career – this gruntled worker

The Embodiment of Ease

November 27, 2018 thisgruntledworker

As one of my coach credentialing requirements, I must complete a series of “mentor coach” sessions with the founder of my training program. I just finished my third such session with S a few hours ago and I am still thinking about it, or, should I say, feeling it. We have been looking at the International Coach Federation (ICF)’s Core Competencies, which include skills such as active listening and powerful questioning. For the first two sessions, we focused on these competencies in the context of my work with a client.

The way a typical coaching session is structured is, after the initial pleasantries are over, the conversation shifts to an update about progress made since the last session. The “coachee” talks about what she’d like to work on in general, and then we narrow the focus to what could be accomplished during that particular session. I noted that I had been feeling “stuck” in building my coaching website, and, in effect, launching me-as-coach into the larger world. Instead of speaking about my client, S allowed us to deviate from the script.

My trouble still remains in deciding how much myself to include in my professional website. I am trying to create an online presence that feels

authentic (represents who I am as accurately as possible, and connects with my intended audience)
cohesive (tells a story that honors my varied identities as an artist, a writer, a teacher, a scholar, and patient-advocate/peer)
authoritative (conveys the fact that I am uniquely qualified for my particular niche)
engaging (inspires people to want to work with me; is not rigid or stuffy)

For the past two weeks, I have been sucke(re)d into a self-inflicted vulnerability vortex with this question: how much of my personal struggles do I share in order to explain my passion for this particular work, but not to undermine my credibility as a professional?

S sensed that this issue was holding me back and asked which of the ICF competencies we might use as the focus of our call to address it.

I immediately came to Establishing Trust and Intimacy with the Client, which, at the Master coach level, entails (emphasis mine):

Coach is willing to be vulnerable with client and have client be vulnerable with
Coach.
Coach confident in self, process, and the client as a full partner in the relationship.
Sense of complete ease and naturalness in conversation; coach does not have to “work” to coach.

Although we usually role-play with S as client and me as coach, S proposed that we explore my “stuck-ness” in a mini coaching session, and debrief about it afterward. She asked if we could record our call so I could reflect on it later, and, with my permission, she could use it with future students. I immediately agreed.

After I floundered for a bit explaining the root of my problem (which was a combination of being “confident in self” with a sense of “complete ease”), S asked how it would feel to spend an hour working on my site and then just publish it (this how would it feel question, in coach-speak, is called visioning). Of course that would feel great. How would I like to move that forward? I could update my site immediately after our call, for starters. Knowing that I often operate in overthinking mode, S asked what else I might do to embody that sense of ease and confidence. What might that look like?

Wait. What?

Damn. Embodiment. That’s it! Embodiment goes beyond thinking or feeling or talking or doing. It is simply being, taking up space that has a shape. Thinking, feeling, talking, and doing are occur in and through the body. So what would the embodiment of ease look like? I immediately went to yoga: Tadasana, or mountain pose, standing tall with arms at sides, palms facing out. It is not an aggressive—or even assertive—power pose; it is simply a grounded, open one.

So after I exhausted myself with rationalizations, I went back to my body.

Tadasana.

My story

(My) Life of Pi(e)

November 20, 2018 thisgruntledworker

This past weekend, we met up with a friend of my husband’s who he hasn’t seen since before we got married. After the logistical urban nightmare of agreeing on a place where we would meet (via email during her intermittent periods of wifi access), we gave up and squeezed ourselves into a tiny corner table at a cafe. We sat with our teapots, barely able to hear ourselves between the cacophony of a dad attempting to read a Madeline story to his fidgety daughter and a group of parents bemoaning the city’s competitive high school selection process.

The friend miraculously managed to find us (which is good, because we were not planning to go back out into the cold), and, after the introductions and pleasantries, she triumphantly unfurled her map of midtown, eagerly asking “So, where do you guys live?” We pointed to the place way off the map that would indicate our neighborhood, a full 130 blocks north of our current location. Then she asked where our respective commutes took us each day. My husband pointed smack in the center of the map: midtown. Then he smiled at me—he knew my answer would take a minute. Or twenty.

Unless I have class, I usually commute a full twenty feet to my home office these days, but there is something about saying this that still feels like defeat. Even though I am working with more focus than I ever have these days, It’s still easier to frame my answer in terms of where I used to work when I had a full-time job; it’s just an easier narrative for people to hear. I see her face turn into a question mark as I give my elevator speech about Narrative Medicine and my plans beyond graduation. So you’re doing career coaching for people who have chronic illness? Yes, that is my specialty, but I work with others as well. My proud husband chimed in with my various other projects: daily graphic medicine illustrations, volunteering with a hospice organization, working as part of the volunteer collective in my neighborhood bookstore, and co-writing and illustrating a children’s book. When he mentioned our craft business, I wondered whether she was thinking, “Wow, this woman has a lot of interests!” or “Damn, why can’t this woman decide what the hell her focus is?”

The judgment is mine, not hers, I am sure.

Why do I care so much, and what would it say about me if both of these things were equally true? Of course I want to make a good first impression on my husband’s friend. Almost four months post full-time employment, I’m still getting used to explaining what it is that I currently do. It was so much easier when I had a full-time job and thus, a quick answer: “I’m a teacher.” “I work in a startup.” “I work at a university.” Even “I’m a student” is fully true, but it doesn’t actually account for all that I am and how I spend the majority of my time. But people I’m just meeting don’t need to know all of this, anyway!

I have been so programmed to believe that if I am not producing, not earning at my maximum capacity, I am not contributing. But this is not fully true. I feel a greater sense of connection, satisfaction, and meaning from my six hours per week spent volunteering than I ever I did from sitting at a desk for 40-plus hours. What’s a better way to answer this what-do-you-do question? I could start with I am a teacher, a writer, an artist, and a coach, and talk about one of my projects. The story gets a little easier each time I tell it. I just have to keep talking.

And that diagram at the top of this post? That’s how I plan to divide my time once I’m done with school. Pie charts don’t have to be made with Excel, you know…

coaching, Support System

Compassionate Rabbits

November 13, 2018November 13, 2018 thisgruntledworker

Everyone seems to be talking about curious compassion lately. I saw it in Brene Brown’s new book, Dare to Lead, and in Michael Bungay Stanier’s book, The Coaching Habit, and even heard on the How to Be Awesome at your Job podcast while I was at the gym this week. When I heard the phrase a fourth time in class this afternoon, I knew something was definitely up.

So what is curious compassion, anyway?

It means listening to someone else’s story and withholding judgment—not waiting for your turn to speak, but just holding a space for the other person to feel whatever it is they’re feeling. The next part is even harder: approaching any response or reaction from a place of curiosity rather than one of judgment. In the case of a friend who is stressed out or upset, this might mean asking, “what would support from me look like?” This is much better than the half-assed, “Let me know if you need anything” or any unsolicited advice.

Let me give you an example. Recently, a colleague was stressed about marketing materials for an event that was due to happen in a few weeks. There were multiple layers of approvals that needed to happen before we could post our flyer, and she was really worried that we wouldn’t have it out in time to get a good turnout for the event. When she voiced this concern, my attempt to reassure her came out as, “Don’t worry – we have plenty of time. It’ll be fine.” Then I caught myself. I apologized, recognizing that my response was pretty invalidating. I was, in effect, telling her that she didn’t have the right to feel as she did. And when is the last time the phrase “don’t worry” worked for anyone? Exactly. My next attempt was not much better: I said, “I know how you feel; I get anxious too.” But I don’t know exactly how she feels. Damnit; this is hard!

This reminds me—I read another good book this week, a children’s picture book called The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld. It teaches kids empathy and non-judgment. Taylor, a little boy dressed in striped pajamas, is building an elaborate structure with his blocks and it tumbles down. He is inconsolable. A parade of zoo animals pays their respects, offering suggestions or advice like “Get mad!” Or “Go for a walk!” Not to be a spoiler, but you know the Rabbit is going to have a different approach. He just sits silently with Taylor in his distress, and the boy feels safe to explore his feelings and share his frustrations. By the end, he begins to play with his blocks again.

Curious compassion would be just listening without the urge to problem solve or jump in with my opinion. It is holding space for the other person to express themselves fully without fear of being bulldozed with my damn opinions. We have to get out of the framework of quick-fix solutions. It’s much easier easier to make our own discomfort go away than to sit with a friend who is experiencing it.

So let’s all channel our inner rabbits…

Productivity, Support System, Work tools

How to be your story’s protagonist

October 9, 2018October 9, 2018 thisgruntledworker

levelup Imagine creating a secret identity for yourself, and now you are strong and brave and unafraid. You are resourceful, ready to vanquish enemies. You are part of a worldwide tribe that energizes and supports you. You are doing things you never thought possible and feel exhilarated and challenged. You are mastering—not enduring—life! Sounds pretty good, right?

A few weeks ago, I was browsing the shelves at the public library and found Steve Kamb’s 2016 book Level Up your Life. The subtitle reads: How to Unlock Adventure and Happiness by Becoming the Hero of your Own Story. A book combining narrative and agency to help people reach their goals? He has my attention.

The cover depicts a comic book-style illustration of a man ripping off his business shirt and tie to reveal his (six-pack abs and his) superhero costume. Our hero is answering a call to action; someone, somewhere, is in distress. Kamb does not need to rescue us readers, however. He offers an adaptable blueprint so that we can save ourselves. With a little imagination and discipline, even the humblest of nerdy office drones can take charge of her life, break free from being ordinary, and join this Rebellion. And she can have a lot of fun while doing so.

Kamb, the founder of nerdfitness.com, is a self-proclaimed formerly “risk-averse, picky eating introvert who felt more at home in front of a computer than in public.” He was happy enough in his post-college job, but was vaguely dissatisfied. After moving cross-country for a more interesting, but lower-paying job, he realized that he was still wasting his evenings and weekends drinking and playing video games to numb himself from his uninspiring life. He wanted a challenge, so he began with getting fit.

Kamb recontextualized his fitness quest as a game: he developed an origin story, an alter ego identity, and a series of increasingly more difficult challenges (in video games, this is known as leveling up). Once he began to see actual results from his workouts, he decided to help other nerds do the same by using game theory. He put his own video games aside, and for the next 18 months, devoted that same energy to building an online community. Then, he applied his method to other areas of his life. He knew he was onto something.

What I love about this book is that it is not just one guy bragging about how cool his life is now, how he is traveled to blah blah countries and done blah blah cool things. He makes leveling up accessible, encouraging his readers to start small while challenging them to play on increasingly difficult levels. Because he is a nerd, Kamb sprinkles references to video games and fantasy and science fiction characters throughout the book. He also builds his hero’s journey on the work done by Joseph Campbell and Christopher Vogler. Each step has its own chapter.

The main character is somebody of normal existence who goes through a journey that fundamentally changes him or her as a character. This character learns from a mentor, skeptically accepts the call to leave a comfortable existence, faces trials and tribulations, makes allies and enemies, outsmart or wins over the guardians of the threshold, struggles to survive/succeed, transforms, and ultimately returns home with altered/improved outlook on life.

My biggest takeaway from this book is the cautionary tale of the South Park Underpants Gnomes. In the middle of the night, these little elves run around the fictional cartoon town, stealing people’s underpants. When asked why they are doing this, one replies, “Collecting underpants is just Phase 1!” When asked about Phase 2, the gnomes reply with, “Phase 3 is profit!” The gnomes never find out what Phase 2 is. Kamb’s message to his readers: stop mindlessly collecting underpants, or don’t consume yourself with busy work that doesn’t move you toward your goal. You have to take action in Phase 2, or you will just have a shit-ton of underpants and no profit.

This idea really hit home for me as I think back to my summer research project. In the beginning, I was obsessed with collecting all available information on my topic. I became a hoarder of articles and blog posts and books, and wasted hours organizing them into an indexed binder. I knew my goal was to write a paper, so why was I wasting my time? At one point, my advisor had to cut me off. She said, “That’s it! No new sources!”

Damnit, I thought. Now I am going to have to do some real work.

Even if you don’t pick up the book, I hope you have learned this from Kamb, from the makers of South Park, and from me: Don’t be an Underpants Gnome.