Presence: The Stage
In the middle of the stage, house lights up, the din of the audience has waned.
I’m standing here, breathing in the final moments of the show.
Recalling the highlights, the laughter, the flubs, and the tender moments.
Reliving the looks on my actors’ faces at Intermission as I shared audience responses, technical issues, and notes regarding their projection, tone, and enunciation.
Bittersweetness washes over me, as the sounds in the room change: hammers pounding pins into flats, men hoisting the bar off the stage and back onto the floor. Brooms sweeping the floor, costumes being piled on the table, set pieces being returned to their homes in storage… and the chatter of the cast and crew as we wrap up, pack up, and clear away any trace of the production.
Strike always gets me.
It’s the completion of the circle of life of a show. We begin mostly as strangers, with a bare stage. We rehearse, almost in secret, in an upper room of the theater. It isn’t until the bulk of the set is present that we take to the stage and begin the process of bringing vitality to these two dimensional characters.
Then the lights, sound and music emerge, creating new challenges, adding new dimensions to the tapestry.
And the curtain goes up on opening night… and the friends I’ve come to know disappear as they slip deeper and deeper into their characters, becoming those people for a fortnight. Then, as quickly as they stepped into those roles, they’re stepping out again, pulling down set dressing, saying our goodbyes one last time.
It’s in this moment that I see the show’s “life” flash before my eyes – much like the flash of the camera as the show’s highlights are snapped off one after another by the photographer. I’m reminded that everything comes to an end – and in that ending, an opening is created for a new beginning.
But tonight, I enjoy the company of my cast and crew, our producer and managing partner. We celebrate a great review, the kinship of this rag tag bunch of actors, and relive some of the humorous moments of the show.
It will be a bit sad to head home tonight, and I know I’ll probably mourn this show a little. But right now, I’m just enjoying this moment, soaking in these wonderful people, this wonderful place, and all the memories we’ve created for ourselves and our audience.
We’ve touched people and changed lives. That’s something of which we can be proud.
I’m already thinking about what my next project will be, and how to make it happen faster, so I’m not living in the limbo. But for now, tonight, I’m here. Enjoying, drinking it all in, until the next circle begins.
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My Way is the Hard Way
Last night, I discovered my super power.
Right now I feel like The Greatest American Hero – you know the guy that got the suit, then shrunk/lost the instruction manual? He was capable of all these great things – saving humanity and whatnot, but he was awkward, clumsy, and didn’t always get it right.
That’s me today.
Now I just want to figure the dang thing out.
The time with the folks in Atlanta has been challenging, excruciating, and HARD, but in a good way. Then Sarah Robinson sprang her new Studio program on us, and I got mad.
Piping hot, tongue of fire, venom-spitting, smoke from ears hot. I guess a few other people were surprised, too, from what I could gather. But I wanted to be respectful, keep my mouth shut, and most importantly, learn.
Because I was mad not just because she sprang this program on us, but because she did it so well.
I didn’t see it coming at all.
She crafted a program that was so deep, transformative and fluid, you never made the connection that there was an upsell coming.
And she never presented it like an upsell. It was incredibly respectful, and for that, I thank her.
But I was still pissed. Did I mention I left my checkbook at home on PURPOSE!?!?
So I took her brilliantly crafted application/”coaching document” and went to my room at the end of the night, wrestling with all the “OMG, I’ve just been a victim of upselling!” as I took a long bath to sort stuff through.
I couldn’t clear the noise in my head for a LONG time. Even my standard “SHUT UP!” wasn’t working. I kept trying to connect dots, piece the puzzle, figure out my target market, and clear all the “fuzz” from my head. That’s what Sarah promised at this event, after all.
And I sat there trying to figure out what this stupid “application” meant for me.
To be frank, I don’t like the idea of shelling out thousands of dollars for coaching. Part of me thinks it’s incredibly stupid. Afterall, there are plenty of other things (like, oh, pay the bills?) I could be doing instead. And in light of my recent event cancellation, there’s just not enough cash in the bank to go around.
And I heard my Mom’s voice saying “You can’t afford it. It can’t be done. You can’t pull it off.”
That only got me madder.
Then my Dad’s voice “Kid, don’t take crap from anyone.”
Then a melange of voices from child hood:
“Hard headed.”
“Stubborn.”
“Why do you always do things the hard way?”
The hard way… that phrase has come up a lot for me in recent months. I do a lot of things the hard way. I don’t always listen to other people – sometimes I don’t even hear them. Sometimes I outright ignore them (you know who you are, and I’m SO sorry)!
And as I did the whole “life in retrospective” thing, it became very clear to me that I am a master at doing the impossible.
Well, the seemingly impossible. Because nothing’s really impossible, if we’re willing to keep trying to find a way, and maybe be creative in doing it.
My clients have heard me talk about Yoda and Edison. Yoda said “Try? There is no try? Do or Do Not.” Edison TRIED nearly 1000 times to find an electric bulb that worked.
Churchill said “Never give up. Never. Never. Never.”
That’s me. The chick banging her head against the wall in various places along the wall trying to find the weak spot. The frog in the vat of cream that keeps kicking until eventually the cream becomes butter.
The hard way.
In that revelation, I found my super hero gift:
I inspire struggling leaders to achieve the impossible.
I don’t know how it works. I just know it works. I’ve yet to find that freakin’ manual.
Until I find it, I’m going to keep testing this new suit out. And I want to help you achieve the impossible, too.
What’s that one insurmountable thing?
Cash flow? Family support? Time constraints?
You have to be willing to let go of what you THINK you know, and be willing to get creative to find the answer. Because the answer isn’t in what you think you already know. Sometimes, you have to be willing to get creative to do the impossible.
Sometimes, you have to do it the hard way.
Read MoreYou Don’t Know What You Think You Do
Several years ago, I signed myself up for one of the most horrible experiences of my life.
Just in writing that sentence, I have removed myself from the room repeatedly for tissues, water, and any other “logical ” distraction to keep me from posting “out loud” an experience that ultimately defines a big piece of who I am today.
Mind you, I didn’t know it was going to be so horrible when I signed up. Our church provides a women’s retreat for members of the church to come and walk closer to God, connect with other women of faith, and in general give them a better, perhaps deeper, spiritual connection in their busy, sometimes awkward lives.
One of the elements of this retreat is called “the box“. Participants in the retreat are not supposed to know about the box before hand. Before the retreat, letters are solicited (on the sly) from loved ones, friends, and “supporters” of the participants. They are collected in a box, along with letters from past participants and hosts of the retreat weekend.
Because I open the mail in our home, I found out about “the box“. I was eagerly waiting this part of the retreat all weekend. Surely my husband would encourage the boys to draw a picture, write a note, or he himself would offer some words of spiritual encouragement.
I spent most of the weekend anticipating the box. Frankly, most of the retreat was a blur for me because I just kept waiting for the box to arrive. I wanted to see what was in it for me.
And when, after much “spiritual and emotional work” we were probably at our lowest point as participants, out comes “the box“.
I was like a kid on Christmas morning for about 15 seconds. As I tore open the box, I was so excited, my hands were shaking.
I pulled out a form letter from a past participant. It was nice, had a pretty picture of Jesus on it, and said something about hoping I had a transformational weekend.
Then another one, it had a dove or something on it.
Then another, and another, and soon, I just started skipping over the “form letters” and digging through the box. I was watching other people around me reading letters from their family and friends. They were crying and rejoicing and sharing with each other.
I just kept digging – down, down, down… to the bottom of my box.
And there was nothing there (that I chose to see at that time – more on that in another post).
No letter from mom, or any of my friends. No funny pictures, words of encouragement from my spouse, or anything personal and meaningful from someone I actually KNEW.
Quite frankly, it sucked.
But I put on my “game face” and portrayed a happy participant that was encouraged and touched by the “outpouring of support” these form letters were supposed to provide. Inside, I was angry, hurt, jealous, and probably felt a bunch of other stuff I can’t put into words even now.
It got worse.
At the end of the retreat, the church hosts a reception, where all the participants gather one last time – this time with their family and their emotional support group – singing songs, eating cake, and generally closing the event on a positive note.
My husband had made other plans to be somewhere else that afternoon, so there was no one there for me. As people started all that hugging and carrying on, I slipped out into my car.
And I grieved. Heavily. Kind of like I am right now.
That gut-wrenching, body heaving crying that you do when you’ve lost a piece of yourself. When the tears come so hard that you can’t see to drive the car, so you just sit in the parking lot for 20 minutes a happy faces come and go outside your vehichle as the place starts to clear.
It was the most horrible experience I have ever endured. Worse than the death of either of my parents, it was the death of a truth I through I “knew”. It still hurts today.
But it’s a good kind of pain.
In the moment of my deepest, hurtingest, sob-filled wail (yeah, that sounds pathetic, no?) the voice of James Earl Jones, in his best Darth Vader impression, echoes through my head:
“Your ways are not my ways.”
“Screw you God! That doesn’t help me very much right now.”
Yeah, I’ll probably go to Hell for that, but that’s what I shouted at the top of my lungs in the church parking lot.
God just persisted (he’s funny like that).
“My ways are not your ways.”
And while I was recovering from the grieving, I uncovered a new truth. That this horrible, painful experience, was very necessary to move me to what comes next in my life. I eventually went on to host that same event, and made a point of staying up all night to write a personal note to each participant because I didn’t want them to feel the disconnected “emptiness” of expecting something that was pretty much a “sure thing” and not getting it.
Fast forward to Sarah Robinson’s Create Irresistible Presence event.
I came to Atlanta with a singular purpose: To help refine the voice of The Renaissance Mom and give clarity to the message and audience that we’re trying to reach. In short, I knew I blew a huge opportunity with the live event we “made virtual” earlier this fall, and believed that it was because I just didn’t do an effective job of honing my niche, crafting my message and getting it out fast enough to get butts in the seats.
At some point yesterday, I started feeling like I was blowing an opportunity. A big one. I felt like I knew stuff, I’d done most of the exercises we were learning, and while I was learning, I still felt very disconnected from everything. An awareness came to me at o’dark thirty this morning that I’ve spent most of my life “trying”: to be first, to be best, to be heard.
So today, trying to be all “self aware”, I decided it was a “no-mascara” day. That if I was going to “try”, I would try to be more patient, not be first, and to let others have space to “be” and be heard around me.
It is incredibly excruciating for a person like me to wait. It’s the worst kind of torture in the world. I want to hurry up and help people so they can get to what comes next.
“My ways are not your ways.” The stupid God-voice replies.
At the break, my head was pounding. I finally broke down before lunch and got some meds (Thanks, Lori!)
For me, a massive energy headache like this is a sign of big things to come (and probably a thunderstorm later today – you’ve been warned).
And I sit in the not-knowing right now. Because what I thought I knew isn’t true.
I mentioned during our session that I came to Atlanta looking for something, and expecting one thing – and I’m not getting it. Right now, nothing is what I through it was going to be. My assistant, Bonnie, will probably kill me if I tell her that, right now, I feel like scrapping everything and starting from scratch. We’ve been building this brand for 9 months. I still believe that God set this “mission” on my heart to serve these women, but I’m not feeling it, I’m not connecting to it.
I’m not getting it.
So I’m grieving and sobbing and mourning the loss of the thing I thought I was going to get. Because that thing, as important as I thought it was, is nothing compared to what God is trying to set in my hands right now (and I’m still not sure what “it” is).
His ways are not my ways, sometimes.
Sometimes, God can be unwieldy, and messy, dirty or cumbersome. God does his best work in the hardest situations, because that’s when we finally throw our hands up in the air and give Him the opportunity to grab hold of our (now open) hands and pull us to safety.
So today, my hands are up, as I grieve the loss of what I thought I knew about myself, my business(es), and the way I THOUGHT God wanted me to show up in the world.
It is horrifyingly painful, wretched, and excruciating. I wouldn’t will it on anyone.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Read MoreAbout Me
Storyteller. Transformer. Entrepreneur. I've won a few awards for writing, music and design, and I'm not resting on my laurels. I focus my energy on helping you succeed and get results. Be sure to say hi, leave a comment and get involved. That's how I roll. Coming Soon
