You Were Saying?

If you burn your bridges, you may end up stranded on your own island--or someone else's.
 
If you count your chickens, you may end up counting on some of the worst--and leaving out some of the best--possibilities.
 
If you put one foot in front of the other, you may not end up where you intended, but you'll at least be going somewhere.
 
If you watch the pot (or computer screen) of life too carefully, it will never boil.
 
If you give an inch, perhaps you'll be the one to get the mile.
 
If you make a stitch in your life in time, you may save a lot more than nine.
 
If you keep rolling, you are unlikely to gather moss--or to become surrounded by all sorts of things that don't help you.
 
If you are in motion, there's a pretty good chance you'll stay in motion.
 
While we can't live by sayings alone, some of them can be pretty appropriate to life's changing situations. We don't have to sew, or cook, or even know anything about plants or livestock--we just need to step far enough back from what we're doing--not just to reduce it to a pithy saying, but to see it just a little bit better.

On The Path

I wanted to do everything, but I accomplished something.
 
I wanted to satisfy everyone, but I satisfied someone.
 
I wanted to be everywhere, but I landed somewhere.
 
I wanted to know the answers every time, but I was able to answer the questions only sometimes.
 
I came, I saw, I conquered, and then I ran, I closed my eyes, I took a nap.
 
I beat the system, and then I surrendered to the system.
 
I believed, and then I couldn't believe.
 
We are rarely on a straight and level path. The challenge is to return after we run away, to believe after we lose faith, to make at least something sometime, even when we can't accomplish everything all the time. It's rocky, and it's crooked, but we just have to stay on the path...

Thank Goodness For Twisted Pitching

Tonight, I had the opportunity to participate in a pitching program--pitching not baseballs, but ideas. I have "pitched" a number of ideas over the years, most with little success. But tonight was different. Tonight, I was not pitching my own ideas. Rather, I was pitching ideas assigned to me, and I was pitching them as part of a team made up primarily of people I had never met before. It was challenging, and scary, and immensely satisfying. For, while I didn't come out with an idea sold or a deal done, I emerged with multiple realizations. I learned that I can think on my feet a whole lot better than I thought. I went from being terrified to be our group spokesperson to frantically scribbling out our pitch and presenting it reasonably successfully (even fielding a few questions!). I discovered the value of pitching with a team (something I have rarely done). There are many more resources available when it's a bunch of heads with a bunch of backgrounds, rather than just you and your own ideas in your own living room. And I learned that co-immersion in an idea or a task is probably one of the best versions of networking possible. I came away from the event both more confident about my own skills and more aware of and excited about the skills and expertise of the people around me. The evening was a reminder that collaboration--straightforward, baggage-free collaboration--can be one of the most powerful forces for connection and for getting things done.

 

We work hard every day to involve ourselves in things that we believe will be useful for us. Then, every so often, we happen into situations that turn out to be the most useful of all. I guess we don't always know, as we pitch our way through life, exactly how each game will turn out. So we just have to keep pitching...

Moving On Is The New Letting Go

Though I knew for months before it ended that my time at ABC's One Life to Live would be over, though I had an eternity to process and to plan and to grieve if I needed, I found that the effects of the ending hit later than expected and lasted longer than expected. Sometimes, I suppose, it's not about the preparation. It's about all sorts of things that we can't see or put our finger on or give a name.

These days, I "let go" a lot easier. It may be that nothing lasts as long as my time at ABC did. It may be that I don't form those kinds of connections any more--after all, I grew up there, and while we may grow for a long time, we really only "grow up"once. Or perhaps it is just a little self-protection kicking in, in the face of things that can change so quickly. It's hard to move on when we expend too much energy letting go.

So, these days, I still invest a lot of myself, but in a different way. I work, and I embrace new challenges, but with the knowledge that things could change tomorrow. I attach, a little, but not so much that the inevitable moving on will feel like tearing away. I believe, but not so much as to risk being blindsided. Letting go is different than it was, because it happens too often to be the same.

I could mourn the change, but I choose to see it as a different kind of "growing up." There's nothing wrong with giving a great deal of ourselves to the jobs we do, but in a world where those jobs can change in an instant, we must also hold on to enough of ourselves to have the strength to move on. Letting go doesn't mean we work or care any less. It simply means we value ourselves just a little more.

I will never repeat the experience I had at One Life to Live. It was a moment--okay, a whole bunch of moments--in time, wrapped up with a life full of changes. I can only hope for new experiences that challenge my spirit and open my eyes, and when the time comes, allow me to let go--and move on.

You Can't and I Can

Having watched my son get stronger at baseball all season, I am eager to keep his skill level up, which sometimes means I am the catching partner. Okay, it almost never means that I am the catching partner, as he could blast a hole through me with the strength of his throw. Today, however, I was it. He didn't start out so happy--I wasn't necessarily holding the glove right or catching the ball right or throwing it back right. Yet, from where I was standing, I not only maintained the stamina to keep up, I threw far (and ran far to retrieve what I didn't catch). I fielded grounders and pop-ups and line drives, perhaps not with the most beautiful form, but with reasonable success. In the face of his "you can't," I had the realization that actually, I can.
 
Every day (more often in life than in a pickup baseball practice), we are faced with "you can't." It can happen so often that we may begin to assume that, in fact, we can't--can't learn the lingo, can't look the part, can't do the job. Yet, if we go into these situations as I did today's baseball, with a fairly open mind and a mostly positive attitude, we sometimes find that "you can't" falls apart pretty quickly in the face of "I can." It doesn't mean that we will be the best at everything we try (my son won't get his best baseball practice catching with me). But it does mean that we can walk into new situations and handle them. It does mean that we can challenge the interviewers and managers and people controlling the paths. In the face of "you can't," we can stand up for ourselves, and as we're delivering our perfect pitch, declare "I can." Because a lot more often than we think, we really can.

It Won't Kill You

It won't kill you to sit still when you want to, even if there are things that need doing.
 
It won't kill you to pay a quarter more for milk sometimes so that you don't have to walk to the cheaper store.
 
It won't kill you to offer advice, offer a ride, offer chocolate, when a friend needs some help.
 
It won't kill you to take a break, take a second shower, take a nap.
 
It won't kill you to let your children just be children sometimes, particularly when you think back to your own childhood and realize you turned out okay.
 
It won't kill you to eat bread, or cheese, or an ice cream sundae, as long as it's not all day, every day.
 
It won't kill you to break from routine--it might actually make you stronger.
 
It won't kill you to accept routine--it might actually help you get things done.
 
It won't kill you to be in a different room than your smartphone. If it's really important, whoever it is will call or text again.
 
It won't kill you to give time, give credit, give moral support.
 
It won't kill you to step out of your comfort zone--sometimes, it takes a little discomfort to make the big discoveries.
 
Most of the time, we're really not nearly as fragile as we think. It just takes a few steps forward to realize that we can survive the little things--and often the not so little ones as well.

Like The First Day of School

As I left home for an interview, my son said that I looked like a kid on the first day of school. I had to admit he was right. Wearing bright new clothes, and with an excited, but slightly apprehensive, look on my face, I must have looked just like a school kid.
 
I suppose that looking for work is not so different from starting a new school year. In both cases, you have a load of experience under your belt. You've done the work before, yet this time is a little different--similar enough so that you'll be able to handle it, but different enough that you're unsure. In both cases, you are going to a new place (or at least a different part of the same place). You are meeting new people, some in the same position as you, others far above you. Will they like you? Will you like them? You dress your best, to look older or younger or hipper or more serious. You travel equipped with a bag full of what you know you'll need and all the things you figure you might need. And despite all of your careful preparation--doing the reading, dressing the part, bringing your materials--you can't help but have a bit of a pit in your stomach as you head to the bus or the train or whatever will get you to your first day.
 
When I left home, I looked like a kid on the first day of school, and a few hours later, I returned, having survived meeting new people, conveying what I knew, and navigating a new space with new expectations. There will be many "first day of school" experiences--I suppose that even when we are far past school, we continue to face days that are brand new, and not just in September. Armed with our "first day outfit," a little preparation, and an excited (even if slightly queasy) smile, we can handle it. And each time we step out the door, we stand to learn just a little bit more.