We're a little like Ikea furniture

Seen at Shilshole Marina as I walked
and contemplated my future... 

Never thought of yourself as a piece of Ikea furniture? Me either.  

This analogy apparently started on the Earn Your Happy podcast but I didn't hear it so I don't know which episode. I read it on a post in one of the coaching groups I'm part of where many of the participants share what they read or heard that day, which in turn helps the others in the group grow and expand.  

Small steps lead to big results

So much of what we want comes together in small increments. Especially the big stuff—those lofty ideals and the seemingly impossible. 

Those goals and dreams we have and work so hard to achieve are a lot like the tangle of pieces and parts that come in an Ikea box. The picture shows a finished piece of furniture, but seeing all those seemingly disparate parts can feel overwhelming. And putting them together? Nothing ever goes together exactly as it should, at least not the first time. The process can be extremely frustrating. 

Eventually, though, it does come together and everything makes sense. You finally have that thing you pictured. And ideally, there aren't any 'surplus' parts alongside your finished product. 

See it, be it

But it isn't done until it's done, and in life, sometimes it looks a little different than we envisioned. That's OK; it's hard to picture exactly what we want. Unlike Ikea, it has to unfold. In life, too, we often change our picture when we're mid-way through and have new information to work with and our picture gets broader and better, or more refined. It's often with hindsight that we see how all those parts came together to form a whole we couldn't have otherwise imagined. 

What matters is whether you have the right tools, commitment to at least a partial vision, a little direction, and infinite patience. Everything happens in the right time in the right way, which isn't always on our preferred timeline. We must know what we want and hold that vision or feeling, and allow it to unfold while taking the step in front of us.

And more than anything else, not necessarily true when putting an Ikea desk together, it's important to find joy in the process... because life can be very short, and ultimately, as we've all heard so many times, it's the journey, not the destination.  

If you like this post or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Let's talk about death...

Grape leaves: the cycle of life

A few months ago, I signed up for a dinner party where death had a seat at the table. You could even say death was the guest of honor. 

Talking about death isn't something most of us who grew up in western culture are comfortable with. Sadly, because not having those oh-so-important conversations can make loss even more devastating. 

And not only do we not want to talk about it, many of us don't have cultural rituals to guide us when loved ones die. In some cases where we do, those rituals we grew up with don't fit anymore. 


This isn't a post about grief; I write about that enough. This is a reminder to all of us to do the things that must be done—the hard things, those caring things that make life easier for those left behind when we, too, leave this mortal plane. 

#DeathDinners

My dinner with death was last Saturday, and yes, it was fascinating, and yes, death was nearly the sole topic of conversation.  

Based around 'death over dinner' events (#deathdinner) started by University of Washington professor Michael Hebb in 2013, the dinners grew from a graduate course called Let's Have Dinner and Talk about Death. In 2018, Hebb authored the best-seller, Let's Talk About Death Over Dinner; from this website, you can also learn about hosting your own dinner with death. Why over dinner? As Hebb notes, the dinner table is the most forgiving place for a difficult conversation.

The dinner I attended was hosted by former lawyer now end-of-life coach Ann Forrest Burns. (Do check out her site; it's fabulous and you can learn some things. Do it; it's safe to look.) There were six of us around the table, and we started our conversation by sharing the first memory we had of a significant death. 

The impact of loss

My dad was my first significant death, but not a memory of my own as he died shortly after I was born. But my mom mourned his death until she, too, left the mortal plane when I was 38. That was big. 

Other losses left an impenetrable mark at an early age. My caregivers and my reasons-for-being all died within a few short years of each other: first, my aunt, who died when I was 8; she said "goodbye, daddy" to my grandfather as she was taken from the house on a stretcher—and then never came home. My grandpa left me the following year, and three years later, my grandmother. I was 12, and her death signaled to me that anyone I cared about—or who cared for me—would leave. Hence my modus operandi for the next couple of decades—being left became an expectation, and I looked for love in all the wrong places. 

Since then there were countless others—cousins, friends, pets, and other family members, few from a 'ripe old age' and largely from lifestyle choices. When someone in my family lives to 80 or 90, it's cause for celebration. There are few of them. 

As a little girl, I attended many funerals because of a large, extended family, and while uncommon today, when I see a funeral procession drive by, I still get choked up. I was often in the family car leading the way. 

Death upon death

Mortal death isn't the only death, though. My mom died an emotional death after my aunt died, closing off and shutting down—that, too, left an indelible mark. And when those we care about lose their quality of life, that may be a series of deaths, as they lose the ability to do what they love. Often, this is a prolonged death. 

Planning ahead 

Death can break apart families. Pre-planning can make a difference. 

I have a Canadian friend who works in the industry and helps people pre-plan. She's been highly successful financially not because she's great at sales, but because she's truly passionate about helping people. Death is hard enough on those left behind; when we plan ahead so others don't have to, we lessen their suffering. She knows this at a deep level.  

Talk with those you love about your needs and desires. Do you want your life sustained if it means you're hooked up to tubes, incubators, or various other machines? There are legal documents that leave no question, and it's best to work with a professional (you can find them in all price ranges). A health directive, or living will, is a must-have to ensure you're taken care of the way you want to be when you can't make decisions for yourself anymore. And don't be smug; this can happen at any time—an accident, or an illness that comes on suddenly. 

When the time comes: 

• How do you want to symbolize your time on earth? 
• How do you want your family taken care of? 
• Who do you want to benefit from any means you may have left, or any of your prized belongings? 
• Do you care if there's a service, and if yes, how it's done? 
• Cremated or buried? Where? We even have a choice of 'green' services now. 

You may think these aren't important, but when the time comes, they're important to those still standing, and the fewer decisions they have to make, the easier it is during a time that's anything but easy.  

Be curious

On Saturday, we also played the game Morbid Curiosity. It's a combination of trivia questions and conversation starters. While some of the trivia answers are humorous, many inform or help you think about options to consider. Conversation starters were either thought-provoking or entertaining. If you need help getting the party started, this game will break the ice. 

Meaningful death

Our lives have meaning, not just for us but for those who care about us. Our death will have meaning, too. Let's help those we leave behind with those most difficult decisions, so they don't have to when their wound is wide open. 

I'm grateful that death doulas are becoming a thing. It's a much-needed service to help us make choices that are meaningful while we still can, and help us navigate the complex industry that death has become. 

Don't wait

While my mom talked about her own death and did some of the pre-planning (thanking lucky stars for the People's Memorial Association here in Washington), I was less-than-impressed with our family's funeral home, the place where I spent enough of my childhood to still have strong memories. If only there were death doulas, or end-of-life coaches, then. It would have saved confusion, frustration, and heartache. 

Don't wait. This is far too important, and it's never too soon. Talk, plan, or find some help. Or host a #deathdinner of your own. It really isn't morbid. We had great conversations, plenty of laughs, and some good food, too. Here's the link again, just in case it helps. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Don't rely on willpower to get what you want

Getting this mimosa to grow from a
stick to a tree required the discipline of
regular water and patience. 

While standing at the bathroom mirror getting ready for work, the word discipline came to mind. 

I can't think of many words I despised more as a teenager. Not in the sense of being punished... although there was that, too. 

People who were disciplined were boring. I hated routine. I didn't care if I was late—to class, on homework, or if I didn't achieve the goals I set... I started out as an over-achiever (really, a people-pleaser), but by 7th grade, after a lot of personal loss, I became the classic underachiever. I was smart and got good grades but that didn't matter. I made myself graduate, but it required a valiant effort in my senior year (yes, discipline...).  

After high school, college required it. But I still didn't like it. Being disciplined had no meaning for me, even though something as simple as regularly watering my plants required a certain amount of it. I still didn't understand the connection between discipline and achieving something because my underlying belief, as a kid, was "why bother." Goals? What goals? 

I also learned as a kid that life was hard. Yet, I'd heard it was supposed to be easy, too, so I had a huge disconnect. Life always felt hard—like walking uphill in concrete boots—but I wanted it to be easy.  

It wasn't until about 10 years ago I realized that "life just is"—there's no hard or easy, just our own perception and what we do with it. 

Rituals make life easier 

Discipline is inherent in our rituals. Call it routine or habit, we create rituals to ease our way; if we're disciplined about them, morning rituals make that hour before work flow more smoothly. Creating those rituals—those habits that serve our dreams and desires—keeps us on track, and for me, on time.  

Now I understand that discipline is necessary to accomplish something, and I know being disciplined, at least much of the time, makes life better. 

Do hard things

Discipline requires commitment, which requires a bit of mental and emotional toughness. Any goal worthy of reaching (and if it isn't, why set it?) is worthy of applying discipline. 

Several coaches I read or listen to talk about doing the hard things, something I'd have balked at when I was younger. But it's true. If we want to be healthy and wealthy in old age, it makes sense to do what feels hard when we're young—eat right, don't over-consume, exercise, save or invest... Those hard things become easier if we're disciplined about them; then they serve our needs, the what we want and why we want it. Discipline makes it happen.  

Willpower vs discipline

Discipline isn't willpower. How many times have you made an excuse and said, "I don't have any willpower" about that second piece of chocolate cake, the shopping excursion (I could use more discipline here...), or the third or fourth glass of wine. Willpower keeps us from taking responsibility; it's not our fault—we just don't have any willpower. We believe we either have it or we don't. And it's a lot about what we believe we deserve. 

Discipline is a choice. Discipline moves us forward, leads to achievement, and helps us accomplish more than we think possible—even if we don't believe we deserve it. Few of us are savants, so to achieve something, we must be disciplined about practice, whether playing sports, an instrument, even the lottery... Sometimes we must be disciplined about just getting through our day-to-day, as well as those lofty goals, like retiring early, traveling the world, or even finding a new job that's a step toward achieving these. 

Try changing your internal language and swap out willpower for discipline. Then get up in the morning and meditate when you want to sleep in. Write daily in a journal. Exercise and skip the sugary beverages. Connect with people when you'd rather isolate or watch TV. Discipline will keep you motivated when you feel like it's too hard. There's a reason to bother: life gets better. 

The magic of discipline

Discipline is something we develop; it's not something we're born with. It's building a muscle, or forming a habit. It's doing something consistently, for a reason you care about. If you miss a mark, you haven't failed; you get up and keep going. Forge ahead doing what you say you're going to do because you choose to.  

To create the life you want, discipline is essential. Start with small things, do the hard things, but just do them. And keep doing them. Soon, it'll be easier.  And you'll be celebrating successes. 

With discipline, nearly anything is possible. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Deciding means nothing without action

The face in this stump taunts. 

One piece of early career advice came when I was an ad agency account coordinator. Always eager to grow and learn, I asked Stan, a senior PR guy I respected, for words of wisdom. Those words stayed with me: Make a decision, any decision. Just make one.

I got to test that soon after for one of my clients, the sponsor of a major local parade. A team of classic convertible Mustangs were set to open the show, but for reasons unknown, no one was around to direct the drivers to start. When I realized I was the only one from our team there, a mere coordinator, I made a decision, got them moving, and the parade began.

While being decisive is a highly valued skill in business, decision making doesn't come easy for everyone. Easier is second guessing, doubting our own judgement, or acquiescing to those we think know better. So that was good advice, something I've heeded ever since.

But here's a catch.

To decide doesn't mean anything if no action follows.

Decisions must have action steps

Janine Driver, in a recent TEDx talk in Houston, made me think a little deeper about decisiveness. There's a lot of wiggle room around the word decide, which is both good news and bad news, depending on who's doing the deciding. 

We can decide to change our lives, our thoughts, our experience—something I write about frequently. We can decide to lose weight, or decide on a New Year's resolution. But if we don't take action, that decision is an empty promise. 

So just because you decide something doesn't mean it's set in stone. Make a bad decision? Chances are, you can fix it. A good decision? Breathe a sigh of relief! 

Well-informed decisions are the best kind: when we have enough information about the topic at hand, we can make decisions that matter. 

When it isn't your decision

Sometimes others make decisions for us, and let's say we don't agree with those decisions. While some decisions are irreversible, like a job layoff, others... well, they may be negotiable. 

Driver adds 'ly' to decide and says, "Decidedly because changes what was." Yes, that's awkward, but stay with me for a moment. The clincher is in the word because. She says words that end in 'ly' are wiggle words—words like typically, usually, likely, and while most of us don't use the word 'decidely', she has a point.

Decided means there may be another way. Just like typically. Or usually. Or likely. All of these have an out-clause, meaning there's another potential option. The 'ly' added to a word creates uncertainty. Sure, it may be in part semantics, but when you think about it, it makes perfect sense. 

How we make decisions

Driver describes the decision-making process: we research, then we reason (because), which leads to results. In my above example, the research was done previously: I knew what was supposed to happen. But reason showed up when I realized there wasn't anyone there actually doing what had to be done, that someone had to do it, and that someone was me. The result was that the parade started on time.

Ask for what you want

Her point was this: fight for what you want. If we hear those words: decide(dly), typically, usually, likely, that means there are other options. 

She cited a work situation: If your boss says they usually don't promote employees until after their first full year, but you feel you deserve a promotion, usually is your out-clause. Ask for what you want. Usually means an exception can almost certainly be made.

Words matter. 

Make a decision

Whenever I find myself floundering, stuck, or unsure, I tell myself: Just make a decision. Doesn't matter if it's the right one or the best one. Just make one. Everything starts with a decision. Even if it's just what to wear to work, or more broadly, where to work. 

Keep in mind, there are no mistakes, just opportunities to learn. Try on whatever you decide, act on it, see if it fits. If what you decided feels flawed or doesn't work the way you thought it would, change it. But make a decision.  

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Fine tuning, not improving

The self-help and self-improvement industries rake in money hand over fist, but lately the conversation about "improving" ourselves seems to be shifting. Good. Let's stop. Helping ourselves? Sure. Improving? Not so much.

As a coach, I see my clients as whole, complete, creative, and resourceful, and in 'new thought' spiritual teachings, we're all perfect as we are. What we consider "imperfections" are those unique character traits that make us different and special.


So--what if we just need fine tuning? 


Honestly, there's nothing wrong with us. Not really. We're human, and we're all different.

That doesn't mean we can't improve or develop skills, become better versions of ourselves, that we don't have more to learn, or explore whatever we're intrigued by. But that's not us.

We may see others as having something wrong with them, because they think differently, do differently, or believe differently than we do. But that doesn't mean it's true. And it doesn't mean they need improving, no matter how much we disagree with them.

Improving implies the need to fix, 

and fixing implies that something's broken. 

Bones break (those can be fixed...). Parts of us break down. Sometimes we say "I'm broken" to emphasize a point. Our hearts break, our spirit breaks. But most of us aren't actually broken. Being in pain isn't broken; it's a very real and important part of living. There's always possibility for something to be different, even when it feels impossible and we can't see it. We may have a belief to let go of or an old story still dictating our behaviors, but to shift these, we reprogram, unlearn, or create, not fix.

Maybe it's years of being advertised to that's turned me off to the word improved, with the endless introduction of new and improved versions of almost anything on our large and small screens, on supermarket shelves, and in our online shopping carts. Or maybe it's the underlying message that if you're working to improve yourself, you're not good enough as you are.

We don't need to be fixed. 

And telling ourselves that we do, reinforced by the words self-improvement, isn't very helpful, whether it comes from inside our heads as self-talk or from somewhere else.

We may have a few cracks, perhaps, like Japanese pottery. If that's the case, let's add some figurative gold filigree, and be a different, more complex version of ourselves. Let it change us in ways that embolden us and make us even more unique. Perfect as it was; perfect as it is. Who says a perceived imperfection isn't really perfect? It's all perception, right?

Who defines perfect in your world? 

As Leonard Cohen sang, the cracks are where the light shines through. We need those cracks, those things that set us apart from anyone else. Those cracks are like our emotional fingerprints, and they make us interesting.

I, for one, am sick of "improving" myself, something I spent my younger years doing because I never felt good enough; I often felt less than. We all have "stuff" we can work on. But improvement is a self-defeating concept. Embrace your idiosyncrasies, gain mastery over those things you're passionate about, and shed the old crap that holds you back. That's not "improvement" unless you want to define it that way. But I think there's a better description. The need to improve feels like we're motivated by something outside of us, like something we should do, not something we do because we want to-- something that comes from within.

I believe, over time, we become more of who we are, and who we're meant to be...

Ancient Gravenstein, continually
evolving to be more of what it's
meant to be.

...and as we age, in particular, and grow in experience, we gain a deeper confidence and wisdom, which also brings the gift of self-acceptance, with our perfect imperfection.

As we step more firmly into our own shoes (in my case, some might say many pairs.... but that's an aside), love--and like--yourself as you are. That doesn't mean you won't have things you want to change. But become that "more of" version. Evolve your language and use words that make you feel good. Continually fine tune, grow, and adapt. This is what makes life's challenges, hurdles, and joys far more fascinating and easier to maneuver. 

How much more can we give the world if we feel good about who we already are? How much more exciting is it to focus on something we want to do, explore, or learn, rather than doing something to improve ourselves?

Let's be part of that shifting conversation.

Silencing the "haters" in my head...

I read that somewhere recently - not sure where now, but it struck a chord: "the haters" in my head. In coaching, sometimes we call these gremlins - those thoughts or beliefs we have that threaten to derail us. I've also heard "inner critic" and another new one, "inner mean girl." When these things come up, I've learned to wonder whose voice from my past I'm listening to. Because it's probably not my own - or at least, not originally. It's usually something I heard or interpreted, and then made it mine.

But calling them out as haters, it gives the gremlins, critics and mean girls a different spin - the old voices, those old stories or outdated beliefs. I can laugh when I call them haters because it sounds so ridiculous to me. Because it's what they are; they certainly aren't my best pals (while they may have been useful at one time or another) or my cheerleaders.

You know the ones I'm talking about: that niggling voice that says you're not quite good enough, not quite smart enough, not deserving enough, that doubt your ability to do something - or a version thereof. Most of us have at least one of these, or have experienced one at some point in our lives. My current hater tells me "I don't know how" and "it's too hard." Really? Put these two together and it sounds like nonsense. Anytime I'm learning something new, especially if it's outside of what's comfortable, I'm not going to know how and it might be a little hard. But it won't get any easier and I won't learn if I don't try and practice.

So while developing my coaching skills, I've undergone extensive coaching of my own by my peers and mentors. And while I long ago identified my driving haters in therapy - and learned to quiet them with love and compassion, I've been replacing them with more empowering versions - my own voice, my true story, my core beliefs, and mine alone. My goal? Unshakable confidence and to embrace learning in a new way. I don't think I'm afraid of failure, because even failure can be redefined. Learning opportunity, anyone? I think I'm afraid of looking stupid. Of being stupid. That's one of my driving haters. What if I'm stupid? I'm not.

I'm also redefining my relationship to change. Change now shows up in my life with ease and grace. I lived much of my life believing life was hard, but I know my perspective shaped my experience, and I collected plenty of evidence to support it. No longer. I anticipate much change in the coming few years (well, indefinitely, if I'm honest about it), and I welcome it.

I have dipped my toes more fully into my personal power and I'm owning my authentic self. The self that's dynamic and purposeful, super smart, adventurous, courageous, compassionate, playful and creative - and an advocate for my own personal truth. And I'm ready to support others in finding their own truths, who are ready to take that next step, and silence their own version of the haters. (And so much more.)

Every day, I dive a little more fully into the adventure and mystery of the great unknown. And I'm working on unshakable. Want to join me?

There but for the grace...

Why do we choose the paths we do?

My coworkers and I were chatting about the time before our current jobs. One of my coworkers had a decidedly "vanilla" upbringing; we noted that despite that (noting also our own interpretations of vanilla), she's not judgmental, and she's very curious, inclusive, well-adjusted and exceptionally likable.

Another had a straight and narrow Southern Baptist upbringing, which influenced his choices until early mid-life, when everything shifted. He came out, acquired an addiction and found himself living a wild life - a life no one expected given his character and background.

Until about 12, my earliest childhood years had shades of vanilla, at least from the outside looking in (inside, maybe not so much: I sometimes refer to my family as the "grim Swedes," for their stoic determination and head-in-the-sand approach to conflict or problems; a friend also coined my heritage as "JewLute" - Jewish and Lutheran ancestry resulting in a guilt double-whammy). We were white-bread working class - no major scandals, nothing too exciting, basic needs all met, pretty "ordinary" by conventional standards. I can't say there was a lot of love in the house, but there wasn't a lot of visible conflict, either.

But my coworker's story and that of another brought to mind my own tumultuous teen years, and I can't help but shout out, "there but for the grace..."

Somehow, I made different choices than those of my friends - choices I couldn't have imagined for myself as a teenager. For much of my teen years, I wasn't encouraged, I didn't have good role models - in life, work, or relationships, and I didn't have hope. My losses were already extensive and growing. Dreams and desires? My general take was, "Why bother... " I couldn't see beyond the scope of my immediate reality.

I lost my aunt - essentially my caretaker - at 8, an alcoholic who hid her bottles; my grandfather at 9, and my grandmother at 12. Mom worked, and was emotionally detached. So by the time I turned 13, there wasn't really anyone left for me to be accountable to. I felt angry, scared and alone.

Yet somehow... I made it through, made different choices, never quite stepped off that ledge. My best friend at 14, whose father was both violent and a pedophile, succumbed to endless abuse and addiction, and is now occasionally homeless. A later BFF - inseparable from about 16 - 20 - told me to stay out of her life; by then, she was moving quickly down the road of addiction and prostitution, from which she'd never escape. Countless others followed a path of abuse, addiction, alcoholism... leading to incarceration, dis-ease and dead ends, whether dead-end relationships, jobs... or an early death. Stanley said what many of us thought at the time, "Die young and leave a good looking body." He died at 19 of an overdose. Having no siblings and a mostly absent mother during those years, these kids were my family. And yet, while I was prone to self-abuse, I didn't go where they did. How? Did the stability of those earliest formative years, despite the many shortcomings, make a difference, and keep me just shy of self-destruction?

Conscious or not, we do choose. We make choices based on what's familiar, what's comfortable, and what we believe we deserve. If we believe at our core - largely unconscious until something triggers awareness - that what we deserve is abuse (or that people will leave us, not love us, not help us...), every choice we make will likely support more of the same. And those results can be subtle but profound at the same time.

Despite what I believed about myself, somehow, I got myself through high school, college, found decent jobs and eventually got married (not necessarily in A to Z order, and the marriage was short-lived). I was the first in my known family to go to college (on my dad's side, they were well-educated, but I didn't know them until my early 20s; my dad died at 28 just after I was born).

I did what I thought I was supposed to do based on what I saw "out there." I had so many life lessons to learn; my upbringing gave me street smarts but no practical life skills to thrive in the 'real world.' With no real guidance, I drew from an internal well of resources I didn't know I had, even though at my core, I had a lot of shame and didn't believe I deserved much.

Not any more. As an adult, I had some help along the way - therapists, coaches, friends, even a couple of teachers - but I give myself credit where credit's due. When I unearthed a knotted ball of shame residing deep within me, I saw how it kept me from living fully - and dreaming. And now, thanks to a lot of work and a vivid imagination, that little ball is a pile of ashes. Around that pile lives a fireball that drives me. A little flame was always there; I'm certain now that it kept me from jumping over the proverbial cliff into a place from which I, too, might never escape. I started dreaming again. And now I know I'm deserving of creating and achieving my dreams.

And yes, there but for the grace...

My mom always said I had a guardian angel. I suspect she was right. I'm pretty sure that internal fireball is connected to a universal life force, an energy, that connects us all and guides us, despite our own free will. Each of us has a purpose - whether or not we're ever conscious of what that is. We're here to learn, grow and make a difference - even if that difference is the impact we have on those around us, to help them also learn, grow and make a difference. Or just to have a better day. There but for the grace...