by Heather Plett | Jun 3, 2010 | beginnings, journey, Leadership
I am excited beyond words about the trip I will take to Halifax next week to attend Authentic Leadership in Action. I have been to a lot of conferences, retreats, and workshops before – some good, some bad, and some indifferent. This one, in addition to the fact that it feels like conference/retreat/workshop all beautifully intertwined into one entity, feels like it just might have the capacity to blow the lid off “good” and plop itself comfortably into the rare category of “very good”.
I know it’s not right to judge a book by its cover (or count your chickens before they’re hatched), but there is something about this one that feels uniquely like “going home”. All of those other conferences/workshops/retreats felt like they intersected with one part of my brain or responded to one part of my “professional development plan”, but this one… well, it feels like it’s something new. Something that’s willing to spread its arms out to me and wrap every part of me – body, mind, and soul – into a comfortable embrace.
How do I know this already? Well, for starters, they speak my language. They talk about things that matter deeply to me – leadership, transformation, authenticity, compassion, justice, and creativity. For another thing, they don’t just TALK about these things, they embody them. Imagine going to a leadership conference that starts every day with mindfulness meditation? Or one that offers a sea-kayaking trip as an option? Or one that includes art and theatre and aikido?
It’s brilliant, and it makes SO MUCH SENSE, but it’s OH SO RARE. There are still so few conference organizers who have figured out that they should do anything more than offer you a bunch of academic talking heads (with perhaps a networking event or two thrown in for good measure).
I am excited, but you want to know a little secret? I’m nervous. Even a little bit scared. It’s not that I’m worried I won’t enjoy it – it’s just that I’m pretty sure that it will challenge me, shake me up, and call me to something BIGGER.
Recently I talked about the Pheonix Process that Elizabeth Lesser describes in Broken Open. Well, the little person inside of me – my scared little ego – is terrified that this conference is going to call me to BLAST OUT of the flame, with my colourful wings flashing toward the sky and RISE UP into something new. Something bigger. And something freakin’ scary.
I don’t know what that is yet. And here’s the bottom line. Here’s the little question that keeps niggling at me.
Am I worthy?
Am I really worthy of a bigger calling? Am I really ready to do something more bold? Am I willing to give up things (and possibly relationships) and risk the life I have for something scary and unsure? Am I willing to be authentic to my calling, make myself vulnerable, open myself up to the world, and then take the slings and arrows that will probably come with that?
What if I AM called to that, and people think I’m showing off? What if I stumble and fail and people say “well, if you didn’t think you were such a big shot and you’d just stuck with the old wings that were perfectly serviceable without being all flashy, maybe you wouldn’t have come crashing to the ground?” What if the naysayers say “well, we never thought you were that bright to begin with, and now you’re just making a food of yourself?”
Like Pema Chodron says (in The Places that Scare You), it all boils down to fear. Fear of who we are. Fear of what we’ve been called to become. Fear of what people will say of us.
Last year, I made a video about fear. Some of you will remember it. I think it’s time to watch it again. I think it’s time to add a new chapter.
“When I am fearless, I will believe that I am worthy of what the Creator is calling me toward.”
(Oh, this is a little bit freaky… I just realized that the kite that my daughters are flying toward the end, where it says “I will soar…” looks like a Phoenix!)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_vLDSJnNh8]
by Heather Plett | Jun 2, 2010 | Africa, India, inspiring people, Leadership
The word “warrior” keeps popping up in my life lately. It started last month when I referred to myself as a warrior when I served as Marcel’s advocate as we navigated the dysfunctional health care system. A few weeks later, when I registered for ALIA (where I’ll be next week!), I signed up for the workshop “Leader as Shambala Warrior”. Intrigued with the concept of the Shambala warrior (and somewhat amused by how this was following my own self-definition as warrior), I started doing some advance reading for the workshop. The reading only increased the intrigue.
To be a warrior in Shambala tradition, you must be strong, peace-loving, bold, gentle, compassionate, and forgiving. It’s not about going to war, the way we in the West would tend to think about warriorship. It’s about striving for goodness in the world in which we live. Thankfully, It doesn’t require of me that I give up my pacifist roots and go to war.
I’ve been thinking about which leaders I have witnessed that I would say embody the concept of the Shambala warrior. Many of them, it turns out, are women who work tirelessly (and usually very quietly and humbly) for peace, justice, and equality in the developing countries they call home. They may be quiet, but they are also bold and know when to call a spade a spade. I have heard many of them make rather scathing comments about what they have witnessed in our North American culture. Here are a few of my inspirations:
Elizabeth was just 23 when I met her in Ethiopia, but she has wisdom and strength beyond her years. She has committed her life to serving the cause of justice for those who are poor. She gave up her home in Addis Ababa to move to a remote village in the Afar desert to help a nomadic community build a water diversion project so that they can move beyond the hunger that has plagued them for a number of years (since the climate has changed and drought comes more frequently). Arriving in a Muslim community, Elizabeth was told “this project will never work if it’s lead by a woman”, but she persevered and a few years later, dramatic changes have occured. Not only do they have abundant crops where nothing once grew, but there are more children going to school because families do not have to uproot themselves in search of water. The most exciting change is that gradually, women are being allowed to hold leadership positions in local governance, because the community witnessed what Elizabeth was capable of.
When I met Fidelis, I couldn’t help but notice the fierce energy burning in her eyes, despite the quiet calm of her face. It didn’t take long to find out that my first impressions were dead on. This was a women who would stand up to almost anyone without flinching (she had the nerve to tell Jeffrey Sachs he might be wrong on some of his thoughts on the Green Revolution for Africa and encouraged him to listen to more Africans), but still had the grace and compassion to make everyone in her presence feel valued. One of the most striking things she said in her visit to Canada was “Why do you people in the West always think you need to FIX everything?” She was working tirelessly in her native Kenya to help farmers learn more sustainable agriculture practices. I remember a story she told about how they’d learned to give goats and chickens in some villages because then they were more assured that the women and children would eat (men were too proud to eat that lowly meat and preferred beef). Sadly, Fidelis passed away last year. A bright light too soon gone.
Mary Beth left a career in teaching to work in agricultural development because she witnessed marginalized tribes during times of conflict not having enough food to eat and it awakened a driving passion in her to do something about it. She was quickly promoted to leadership and now serves as Chief Functionary/Secretary for the Rural Women’s Upliftment Society (RWUS) in a remote area of India. When she visited Canada, she could not believe how much waste was accepted in our culture. “I visited a potato farm,” she said, “and saw so many potatoes that were left on the field to rot after the machines had finished the harvest. I couldn’t help but think of all the people those potatoes might feed.”
Victoria is the first woman to serve as General Secretary of the Association of Evangelicals of Liberia (AEL). AEL is active in resettling refugees from the many years of civil war, including helping many farmers to successfully return to their land. As a single parent who provides a home for not only her own children, but her nieces and nephews (who she is supporting through school), she was struck by the self-centredness of Western culture. “When we have a surplus, we give it to someone around who does not have enough food. There are always people around who need food.”
Shama carries herself with poise and strength. There is little doubt when you meet her that you are meeting a leader. She works in program management for Church World Service in her native Pakistan. As a woman in a leadership position in a male-dominated world, she often has to assert herself or choose to ignore the prejudice she’s subjected to. Some of the projects Shama manages help families who’ve been displaced because of conflict gain access to food. It is clear she loves her country and she longs for a day when more of the young girls she meets in rural areas have access to education. Sadly, though, even where there are schools, she fears that young people are not being taught to think creatively. “They are taught by rote,” she says. “Questions are frowned upon. I’d like to see that changed.”
I wish I’d had more time to spend with Kabita on the tiny island in the Sundarbans in India where she lives. My first impression of this young schoolteacher was that she had great respect (and expected the same) for the children under her guidance who danced for us when we first arrived on the island. She took my hand and gently guided me around her village, helping me aboard the bicycle transport, protecting me from tree branches along the path, and making sure I was comfortable. With pride, she introduced me to the place she calls home where she works tirelessly to bring education to children from marginalized tribes. I have never felt so comfortable holding another woman’s hand, but there was a special bond between Kabita and I right from the start. There were tears in both of our eyes when we parted.
As I prepare to go to ALIA, I will carry the legacy of these women with me. They are the lights along my path toward my own authentic leadership and warriorship.
