Not too long ago I wrote about how one of my favorite words is “and”. There’s another one I’d like to add to the list:
I’m not talking about when you use “yet” as a substitute for “but”, as in, “I really want to do this thing, and yet….”
I’m talking about when you use it at the end of a sentence.
I’ll give you an example.
I was talking with a freelance writer friend yesterday. We were having a little telephone pow-wow about work and life. And she mentioned that she was writing a bunch of stories on topics that interested her, but that didn’t pay much. And she was kind of thinking that maybe she’d have to give up on her dream of writing about these subjects that were near to her heart because they were too much work for too little money.
When I was a kid growing up in Rhode Island, I attended a re-enactment of an historic event—the burning of the British ship the HMS Gaspee by ticked off colonists in 1772. I remember my Dad pointing at the flaming replica ship and saying, “See it? It’s right there!” At least I assume it was flaming: I couldn’t see it, because I was looking too hard, too far out in to Narragansett Bay. And I missed the whole darn thing.
Flash forward to this past weekend, when my husband and I went camping with our kids and four other families. We hiked in with all our stuff strapped to our backs, the kids ran free between campsites, we cooked fabulous food over an open flame.
While we were in the woods, one of the women we were camping with commented on how much she liked one of the plants that was growing wild. Another woman told her it was mountain laurel. “I have one of these growing in my front yard! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it.”
I kept trying to justify the time I spent curled up with the iPad by finding some deeper meaning that I could relay in a blog post. I mean, there are a couple of cool things to be learned—that sometimes working on some area that feels totally unrelated to the area you want to target will get you the precise results you want. (Or, in Candy Crush terms, if you want to clear the jelly, you’ve got to clear some non-jelly spaces too.) That there’s always another chance. That you can always ask for help. But really, it was too much of a stretch to assign spiritual meaning to Candy Crush.
Except for this: Beauty, synchronicity, and even success happen when you honor your desires. (Click to Tweet!)
Greetings after a week off! Last week my family and I made our annual pilgrimage to Block Island. A tiny speck of land 13 miles off the coast of Rhode Island, that island is my happy place. In addition to being beautiful (imagine a mini Ireland) and smelling divine (think honeysuckle and salt air), going there feels like traveling back in time 50 years. Cell and wifi reception are iffy at best. The big highlight of the day is going to get ice cream or sitting on the lawn overlooking the Atlantic with a tasty beverage while the kids roll down the hill. Heaven.
One of our annual activities is kayaking. This year, I had my four-year-old, Teddy, in my boat. He was wearing his brand new Block Island hat and we were having a great time exploring the Great Salt Pond.
The only hitch was that it was pretty windy.
Last week I was going through notes I’ve made on calls with my coach. Here’s what jumped out at me:
“Hurrying is based on fear, and fear is ultimately destructive.”
I remember clearly when I wrote that sentence down. I was feeling like I was hurrying through all the things I wanted to get done in a day, and then feeling frustrated because I felt the results I wanted weren’t doing me the favor of hurrying along. It felt gross—all angsty and busy-bee-ish and “What am I doing wrong?”-ish. But I didn’t exactly know how to move past it. And so I brought it up with my coach. (Man do I love working with a coach! Have I mentioned that here before? I really really do.)
I’m willing to bet there is what I call a brain loop standing in between you and that thing.
Brain loops are thought patterns. They’re mental grooves that you’ve traveled many times before and they always lead back to the same place—which is where you are right now, not having the thing that you really want.
Brain loops are based on beliefs, and are fueled by judgments.
Here’s what a typical brain loop (that has been way oversimplified for the sake of relatability) looks like:
Maybe they drive you nuts. Something about the way they behave or even just carry themselves annoys you. For me, once upon a time, this was people I assumed to be rich. I’d see someone pull into the Whole Foods parking lot in her Mercedes, sporting Gucci sunglasses, and I’d think, “What an a-hole!” (I wrote about this in this previous post.)
Or, maybe they bring out your competitive side—something good happens to them and it makes you want to go out and one-up them somehow. This could be a colleague who has just gotten a great new gig.
Or, perhaps the emotion that this certain person makes you feel is jealous—how could it possibly be fair that they have what they have? This might be your friend with a doting partner when you are feeling tragically single.
Have you ever wondered what the heck I’m thinking?
Or kind of smirked and thought, “She doesn’t love me; she doesn’t even know me!”
Well, here’s why I do it:
I love you.
I am chuckling as I write this. It’s just so great that I get to just decide that I want to start working with people I love and loving the people I work with. And that I get to use a non-businessy word like “love” in all my business-related emails. It appeals to the rule breaker in me.
This is a photo of a top I purchased in 2007 while visiting my grandmother in Florida. We were at Loehmann’s, which was a little bit too posh for my grandmother—she preferred to do her discount shopping at TJ Maxx. Preferably on Tuesdays, when seniors get an extra discount.
But I had dragged her to Loehmann’s, because I love it. She was humoring me, because she loved me. We did our usual routine—circle the store, amass a huge pile of clothes to try on, and then hit the dressing room. She’d mostly nod no, but occasionally some piece of clothing would get a thoughtful look and elicit a “Not bad.”
I tried this shirt on, and my grandmother couldn’t get on board. Especially after she looked at the price tag. A silk shirt from Theory, it was $100. At Loehmann’s. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. I looked at myself in the mirror. I loved it. She grimaced. I bought it.
I’m guessing that if we took a picture of your kitchen sink at this very moment, it wouldn’t look anything like this beauty. Am I right?
I’d also wager that how you feel about the disparity between your real-world sink and this idealized version reveals quite a lot about, well everything: your relationship, your self-esteem, even your productivity and fulfillment on the career front.
How can a sink and its contents possibly have any bearing on all these other areas? Because, my dear friends: