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Stuckish or Suckish?

May 16, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

A couple of years ago, my son became entranced with “suckish,” a term coined by him and other tweens.  He’s moved on by now, as kids will, but suckish has remained with me as the perfect phrase for circumstances that are challenging and painful, but not epically tragic.

Suckish = having someone without insurance back into your car.  Having to work around an illness, disability, or handicap.  Taking a pay cut.  Finding out your spouse is having an affair—or finding yourself having one.  Breaking your foot just before the marathon.

I find “stuckish” an equally useful descriptor.  Stuckish is just what it sounds like. Working a job you hate for the paycheck you need.  Sticking with friendships, relationships, or partnerships that no longer serve you.  Stuck in the pain of your circumstances and unable to see a light at the end of the tunnel.   Clutter, binge eating, compulsive shopping, destructive behavior patterns.  Loneliness, disconnection, lack of purpose or clarity.

And when you’ve got stuckish and suckish together on the same dance floor?  That’s a true tango of frustration, anger, hopelessness, even despair.

There are two key steps toward escaping stuckish and suckish.  The first is counter-intuitive:  hold still.  Gather data, about the circumstance, and about yourself.  What are your own strengths, weaknesses, preferences, values, goals?  Where do you want to go from here?  What’s the weight and shape of that rock you or life has tied around your neck?

The second step is to move.  Not big, sweeping actions, but small, intentional, manageable steps towards where you want to be.  Out of stuckish.  Away from suckish. Towards that sweet spot where what you love to do, what you’re good at, and what the world needs from you intersect.

Stuckish and suckish have the same thing in common:  they keep us looking in the rearview mirror.  How did this happen?  How did I get here?  What if I never get out of this place, this pain?  Sometimes, they keep us peering into the mist of what-if land, that future that never seems to quite materialize.

Both of these responses are human, normal, even common.  But both of them are about as productive as trying to drive a car forward while looking solely into the rearview mirror or, conversely, staring at travel brochures instead of keeping your eyes on the road.

Want to leave stuckish and suckish behind, in your rearview mirror?  Take a look at my upcoming What’s Next program, a gentle but transformational six-week telecourse designed to help you assess your strengths, reacquaint you with your values, discover your goals, and get you, step by step, on the path to achieving them.

This summer only, I’m offering this program at a steep discount of $147 for all six weeks if you sign up before Memorial Day ($197 after May 24).  Classes start June 7, and will be recorded, so if you miss a week or two, you’ll still be able to get all the juiciness and get where you want to go.

If this sounds good to you, get in on it before the price goes back up to $500 in the fall.  Because missing out on this when it could really serve you?  Well, that would be kinda sorta suckish.

Deets and registration for the class (spaces limited) are here:

http://lifeworkscoaching.com/whatsnext.html

Posted in Classes and Coaching, Lifeworks Stories | Leave a Comment »

Play the Ball Where It Lies

May 1, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

golf ball in the roughI haven’t hit the greens since I was in high school, but I’m no slouch at miniature golf. I play with my 11-year-old son, who has gotten much better at the sport over the years—and much more graceful about losing. Nonetheless, in the years since I’ve been watching him play, I’ve noticed the parallel between wishing reality were different, and wishing one’s ball had landed somewhere else.  Both are useless endeavors.  Cliches exist because they have wisdom in them; “Play the ball where it lies” is one of the smartest pieces of advice I know.

Smart, and yet also oft-ignored.  How many of us waste time and energy wishing we hadn’t landed in the sand traps or water hazards of our lives?  Bemoaning how unfair it is that someone else landed right on the green while we’re off and lost in the woods, our ball buried or richocheting randomly off trees?

I could pretend I am not disabled.  I could wish my marriage hadn’t come apart. I could get stuck in the “unfairness” of being a single mom, or having one kid instead of a tribe, or having short fingers, or whatever it is that didn’t come out like I thought it would.

But what good does wishing my ball had landed in a different spot do me?  It is where it is.  I can continue to argue and whine about it, but all I’m doing is wasting time and staying stuck.  Instead, I could simply get into that sand trap and start working with what I’ve got, or take my water hazard penalty and move on.  I love that golf, like life, allows everyone to play:  handicaps and baggage and all.

Do any of these ways of arguing or fighting with reality sound familiar to you?

  • Demanding a do-over:  Yes, you could give up, throw it all away, and start all over again. But you’d lose the lesson in the “mistake,” and you’d miss out on the challenge of turning an unwanted outcome into a win.
  • Cheating by moving ball with foot, dragging the club along and “shepherding the ball,” or just flat-out picking it up and dropping it in the hole:  So what’s the point of this?  You get to write down a number on the score card that’s a lie.  You “win” without having mastered a skill.  You cheat yourself—and everyone else—out of an authentic experience.
  • Become enraged and start flailing away at the ball:  Boy, do I know this one.  It results in, like, an eight on a 3-par hole.  Anger about our circumstances—where our ball lies—is understandable and maybe even necessary as part of coming to terms with our new normal.  But getting stuck in anger and responding by enraged, random flailing doesn’t get us anywhere but farther from our goal.
  • Comparing your game to another’s:   Others will always have more experience, more grace, more talent—or, conversely, less.  It’s tempting to treat life as a competition (especially when you’re playing a game that actually is a competition), but everybody’s got their own game to play, and their own swing to master.  Eyes on your own ball.  Get it where you want it to go—with the understanding that it takes however long and however many strokes it takes.
  • Taking your ball and going home:  always an option.  But it’s a lose-lose sort of thing.  Choosing not to play leaves you forever on the sidelines of your life—or, worse, mentally reliving the “unfair” game that was actually of your own creation. It sounds like an easy choice, but it’s a bitch to live with.

Where does your ball lie?  Are you going to stay stuck and leave it there, or are you going to play on?

Posted in Working with Obstacles | Tagged , , , | Leave a Comment »

Warts and All Living

April 9, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

Once upon a time, my dears, the press didn’t mention presidential scandals.  FDR’s post-polio challenges weren’t exactly a secret, but reporters and their photog consorts went to great efforts to minimize his handicap in print.  Politicians’ mistresses—JFK, anyone?–were discreetly overlooked.  Woodward Wilson suffered a debilitating stroke, and his wife, Edith, essentially ran the country—without most of the country actually knowing it.

ImageThe phrase above is said to originate with Oliver Cromwell, the 17th century political powerhouse who asked his portraitist to paint him, quite literally, “warts and all.”  But in American politics, the tide really turned with Richard Nixon, a man whose foibles became too large, too public, and perhaps even too stupid to hide.  And voila:  “warts and all” journalism was born.

History lesson aside, how does the above resonate in your life?  Do you share only the pretty parts of your life?  Do you believe that some people ONLY have pretty parts?  Do you believe that you have more or bigger warts than others, and that because of this, you’ll never be happy or have the life you want?

I’ve written before that I don’t believe in or practice what, for ease of reference, I’ll call “Martha Stewart”-style coaching, the kind that promises you a fantastic, idealized existence where trouble never darkens your door and challenges simply don’t exist.  In fact, it’s pretty ironic that MS herself markets her business and her lifestyle as nonstop elegant party of “a good thing”—she’s got some pretty big warts of her own, including terrorizing her staff and going to prison for insider trading.

I’m not a fairy godmother, and I don’t live or practice in Fantasyland.  I know that each of us—all of us—have challenges, downturns, obstacles, and heartbreak, and I can’t and won’t promise that I can make all those go away for you.

I’m a warts-and-all coach.  I help my clients navigate choppy waters, find their feet again after the rug has been pulled out from under them, move forward with purpose and joy even when life has appeared to tie a big ol’ rock around their neck.

Some warts can and should be removed.  Others cannot, and even should not.  Are you going to let your disability, your responsibilities to others, your losses, your fear, or the size of your ass keep you from living the life you want?  I don’t.  And I can show you why you shouldn’t, either.

Warts?  I’ve got plenty of ‘em.  I’ve put on some extra weight this winter I’m working on losing.  I’m partially disabled, and that may never change.   I’m a single mom.  I’m 52 in what some could argue is a young woman’s game.  None of them define me; none of them get in my way any more than I allow them to.  My life works, and I am happy.

So come on.  Show me your warts, I triple dog dare you.  I’m not scared or grossed out by ‘em—and nor should you be.

You can have exactly the life you want.  Warts and all.

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Does Your Life Suck? I Can Help with That.

March 6, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

You know that thing in your life that sucks?

Maybe it’s your job (or lack of one). Maybe it’s your marriage. Maybe it’s your health.

It could be a bunch of somethings. You’re allergic to pine trees but you live in the woods. Your tween needs orthodontia that you can’t afford. Your car has developed a disconcerting sound like safety pins being ground in a blender, but it never makes this noise for the mechanic. Your husband is acting different and you’re wondering if he’s ill or having an affair and it’s hard to tell which would feel worse.

I think some coaches do the world a disservice when they market themselves as sort of glamorous fairy godparents. They display their beautiful, seamless, jet-setting lives on Twitter and Facebook, and they imply–if they don’t come right out and say–that if you follow them and their formula, your life will be like that, too.

I’m not that kind of coach. My life isn’t pretty all of the time. Parts of it are weird. Some of it is downright messed up.

But here’s the thing, the truth I’ve lived and I know in the bottom of my heart that I can teach you: life doesn’t have to be pretty to be joyful. Life can be messed up, and still be awesome.

I have a chronic condition that puts limits on my mobility. I’m a single mom. I’ve had times when I’ve lived off my savings; I’ve had times when I came close to living in my car. I’ve been broke, bedridden, and abandoned.

And you know what? I’m happy.

Am I some kind of Forrest Gump-style optimist? Not hardly. I think I’m a realist–but I’m a realist who dreams big. I learned how to let go of the stuff that totally wasn’t working for me (that turned out to be a LOT of stuff). I learned how to work around the things I don’t have much control over, like how far I can walk each day.

I learned to love my life, figurative warts and all. And in doing so, I made a lot of room for new stuff to come into my life: a new career, a wonderful new place to live, new connections to truly amazing people. By embracing what is, I made space for what’s next.

So that thing that sucks, that thing you think is standing between you and happiness, that thing you think no one else struggles with like you do? Let me help you learn how to work with it. Or let me help you figure out how to kick it to the curb. Either way, you’ll end up living a life of joy, a life that works.

It might not always be pretty. But I know that it–and you–will shine.

Posted in Classes and Coaching, Working with Obstacles | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Get Messy

February 22, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

Your life is a work of art.

And that doesn’t mean it’s pretty.

Imagine a sculptor slashing the arm off a figure and starting again.  Imagine throwing handfuls of paint at a canvas.  Imagine starting out sketching a horse, but noticing it’s turning into a buffalo somewhere along the way.

Imagine creating the coolest thing ever out of broken tile, shards of glass, stray bits of unraveled sweaters, and torn paper.

Great art is messy.  It’s wild splashes of imagination, bold risks, triumphs, disappointments, hope, despair.  Often, it’s trashing it all and starting over again.  Great art isn’t any one thing, or an individual creation; great art is a body of work, developed and honed and re-visioned over time.  It’s not something that’s ever “done,” because great artists don’t sit back and say, “There, that’s the best it’s ever going to get; I’m finished now.”  Great artists know there’s always some small way in which the work can be transformed from a private moment into something that changes the world.

Imagine rolling up your sleeves.

Imagine getting messy.

Imagine falling so in love with the process that the outcome is almost immaterial, because you’re up to your elbows in brilliant shades of gouache, swept away on a cascade of heartbreakingly lovely music, one with the beauty you see through your viewfinder.

Your life—your work of art—is made up of every moment you’ve ever lived, every choice you’ve ever made, every emotion you’ve opened yourself up to feel.

It isn’t pretty.

But, oh, is it beautiful.  And so, by the way, are you.

What will you add to your creation today?

 

 

 

Posted in Lifeworks Stories | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment »

Smokin’ Hot Cowboy Love

February 6, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

For three years now, I have wanted a pair of cowboy boots.

At first I didn’t have the money. Then I couldn’t find the right pair. Then I found the right pair, but the toes were so pointy and narrow that my extra-wide toes were smushed into a big pile of numb.

I still wanted cowboy boots.

This year, I finally asked myself why. What’s the big deal with cowboy boots?  How would having—wearing—cowboy boots make me feel?

And that’s when it hit me.  Cowboy boots would make me feel autonomous, strong, healthy. Cowboy boots would make me feel flirty and sexy. Just the sound of those heels clicking against the pavement would make me feel happy.

Are cowboy boots the only route to those feelings?

When I practice yoga, I feel strong and healthy.  When I pay my bills with money I earned all by myself, I feel autonomous. When I am with my boyfriend—and sometimes even when I am not—I feel flirty and sexy.  Walking down the street in bare feet makes me feel equally, though differently, happy.

We don’t want things because we want stuff. We want the way we think having that stuff would make us feel.

Just as an experiment, take a couple of minutes—longer and you’re thinking too hard—and brainstorm a list of twenty or thirty things you want.  Then go back, and next to each item, write out the way having that thing would make you feel.  (This works with experiences and circumstances, too, by the way. Some people want a partner because they believe it will make them feel loved and secure.  Some people want to bungee jump because they hope to feel exhilarated, brave, more alive.)

Now take a look at your list of feelings, and challenge yourself:  how many alternative ways, things, and circumstances can you come up with that would give you the same feelings?

Example:  I want to be a professional dancer.  It would make me feel strong, graceful, admired, and energized.  Off the top of my head, I’m betting working out, eating healthfully, going out to a club, or maybe even singing a song on YouTube would get me to the same place.

Do you get it?  Stuff is just stuff.  Circumstances are, well, circumstantial.  But how you feel, inside your body, your head, your heart, your soul—that’s the brass ring, baby.

How do you want to feel today?

 

 

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Story Time

February 5, 2012 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

I knew just what was going on.

Picking up my son from school, I pulled into a street space marked “no parking.”  But hey, I’d only be there five minutes, right?  And I was going to be idling in my car the whole time.

Then I saw her: another mom, waiting across the street in her car.  As I glanced her way, she brought up her cell phone and . . . took a picture of me, my car, and the “no parking” sign.

What the what!?

My small city has cameras posted at all major intersections set to catch you in the act if you run a red light.  This woman must be some sort of undercover parking cop!  Either that, or maybe an over-zealous member of the PTO, determined to get me in Dutch with the principal.

I pulled out, turned the car around, and parked directly behind her car.  I was going to confront her!  In a very polite, friendly, only semi-insane sort of way, of course.

When I knocked on her window, she looked startled, but rolled it down.  Her cell phone was still in her hand. 

“Excuse me,” I said, “I have a really weird question.  Did you just take a picture of my car?”

She looked utterly baffled. “Um, I was just holding my phone out the window trying to get a better Internet signal,” she said.  “Sometimes a few inches makes a difference.”

I began babbling.  “I told you it was a weird question!  I just thought, um, maybe you were interested in my car and thinking of buying a Toyota or something so I wondered if you had questions, ha ha ha ha.” Blushing, I made my way back to my car.

How many times do you think you know just what is going on?  That guy who pulled out in traffic in front of you?  Asshole who thinks his destination is more important than yours.  That woman at the post office who never smiles?  Hates her job, hates you, probably going postal someday.  That party to which you didn’t get an invite?  Clearly, you were deliberately excluded.  Nobody likes you. The woman who switched seats at karate after you sat down next to her? She knows you didn’t shower that day, and she’s judging you for it.

Or maybe the stories go like this:  the guy didn’t see you. The postal worker just lost her spouse. The party is a work obligation. The karate woman is allergic to your perfume.

Ever notice that the stories we tell about stuff we can’t possibly know are almost always personal, negative, even paranoid?

What would it be like if you could admit that you don’t actually know why your spouse forgot your anniversary, or what your boss means when she says “Mmmph” in the morning? What if until proven otherwise,  you assumed that whatever’s going on with other people is probably all about them—not you?

Maybe it would turn out that you could take care of your business, and allow other people to take care of theirs.  Maybe it would result in a freer, calmer, more open-minded you.

Crazy talk?  Maybe.  But not as crazy as accosting total strangers who are simply trying to check their email.

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