October 14, 2011

Just Do It.

Drew Tillman is a completely loveable diva who refuses to slant the truth or take himself lightly.  He will tell you he’s kind of a big deal.  He worked for me once while he was in college and once- for a very short time- after he graduated, and both times I got back as much as I gave. Thanks for the memories, Drew.

New York has always been my dream. Even as a kid, I fantasized about pounding the pavement in the bitter cold, entrenched in mile high buildings. Whether or not I knew I wanted to live in New York specifically, I did know that Hawaii felt small and isolated. When I moved to Santa Barbara for college, it seemed like a step in the right direction. One may wonder why I didn’t move to New York the second I turned 18, and I would answer that it was a combination of practicality and fear. The fear, however, is what I find most intriguing.

I wanted to make sure that when I did move to the city, everything would be “just right,” as if there was a celestially divined time when circumstances would be so well aligned, I would be compelled to make the move. Pursuant with that mentality, I could think of myriad reasons why New York wasn’t right, just yet. So when I graduated from college I decided that instead of waiting for the right moment, I would make the right moment. I made a commitment to myself to move in two years, no matter what. By doing so, I gave myself space to hurtle any obstacles that might fall in my path toward moving. I could start my career, build a financial nest for the transition, and steep in the community I had created in college. Because I had a two-year deadline, it made each of these goals finite, and achievable.

As my deadline neared, I became increasingly eager. I was well on my way to completing the goals I had established in my two-year timeline. So when an opportunity arose to move a few months sooner than expected, I was poised to take advantage of it. I made all the proper arrangements and was pounding the pavement in my new urban utopia in exactly two weeks. A few months later, I landed a dream job at AOL and am still swooning over the excitement of it all.

The most rewarding element among all of these changes is knowing that I proactively seized my dream. Had I not originally made a commitment to myself, I might not be here today. Chance and opportunity are half of the equation, but the other half is self-leadership, commitment, and preparation, all of which you can start doing—now.

Lead Your Life.

Drew is passionate about marketing and is currently pursuing that dream in digital advertising at Aol. A self-proclaimed left brain/right brain thinker, he enjoys quantitative exploits as much as creative indulgences. Beyond work, he’s inspired by film, food, design, and fashion and is endlessly captivated by the wonders that New York City has to offer.  Find everything and more at about.me/drewtillman

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
October 6, 2011

The voice of my own thoughts

Today’s guest post is from my dear friend and butterfly, Vanessa. I’ve known Vanessa since she was a college student, and my family has loved her since she lived with us for one awesome year post-college. Vanessa is all in to whatever she does, and her ambition and zest for life never cease to amaze and exhaust me. Her path may not always be straight, but it’s always headed in the right direction.

I am one of those who Michele has asked to write about my take on “self-leadership,” or more accurately, how I have recently experienced self-leadership in my own life. So, what do you think the first thing I did was? Poured over a bunch of her latest posts, read and re-read the quotes on self-leadership she sent me, thought about times in my life that my friends have named this quality in me, consult other authors (those who are stacked on my bedside table, mostly), and spent plenty of time not really leaving the thinking to myself. Does that resonate with any of you?

It’s ironic, yet, when faced with the need to define anything for yourself, make a decision, or take action, how often do you really self-lead?

I’ll choose one of the most classic moments of a twenty-something’s life to illustrate my pock-marked road to self-leadership; a vista that I imagine many of us are familiar with.

A few years ago I got a great job. It was great for me because it offered play and laughter and silliness, but also a placement in a growing agency within a growing industry. I had the opportunity to be trained by the best in the field, who are also just wonderful people, and to make steady growth. I was promoted at my annual and again at my second annual review. It was truly a blessing and seemed even more so as many of my peers fought stagnation in their current jobs or fought to find a job in the first place.

So many of you will not understand the quarter-life-crisis that followed. I totally get that. I am a bit sickened by it myself (but let’s discuss upper-middle-class angst another time, shall we?).

At some point as I entered into my third year in my job, now as a Board Certified Assistant Behavior Analyst (yep- I got some fancy letters after my name from that baby), I had the realization that I had reached the ceiling. Given my level of education and the certification I could attain at that level, I could not promote further in my company or outside of it either, at least in the same industry. For someone who thrives on challenge and change and forward momentum, this was anxiety-provoking.

I made a hasty decision one day to take the GRE and went into it 9 days later having glossed over some remedial math, but not nearly as prepared as I should have been. That was my form of self-leadership at the time- don’t think, just act. I then spent a rainy afternoon researching graduate programs and decided that a Master of Science in Clinical Psychology would be my best bet, since I wouldn’t likely get into a Ph.D. program out of the gates. So in the following months I applied and studied my tookus off for the GRE Psychology Subject test, all the while thinking that I was just creating options for myself and I would decide later, if I even got in.

I got in. I got the envelope, opened it, read it, and then made a mad dash for my beach cruiser and went to the beach. All of the effort I had already put in did not help me come to terms with what I was doing. All of a sudden, the thought of grad school felt burdensome, like a heavy institutionalized weight that my former adventurous, hopeful entrepreneurial spirit could not handle. I’m supposed to gallivant around the world, right? I’m 25, single, financially blessed…why on earth would I commit myself to a career right now? The world is still my oyster!

Believe it or not, I did the same thing that I did with Michele’s simple (or not so simple) question about writing a blog post.  I talked to dear friends, to colleagues, to advisors. I wrote emails to friends living in exotic places and to those heading off on adventures soon enough to see if I had other viable options. It turns out I did. I still do. I played out all of the options in my mind, feeling more and more unsettled as I thought about it. In fact, with each new perspective I solicited I felt more and more conflicted.

Then something started to shift. Slowly, as I received many pieces of advice from my kindred adventurous spirits, many who begged me to get out of Dodge while I could (“there will always be school, jobs,” etc. reasoning) I began to really know what the voice of my own thoughts sounded like. I took each piece of advice into account, considered each tempting offer, prayed, really sought to grasp for the first time what the commitment of grad school would mean for me, and I made a decision.

It was not easy to separate the words of experience and wisdom from those who know me well. It was certainly not easy putting myself more fully on a career-path to the exclusion of other things. It is still not easy.

In fact, I believe that ultimately, if you make choices based on others’ opinions or the world of possibilities out there, it will only get harder.

I decided to stay, to commit, to pursue my personal best in this line of work- in the end, simply because it felt like the right thing to do. I hope it goes without saying that the other decision wouldn’t have been a wrong one. For me, however, self-leadership was making the scarier choice to root down still further and invest. I know it is self-leadership because though it feels right in many ways, it still feels like a growth pain. And those are the ones I want.

Lead your Life.

Vanessa Felts has found her niche amongst the quirky and idiosyncratic, teaching unique individuals with Autism how to play and communicate, and shaping socially adaptive behaviors to help them live the fullest lives possible. Vanessa loves beachcruising and happy hour, yoga and kombucha, paddling and worshipping the Creator, a page-turner and a glass of wine. Follow her on twitter for the occasional brief celebrations and amusing diversions of life @vfelts.

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
September 29, 2011

How to Cultivate Relational Space

My friend Steve Saccone writes our guest post this week. Steve is kind-of-a-big-deal but you’d never know it when meeting him. If you look up “relational” in the dictionary, Steve’s picture is there. He’s a great friend and a gifted communicator, and we’re honored to have him here on TMP talking about how self-leadership applies to relationships. Rock on, Snow-cone!

When it comes to the impact we long to have as human beings, we must be intelligent in how we approach our relationships.

To build and develop true relational influence, we have to learn how to be INVITED into someone’s relational space versus what we sometimes do, which is INVADE someone’s relational space.  This demands intentional self-leadership.

To lead ourselves well, we must understand the idea of “relational space.” By this I mean that invisible dynamic where people either open themselves to someone else’s input…or resist it. For instance, if someone refuses to allow us into his or her “relational space,” that means they resist our advice, input, or coaching.  We often don’t pay close enough attention to this interpersonal dynamic, and in the process, we break trust, lose credibility, and diminish our capacity to influence.

Think about this dynamic in a different way. Imagine hiring a personal trainer at a local gym to help you get in shape. By hiring him, you give him permission to coach you, offer his advice, and even push you to exercise with greater effort and focus. You are inviting him into your “space.”

On the contrary, imagine seeing a friend at the mall. After saying hello, he begins assessing your physical health with verbal and analytical detail about how you need to get in shape. He tells you how much you need to exercise, and then commands you boldly to, “Get down and give me 50 (pushups).” I don’t know about you, but I’d be wondering where the hidden camera was.

When put in these terms, we all agree it would feel quite bizarre and awkward for us. But when we enter the world of relationships, we often ignore this very same principle. In other words, we may offer advice, input, or unsolicited coaching to people who haven’t yet invited us into their relational space. To them, our approach may feel bizarre or awkward because we’re trying to impose on them something they’ve never asked for us to offer them.

Maybe this happens with a person you’re trying to mentor, whom you think would benefit from your advice, but in actuality, you haven’t established a mentoring relationship, or trust. Or maybe it happens with someone you supervise at work or a volunteer on your team. You may assume they want your help, but just because you live in close relational proximity to them, or just because you have a position of authority over them, that doesn’t automatically mean you’ve established trust, credibility, nor a voice of influence in their life. This still has to be earned.

Even if our motives are sincere in wanting to make a positive impact on someone, when we force our way into a person’s relational space, they usually sense our invasion…and will almost always resist. More often than not, they resist because they feel we’re barging in without knocking, or because they feel something is being unwontedly forced upon them. They haven’t opened the door and welcomed our input, advice, or coaching.

By refusing to invade people’s relational space, and instead, waiting (and working) to be invited in, we become more relationally intelligent (for more info and a free RQ assessment, go to www.relationalintelligence.org), resulting in greater influence.

All of this doesn’t mean there aren’t moments when we ought to push through resistance and challenge people to grow and change—there are certainly times for that. And, I’m certainly not advocating for relational passivity here. It’s just that in many relational circles, we rarely seek to honor this invitational dynamic, and we continually fail to wait for permission to push rather than forcing our agenda upon someone. We see this in leadership, in conversations, in friendships, and even in marriages.

So how do we lead ourselves well and not commit the sin of “relational invasion?”

First, we must pay closer attention to people’s body language.  If we begin to offer advice or wisdom to someone and their body language reveals discomfort (i.e. they won’t make eye contact, they get squirmy and anxious, or you can tell they just became emotionally aloof), it’s a clue to us that they don’t desire our advice…at least in that moment.

A second way to lead ourselves in becoming more relationally intelligent is to remember don’t assume trust. Trust must be built and earned.  And to the measure there is trust in a relationship, that will parallel someone’s willingness to invite us into their relational space.

And finally, we must know our tendencies. The truth is that some of us offer our advice freely, confidently, and no matter what the situation because we think it’s the right thing to do.  Others of us tend not to ever offer advice or input to others, which isn’t the best approach either.  We must know what our tendencies are and become increasingly aware of them.  Then, we must adapt to the situation, the person, and the trust levels that exist.  To the measure we learn to do this, will have direct affect to the measure of relational influence we gain with others.

Lead Your Life.

Steve is the author of the book Relational Intelligence, and a soon-to-be released book about unconventional approaches to leadership development called Protege. He works as a Field Advisor for The Gallup Organization and leadership consultant for multiple organizations.  He’s also married to Cheri, and has two boys, Hudson and Holden. www.stevesaccone.com

 

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
September 23, 2011

It’s Too Late To Apologize

My pal Anna Luther Quinlan wrote this week’s post. We used to hang out a lot, then we didn’t, then she moved so now we can’t. Reading this post made me miss her all over again. It’s from Anna that I got the phrase: “The truth always happens“, and I remain in awe of her ability to take honesty to new levels on a regular basis. Anna, you are loved.

I recently swore off apologizing.  Not all apologies – sometimes I can be kind of a jerk, usually to the people I love the most, and I find that the practice of offering and receiving earnest apologies is one of the greatest strengths in these valued relationships.  Those apologies stay.  It’s the senseless apologies, the ones that are essentially disclaimers for anything that I am not proud of, those apologies go.

My husband and I recently crammed nearly every major life change that we could think of into a 3 month window.  We moved to a new city, we had a baby, I quit my job, my husband started his own business, and we broke ground on a remodel.  If any of this sounds exciting or remotely glamorous to you, you’re mostly wrong about that.  To be more specific about all these life changes, we had to short-sell the Santa Barbara condo that we poured tens of thousands of dollars and years of time into; I quit the job that had marked the worst year of my professional career because the thought of surviving another stress-induced cystic acne outbreak while adjusting to life with a baby nearly made me suicidal; my husband decided – against my worry-wart admonitions – to start his own construction business in the worst economy of our lifetime in a city where he had no professional experience; and we moved into a 950 square foot rental house that my parents have owned since the 1970’s, which was also the last time that anything beyond a lightbulb change had been done in the way of home improvements.  And as much as I would have liked to think that my true identity was rooted much deeper than any of these tangible changes, I was left feeling somewhat… lost.

While all of these changes were made intentionally and thoughtfully, and many resulted in great outcomes (a baby! living closer to many family and friends!), all of the sudden my story changed.  I used to be “successful.”  Now, I am “figuring some things out.”

The insecurity about my new place in life became most noticeable when friends began lining up to drop by the house we’d lived in for 2 months to come meet my new baby.  Friends who owned beautiful homes, friends who were successfully juggling careers and children, friends who had had the foresight to carefully orchestrate their careers so that they’d have the option of doing freelance work after they became moms themselves.

Over and over as I opened my door to greet them and their lovingly prepared lasagnas, I found myself apologizing.  ‘I’m sorry there’s not much room in here.’  ‘I’m sorry the place is still getting fixed up.’ ‘I’m sorry I’m such a slob in these frumpy sweats.’ ‘I’m sorry the neighborhood is a little sketchy.’ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Mostly I was just self conscious. What if they thought I was a fool to quit my job in this economy?  What if they looked at our tiny, dated rental house and thought about how they could never live here?  What if they judged me for how much lasagna I ate while simultaneously complaining about how long it was taking to lose the baby weight?

As the dust has settled somewhat and this new life has become more familiar, I have stumbled upon the most basic of revelations: This new life is my life. Some of it is unexpected and requires some getting used to.  A few parts are exactly as I hoped they would be. All of it, however, is mine for the living, one way or another.

I began to notice the confused looks on my friends’ faces when my apologetic rants got the better of me.  They could care less about my house, my employment status, my jean size, my “plan.” The looks on their faces as they dismissed my anxious disclaimers made me realize that I was the only one who cared, and what I really cared most about was what other people thought of me.  So I chose to stop caring about that.  I chose to stop apologizing as a means to explain the imperfect aspects of my life. I chose instead to make an honest evaluation about what I thought about my new life.  And when I really think about it – when I relax on my couch with my baby or sit at the dinner table with my husband – I am happy in this life. And there are no apologies necessary for that.

Lead Your Life.

Anna Quinlan lives in Sacramento with her husband, Shane, and son, Louie (7 mo). She recently left her career in sales to pursue competitive homemaking and is thus far proving to be mediocre at best. She once lip-synched Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ in a packed high school gym. She blogs when she feels like it. You can find her at sportsfansdaughter.BLOGSPOT.com

 

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (2)
September 15, 2011

But You Kind Of Do

This week’s post is from someone way smarter than me.  I know, like that’s unusual. But seriously, Mike Bennett is not just wicked smart; he’s also funny at the speed of light. He’s so smart that he knows how fast light speed is. Read this post slowly please, and let all the wisdom sink in. And then go do what you kind of have to do.

At the beginning of August, I loaded all of my possessions into a light blue Honda Fit, and left my home in Santa Barbara, and drove all the way to East Lansing, Michigan.  I did this so that I could get a PhD in physics, but before you tell me I’m brave or smart let me tell you that I almost chickened out – on account of the drive over.

I hate driving.  Hate it.  I would rather do almost anything than drive long distances in a car.  I’m usually too impatient and self-absorbed to do anything more than focus on how many miles are left to go and how uncomfortable I am in the driver’s seat.  And so at the end of July, as my journey drew nearer, I balked.  I knew what I had to do, but I desperately did not want to do it.  And I began to look for ways out.

Now, I come from a family where love is shown through acts of service, so I had no shortage of family members offering me assistance while I was making the arrangements for my move. “Do you want me to come down to Santa Barbara and help you pack?” “Do you need money?” “Do you want me to make you some cookies for the drive?” Because I am fairly autonomous (and fairly prideful, but that’s another story), and because my kin know this, these bids are largely ceremonial – someone will offer assistance, and I will politely decline, saying that I’ll alert them if I change my mind.

But then my mom threw me a curve ball: “Can I pay to ship your car and things to Michigan, so that you can fly?”

This time, the gears that turned were gears of rationalization, not dismissal.  Could that work? What if it was actually cheaper to pay for shipping the car and my things than it would be to pay for gas, hotels, and food?  It would be safer, right?  Surely it’s better to not have my car broken into with all of my things in it.  This is probably a good choice in the long run.

On it went, until paying to ship my car actually seemed like the best choice.  I found myself looking up quotes on the internet, half-convinced that this was truly the way to go.

But this strange feeling started creeping up inside of me — and it felt somewhat like guilt.  The second I had considered my mom’s offer, a voice had started whispering delicately and seductively inside of me: you don’t have to do this. And because I didn’t want to do it, I had wrapped layers of rationalization around the issue until it looked like a simple economic choice between two methods of moving.  Underneath it all, however, what I was really choosing between was bearing my burden myself and letting somebody else bear it for me.

And now another voice, just as delicate but firm and honest, reminded me: You chose to go to school in Michigan. You need to take responsibility for that choice and drive yourself. No, you don’t have to do this.  But you kind of do.

So I did it.  I politely thanked my mother for her offer and instead planned out a road trip through several states I had never navigated before nor set foot in.  And I drove myself through those states for about eight hours a day.  And – as you might have guessed – it wasn’t all that bad.  I saw tons of new and beautiful things.  I raced a thunderstorm in New Mexico.  I withered in real Southern humidity in Tennessee.  I threw a rock into the Ohio River in Kentucky.  Choosing to drive myself to Michigan not only yielded novel experiences, it enabled me to say I hadn’t backed out of a critical juncture in my life.

What I’m not saying here is that accepting help is incompatible with self-leadership.  There is a difference, however, between accepting aid on your life’s journey and letting somebody else make that journey for you. At some point you will, like me, be at a critical juncture, and at that moment help won’t be help; it’ll be a venue of retreat.

I don’t know what that juncture will be for you.  Maybe it’s refusing to be passive when it’s time to stand up for your beliefs.  Maybe it’s giving a word of encouragement or challenge to somebody whom you know desperately needs it.  Maybe it’s taking a big leap of faith in moving across the country to start graduate school.  I don’t know.  But I do know this: whatever it is, you don’t have to do it.

But you kind of do.Lead Your Life. 

Mike Bennett is getting his Ph.D in nuclear astrophysics at Michigan State University.  In his (elusive) free time, he enjoys playing a good game of Mafia, dabbling in music composition, and figuring out exactly which karaoke song will yield the most positive results at any given karaoke bar.  Check out more of his thoughts at http://wildmikebennett.com/blog .

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (2)
September 8, 2011

Why Failure Doesn’t Work For Me Anymore

Don’t be decieved by my pal Krysta. While she is blisteringly funny, she is also a deep thinker and feeler who wears her heart as far from her sleeve as possible. There is no one else I would want right next to me in the heat of a battle, and I am honored to be called her friend. Rock on, Special K.

Hello Moxy folk!

Your fearless leader asked me to be a guest on her good ol’ blog and my first reaction was, “ Self-leadership huh? Yikes.”

Self-leadership, to me, feels more like what I’ve read about being bipolar.

Now that you know how I feel about my own self-leadership process, I’ll let you in on a few gems: I’m a newly married 28-year-old who quit my secure job in the middle of a recession to start my own company. The hubs, well, he had a really fancy pants job in television and decided he’d quit too to work on his film career about 6 months into aforementioned marriage. We are currently in the phase a lot of successful entrepreneurs joke about on panel discussions, “Ha! Remember that time we almost lost our house? Man, that was crazy.” Yeah. Real crazy jerk faces.

I can handle the stress of having two entrepreneurs under one roof, being newly married and having a mortgage without a steady income. What I can’t handle is my own brain.

I used to pride myself in being Ms. Independent. In fact, when I moved from Kansas to L.A., my friends back home were certain I would be single forever and live in a corner office. I was really proud of my financial independence and ability to take care of myself. And I loved that people saw me as more of a man than a pansy girl.

Then the hubs came along. He affirmed my ambition and even pushed me to stick it to the man and start my own thing. About two seconds after the wedding madness subsided, I realized my entire world had changed. I traded in my identity for a new last name, my downtown loft for a house on the Westside and my job title for what seemed to be a new career in homemaking.

Pride is a funny thing. I had to get over the fact that the hubs was funding my dream. I had become DEPENDENT on someone else, which was completely against everything I stood for. Once I got over myself, I realized I actually liked being taken care of. There was something liberating in knowing I didn’t have to do it alone … that I had a partner.

Ownership is another doozy. I have a tendency to get UBER defensive in conversations that question my worth or ability, even if they’re merely questions, not accusations. My therapists says I’m a textbook child of an alcoholic, but I’d like to give myself a bit more credit and say it’s really just a giant lack of maturity and character.

I’ve learned how important it is to take responsibility for the story I’m telling myself when someone is having a conversation with me and most importantly, how I respond. Note: I don’t actually do this well, but I’m trying. Promise.

Lastly, and probably most important (for me, at least), I’m learning to give myself the freedom to change my mind. I don’t want to give you the sob story of what it’s like to be a girl in my generation. Let’s face it, a lot of women took a beating to make sure I even had a choice between career and being a stay-at-home-mom. But here’s the thing … I thought those were my only two options for a really long time. Since I felt I had to pick one, I chose the one I identified most with: the more masculine career-driven life. I owned it … ran with it … and eventually got a little bored with it.

Conan O’Brien said something in a commencement speech at Dartmouth that really struck me:

“It is in our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique. It’s not easy, but if you accept your misfortune and handle it right, your perceived failure can become a catalyst for profound re-invention.”

Read that again and let it sink in.

I didn’t necessarily fail at being hard ass, career-driven Krysta. But if I were really honest with myself (and you), I’d say it just isn’t working for me anymore. I could keep pretending just to save face and spare myself the embarrassment. Or I could change my mind and create new dreams for myself based on what I know now that I didn’t know 10 years ago when I put myself on this trajectory.

The point is … I wasn’t fooling anyone and I bet you aren’t either. So let go, get real with yourself and start being the person everyone else already sees behind the job title and elevator pitch. If you don’t have those kinds of people in your life, get new friends. You can’t do this without people you trust will kick your ass a little when it matters most.

Lead Your Life.

Krysta Masciale is a sassy city dweller with strong midwest roots. Her passion for exposing raw talent and human potential manifests itself through her career in branding. As a new business owner, she has a greater belief that honesty is the best policy … even if it means other people will find out she doesn’t have it all together. Find her at www.krystamasciale.com.

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
September 2, 2011

Motel Floor Leadership

The hits just keep on coming, people. Paul Angone was a student and then colleague at my previous workplace, and he consistently impressed me with his wisdom and enthusiasm. I’m enjoying seeing many former students gather together in support of his new venture, All Groan Up. It’s the perfect blend of humor, irony and truth about life in your twenties– as is Paul himself.

I began down the path of self-leadership the moment I began writing a book.

I began writing my book to avoid a knife fight.

Literally. And slightly figuratively.

Let me explain.

There I was one fateful night. Right out of college, traveling alone for my job, staring at the sturdy metal bars lining the windows of my “diamond in the rough motel room, just minutes away from downtown.”

As a traveling salesman, the routine of motel life becomes painstakingly repetitive. And my routine? M & M’s and reruns of “Friends” — the chocolate euphoria and familiarity of the storyline making me feel strangely at home. While candy from a vending machine and watching hours of TV might not have been the healthiest of routines, it was one I stuck to religiously.

However, on said “fateful night”, a shouting match commenced outside my door. As the shouting turned to screaming, I sat uneasily on the corner of the bed looking at the serene painting of fruit hanging on the wall, then back to the three separate locks lining my motel door like soldiers getting ready for war. Each lock looked big enough to keep out a stampede of wild bison in case they escaped from the local zoo. So I couldn’t help but ask myself, why three? Was there a police report somewhere on Room #113: “In conclusion, two locks, just wasn’t enough.” A slightly unnerving thought.

So either I willfully opened the door to put my life at risk for a bar of chocolate. Or I did something different. And purely out of a desire not to become referee for the knife-fight that was surely about to commence, I chose option B. I started writing a book on a motel room floor — a simple act of escape that would end up saving my life in more ways than one. The end of my first page, the beginning of self-leadership.

The Deep Change of Authentic Leadership

As Max Dupree writes in Leadership is an Art, “the first responsibility of a leader is to define reality.” For the next months and years as I wrote my book on the floor of random motel rooms and coffee shops, I was searching for truth with each keystroke. The transition out of college into the life of cubicles, routine, and sales-trips affected me more than I wanted to admit. I was doubting myself, my future, my hope, and my God. Nothing was off limits. My calling felt like a jagged box of mismatched puzzle pieces with no picture on the front of the box to go by. So like most puzzles, my calling was shoved in the back of the closet behind the vacuum and the winter jackets. The big life I was surely promised becoming a fairy tale I had heard a long, long, time ago.

The act of writing quickly became the best, and worst, experience of my life. Writing became the “Best” because it forced me to put definition to something that was indefinable. “Worst” because it forced me to put definition to something that was indefinable. A hurricane was swirling around me and all I could do was take notes. Writing was as freeing as it was excruciating because it forced me to go to a deeper place than ever experienced before. Like repelling into the Grand Canyon – the views were incredible, while the feeling I might fall to my death all too real.

As Parker Palmer writes, the truest form of an authentic leader “leads the rest of us to a place of hidden wholeness because they have been there and know the way” (Palmer, 2000). A true leader has waded through the muck of pain, so that they might bring forth healing first for themselves and then for others. The authentic leader risks the comfort of what’s known to discover what’s imagined. By no means is this an enviable journey, but to truly lead, it is necessary. As Professor Quinn writes in his book Deep Change:

“The hero’s journey is a story of individual transformation, a change of identity. In embarking on the journey, we must leave the world of certainty…[W]e must surrender our present self…Change is hell. Yet not to change, to stay on the path of slow death is also hell. The difference is that the hell of deep change is the heroes journey” (Quinn, Deep Change, p. 45 and 78).

Your Story Leads to Their Story

As I continued writing my book and sharing my story of struggle, doubt, and dead-ends to others my age an amazing thing began to happen — my story created an open space for others to share theirs. Transparency begot transparency.  I felt like I was embarking on anything but a “heroes journey,” yet, my willingness to speak openly about how the crap was getting kicked out of me everyday was touching on a collective narrative worth telling.

I learned that the successful leader exemplifies truth from the inside-out with consistent authenticity that knows who they are and who they are not. The clear communication of this self-definition has the power to connect at a deeper level with followers as they inspire and motivate them to personal and collective transformation. The authentic leader gives first of him or herself and you cannot give something that you do not first possess.

As I stand now at the end of the writing process, my book ready to be shared with the world, I realize now that you cannot give the gift of authentic self-leadership if you have not paid for it in full, and most times at a very high cost.

And that process, sometimes, starts on a motel room floor.

Lead Your Life.

Paul Angone is an author, speaker and story-teller bent on discussing what’s really going on in the “Emerging Adult” years. Paul is the host of AllGroanUp.com - a website for those btween growing and grown. His debut book: “Are You My Life?; Searching for Self, Faith, and a Freaking Job!” has been described as “Donald Miller meets Office Space” and hits bookstores Spring 2012. Find Paul Twitterized at @PaulAngone

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
August 25, 2011

The Best Is Yet To Come

Sorry about the hiccup here, folks. Turns out there were some glitches in my website hosting that affected my comments on posts and my e-mail. The comments are fixed, but the e-mail is not, so if you have been trying to get ahold of me, then just write me a message using the contact page on TMP website. There’s lots to update you on, but I still have some phenomenal guest posts to run and I know you want to get back to that.

Without further ado, and in honor of this being the week that we have spent together for the last 6 years, here is a post from my dear friend and assistant (when I’m lucky), Emilee. Emilee has a heart bigger than North America as well as a wicked sense of humor. If Emilee is your friend, you are blessed beyond belief. Blessings on your journey, Em.

When I graduated from college in 2006, I had a plan. I would work for 2 years, pay off some of my student loans, save some money, and then go back to school to become a music teacher. I got a job right out of college working as an administrative assistant in the alumni & parent relations office at my alma mater. 5 years later, I’m finally leaving. But not to go back to school.

For the past 2 years I have been feeling like I needed a change. I needed something different in the way of my work. I was feeling stagnant, bored, not challenged. I had been volunteering with the youth group at my church for about 3 years and loved it! I started looking for new jobs that would use my love of students with my other skills and gifts. I ended up getting a promotion that provided new challenges and managed to get me excited about work again.

Six months ago, everything changed. I still liked my job but there was something missing. I found myself laid up in bed with a broken leg and torn ligament in my ankle. I was bored and had actually grown tired of looking at Facebook and random hysterical blogs & websites (yes. It IS possible). So, I started poking around on some online job boards. I happened upon a job description that blew me away. As I read through it I kept thinking, “Wow. Did they write this job description FOR me?”

Long story short, I applied and was offered the job. As I went through the application process, I realized this was my dream job (other than becoming a rockstar, of course). I would basically get paid to do everything I love to do. I would get to help plan & organize programs for middle school & high school students, put my music degree to good use, and even get paid to hang out with kids! But it would mean leaving everything and everyone I know.

As my great friend & mentor Michele has taught me, my life is what I make it. I get to call the shots. Sure, I may not have control over everything that happens, but I get to choose how I respond. And in those moments when there are 2 (or more) paths to choose from, I am the only one who gets to make that choice.

Self-leadership is really about owning that power and recognizing that my life isn’t something that just happens to me. I play an active role.

The easy thing would be to stay in my good job where I have history and medical benefits and get to run great programs. The easy thing would be to stay in my cute cottage with my amazing housemates just a 10-minute drive from my best friend. The easy thing would be to just stay in this nice little life I’ve built for myself.

Instead, I made a big decision. I accepted the job. I will soon pack all of my earthly belongings (and I mean ALL) in to a U-Haul and move my entire life 7 hours away from everything I know and love. This fact simultaneously terrifies and excites me. I am so excited to start this new chapter of my life, dig into my new job, explore my new city, and build new relationships.

But every now & then, fear creeps in. What if I hate my new city? What if my new job isn’t as awesome as I’m expecting it to be? What if I don’t make any friends?

I have this place I go when I need space to breathe. It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or sunny, day or night, this place rejuvenates me and brings a peace to my soul. What if I don’t find a place like that in my new life? I made the mistake, the other night, of reminding myself of all I’m giving up. From upcoming concerts at local venues to amazing co-workers who I can’t imagine doing a job without to local festivals and summertime events. Not to mention my friends, my church, and the girls that I have mentored for 5 years.

Deep down I know this is the right thing. The doors that opened up at just the right time were too perfect to just be coincidental. I’m getting the opportunity to do what I’m passionate about for a living! That’s incredible! So I know I’ll be fine and I know made the right decision. Despite the moments of sadness, nostalgia, & panic, I am so excited to move forward.

What’s more, I can be confident in the fact that I am putting to good use the things I have learned about self-leadership. I am facing my future head-on. I am not just letting life happen to me. Instead of sitting in complacency, I am making (life changing) choices that will move me (quite literally) out of my comfort zone. But there is a peace in knowing that I’m on the path that I am supposed to be on. I’m just taking one step at a time and, hopefully, becoming more the person I’m meant to be.

I will leave you with this, MOXY friends. Life doesn’t always have clearly marked exit signs when it’s time to take a new road. But even when it does, it’s up to YOU to take that exit. No one else can do it for you. Your life is what you make of it. So have courage, take a breath, and go for it.

As Michele likes to remind us, “Lead your life.”

Emilee Hurlbert is a graduate of Westmont College. Her passions are her faith, youth ministry, and music. She is currently transitioning into a new job that combines all three. She loves to laugh, travel, eat sushi, and drink iced tea. She recently decided to give blogging a try and you can see if she follows through at: http://mylifeflowson.tumblr.com/

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)
August 4, 2011

Well Said.

My friend Lisa writes today’s guest post really well. Which isn’t surprising, because she is one of those people that does lots of things well. She used to work for me, but she got wise to that pretty fast and moved on to bigger and better things. She’s still wise, though. Very wise. Miss you, LP.

Sometimes I write.  The stars align and the right music plays and it’s just quiet enough.  Then I hide it in my journal or on my hard drive for a possible revisit or in the best-case scenario to show my husband or a close friend who already professes to be a fan of my writing.  To write gives me life.  To hide it is an act of self-preservation.

I ultimately don’t share what I write with people because I’m afraid of what people think of me.  I am afraid that I won’t be great at it.  If I keep it to myself then I can continue to bow down to the possibility of being a writer.  If my writing is rejected in any form then the possibility is dissipated.

The opportunity recently presented itself for me to join a writers group. My first time meeting them was in response to a sense of obligation. Upon meeting them, though they possessed ample amounts of charm and grace, I was even more terrified of showing any of my writing to a group of actual writers.  I willed myself to make a commitment to the group and knew I had five weeks until I had to show them some of my work.  In the weeks leading up to my turn to share I found them to be a very intelligent bunch, well read, prolific writers.  They often integrated obscure literary terms into their critiques of each other’s work and referenced the styles of famous writers I often had no familiarity with.  To say that emailing them documents of my writing to read and then talk through with me was a dreaded task would be an understatement.

Identifying that I was afraid was a big step.  Before this, withholding my writing seemed like a strength I possessed.  I saw myself as a writer, but only in my private life.  It was almost a fantasyland of an ideal person I saw myself as but wasn’t willing to take any kind of risk to actually become that person.  Once I realized that it was fear that kept me from sharing my writing I could ask myself what I was afraid of. Admitting my fear released me from the power it had over me. I actually told someone else that I was afraid to share my writing because I cared too much about what people thought about me and I didn’t want to fail.  That thought is a lot less powerful out on the table than it is in my mind. I reframed my thinking.  I owned up to what I was afraid of instead of keeping it a secret.

Lots of people love this website that also generated a book called Post Secret.  The book version is a coffee table book with pictures of note cards people anonymously send in with dark secrets they have about themselves.  The moment a person lets go of that postcard with a secret they’ve been carrying around they get a glimpse of the relief they would feel if they fully owned up to that thing they’re so afraid of letting into the light.

I don’t like that book anymore.

Those people are still afraid of those secrets and that fear gives the secret power over them.  We like reading that book because it makes our secrets seem momentarily less powerful.  This is really just a concern about how others perceive us, and in turn the way we see ourselves.

After sending my work to the group for the first time I didn’t have an experience of realizing I was a brilliant writer that had been in hiding for all this time.  It was the act of pressing send that was the most notable achievement for me.  Then I started to see my love for writing creatively in a more accurate light.  It’s a craft I need to work at.  It’s a resource (however meager) that I can invest into my small corner of the world.  It’s not a gold coin I bury and adoringly dig up every so often when I’m alone.  My writing isn’t always so great; it’s not necessarily profound or perfectly beautiful.  But I can share it with people.  Despite its imperfection, at least I’m pressing send, showing up and investing my creativity rather than burying it. And I’m experiencing a return on my investment.

The most significant return on investing my desire to be a creative person is how it has shaped my identity.  At a time in life when new motherhood was consuming me and when I often felt lonely and at the same time maxed out on my capacity for friendships I found myself in a place of new and unexpected alliances. Sharing my writing made me more of a writer, not because my ability changed, but because the way I identified myself started to change. That couldn’t have happened outside of relationship and the relationships couldn’t have happened under the weight of my fear dictating my choices. I needed to allow those new friends to have access to the writer in me and in so doing I became more of a writer.

Lead your life.

Lisa Phillips Armour is originally from California but now make her home in Portland Oregon with her husband and baby, Bear. Summer is Lisa’s favorite time of year, if only because summer vacations don’t seem to happen without it. If her heart could whisper a message to yours, it would say, Life is brief. Pay attention, because you don’t want to miss a thing.

 

 

 

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (2)
July 26, 2011

Prayer and The Art of Motorcycle Purchasing

My friend Mike is wise and goofy and gentle and strong all at the same time. He’s a pastor but he’s not intimidating or weird. He’s able to speak honestly about life’s joys and trials in way that reminds me of what’s really important. After listening to Mike, I feel more free to be who I really am, and to accept others exactly the way they are.

“Mike, you’re going to die.”

Not exactly the sort of excitement I was looking for when I told one of my best friends I was thinking about buying a motorcycle.  After all, a healthy percentage of the pleasure of motorcycles is – follow me on this one – thinking that people are thinking you are cool. The pleasure percentage derived from such a thought is not the same for everyone, but suffice it to say that the amount of pleasure I intended to derive from other people’s thoughts toward me as I revved my engine and whipped around their big boxy cars was significant.  My thoughtful friend was unimpressed, and had known me long enough to know that simple walking around is dangerous enough for me.

That was over three years ago.  Perception and reality have a funny way of missing each other.  A huge problem with the world of motorcycles is there is an adverse relationship between “coolness” and “safety.”  And as bold as I may be in the world of imagination, the real world tends to draw out my cautious side.  When all was said and done, I had purchased a bike 4 years older than me, a huge, nerdy helmet, and a goofy armed jacket to go with my nice “motorcycle safety course” certificate.  Baby steps.

I’ve ridden that old bike (a 1978 CX 500) for the last few years. My intention all along was to get a bit of experience under my belt and then buy a newer, faster bike.  For now, the CX is fun, and once in a while, people look at me through their driver side window with that look that must be saying “You are the coolest, toughest, and most exciting man I’ve ever seen.” Imagine what I’d imagine them saying when I got a new one.

Over the years, I had various opportunities for new bikes, but different adventures slowed them down.  One of the big ones was that I fell in love and got married.  She seemed to think the bike was pretty cool too.  Still does.  A cautious person herself, my wife surprised me with her interest in newer faster bikes when I would talk about it. Everything seemed to be coming together last year to make the leap to a new bike, until an awkward slide into 2nd base at a slow-pitch softball game (remember my buddy’s concern?) led to a broken leg, and no leaping of any kind for the rest of the year.

All that brings us to last week.  There’s a lot going on right now.  Sure there’s a lot happening at the church I pastor, but the biggy is that I’m going to be a father. My daughter is due in October.

And then, it happened.  Last week, I found an ad for a bike that, if true, was an amazing deal.  I felt myself go into something of a trance.  I was able to calmly explain to my wife what a great deal this was, but hide the fact that I was obsessing over it.  I went and looked at the bike.  Its reality was better than its pictures or its description.  Within a couple hours, I was riding a 2003 Bandit 1200S home.  In case you don’t know, that’s a big, fast, beautiful bike.  Couldn’t pass it up.

And couldn’t sleep that night.

The whole next day, my heart was heavy.  It wasn’t buyer’s remorse, as we had planned ahead for a new bike, and found one for less than I had planned to spend.  It was something else.  No matter what I did, I couldn’t snap out of the tight feeling in my chest, or the subtle lump in my throat.  Something about this whole situation was just not right.  My wife was okay with it; she seemed to like the new bike more than the old one.  But her confidence did not quell my anxiety.  To put it differently, I had no peace about this bike.

This is a story of self leadership when your “self” is lost.

When another caring friend voiced a thought that I had been stuffing down the whole week, I discovered how lost I really was: “Why did you buy a new bike, Mike?  Did you forget that you’re going to be a father?”  I gave him the line I had been giving myself: “Well, I’ve been looking for a couple years for a bike like this.  Couldn’t pass it up.”  But his words touched a nerve.  What in the world was I thinking?  If I were to make a pros and cons list for this purchase, the “cons” list would be full, and the pros list would have two items: “Because I want it” and “It’s a great deal.”

Wanting something is a powerful reason, though.  I found my desire fighting against a thousand voices from within, but it was putting up a good fight.   In light of the fight, I tried to pray.  My prayers were awkward and cloudy.  God is apparently not so keen to speak when you’re feeding him the lines he’s supposed to say.  I practically wrote it out for him: here, God, just read this aloud: Mike, I want you to have this bike.  You’ll be fine.

Because I knew I was muffling God (and so much of myself), I took the next best step, and perhaps the piece of self-leadership that has been my biggest strength.  I asked for help. I wrote to a handful of the people I consistently look to for prayer and wisdom.  All I needed was for one of them to say: God says keep the bike.  The only response I got was a call from a dear friend: “When I pray for you,” he said, “this one line keeps coming to mind: Family comes First.  Hope that helps.”

No one else wrote back, but that was enough. All this time, I had been driven by emotion, by opportunity, and by a desire to complete the “look” I never really mastered with the first bike.  Those factors became so powerful that I acted without any prayer, and certainly very limited reflection.  And here comes the big lesson in my own self leadership: for me, the most important step is to surrender. When it comes down to it, I’m a bad leader on my own.  But I know a great one, and no matter how many odd corridors I lead myself down, He’s there nudging me back.

Anyone in the market for a motorcycle?

Lead Your Life.

Mike Wright is a Colorado native, an incredibly lucky husband to Erin, and a pastor of Littleton Christian Church in Littleton, Colorado.  Mike is a coffee snob, a skier, and an occasional blogger at mikewrightsblog.blogspot.com.  In October, he’ll be a first-time father.

By Michele | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (2)