Archive for August, 2010

A Call for YOUR Stories

“If you’re human, then you tell yourself stories – positive ones and negative, consciously and, far more often than not, unconsciously. Stories that span a single episode, or a year, or a semester, or a weekend, , or a relationship, or a season, or an entire tenure on this planet. ” - Jim Loehr, The Power of Story

I’m really interested in your stories.  And I’m not the only one who’s interested. The more I hear from my clients (and colleagues and friends and family for that matter), the more I realize how important it is for all of us to hear one another’s stories.

Next month, things will be changing a bit with Get There From Here and a lot of that has to do with story. Mine. And yours. As part of that change, I’m super excited to highlight some of your stories, knowing that not only will it be fun – and possibly cathartic – for you (storytelling usually is!), but it’ll connect with others who really need to hear your story.

If you want to share your story, I’ll be capturing it via email, phone or Skype. It’ll be like you’re sitting across from me at the kitchen table and we’re just having a nice chat. :)


(That’s my kitchen table.)

These are the kinds of stories I’m particularly excited to be exploring:

  • A story about how you made a creative dream a reality
  • A story about how a cultural or family narrative got in the way of you going after something you wanted
  • A story about how you made a difference
  • A story about how you figured out how to get to the stuff that matters in your life

We’ll connect to discuss your story and once our interview is complete, I’ll share it right here on this blog. It’ll take less than an hour of your time!

If you’re interested, please contact me ASAP via the comments below, by email or by phone at 215.764.1615.

I look forward to hearing your story!

Mindful of Loss

When preparing to blog, I tend to start with what’s present for me in the moment and I was surprised this evening to discover that what’s present for me is a sense of loss. There were some obvious and unsurprising memories that surfaced when I keyed in on this awareness, but I also sensed the little losses and the good losses, like those one incurs simply by growing up.

It feels like a contended mindfulness of loss.

In End of the Summer, one of my favorite songs by Dar Williams, she perfectly and poetically expresses this feeling for me:

It’s the end of the summer, you can spin the light to gold.

Loss is a part of the human story. Sometimes we feel it tear through us. Sometimes we ignore it. And sometimes, we set up a lawn chair next to it with a warm smile, offer it a glass of sweet tea and say howdy.

Asking More of Me

I have a love/hate relationship with yoga, by which I mean this:

  • I feel amazing when I practice
  • I’d really rather not practice

When I do practice – which over the last year has varied from once every other week to about three times per week – I practice at home. I even have a “yoga room,” which is almost entirely empty and painted orange.

So even though I’m not the most disciplined student, I’m both experienced and routine enough to feel comfortable walking into about any studio class. Which is exactly what I did yesterday, when I discovered:

  • I’m really not that flexible
  • I’m really not that strong
  • I’m really not that focused

As I was pondering the disparity between my home practice and the studio practice and noticing how little I challenge myself when I’m at home, I began to feel a little discouraged and, well, lazy. I mean, clearly you can’t get loose hamstrings by holding adho mukha svanasana for 10 seconds with your knees bent! It seems I’m not as likely to get where I want to be when I go it alone.

There are many reasons I “showed up” more fully and worked with a stronger intention at the studio class. There was a teacher to correct me and fellow students to keep up with. But mostly? Mostly, someone just asked more of me than I had asked of myself.

This got me thinking about my clients, who essentially ask me to do the same for them. And I felt all aglow that I have this privilege, that I get to experience people who are willing to put themselves out there, knowing I’m going to ask them to go a little deeper into a twist or repeat a vinyasa.

It’s asking a lot of yourself to ask someone else to ask you to go further, or deeper or longer than you would on your own. It takes courage and self-awareness and humility.

Plus, you can pretty much rest assured that you’re going to be sore the next day!

Occupational Hazards

I listen. A lot. But professionally, it’s more than listening. It’s about creating a space that’s all about the other person and being present to their needs and wants.

Recently, I’ve begun to notice that I’m doing this personally. It can be hard for me to assert myself in a conversation the way other people do. I often wait to be asked what’s going on as opposed to launching into the story of what’s going on for me. I hold back. It’s like I reflexively keep the focus on the other person.

So when I was out for a walk with one of my best girlfriends last night, I found myself continually asking questions, listening, empathizing and offering feedback. I wasn’t being a coach, per say, but I also wasn’t being a friend: I wasn’t giving her the chance to ask follow-up questions, to listen, to empathize, to offer me feedback.

As the evening wore on, I began to notice that I was feeling distant and uncared for. Which is precisely when I remembered that few people care about me more than this friend and that I had the ability to ask (implicitly or explicitly) for what I wanted! So at the first opening, I took a deep breath and launched into a long story about my week. And then I launched into another about a personal problem I was facing.

By the end of the night, I had experienced all the intimacy and care that I had wanted. It was available to me the whole time. I just had to reach out and take it!


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“I can't thank you enough for just pushing what I knew I had inside of me to the forefront everyday!”T.C., Philadelphia, PA