness and cohesion. My husband and I recently walked through a busy park that had at least six baseball diamonds filled with earnest kids and hollering parents. In the far corner of the park was a massive fenced-in area for dogs to tear around, sniff butts and roll around in the dandelion fluff with unbridled joy. Awesome to behold. Had there not been that dedicated space, there would have been some serious clash of species. Balls and mayhem, ahoy.
Good fences make good neighbours. - Robert Frost
And the wonderful thing about asking for help is that you often get what you need. Funny that.
I know myself that I wouldn’t be where I am today without having asked for help, requesting coffee dates, and in the early days, I may have even uttered the verboten words:: can I pick your brain?
Shun me, shuck me, burn me at the stake.
And, I totally get why this feels hot ‘n bothered right now. It feels like we have less time to meet the needs of our clients, family, friends and colleagues without taking on additional appointments/correspondence with people we don’t know. (I suspect we could find more time in the day if we spent a little less of it in the aforementioned ethers, but I digress).
As much as I believe that we all deeply desire to help each other and to see one another succeed, I have CERTAINLY heard myself from time to time saying: I’m sorry, I’m not available to meet with you for lunch. What is the specific question that you have? I’ll be happy to address it in an upcoming TGtv in case others are curious about my take on it too.
It’s not perfect, but I highly recommend that for you too. If there’s a question that you get often, you may consider writing about it. Create a product, program, post, class if it feels aligned + good and direct people there. (And if you’re the one asking for someone’s time and attention PLEASE MAKE SURE that you have invested YOUR time and attention already on resources they have created for just.this.very.reason). If you want to ask Kate Swoboda for the blueprint to creating a sustainable coaching practice, for instance, I reckon that it would prudent to get your hands on The Coaching Blueprint.
Now…that said (discernment rests in contradictions), the argument is oft-made that if people ask you for the very thing you sell, as in your time, advice, wisdom, then they aren’t valuing you. Could be. AND can we also hold space for the possibility that it’s not quite so nefarious? That wanting to meet you for a coffee has more to do with wanting to connect at a heart level than wanting to rip you off?
And I also wonder…
Is it possible that this isn’t actually a PROBLEM and that all of this brow-wiping breathlessness is more of a badge of busy-ness than anything else?
In my business and in my life, I don’t see it as an issue. If ever it’s felt like a problem, then it’s only ever been a champagne problem. I am doing something right. People are noticing. And they want some of what I have. Case closed.
We all know that asks are energetic exchanges…it must feel right for both sides of the transaction. We all need to find our own way into this.
And now, a personal request...
If you are feeling inundated with asks, before locking into the “no” position, will you please pause in gratitude for the honour of the request? Will you please pause in celebration for the good work you’ve done to get here? Will you please pause in appreciation of those who gave you their time, energy and attention when you were first starting out? Will you please check your gut and check your schedule? And will you THEN proceed accordingly?
No’s are often required…and that’s completely cool. But I fear the world my daughter will walk in if we are too pinched, gripped, clenched and clamped to consider sharing our abundance of attention, wisdom, gifts and even, yes, time.
Aspire to be useful. Aspire to be generous. Aspire to be kind.
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
Tell us about the vanilla beans
Over the weekend, our daughter decided to set-up a lemonade stand. And, as is her tradition, she wanted to donate the money she made to a charity. Previously, she’s raised money for a cat rescue. This year, she had her sights set on charity: water, an organization bringing clean, safe drinking water to people in developing nations. I heard the founder Scott Harrison speak last year at WDS and brought his story home to my family. My daughter was inspired. So, we baked chocolate chip cookies and made lemonade, set up the stand and away she went…committed to raising enough money to provide clean water for at least 3 people ($60).
Our strat plan looked a little like this:
Hot day + cute kid + good cause + quality offering = buckets o’ dough
The weather was spotty, so we didn’t see as much foot traffic as we would have liked, but she is pretty damned adorable, and it is an exceptionally good cause so she did manage to raise $70.75. She was pleased.
It was that “quality offering” variable that got my husband thinking later that evening.
Him: I wonder, if we underpriced and undersold the lemonade. Me: How do you mean? Him: I think for $0.50 people are expecting lemonade from frozen concentrate…not hand-squeezed lemons sweetened with a simple syrup infused with vanilla beans and sprinkled with garden-fresh mint, y’know? Me: But that’s just how I do it. That’s just how I make lemonade. Him: How would anyone who hasn’t met you know that about you, T? Me: Ah, crap.
Check out the sign.
He’s right. How would anyone know exactly what care, time, attention and, yeah, I’ll say it…LOVE that went into our pitchers of lemonade, that very symbol of summer’s ease?
Indeed.
Time and time again, we undervalue that which we don’t recognize as special. And the clue often lies in our “just”s. Listen for them, then look into them.
What are you downplaying? I’m willing to bet it’s the very thing that people are often thanking you for…like the care, time, attention and love I put into most of my pursuits…lemonade and beyond (though clearly not the aforementioned sign).
I suspect that buried in that dismissive 4-letter word is a linchpin to the wheel of your very essence. All that is wholly, uniquely and wondrously you. Love it up, Love.
My dear friend and the woman I turn to before every product launch (with lemonade being the notable exception) Tara Gentile has this to say::
"Give yourself credit for what differentiates you (or your product) and why that's important to you. Then consider why what differentiates you is important to others and communicate that value clearly. It doesn't help to fixate on features or process (or degrees, credentials, portfolio pieces, etc...) but it does pay to know what makes you stand out and why that's important to the people you seek to be in service of."
Yeah. In business and in life, tell us about the vanilla beans. Tell us how you do what you do. And why. That’s precisely what makes you and your offerings so entirely delicious to us.
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Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.
Going Deep
Given the choice between snorkeling in a warm and shallow coral reef or deep sea diving in the cold recesses of the ocean floor, I would pick the former. Given the choice between Clueless and Glengarry Glen Ross I would pick (and have picked) Clueless.
Breathtaking stunning mandarinfish over frightfully grotesque anglerfish. Shoe jubilation over real estate desperation.
I choose bright, warm, playful and accessible most of the time.
But not every time. Of course not every time. There are times when going deeper is, quite simply, the only reasonable way forward. Not only is deep where fascination resides, but it is the birthplace of real understanding. Where true, lasting and sustainable change becomes not just possible, but certain. It's not always easy...but it's ever so worth it.
Commit to deeper care: of your body, your relationships and the temple that is your home.
Commit to deeper gratitude: of every.single.gift you’ve been given. Breathe in the feeling beneath the words you write in your journal as a daily(ish) practice. Reaaally breathe them in. Feel them in your bones. Feel fortune of the life lottery you’ve won. Because, yeah, we’ve won the life lottery.
Commit to deeper compassion: for the struggles of others.
Commit to deeper understanding: for your life’s exploration. What do you really, really, REALLY want? What are you yearning for? What still needs to be healed? What beliefs needs to be released? What do you keep avoiding? Yup...all of that.
Go deep, with the knowledge that you WILL find your way back up to the light. Illuminated from the inside.
And if you are one who resides solely in the deep cool waters, treat yourself from time to time to play in the dappled light of the warm coral reef’s shallows, flitting with the clownfish and tickling the anemone.
Wide is wonderful. Deep is delicious.
It is this AND that. I am this AND that. You are too.
With love that is miles wide and fathoms deep,
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
Wednesday Nights with Mildred
I want to tell you about my grandmother.
Mildred Jones (née Prentice) was her name and she was a cool drink of water. For six-year-old me, she was an avatar of power, independence, and love. She was feisty, fierce, sharp, and extremely funny.
I enjoyed the way she embodied her role of Head Matriarch of our family, particularly during holiday meals when she would hold court as she worked the stove. She was Empress-like even as she mashed turnips, hollering at her son-in-laws to bring up the extra bridge tables and chairs (muttering “lily-livered sap-suckers” under her breath if they took too long), and adding salt, salt, and more salt to the potatoes. My cousins, sister and I would stay out from underfoot, spinning records in the basement and doing the bumps to The Bay City Rollers, coming up juuuust in time to set the table. Invariably, Grandma would help us find the “right” table protector for under the table cloth (there were several) and would throw us a sharp look (with an unmistakable gleam in her eye) demanding to know why singers of the day were so unimaginative and overused the word “baby”.
“Why do they have to say bay-BAYYYYYYYY all the time?”
It was clear, crystal clear, that it was her joy to have everyone around. I remember her contented smile as surveyed her flock around the table as we helped ourselves to yet another serving of her sublime trifle.
I also have vivid memories of summers up in Wymbolwood. Days were far more fun when Grandma was there. Things were livelier, brighter and shinier. That’s how I remember it. This picture was taken only a couple of months before she passed away.
My fondest memories, however, were of Wednesday nights when my sister and I would traditionally sleepover at her house. In the evening, we would heatedly debate dinner options: would we “dine out” (usually at “The Chicken Palace,” aka Swiss Chalet) and NOT have dessert OR would we “dine in” but get to have one of her incredible sundaes (in the old school glasses with the WORKS: nuts, aerosol whipped cream, fudge sauce, maraschinos). This would keep us all occupied for some time and the decision was moot…both options were a treat with her. She also had an exceptionally hot orange muscle car (okay, Plymouth) and an apparent need for speed that made any outing fun.
Getting tucked in by her was delicious…because it was quiet and sweet. She would sing the same song she sung to my mother, who sang it to me, who sings it to my girl, who sings it to her Bear.
In spite of that tenderness that makes me catch my breath even as I commit it to screen, the highlight of the sleepover invariably occurred in the morning: with an Old Hollywood affectation, she would approach her closet, fling open the doors with great flourish to reveal an impressive collection of polyester pantsuits in a rainbow of colours. She would intone most theatrically: “which one of my glooooooorious creations shall I wear today?” I would squeal with delight and help her decide between kelly green or fuchsia…my two favourites.
A couple of years after my grandfather Charlie passed away, Grandma took in a series of boarders to help pay the bills. This was the late 70s so most men had long-ish hair and full beards so I always felt a little intimidated by them. But it was clear that they were intimidated by her, this sharp-eyed Queen in her polyester pantsuit with language as salty as her potatoes (while she didn’t swear often, when she did, she got it all out in one fell swoop: “shitandgoddamnedittohell!”) They very happily trimmed her roses and cleaned her gutters. And she very happily baked them pies.
It’s not surprising that I remember my grandmother from the lens of what I admire: humour, strength, love, independence. I cherish the few memories I have and hold the few lessons I have gleaned close:
say what’s on your mind and never be afraid of a good debate;
commit to the sundae;
set the table with reverence;
fling a Frisbee with abandon;
potatoes are just better with salt;
fun is an choice…make it; and,
above all, family.
I know my sister and cousins have their own memories and learnings, mitigated by their experience with her through their respective lenses. I can’t help but wonder how she WANTED to be remembered. What legacy of wisdom did she WISH to bequeath us? If there was ONE THING she wanted for us to carry forward, what would it have been?
Who really knows.
Today is my mother’s (Mildred’s daughter, Brenda) birthday. It saddens me to know that my daughter will have no real memories of her maternal grandmother*, as she was only eight-months-old when Mom died. But she will have a patina of recollection fed by my stories of how perfectly my mother embodied Mildred the Instigator and Charlie the Pacifist. She will know her lineage. She will feel my mother and she will feel Mildred. She will know their stories. Most specifically, I believe she will carry this jewel of wisdom and heart throughout her days.
Yes, wisdom is a legacy.
I read somewhere recently: You won’t be remembered—I won’t be either. That’s where the freedom lies.
Feels true.
And so, I invite you to consider, whether you are in a position to be a grandparent or not: what ONE piece of wisdom would you string along the chain of ancestral wisdom that is the human collective? If you had but one bead, what would yours read?
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* - Our daughter is blessed to have her beloved paternal grandmother in living colour...a woman whom she adores (as do I).
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.