Shifts Are Gifts

The phrase ‘another door opens’ means something to me. I adopt these three words in times of ambiguity as well as in times of zest and high creativity.

Like jagged bottomed denim jeans or worn sneakers, just the thought of the phrase or the image of it conjures something — life, movement, adventure! The phrase has motion, energy and curiosity in it. 

Adopting this mental image of a door opening or even seeing a crack of light in the darkness  heightens my awareness to the micro shifts that happen when walking through uncertainty.  This is not Pollyannaish.

Putting our antenna up to notice the micro shifts that occur is a way of keeping our vibration high. What’s an example of a shift? That conversation that sparks something new. That meeting with a potential client or employer that didn’t materialize into something, yet, but allowed you a chance to listen better and articulate yourself in a new way with a new person. That unsolicited email or invitation that gives you fresh hope. The people who say yes and show up for you. Those are all micro shifts that need to be noted. Even documented. 

Why? Because if you’re one of the many people between places of employment now like I am, we need to not only see, but truly take note of the shifts. I write them down. Then I go a step further to look at what I’ve been doing that may have contributed to that shift. If you start to see a pattern, you might just blow your own mind. Then, actions can become systems.

Maybe you’re allowing yourself more fun. Maybe you’re getting more sleep. Maybe you’re studying in a new way. Maybe you’re taking better care of yourself. Maybe you’re reaching out to have lunch with friends to build community. What are you doing, who are you being, how are you showing up in the world just before those shifts happen? 

Shifts are gifts. Count them for what they are. Don’t push past them like they don’t matter or lament what they are not.  If we just think in binary terms, we hold ourselves back from letting the energies around us and within us move and reconfigure our mindset. And we have to move to get things moving. We have to stay awake to the shifts that are occurring.

We all experience uncomfortable and scary times of change, ambiguity and transition — whether it’s a fog created by career questions and money concerns, fear of becoming an empty nester or a desire to bust through the circumstantial perimeter holding our life small and in a state of stasis or stagnation. 

If we learn to look for doors that crack open a bit, we register a shift… even if the doors are not swinging wide open just yet. They will. And if, like me, you have to close your doors for the day and tuck away inside and rest, do it. Then awaken, discover a new day, and remember you’ve got a lot of fight left in you. Have a little faith, and embrace your woo if you haven’t already. That tiny shift may prove to be an unforgettable gift.

Who Are You?

When we die, if we’re fortunate, we’ll have people in our lives who wish to hold a funeral, a home going, a farewell gathering to celebrate our life. There may be a eulogy or several eulogies. It will be story time. We just won’t be there for it.

So how can thinking about our own eulogy be life-affirming and energizing in the now? It can be life-affirming because in going through the exercise of writing your own eulogy, you may answer for yourself society’s favorite question: “What do you want to be?” and more importantly, a personal and, I believe, relevant question: “Who do I want to be?”

As I blink the computer blur from my eyes, I squint past a row of cafe tables to the palms moving against a pale gray sky, and I sense a hint of jasmine. 

Our lives are now. Right now. This is our time. The scent of jasmine is gone as quickly as it arrived. The clouds are a little different now.

I tend toward worry and hyper vigilance, but that can be paralyzing. I fight it every day so that I can enjoy life, be present, listen and be intentional. I try to keep front of mind the fact that if we want to be or do something in this life, we may also need to increase our sense of urgency. This is that oxymoronic “slow down to speed up" idea again.

I want each of us to savor life’s moments. The ones when we enjoy nature’s scented gifts, relish a revitalizing hike with loved ones, hug a family member or friend, and laugh at the goofy freedom of a pet pooch.

I want each of us to feel like we’ve loved ourselves and others well and made the people in our life feel seen, heard and appreciated. I don’t believe we need to gesture figure-eights with sparkling magic wands to love others well. To start with, just showing up means a lot.

I want each of us to work. I’ve always loved this quote from actor Alan Alda: "You can't get there by bus, only by hard work and risk and by not quite knowing what you're doing. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself.” Work brings us a sense of pride and purpose.

I want each of us to create. I want us to be active and embrace the joy of movement and action. I want us to use our body, mind and heart to move us into a higher vibration.

And all of this brings me back to the topic of a eulogy (and specifically your own eulogy): All of those wants listed above have value. I think we all could do ourselves much good by visiting the idea of our own prospective eulogy as a way to stop, reflect and project. 

We can’t control how others will feel about us or what others may say. Not now, not ever. But we can try to manage our life and our reactions to the hand that life deals us so that when it’s done, we can rest easy in the knowing we did our best. Even if only for one day.

I think checking in with ourselves and inspecting how we’ve lived our life up until now can give us direction and illuminate paths where we might do well to consider course correction. 

If you, like me, are going through a life change or challenge right now, could there be value in writing a great outcome to this, then aiming to live it? Yes. I think so.

I’m not the first to think about eulogy as a compass or a map. Full books and courses have been created around the subject. Author David Brooks asked in his TED Talk, “Should you live for your resume… or your eulogy?”

What harm could come from writing down the things we’ve done right or done well up to this point? And what harm could come in writing some good things we’d like to see happen going forward?

Too much of what we consume today on social media is a beatdown. A chorus of:  “You’re not enough.”

The things we’ve done well or right could be anything from being the first to offer a smile to a stranger, to earning a degree, to being a good listener, to forgiving, to raising your children, to being quick with a friendly laugh, to breaking through a barrier, to not giving up on your goals or on yourself.

Then cast your eyes ahead. Map your future.  Who would you like to be before your time is up?

I’m working on creating a workshop experience where we can consider our lives, celebrate what we’re proud of, and map out the things we’d still like to make happen. This type of exercise is the opposite of a beatdown. It’s a bounce, a springboard.

I want to offer what I have coined You-logy workshops. There, you have space to focus on you for a minute, focus on what you need and what you want, and focus on what you’re willing to do to get it or be it.

You-logy work is a way to see yourself and celebrate who you’ve been. And like a eulogy, it’s mostly a celebration, no matter how many mistakes you think you’ve made. There’s a lot of good in the life you’re living.

You-logy work is a way to move the molecules around inside you to remember the dreams you may have set aside. There is always something there.

You-logy work is a way to raise your vibration and vision board your future with words.

I wonder, could you see the merit in the exercise of writing your own eulogy?

Would you potentially be interested in participating in a You-logy workshop? If so,  please comment “interested” in the comments section, or for subscribers, you can email me your thoughts directly.

Heart Stories

I lowered myself into the gym’s hot tub, and that’s where I met two smiling gents, one Jim and the other Richard. I’d guess they are both in their seventh or eighth decade. They shared that calm countenance that’s more common with age. We said hello as our noggins floated above the water’s surface like three beachballs. Jim had recently seen a movie that touched him.

“It’s not a new movie,” he said. “But it’s a sweet story. A romance. Not really a comedy, but it has those moments too. Have you seen Return to Me?” I wasn’t sure, so I asked him to tell me more. He told me just a little bit about the movie, and even more about how much he wanted all of his friends to see it.

I smiled as the vision of Jim and his group of friends communing at the coffee shop was painted before my eyes. Jim was there with his copy of Return to Me, and he was trying to lend the DVD to each and every one of them, only to discover he was the only one who still owns a DVD player.

Starring Minnie Driver and David Duchovny, it’s a heart story in a couple of ways. I promised I’d watch it (Amazon rental, $3.99) and next time we see each other, we could talk about it. As I said goodbye, I realized in that conversation, this gentleman had helped me answer a question.

Recently, I’ve been trying to pinpoint what stories I most love to write and produce. I figured it out: Heart stories. 

Some people think heart-centric storytelling is story lite. But from where I sit, heart stories are the heavyweights. Heart stories are the crafty tough ones. Heart stories rattle us with their disarming honesty and truth. They’re rarely exactly about the heart. They’re stories that show us everything a person does, endures, experiences, overcomes…that reveals the heart.

We identify with heart stories because of the struggle inside of them.  Because of their visceral nature. And because they're primal.

Six years ago, in 2017, I wrote and published a fable. The characters I created in the little book are six years old today too.

The book is called Get in the Ring: The Tale of Bruno the Boxer. And it’s a simple heart story. It’s meant to inspire the scared one inside each of us to find courage to do the thing our heart longs to do, if only fear wasn’t running such a strong defense. Until one day, our offense is so tired of losing and playing small, that we go all in.

Years later, as I read the book now, I cringe a little. I cringe at the first cover I created through a template on a shoestring. The painting of the puppy was my work, but the cover was dreadful and needed a serious upgrade. A few years later, I worked with a professional to have this one designed, and I love it. 

There are things I would change about the content now too. I’m telling you this because we don’t get anywhere without putting ourselves out there and shooting our shot, imperfectly. For now, the story is just about Bruno’s transformation, and that’s ok, because each of you is Bruno. I am Bruno. We are all Bruno. And we all need our Grace and our Pops and even our Bear to help get us through.

As Mental Health Awareness Month draws to a close, we know the fight goes on. And we need to remember how heart can help us regain some balance… And remember that heart is the beat that pulls us forward.

It takes heart to get in a boxing ring.

It takes heart to innovate.

It takes heart to create.

It takes heart to show up for your morning routine when no one’s watching you build your character and identity.

It takes heart to exercise discipline.

It takes heart to be accountable.

It takes heart to show up for the people in your life.

It takes heart to be loyal.

It takes heart to comfort others in their low times and cheer them in their high times.

It takes heart to show you care. 

It takes heart to put others first.

It sometimes takes heart to put yourself first.

It takes heart to remember the light shines on all of us.

It takes heart to step into the spotlight, and it sometimes takes heart to step into the shadows.

It takes heart to say please and thank you.

Today, show your heart.

Show your heart by being patient in traffic.

Show your heart by listening and then asking a follow up question.

Show your heart by remembering we need to slow down to speed up.

Show your heart by voicing your love and appreciation to a loyal friend, mentor or family member.

Show your heart by extending grace to a stranger.

Show your heart by extending grace to yourself. 

I’ll close here with a favorite quote from Jane Goodall:

"Only when our clever brain and our human heart work together in harmony can we achieve our true potential.”

*For those interested in this book, it’s available on Amazon or through the BOOKS section of my website.

Magic Carpet Ride

As if on cue, the sun beamed through the blanket of clouds just as my friend and I who were having coffee outdoors were talking about transitions. 

A longtime yoga practitioner and teacher, she astutely mentioned that she seldom if ever sustains an injury while in a pose. Rather, it’s usually when transitioning between poses that injuries occur. 

Since I’m personally in a time of transition between the work I was doing and the work I’m meant to do next, I was thinking about how to negotiate my time of transition with grace and intentionality. With a yogi’s mentality. Ideally without “injury”. The yoga analogy has been helpful to me, and it keeps me more mindful of my actions. I realize day to day I have choices, and I’m being intentional about trying to make choices that bring me closer to the identity and the life I want to live. 

It’s hard. I’m not going to lie. But it’s also weirdly satisfying. How often do we find ourselves stripped of the identity and expectations that we’ve become accustomed to? And how often are we so fully open for reinvention?

I thought back to a time in the past when I chose uncertainty. When I chose transition. And when I chose to trust the voice inside who had some wise words (if only once in a blue moon).

It was Black Friday, and I’d been up since about 3AM. Shortly after that, I arrived at a big box store to cover shoppers strategically snagging super-sized holiday sales. By midday, I was back in the office putting together a related news story for air that night. The combination of little sleep and lots of stress usually meant a migraine for me — and this day was no different. No different in that regard, until it became very different. 

If you or someone you love experience migraines, you know how debilitating they can be. So I worked in spurts that day, removing myself from the dizzying overhead lights and ducking into an empty office where I could close the door and flip off the switch for a minute or two. It was quiet in there. I laid down on the floor unbothered by what might be crawling around in the commercial carpeting and stared up into the darkness. I don’t know how long I breathed into the stillness before I realized silent tears were streaming down my temples into my hair. I had already vomited once that day as a byproduct of this headache, and I was sure that given enough time, I would again. How many years of this had I suffered quietly?  It had been more than a decade of hiding my headaches as best I could. More than a decade of vomiting in every city and state I visited. More than a decade of working through the pain that starts in the head then permeates the whole body. More than a decade of just working through it.

Then it hit me. “I’m choosing this.” 

For all those years, I told myself I had to do this. It’s what I do. I do it well. I do it tired. I do it sick. I just do it. 

“I’m choosing this?” The statement turned into a question. 

When my mind’s eye zoomed out as in the Eames’ Powers of Ten film, and I saw the 40-something year-old woman, who was me, lying alone on the floor in a commercial high rise in a city in the US in North America on Earth and out and out and out and …. Wow! I felt so small in that moment. And my silent suffering suddenly seemed so unnecessary. Even silly.

I asked myself if I would make a change if I suddenly had some kind of scary diagnosis. I answered to myself, “yes.” Then a voice in my head said, “Then why don’t you find the courage to make a change from a place of health rather than a place of crisis?”  Sometimes when the Universe or God talks to you and has your undivided attention, the words bring instant clarity. “Have the courage to make a change from a place of health rather than a place of crisis."

In that moment, on that day, on that floor, I awakened to the reality that it was time to make a change. I needed to forget about what people might think. I needed to forget about the plans I’d made. I needed to take care of myself now before this chronic condition accelerated into something more serious. 

Months later, I finally made that change and set out into the unknown. No job. No plans. No idea what to do. And somehow I made it through. Not alone this time. But with the help of my family and friends.

So now as I face a new kind of blank slate, I’m drawing on what I learned last time when I jumped into the abyss. Without consciously remembering, I discovered I’m repeating the patterns that I found last time when I was traveling, uncertain and scared, through uncharted territory.  The patterns are our personal stepping stones. They’re the things that, if we choose wisely, can bring us health and joy and connection and learning and peace. And somehow those are the transition steps that lead us to that next pose. That next place of growth and practice and breath. 

So if you are in a transition period in your life too, identify some stepping stones that make you happy, that allow you to hear your voice within, that guide you to health and nature, to self-belief and service. 

I’m putting my trust in these stones as I did before, and I know that they’ll lead me to what’s next for me. I’ll let you know what that is when I know.

Always remember, we have choices. Even when we don’t think we do.

5 Lessons from a Newsroom

I hopped up from my swivel chair at the news desk to run over to another department in the building. I was new to this place, my new home away from home: NBC Network News.

As I ran past the cabinet of empty mail slots, I noticed the mail bin still hadn’t shown up that day. I would continue to keep an eye out for it because sorting the mail was one of my duties.

When I returned, I saw a woman named Tracey standing near the cabinet and realized the mail had arrived. Reaching into the opaque plastic bin stuffed with envelopes, one by one with a meticulous hand, she placed the mail into the slots. She even did it with humor and her effortless sparkle. 

She didn't work in the mail room nor was she an entry-level someone like me who was expected to do the mail. She was one of my bosses. I stepped in to relieve her. But in that single action of her quietly taking care of business, she showed me who she was. In that single action, she taught me that no matter how high we rise, no work is beneath us. 

Tracey Lyons was a beloved and trusted senior leader, a fabulous script doctor and a stellar human being. A few years back, she left this world all too soon, leaving behind a loving family and a sea of colleagues left adrift by her early passing.

Tracey is also one of the first people who interviewed me for my job. She was a smart, commanding, funny, witty and beautiful woman. And even though she didn’t realize it at the time, she taught me a number of memorable lessons, first among them on that interview day.  

1. "You won’t be having lunch with Tom Brokaw next week." (Spoken) Soon after sitting down for my interview she delivered these words to me, deadpan, with a glint in her eye.  It was clear other newbies had arrived with an expectation of lunching with the then-anchor of NBC Nightly News, and she was going to snuff out that silly notion immediately. Lesson: Manage expectations. Be real, yet be kind.

2. "You don’t want a footprint on your forehead." (Spoken) I was able to confide in Tracey some wishes for advancement, and she taught me to learn to use my voice and advocate for myself. The vivid imagery of a footprint on my forehead has never left me. Lesson:  Let people know what you want and how you want your career to grow. Stand up for yourself. (And others). If you’re ever feeling stagnant, under-utilized, or like a bit of a doormat, picture this, and speak up. Use your voice.

3. Own your height, your gravitas, your grace. (Unspoken) Tracey was a tall woman who never had to slouch to meet you where you were. She had a warmth and generosity of spirit, yet you could also feel her power. She never needed to tell you about it. She embodied it and tempered her grit with grace. Lesson: Be yourself and show up as your full self.

4. Do the mail.  (Unspoken) You already know this one. Lesson: If you see something that needs to be done, do it. Don’t look for credit. Don’t seek adulation. Just do it.

5. "The world is my hometown." (Spoken) For anyone who has a moved a time or two in their life, you understand this sentiment. I think this phrase spoke to Tracey’s adaptability, tenacity, resilience and self-belief. Lesson: Wherever you go, there you are. (Also the title of a Jon Kabat-Zinn book). See Lesson #3.

I didn’t write these moments down. I wish I had, though, because I’m sure with time, some bits of clarity have been lost.

For anyone on a career path -- whether at the beginning, somewhere in the middle or near the end — I encourage you to journal your professional and personal experiences in an organized way starting now. You think you’ll remember these moments and the people who are influencing your life. But the truth is we forget. Give your future self a gift: Document your special moments, and keep them.

If you do, at very least, the people whose names you find in your journals years later will be your list of people to whom you can send thank you notes. And just imagine how touched they’ll be when you are able to express gratitude with stories and specificity. I'm not sure what could mean more to someone who has poured into you and believed in you. 

I have other mentors who have significantly and positively impacted my career, but as one of my few direct female role models in the news world back then, I wanted to send a cosmic note of thanks to the unforgettable Tracey Lyons and to share her lessons with you.

Spring Cleaning Reimagined

Before you think it for another second, this isn’t a Marie Kondo spin-off. The spring cleaning I invite you to imagine here is internal.  I think you know I believe in the power of story, and when framed properly, I believe we can use it to transform our lives for the better. If you’ve read what I’ve been writing lately, you also know eulogies have been on my mind. Eulogies contain stories. 

Now imagine writing your own eulogy. (Wait. Don’t stop reading). This is intended to lift you up. I’m a bit fixated on how contemplating our own eulogy can help us to live our best lives while we still have plenty of living to do.

Is it not a secret curiosity we’ve all considered at least once: “What will people say at my funeral?” 

Take it a step further and you might ask: “What would I want them to say?” 

And one step beyond that: “Am I living congruently so that who I want to be is who I actually am?”

One way for us to get clarity on who we are and whether we’re living congruently is to take a good look inside.

Looking inside means noticing where there’s clutter, noticing if you’ve let your cherished personal qualities gather dust and noticing the futility of worn out thinking. 

Most of us are trained to keep our wins on the quiet side, and I do think boasting and self-aggrandizement are boring. As is false humility. But taking time for ourselves to look at what we’ve done right and well, and how we’re not only enough but even special, will give each one of us a fresh, polished, long overdue spring shine. 

We don’t need to share our findings with others. The point of this spring cleaning is to do it for yourself. So you may relax in internal surroundings that bring you some peace, some direction, some fresh energy and some spark. (Hi, Marie).

I wrote my eulogy recently. I left a lot of blanks. Who knows where I’ll be, when and at what age when I depart. But what I could know and what I could hold tangible were the questions, and the sometimes surprising answers about what has mattered, who has mattered, where I did right and where my wrongs presented lessons. Also, what I still want to do and who I still want to become.

Do you see the potential value in this kind of seasonal self-assessment?

This is something all of us can do ourselves, at home, quietly, without telling a soul. When we do, we have to prepare for what we might find and understand nothing is off limits. 

When we do an internal spring cleaning, we might find hard old times, but you know what? We’ll also find some gems, some treasured long-forgotten memories, and we’ll even have opportunities to dust off dreams.

When you go there, and when you decide to discard the worn placeholders that you don’t like, don’t want and don’t need, you’ll create space for air to move through. You’ll discover energy will be reorganized in harmony with your truest, best self. And if you allow it, the result could be life-changing. 

Your health, professional goals, wealth, capacity to love and be loved, your mindset, your relationships with others and with yourself could all benefit. 

Will you do an internal spring cleaning? If you could have help or guidance doing it, would you?

I want you to shine.

Start Loving Yourself Today

I recently shared with you that in addition to opening doors and learning about the world and people around us, I also want to be intentional about opening my internal doors. 

Let me ask you, how often do you seek out your own internal doors? The ones inside you that reveal your inner knowing, your exquisite internal guidance system and your unique relationship with yourself?

Most people carry varying degrees of trauma inside their body, and many avoid opening those internal doors at all costs. But in my experience, if I want peace, I need to find those doors, explore what’s in there and try to understand why it’s hidden away. If you feel the same way, please check in with yourself, and if you need to do so with professional help, please gift yourself the ring of keys that are wholly unique to you. Those are keys to a form of freedom.

As humans, we tend to think well in the shower. Today something profound happened for me after I stepped out of the shower and as I began my mindless ritual of applying lotion to my body. Mindless, that is, until today. I have no idea how many days of my life I’ve done this very thing, but today I noticed something different.

Let me back up for a moment. Like so many of you, I’ve struggled with body image and sometimes even self-loathing. I love and honor others as they are, but I find it difficult to accept myself with the same love and compassion.  Do you know what I mean? I suspect you do. Lately I’ve been working on loving myself right here and right now. Not ‘when’ or ‘if’. Just as I am. Today. For myself and for the people in my life. But how? In addition to things like sunlight, exercise, nutritious foods and good sleep hygiene, I discovered one new way, and that is the simple aha I want to share with you today.

When we have a physical pain, such as a sore muscle, a tight calf, a sensitive skin issue, we apply touch as a means of healing. We massage the sore muscles, stretch them or apply some kind of ointment if there is a cut or scrape. Sore eyes? Headache? Stubbed toe? We comfort with touch.

But when I applied my lotion today just as I do every day, I realized I don’t apply lotion to the parts of my body that I have the most difficulty accepting. Wow. I know with certainty for me,  those parts are a physical representation of pain and a lack of self-acceptance.  

And what have I done all this time? I’ve neglected them, ignored them, denied them care and most of all, I’ve withheld love. I had no idea. Until now. Until I happened upon this door, then dared to open it, I was completely and totally unaware.

But I am aware now.

Do you deny aspects of yourself? Physically? Or maybe psychologically, do you wall off pieces of you and withhold love from yourself?  

Please, start loving yourself today.  It will change the whole world.

The Energy of the River

I’m addicted to taking walks along the Los Angeles River. They energize me. I see beauty even amidst the evidence of hard living for unhoused people who call this area home. Within my ambulatory addiction, I’ve realized the walks are giving me something else besides peace of mind at a time when I need it. Perspective.

There’s a disconnect between the words ‘Los Angeles River’ and the idea those words conjure in my imagination: Soil-rich banks, rapids, the roar of water, the scent of earth and a canopy of protective trees…nothing but nature.

Not this river. At least not this part of it. This section of the 51-mile Los Angeles River (which winds from its headwaters in the Santa Susana Mountains to Long Beach) is concrete, with right angles and equal parts graffiti and scars from its removal. Depending on the depth of the drought, there’s a trickling stream or a flood of muddy water.

I think about the fact that there are reasons why the river is this way (flood control among other reasons), and in the next breath I remember there are reasons you and I are the way we are. We’ve had experiences, events and decisions that have brought us to where we are today. You and I are sentient beings, though, and we hold the capacity to think and learn and feel. We can work to impact the flow of our own lives.  

I asked myself why I enjoy walking here, in the starkness of the city. There are a few reasons:

• Proximity & relative privacy.

• The sky can be astonishingly clear or heavy with mood. 

• There’s no vehicle traffic. 

• The path that parallels the water has markers every tenth of a mile to keep analog track of distance. 

• Wide open spaces.

• It’s not a mountain top or a cave, but the austerity helps me think.

• Consultation. 

What The River Is Teaching Me About The In-Between

I consult the river for guidance. Some days, I see a river that keeps moving forward even when it’s just barely there. Occasionally, I see it as a force. Most often, it’s somewhere in-between.

I’m in-between right now too. Between jobs, careers, paths. Maybe you are too, or someone you love is. I learned that that in-between space, in the world of psychology, is called liminality. 

Dictionary.com defines this as a state of transition between one stage and the next, especially between major stages in one’s life or during a rite of passage. The concept of liminality was first developed and is used most often in the science of anthropology (the study of human origins, behavior, and culture). In a general sense, liminality is an in-between period, typically marked by uncertainty.

Even in the in-between, I’m grateful to have agency over my life and to have a relatively healthy body and mind. I’m grateful I can walk. I’m grateful I can see the magnificent sky. I’m grateful that I can appreciate the stripped-down beauty of this space. I’m grateful for the innovative engineering minds who created these surroundings as a solution to a devastating problem. I’m grateful for beautification efforts.

This realization, though, caught me by surprise: I’m grateful for my ability to breathe into this liminality and appreciate it for the gift that it is. I’m facing what is and accepting it. Not as a sentence or an ending. Just, here. As it is. Now. An in-between space holds the notion of a past and a future, and it brings me solidly to the now. It reminds me that I’ve been in-between before, and it’s giving me occasion to re-examine what has brought me the most peace and energy and momentum in my past in-between spaces. The headline that encapsulates all of them is Action. Here they are. Maybe they’ll be of use to you.

• Exercising outside in nature

• Community

• Creative activity

• Novelty

• Nutritious food choices

• Good sleep

I notice the speed of the river. Some days I catch sight of a bubble and marvel when I discover we’re moving at the same speed, effortlessly ‘being’ in perfect time. Today, it’s moving faster than my three to four mile per hour pace.  As I watch the river experience its own ever-present liminality, I’m relaxing into my own. 

If you, like me, are here, remember to let nature be your guide. Everything is impermanent. Whether we are at mile 0 or mile 51, we’re all working our way to the open sea… and we’ll get there. In the meantime, I think it’s our job to find what energizes us and to embrace the waves of change until we find ourselves in a new kind of flow.

What Is Your TRT?

How would we live our lives differently if we were assigned a specific TRT? 

TRT in this case stands for Total Running Time. You get 6 years.  You get 99 years.  You get 65 years. 

We all know we have a TRT in this life. We just don’t know the specifics. We don’t get a cosmic download on Day One notifying us of how much time is remaining.

TV TRT

In my work as a non-fiction television producer and writer, when I’m assigned a story, I’m usually assigned an approximate TRT.  In other words, here’s the amount of broadcast time allotted to tell this story. As we arrange interviews and think about video elements we need to best tell the story, we’re also mindful of our TRT.  Knowing the TRT informs our choices, how much filming we do, how many voices we can hear from (interviews) and, often, how much depth the story will have. A short story told well will still have depth. It’s just more challenging. Remember the quote by Mark Twain? “I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”

Back to TRT and this life: Using mini-documentary storytelling as a template, how can we live our lives with intentionality to maximize the stories we live while we’re here?

• What are the essentials? What are the essential elements you want to make sure your life, short or long, includes? Family time? Nature immersion daily? Be a good friend? A good stranger? Achieve certain professional accomplishments? Have quiet time? Travel the world? Be of service? How do you want to show up in the world daily — with love, kindness, courage, character, compassion, patience, grit? Make a list and prioritize these daily.

• What are the non-essentials? Make a list of the things you’d like to do and the person you’d like to be. These activities and traits are just one layer out from your core. You’d love to do these things and be these things and will get to them immediately, messily, scared. You’ll get yourself out there into the world because this life is yours. Your time is now.

• What can be learned? In this story that is your life, what tension, what lessons, what  challenges do you want to confront? What hills do you want to climb? What pain will you walk toward in the name of growth? Who will you become in the process and why is that important to you? It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else.

• How can you allow for surprise and magic? Plans are good and grounding and give us direction. But can you allow for the universe to add its magic? Can you dance when fantastical miracle dust rains down on you and also when it doesn’t?

• Can you live your life as a call to action? What traits can you leave the people who interact with you in this life? What example of humanity can you be? What kind of inspiration? What nugget of insight or nuance of behavior can you live that leaves the world a little better, today, and for all of the tomorrows until your TRT is known?

As in television, I suspect most people will ask for more time. There’s more to tell. More to see. More to experience. Sometimes, we get more time. Sometimes, we don’t get the chance to ask for more time because our story is cut short or removed from the rundown altogether. 

Even when we are walking through uncertainty, let’s remember this too is part of our life story. Let’s make death a motivator to keep us moving toward living in alignment with our values.

There’s no script for life any more than there’s a known TRT. We’re figuring it all out as we go. We’re writing it with each choice, and we’re hoping it stays good. Can we live in such a way that we will feel our TRT was just right?

In the words of Hunter S. Thompson: “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”

When Goals, Grief and Gratitude Collide

Stories of marathon runners, triathletes and endurance athletes of all kinds fascinate me. Add extreme mountain climbers to the list too. I vanish when reading and watching stories like Touching the Void, The Alpinist and 14 Peaks: Nothing Is Impossible. I’m sucked right into the screen or page, and I disappear. Weird, though, because I don’t aspire to scale frozen mountains in wicked conditions like the icons of the extremes.  But, I’ve always wanted to do a marathon. 

(Insert needle scratch across vinyl transition to less exciting mind music). 

I was riding my elliptical machine one dark morning … when I had an idea flash through my mind. 

Even though I love exercise and will practice martial arts in some way for the rest of my life, my 2023 intention for exercise has seen a reframe: My focus is to move my energy and move my mood by moving my body. In this way, I’ve created space for new ideas to sprout where in the past they may have been crowded out by a feeling of lack, self-loathing and not-enoughness until a certain amount of minutes, miles or mountains were clocked. That sucks the enjoyment right out of the process for me. That approach was a tired old story, and it was time to change it. 

Presently I’m doing what I can with what I have because an ankle and achilles injury combined with similarly precarious knees means running a marathon right now doesn’t feel like the right move. But the flash I mentioned was this: I don’t have to accept that ‘I can’t do a marathon.’ Why not challenge myself to a marathon on the elliptical? Start there. It’s not sexy, but who cares?

I decided I would do it. It would be a solitary event. It would lack the sweaty, salty energy of the collective, the mass of humanity moving as one, the cheers, the music, the water stations and the cool outfits. But it would still be a formidable goal for me. Silently self-motivated.  Something to work toward. Who could I become in the process? How could a goal like this shape my future? 

I put podcasts in my ears and got to work: Ed Mylett, Rich Roll, Ologies, Mobituaries, Across the Dinerverse, Andrew Huberman. I put books in my ears: The Power of One More, The Wealthy Gardener,  The Mountain is You, How The Word Is Passed, Braiding Sweetgrass, Why Didn’t You Tell Me?, The Untethered Soul, More Than Enough, The Tools, Unreasonable Hospitality, Emotion by Design, Forest Bathing.

I read in an article by the Mental Health Commission of Canada that “goal setting is an expression of hope, and fostering optimism for the long term may help you get through some current challenges.” 

I had no idea. 

I already felt I had a lot to think about. My job of many years was ending, and as I looked out from the elliptical into the darkness of that pre-dawn morning, I was looking into the darkness of my imminent unknown professional future. My friend Alie taught me that her friend Cole taught her about anticipatory grief. I think I was experiencing that with respect to my imminent job loss, and I needed to do something with myself to feel it all. The marathon would be my anticipatory grief therapy, I guess. It would be my off-ramp from this career and my on-ramp to my future self.

Training and Mental Blocks

I found a marathon training schedule online and pretended the recommended running miles were meant for me on the elliptical. Week after week I logged more miles, and while it was easier on my body than running would have been, it was a physical challenge and a mental one too. Psychologically, moving in one place for so long, and yet not moving through space, was a peculiar kind of mental challenge. I picked a Marathon Day date. It was to be February 4, 2023— the day after my work would end.

On Christmas Day of 2022, I did my longest ‘run’ on the elliptical — 18 miles. Talking with people who have run marathons, I was told that if you can do 18, you can do 26.2 miles. 

On January 2, 2023, my resolve was shaken when our family’s hearts were shattered. We had a death in our family, and the loss of our loved one was sudden and devastating. I knew I should keep training, but it all derailed me. My mileage and focus faltered, and my tight adherence to the training schedule was broken. ‘Did it even matter now? What’s the point?’ 

After about a week of this thinking, I decided I needed to use my grief to continue rather than stopping short of my goal. I was so close. I needed to get to the finish line. Really, I needed to get to the starting line. Grief can be so paralyzing. With uncertainty around the timing of our loved one’s funeral, I knew if I was going to do the marathon, I’d need to move it up. (There are benefits to a marathon of one. The race day can change on a dime). I knew that I needed to do this marathon and meet this goal now more than ever. 

Setting a goal that’s out of our comfort zone does give us hope. It gives us structure. It reminds us we can still fight.  In fact, the act of goal-setting demands hope from us, and it requires discipline. And when we commit to it, the goal gives us safe harbor.  The discipline brings a kind of freedom. 

Marathon Day

On the morning of January 15, 2023, I went outside into the garage and started. If you know me, you know I love dates and markers and time stamps.  As I got on the elliptical, it occurred to me that 30 years to the day prior, on January 15, 1993, I waved goodbye to my family as I boarded a plane in ice cold Minnesota and flew to Hong Kong where I would live for the next six years. That was a flight into the unknown just as this was to be a ride into the unknown. Glennon Doyle’s voice floated through my mind: “We can do hard things.” We, because it’s always some kind of we. Not I. My family has been encouraging me on the road to this goal and every other goal I’ve ever held.

So on this date 30 years later, I felt even more reflective. I put a story in my ears to accompany me on my long garage ride. As I set out on my journey into the unknown, I listened to a book called Girl In Translation, by Jean Kwok. It is a story about another kind of journey into the unknown. About pain and grief and change and poverty and challenge and cultural differences and loss and determination and uncertainty and grit and friendship and triumph and overcoming and grace and the kindness of strangers.

I pushed play, and I let my body and the story take me away, step by step by step. Over the course of the next 26.2 miles, I traveled to Hong Kong and Brooklyn, through childhood and adolescence, through pain and grief and back again.  I smiled and waved when Eric served as my one in-person cheering section, water re-filler and snack deliverer. I crossed my invisible finish line in 4 hours and 10 minutes. I stepped off. It was done. This was not easy for me. I could barely walk for the next two days. But I did it. We did it.

Now What

I don’t study grief. I’m not an expert on it. But I’ve learned there are stories inside of grief. Stories of love and longing, stories of celebration and appreciation, stories of guilt and regret. No one can ever tell me story isn’t powerful. 

Similarly, no one can tell me that goals aren’t powerful. The goals we set or do not set… they write our stories and shape our futures. Goals can even help us through the toughest chapters of our life stories. 

I think stories are even more powerful than we give them credit for. Imagine if companies, organizations, teams and families could harness the power of each person’s story the way turbines harness the power of water. We could light up faces with love and light up the world in a whole new way. If only…

When goals, grief and gratitude collide, maybe we can transmute our pain into energy. Maybe we can lay a few more railroad tracks to our unknown futures. Maybe we can believe that we are capable and we are strong and that together we can rise.