The Best in the World: Part 2

I left off my last entry wondering if it is  possible for everyone to have an equal shot at being best in the world, by successfully running his or her race in life.  If there are as many "events" in the great competition of life as there are people, it must be that everyone can be the best in the world.  In a track and field competition, can a hurdler say to a javelin thrower, "My gold medal is more prestigious than your gold medal and therefore I'm the best in the world."?   Of course not!  Extending the example, can anyone say to anyone else "I have a more successful life than you."?  Imagine the comparison that might follow:  One person has accrued a million dollars; the other has saved a person's life.  Is one better than the other?  Can the fastest ten runners in the world say to the ten top-giving philanthropists, "You are failures until you have achieved excellence in running."?

From these examples, and endless others, it appears that accolades, medals and monetary reward can occur as part of an individual's pursuit of his or her purpose or mission...but they aren't a given.   Bummer.  I keep hearing how wonderful it is to be a top earner in the company I represent:  the financial freedom, the trips, the car, the jewelry.  "Do what I do, and you can be like me."  The best in the world.  I should want that to be my race as well.  I should want all those things.  To not want them is to be not in the game, lack motivation, not be hungry to be the best.  Or so I hear.  But...if I subscribe to that line of thinking, what of my special purpose, my mission, my race?  What if I'm supposed to save a life, and make only ten-thousand dollars?  What if I'm supposed to spend most of my time raising a child whose own child will discover the cure for cancer?  What if my race is to make only five thousand dollars and sit by the bedside of a terminally ill relative, giving them comfort and hope?  Can I still be the best in the world?

I suppose this circles back to the idea of an athlete critiquing the performance of a musician, or of a religious leader critiquing titan of industry.  Exceptionalism has so many different faces and facets, but only a few of them come with a publicity agent or a compensation package.   Couldn't a person, at least in theory, be the best in the world in kindness, charity or inspiration?  Most people, if they thought about it long enough, could name the kindest person, the most charitable person or the most inspirational person they either know personally or know of from afar.  These qualities aren't as flashy as some, but they may have greater staying power.  

How can a person know if s/he is running his or her race in the correct lane?  I wonder about that myself.  I used to think that I would know when I was on the right track when everything opened up ahead of me, when the rough places were smoothed, the path straight, and I could see the finish line in the distance.  Now I know better.  I see the unexpected twists and turns, loose rocks and exposed roots, disappointment and setbacks, but the presence of these obstacles doesn't mean I'm on the wrong path or running someone else's race.  When I feel uncertain, instead of "getting busy" or engaging in more frantic activity, I stop.  I look around.  I get my bearings.  I wait for direction.  My race doesn't look like it's going to set any records, and I don't think there are going to be a podium, cameras or a medal at the finish line, but I know that when I get there, I will be...the best in the world. 

The Best in the World: Part 1

When thoughts converge....I was reflecting on a talk/sermon I heard recently online, which has stuck with me.  The central theme was "What happens when you have a dream that you're certain is the plan for your life, and the dream comes true, and the dream is taken away?"  The speaker was referring to a company that he built from nothing, led to the heights of success and then lost in a lawsuit.

I had a dream also, when I started my network marketing business three years ago.  I would transition seamlessly from my unionized, government job to independence, serving as an example and inspiration to others who felt stuck in their jobs or lives.  It was going to be great.  So many people would find happiness and fulfillment after following my example and bravely plunging into the unknown.  But it didn't happen, and I had a series of "pride-ectomies", by which we requested financial assistance for most of the children's activities.

Two years into my business, I received verbal assurance from someone high up in the company I represent, that "...we love sparrows and eagles equally, but of course, our primary interactions are with the high flying eagles."  Ouch.  But at least I knew where I stood in the scheme of things, and the ability to move freely under the radar isn't necessarily bad.

Fast forward a year, and I found myself encouraging, exhorting, cheerleading others in my line of business who were discouraged by the constant social media barrage of "success stories" from "top earners" who had gotten off to a "fast start."  "Don't worry,"  I said.  "There are more of us than there are of them.  A LOT more.  We're in good company; we just don't know about each other."  This was as much for my own benefit, as for theirs.

I don't have this problem in the world of skating.  I know that I'm in the top half of all skaters everywhere, and probably much higher than that for (the remaining) skaters my age.  I'm not envious of Olympians.  I'm not compared to them or made to feel bad.  My efforts are not belittled, my progress not compared to others.  I'm running my own race.

Then the convergence...the transience of any dream that depends on people...lessons learned from years of figure skating, other people's definitions of success.  Click!  Out of nowhere came the thought, "What would it be like to be the second-best figure skater in the world?"  Pretty awesome.  Second-best in the WORLD.  There are a lot of people in the world.  Would being a world silver-medalist represent failure?  How could it possibly?

Most faith traditions, and even some humanistic ones, espouse a unique purpose, a mission or a race to individuals' lives.  Within this framework, a life well-lived is one where a person has fulfilled his or her unique purpose and run his or her race.  Material success or athletic prominence may or may not be part of the purpose or mission.  It may appear for a time and then vanish.  Kindness, charity and humbleness are on equal footing with material wealth, medals and fame.  Think St. Francis of Assisi.  Think Mother Theresa.  Is it possible for everyone to have an equal shot at being best in the world, by successfully running his or her race?  I think maybe it is.

Just Can't Stop

I recently came across the most wonderful single-panel cartoon ever, on a social-media site.

  "Oh my gosh!" I thought.  "This is...everybody!"  Then I wondered; what is the siren song of busyness?  What keeps most people (including me) from being willing to stop ineffective behavior long enough to replace it with effective or efficient behavior?  The large automotive factories do it.  Most, if not all summers, there is a scheduled factory shut-down of several days, while parts of the assembly lines are "retooled" or updated in order to make new-model cars.  It would be absurd to continue to make older-model cars because it would take "too long" to change the machinery.  Cruise ships also do it.  Those that sail certain routes in the summer and others in the winter have "repositioning" cruises twice a year, in order to get to the most seasonally-appropriate route.  How silly it would be to be caught in the ice in the Alaskan inland passage, because it would take "too long" to motor the ship down the coast.

So why don't individuals stop long enough to retool or reposition?  Is it the belief that any activity trumps perceived inactivity in defining a productive/busy/important person?  Most people can probably think of a time when someone should have stopped what they were doing or stopped what they were saying, taken a moment (or several) and repositioned themselves.   Awkward or destructive social situations aside, a life-path or course of action that seems (to even the casual observer) to involve dragging a heavy weight through soft sand on square "wheels" could equally benefit from a moment (or several) of inactivity, reflection and repositioning.  Why doesn't this happen more often?

I can only speak with certainty about myself, and I have to guess that others feel the same way.  It's psychologically much easier to change an ineffective or inefficient behavior early in the process, before it becomes part of my identity.  It's also easier for me to say to myself "Well, that was six months I won't get back" than it is to say, "I've been heading down the wrong path for five years.  I have wasted five years of my life."  And so, the five years become six, and the six become ten.  Why?  Is it pride?  Is it "I don't make bad decisions, so for this course of action to not be a bad decision, I have to keep doing it."?  To anyone who has ever received a blast of anger after suggesting a course correction, or who has ever lashed out after being told, "I think there's a better way" this may ring true.

The hardest part isn't dragging rocks through sand on square wheels, although people like to complain about it.  The hardest part, the deal-breaker for many, is acknowledging ineffective behavior, stopping and making the change.

The Transformative Power of The Hardest Thing

"The hardest thing is always the hardest thing."  This thought started to work its way into consciousness when I finally took notice something that had been in place from my earliest days as a piano student:  The most difficult piece of music becomes easier and a new "most difficult" piece takes its place.  In other words, progress occurs.  This applies to figure skating as well, which is where I first took notice.  The most difficult jump or spin becomes easier and a new jump or spin becomes "the hardest thing."

At the time I first made this observation, I didn't fully realize the power of the hardest thing in one area to transform many areas of life.  I also didn't realize that the hardest thing can be ongoing.

For me, the hardest thing has always been performing, but not just any performing.  First, it was playing the piano in recitals and in church.  Near the end of my piano-playing "career", the hardest thing shifted to performing and competing with a well-known precision skating team, as I was not a proficient skater at the time.  Public speaking?  Although I was an introverted and nerdy student, the few occasions I had the opportunity to stand up in front of  a group seemed far less intimidating than "performing."  After all, it was just talking!

I continued to make barely observable progress in my skating skills through college, graduate school and my first years in the "real world."  When my then-coach suggested that I take up the brand new sport of adult competitive skating, I was equal parts anxious and excited.  What a journey that turned out to be!  Nothing in my life to date has been as psychologically challenging, as daunting or as hard as mastering the mind game of competing and performing.  It took me just over fifteen years; years of pre-competition anxiety, asthma attacks, injuries, humiliation and just enough reinforcement to keep coming back.   I knew I could do it--other people did, and I was determined.

Along the way to becoming a competent, if not enthusiastic, skating performer, something else happened.  It wasn't overnight, and I didn't really notice at first, but when given the opportunity to learn or do something unfamiliar, I began to think, "I can do that!" instead of, "Oh, no! New and different is scary!  Run away!"  Faux-finishing 3,000 square feet of interior space?  Calling out an administrator for giving incorrect information?  Organizing a fund-raising auction?  Leaving a school career for business?  Speaking to a large audience?  As it turns out, all of these things were less psychologically intimidating than competing and performing. 

I love teaching adults to ice skate, especially those who have never been on skates before.  They shuffle out, clutching the boards with one hand and keeping a death grip on a helper with the other.  We learn how to fall properly, and how to stand unassisted.  At the end of the first lesson, they shuffle off, clinging to the boards.  By the end of the fourth lesson, they are marching, slowly, back and forth across the ice.  They have conquered Fear, and I applaud and cheer for them.  Although I don't know what goes on in the rest of their lives, I hope and believe that they have discovered the transformative power of the hardest thing. 

Always Dress Professionally

I listened to a taped business call earlier this week, on a friend's recommendation.  I did so reluctantly, and I spent several hours psyching myself up for it.  I was afraid of hearing the same old, same old, and of finger-shaking admonitions to do things that I don't particularly care to do, in order to build my business.  So I listened.  And of all the tidbits proffered by this business leader, what really stuck in my mind, like a grain of sand under my eyelid, was the phrase, "Always dress professionally."

In my travels, I have heard a great deal of banality, misinformation, and foolishness come from the mouths of some very well-dressed people.  I recall telling someone, back in my relatively-powerless-position-so-I-needed-to-make-myself-feel-powerful days, that if I couldn't be intimidating in a sweatshirt and jeans, I wasn't fit for the job.  I also swiftly and instantly boycotted red clothing for eight years or so, after a coworker said, "Oooo, a power suit" to my favorite red suit.  I hated the idea that people might think I was using clothing to disguise some personality flaw or weakness.  Or that I might  be a well-dressed-but-not-terribly-informed individual.  Better to dress down a little and surprise people with wit and acumen, than to appear as if straight from a photo shoot and surprise people with nonsense.  Or so went my reasoning.

I wasn't even completely certain what the person on the call meant by dressing professionally.  Operating-room doctors and nurses dress in scrubs for their profession.  The world's oldest profession has a dress code, of sorts, and its practitioners might be said to be dressed professionally.   Prior to chaperoning a school bowling outing, I wondered how I should dress, in order to be a "professional-looking" ambassador for my business.  A suit seemed a little over the top; plus, there was a foot of snow.  The track suit in which I started the day was obviously the wrong uniform for an ambassador.  Jeans and a sweater?  Jeans and a sweater.  And I fit right in.

Maybe dressing professionally means fitting in, minus one.  "Look cute, but poor" I instructed my children, when I had to take them with me on school-auction-committee errands.  On this same business call, another woman, attempting to explain the importance of good customer service, started her portion of the call with, "I love to shop at Tiffany's."  I immediately stopped listening, as she clearly wasn't talking either to or about me.  At this juncture, I don't accessorize my wardrobe at that establishment.  Maybe those who do would think I can't dress professionally.  

Dressing to engage, or dressing to distance?  The late Princess of Wales was a black belt in not allowing her wardrobe to distance her from the people she wanted to engage.  Expensive always, but rarely a distraction from her personality.  Quite a contrast from "Look at me!  I can afford more expensive clothing than you!"  That is dressing to distance, to separate oneself from the common herd, possibly to promote aspiration.  Perhaps the exact same ensemble, on two different people, could either engage or distance.

It seems to me that the definition of dressing professionally must take the intent into account--whether to fit in, to promote distance and aspiration or to wear the "uniform" of one's position.  If so, fit-in-plus-one makes sense for me.  Being just far enough ahead of someone to still reach back and hold his or her hand feels like engagement with a dash of aspiration, and THAT feels like a truly professional approach to dressing.  I'm still going to be seen out and about in my skating clothes--if I can't be professional in jazz pants and a fleece top, I'm not fit for my job!    


  

Defining Moments

I have received vast quantities of advice from well-meaning people, since I decided to expunge "school psychologist" from my list of attributes (although I'm still licensed) and to add "independent skincare consultant".  I really don't like that job description/title, so I have been playing around with it, each time in reaction to something someone said.  Defining...or redefining...moments.

When the nice border-patrol officer took me to task for not describing my work to his satisfaction, and said"network marketing" with a sneer, I changed my title to concierge skincare consultant and made a mental note to have a snappy job description that would satisfy someone packing heat.  I experimented with "independent contractor", after being reminded by a corporate staff member that that is what I actually am.  In a fit of pique over what I took to be chastening for not working harder, I temporarily left off the name of the company with whom I contract.  Now that I have gathered a group of people whom the company nicely describes as business partners, and I feel like I have some traction, I've decided to be an independent contractor and include the name of the company.

All of these were defining moments, moments that I never had as a school psychologist.  That definition never changed, although the job description did shift under the surface.  I can't help but wonder how I would have viewed myself and the 8 to 3, had I had the option to self-describe as a "school diagnostician" or "mindless testing drone" or "government employee" or  "psycho-educational assessment specialist."  The closest I came to doing that was getting an employee identification that proclaimed me to be a testing teacher, after a parent asked me if that's what I was.  "Sure," I replied.  "Why not?"  That became a running gag for the remainder of my career in the schools, and a defining moment in which I was reminded not to take myself too, too seriously.

Now that I have some freedom to define and redefine my career choice, I'm spotting many other little "defining moments" for other aspects of my life.  These are like little gems, and when I spot them, pick them up and stick them on, the picture of who I am becomes brighter and clearer, both to myself and to others.  I still define myself as a competitive skater, when people ask, although foot surgery has meant months of missed competition and performance opportunities.  When I had the opportunity to purchase a nice coach's coat with my name on it, for teaching basic skills, I gave it a miss.  After eight years of teaching skills, I do not define myself as a skating coach.

My latest defining moment came when I was attending a lunch where another independent skincare consultant was among the guests.  I had heard repeatedly how complimenting and engaging restaurant waitstaff in conversation is a great recruiting opportunity, but I had never seen it in action.  Upon seeing the other consultant with her head close to a waitress and hearing, "Great, I'll be in touch with you soon", I realized instantly that that was never going to be part of my business plan.  A defining moment.

Look for defining moments.  They are everywhere, just waiting to be picked up, and you will may be as amazed as I am to see who you really are!