by Heather Plett | Nov 8, 2013 | Uncategorized
Three days ago, I hosted my Creative Writing for Self-Discovery circle, and was delighted when the conversation deepened and the participants started to open up in new ways, tentatively sharing the kinds of stories that only get offered in a place of trust and mutual vulnerability.
Two days ago, I went to see Brené Brown talk and was reminded that vulnerability creates resilience against shame, and that hosting each other’s vulnerability (without offering advice, platitudes, shame or resistance) is the way we create real community.
Yesterday, I worked on a timeline of my life for Christina Baldwin‘s Re-storying Your Life e-course, and found myself broken open once again by grief and memory and love (remembering losing Mom one year ago, plus mapping out all of the losses and stories of love in my life).
Today I am trying to make meaning of all of this, trying to weave the threads together and tell a story of how my life feels cracked open once again. A few more layers of shame, fear, and resistance have been peeled away, a little more clarity about my place in the world has arrived, and it all feels big and important and worth sharing. But so far the words are illusive and the blog post I’d planned to write isn’t showing up.
So I will turn to art instead, and try to paint meaning into the wordless spaces in my head and heart.
For now, I know these simple things to be true:
- Vulnerability is essential for meaningful relationships.
- Deep healing and growth comes when we host our grief well.
- Co-creating circles of grace opens the door to transformation.
- I don’t want to live any other way than authentically.
by Heather Plett | Oct 28, 2013 | Uncategorized
A few weeks ago, when I was visiting my friend Desiree Adaway in Asheville, a recurring theme kept coming up in our conversations – women, race, and privilege.
Community building is high on the list of values that both Desiree and I hold, and within that value is an interest in more effective community building across the gaps that divide us – like race and access to privilege. To get to a deeper place in those relationships that help us build community, we have to be prepared to engage in some of the harder conversations. That means asking questions that might embarrass us, admitting that we might feel some shame around some of the issues involved (eg. the privilege that we did nothing to earn), listening to each others’s stories with open hearts, and being prepared to step out of our comfort zones.
I invite you to listen in on our conversation and add your own thoughts in the comments below.
Note: the video stopped working part way through, but the audio works fine, so we decided to share it as is.
Women, Race, and Privilege from Heather Plett on Vimeo.
by Heather Plett | Oct 26, 2013 | Uncategorized
A few days ago, as I scanned my Facebook feed, I realized that a great number of people I know and love were busy making their way toward interesting gatherings in four places around the US – Portland, Phoenix, Nags Head, and Minneapolis. I was genuinely happy for my friends who were having great opportunities to connect, co-create, stretch themselves, and be refreshed, but underneath the happiness, something else started bubbling up…
Shadow.
Jealousy. Not-enoughness. Self-pity.
The whispers were quiet at first, but then they got louder.
“They’re all busy having a much more interesting life than you have.”
“You don’t really deserve to be at any of those gatherings.”
“They’re connecting with people who are much more interesting than you.”
“The last retreat you tried to host had to be canceled because not enough people signed up. You’re just not interesting enough to draw in the kinds of people that these events draw in.”
“Maybe if you published a book, or did more significant work, people would start paying more attention to your work.”
“Your life is kind of boring and ordinary, isn’t it? While they’re all out having a great time in beautiful locations, you’ll be shopping at Costco, cleaning your house, and driving your kids to all of the places they need to go.”
By now you might be thinking “But Heather… you just had an amazing trip and you were at two really cool events in beautiful places. What right do you have to be jealous of anyone else when you’ve had such great opportunities lately?”
Unfortunately, jealousy has a really short memory, especially when it comes to the good things in our lives. In fact, you can be in the middle of the most beautiful day you’ve ever had, and jealousy can STILL remind you that someone else out there has it just a little bit easier and that the sun shines just a little bit brighter on their house than yours.
Fortunately, I’ve gotten to know jealousy over the years, and I’ve discovered something interesting about it.
When I allow it to be, jealousy can be one of my greatest teachers.
“Teacher?” you’re probably asking. “Shouldn’t I try to banish jealousy rather than invite it in to serve as my teacher?
Well, here’s the thing that I’ve discovered… honouring jealousy as my teacher takes away its power to harm me.
Here’s what I do when jealousy shows up to torment me:
1. Inquire into what it’s trying to teach me about myself. When I’m jealous of someone, it usually means that they have something that I feel I’m lacking. Why is that lack showing up in my life? Does it mean that I genuinely want that particular thing (fame, money, friends, a published book, etc.), or does it mean that I’m carrying a story about myself that I would feel more complete if I had that thing? Would I REALLY feel more complete if I had that thing, or would I simply start looking for the next thing that would fill the empty space in my life?
2. Fill the lack in my life with gratitude. Jealousy can not co-exist in the same space with gratitude. When I start to genuinely honour what is good in my life by naming that which I am grateful for, jealousy loses its power. Suddenly it can’t convince me to believe any stories of lack because my life is full. Today, for example, as I stood looking down at a sink full of dirty dishes that seemed dismally mundane compared to the glamorous things other people were doing, I turned my heart toward gratitude, thanking God for the food that I’d had the pleasure of eating from those plates and the loved ones who’d sat with me while I ate. My life was abundant after all.
3. Set intentions to seek out more of those things that jealousy is pointing me toward. If, in my truth-seeking, I discover that my heart really is longing for something that another person has, then I ask myself what it will take to attain that thing. If I want more opportunities to host retreats or speak at conferences, for example, what can I do to make that happen in a way that is authentic to me? If I want to grow my work, what courage will it take to get there?
4. Offer blessings to those people who have the things that I seek or are doing the work that I long to do. Just like jealousy and gratitude cannot co-exist, jealousy and blessings cannot co-exist. Whenever I can, I try to extend either a silent or spoken blessing toward whoever triggered my jealousy. This is especially important if I recognize that the people I am envious of are doing really important work in the world – the kind of work I want to do more off. In this case, I really want all of the people gathering in these four places to do beautiful work together, because I believe that their work is leading to more conscious living and deeper connection in the world – two things that I deeply value. I want to be connected to good work like theirs, and so I send out a blessing that their work will spread, and that mine will spread too, and that more people will live with intention, integrity, connection, love, and courage. When I begin to look at it like that, I realize that their success is in correlation with my success rather than in competition with it.
5. Be honest and vulnerable in the relationships where I need to be. Often, there is surprising value in being vulnerable with the person who triggers my jealousy. Several years ago, I found myself dealing with a lot of jealousy toward a friend who seemed to breeze through life much more easily than I did. Because we lived in close quarters and I brushed up against this shadow often, I knew I needed to address it. When I told her what was going on, she broke down and admitted that she’d always been jealous of me too, convinced that I made friends more easily than she did. What resulted was a deep and lasting friendship, built on our shared vulnerability.
There is still much for me to learn from jealousy, and so I suspect it will continue to show up in my life to teach me. In the meantime, I offer this blessing to all of those who are gathering in meaningful circles and doing good work in the world:
May this time together be one of healing and deep connection.
May your hearts be broken wide open as you sense into what wants to emerge in this circle.
May you step courageously into the light and may you carry that light with you into the world.
May you hold in your hearts all of the people who are being drawn into this work and may you feel their love from all over the world.
May each of you honour the wisdom you bring into the circle and may you have the courage and discernment to share it generously.
May you also know when silence is the best course of action.
May you know deep trust, both in yourselves and in the others who have gathered.
May your words be full of grace and love and may your questions be full of truth and openheartedness.
May this time you spend together send a ripple of love and healing into communities all over the world and into the earth itself.
by Heather Plett | Oct 23, 2013 | Uncategorized
In the past week, I have done three interviews – two where I was guest speaker for online courses and one where I was a guest on an upcoming telesummit on feminine wisdom.
The theme that kept coming up in all three of those conversations, and in my recent talk at Patti Digh’s Design Your Life Camp, was this:
We don’t need another hero. (Thank you, Tina Turner.) What we need instead are people who will serve as hosts.
This is not an original thought to me, but the more I learn about it, the more central it has become to the work that I do. (I learned it first from my teachers Margaret Wheatley and Deborah Frieze, and have become immersed in it in my work with The Art of Hosting and Harvesting Conversations that Matter.)
We have built too many of our models (in business, government, church, Hollywood, etc.) on the expectation that someone will show up as the hero to save us from the ills of the world, or that we have to show up as the hero for someone else. What that does is create environments where our heroes have too much power, we assume that the rest of us don’t have the capacity to impact real change, and we become complacent in the face of violence, destruction of the earth, racism, economic imbalance, etc.
Here’s what Meg Wheatley has to say about the difference between a hero and a host:
You’re acting as a hero when you believe that if you just work harder, you’ll fix things; that if you just get smarter or learn a new technique, you’ll be able to solve problems for others. You’re acting as a hero if you take on more and more projects and causes and have less time for relationships. You’re playing the hero if you believe that you can save the situation, the person, the world.
Hosting Leaders create substantive change by relying on everyone’s creativity, commitment, and generosity. They learn from firsthand experience that these qualities are present in just about everyone and in every organization. They extend sincere invitations, ask good questions, and have the courage to support risk-taking and experimentation.
The more I learn about what it means to serve as a host leader, the more I am determined to incorporate it into every part of my life. I am a host leader in the way that I teach at the university, inviting my students into their own creativity, innovation, and way of learning instead of trying to impose my ideas on them. I am a host leader in the way I lead retreats, starting always in circle, where we look into each other’s eyes, see the humanity there, and share our stories in a way that invites both vulnerability and strength to show up. I am a host leader in the way that I parent, creating a container for my children to grow into the best version of themselves, instead of trying to mould them into my view of what they should be. I am a host leader in the way I coach, asking meaningful questions that will reveal my clients’ deepest wisdom and truth.
How can we be more intentional about serving as host leaders? Here are some of the thoughts that have emerged from my many conversations with my teachers and fellow-learners on the subject:
- Start with curiosity. Leaders are usually taught to be decisive and knowledgeable, and to “never let them see you sweat”. That’s a hero model that closes the door to new things showing up and to other people bringing ideas and questions into the room. Instead, open the door to possibility by being curious. What is opening up? What is possible? What do people bring? What would happen if…?
- Host yourself first. Get clear on who you are and where you stand. Find the practices that help to ground you in your own truth and wisdom and that help you withstand the pressures of ego and “the way things have always been”. Inquire into your own stories, triggers, and fears first so that you are more prepared to host what shows up in the circle. (A practice like Mandala Discovery can help with that.)
- Be vulnerable. Admit what you don’t know. Admit that you need other people. Admit your failings. It may seem counterintuitive, but vulnerability is one of the greatest strengths of a leader. Vulnerability invites courage, growth, and meaningful relationships.
- Invite vulnerability in others. Create a space where it is safe to fail, to fall apart, to not know the answer, and to take risks. People will show up with all of who they are when they know that they are safe.
- Trust other people and invite them to bring their creativity, commitment, and wisdom. Every time I teach, I begin by saying “I am not the only person who brought wisdom into the room. Everyone of you brought wisdom, and it is my hope that at some point in this class, you will feel comfortable enough to share it.” Trust them and give them autonomy.
- Ask good questions that open up meaningful conversations. Good questions are invitational rather than assuming. They invite energy rather than trying to contain it. They serve like a garden hoe, loosening the soil so that the seeds can grow.
- Be an active and engaged listener. An effective host leader spends a lot of time in silence. That’s something that’s taken me a lot of time to learn as a leader/teacher/parent – that I am more effective when I am listening to other people than when I am trying to fill the space with the knowledge I feel compelled to offer people. An effective listener/host allows the people in the circle to get closer to their OWN wisdom and stories rather than trying to adopt someone else’s wisdom.
- Start with a “heart at peace” rather than a “heart at war” (from the book Anatomy of Peace). A heart at war sees others as objects to be overcome, colonized, monopolized, directed, changed, while a heart at peace sees the humanity in each person.
- Rearrange the chairs. Most of our classrooms, boardrooms, conferences rooms, etc., are set up in a way that honours the hero model, with the expert at the front of the room. As my circle teachers, Christina Baldwin and Ann Linnea say, “change the chairs and you change the conversation.” Get people into circle and teach them that each person in that circle has some responsibility for holding the container and for honouring every other person in the room. There is no room for a hero leader in a circle.
If this is something you’d like to learn more about, I invite you to attend the upcoming Art of Hosting training that I’ll be co-hosting in Winnipeg in November. This is the kind of training that I wish everyone could take at some point in their life. The more of us who take it, the more the world will change.
by Heather Plett | Oct 17, 2013 | Uncategorized
There’s a delight that fills you when you dream up a new idea – a piece of art, a script for a play, a dance routine, a poem, a delicious meal, a kid’s birthday party, a course… anything. The delight grows as you entertain the idea and begin to give it shape. You fashion it in your mind, you play with the details, you start gathering the pieces that you need to build it. You lie awake at night dreaming of what it will be when it grows up. You fantasize about how happy it will make you feel.
There’s a little skip in your step as you grow it from a seed of an idea to a real thing. You love it dearly and you know that it will be beautiful. It’s your baby, your work of art – you will love it no matter what.
You sweat over it, cry over it, pray over it, fill it with your longing, sadness, and deep love. You pour everything you have into this creation. It gives you life and joy, but it also asks a lot of you. In between the laughter and the delight, you sacrifice, you bleed, and you ache.
When it’s complete, you gaze on it with delight and so much love for just a moment… and then… the ego shows up uninvited, fear pokes its nose around the corner…and… you start to second guess what you have created.
“Is it good enough? I’m really not an artist. I can’t trust my own opinion.”
“Is it really worth anything? Maybe it’s useless and I’m fooling myself.”
“What if people hate it? What if nobody buys it? What if it just sits here on my shelf and gathers dust and I grow to hate it and I never create another thing as long as I live?”
“What if I am a fraud?”
You do this horrible dance – going back and forth about whether or not it’s actually worth sharing this creation of yours with the world. One moment, you’re determined to barrel through and ignore the voices of fear and ego, and the next moment you’re hugging your pillow in the corner, certain that the only course of action should be to destroy the thing you’ve created before you expose yourself to certain shame.
One day, though, you finally work up the courage to share it. You clench your teeth as you do so, holding the fear tightly at the back of your throat. Part of you wants to dance with delight at this moment of triumph, and part of you wants to weep with the agony of the release.
Lots of people ignore what you’ve put into the world. Some people turn their noses up at it. At first, that’s all you notice and you’re convinced that those are the only kinds of reactions you’ll get. You consider yanking it off the shelf and taking a hammer to it in your backyard. This agony isn’t worth it. You shouldn’t have taken the risk.
But then… in the corner, you see someone crying, and you recognize those tears. Those were the same tears that coursed down your eyes as you poured all of your love into the thing you created. Those are the tears of a person who’s letting her heart crack open just a little. They’re the tears of someone watching their own story unfold, and realizing – perhaps for the first time – that their story has found a safe place to exist.
The person approaches you. Her eyes tell the story even before she whispers “Thank you for this beautiful gift. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for creating something that makes me feel a little more whole. Thank you for cracking me open.”
And suddenly all of those other people – those who turned up their noses or paid no attention – don’t really matter, because you know you didn’t create it for them. You created this thing for the woman standing in front of you, and you created it for yourself. Because both of you needed this little bit of healing that the creation offered. Both of you needed a place where your story feels safe.
You know, in that moment, that you will continue to create. You’ll take all of that pain again and again, you’ll fight with your ego, you’ll risk the failure – you’ll do it all as often as it is required, because you KNOW that you were put on this earth to create and to give and to love.
This isn’t just YOUR story. It’s my story, and to be specific, it’s the story of Mandala Discovery. I have been in love with this program since it began to grow as the seed of an idea a couple of years ago. I knew that I held something magic in my hands, and so I kept pouring my love into it, even when that felt hard to do. I put it out into the world in one form last year, and then – when not very many people paid attention – I let it sit on a shelf for awhile, not sure that it was worthy.
But something kept telling me that the magic I’d seen in it – back when it was only the seed of an idea – was true and good and that I shouldn’t abandon it. Something told me that people needed this little gift that would give them a safe place for their stories to unfold. And so I took it down off the shelf and started polishing again.
When it was ready, I put it out into the world again, and people showed up. Not only did they show up, but they honoured the gift in the most beautiful ways imaginable. They honoured it by creating their own mandalas and sharing them and then telling the stories of how their mandala journals are changing them. They let their hearts crack open and then they stood in front of each other and said “Here. Look deeply into my heart. It may be wounded, but there is a lot of love here.”
The stories that were shared floored me and made me realize that this gift was not mine – instead I was simply serving as a catalyst, a vessel, the pot in the hands of the Potter, creating what had been breathed through me and then offering it to those who most needed it.
One woman shared how the mandalas have become part of her own recovery and how she will use them in a drug and alcohol recovery program on a First Nations Reserve. Another woman told the story of how she’d used one of the prompts with a group of second grade students who hardly knew any English, but were able to articulate something through the mandalas where words had failed them. Others shared how they had found themselves opening up to new truths about themselves. One woman plastered her walls with her mandalas – a road map back to herself.
I was reminded once again that when we let our egos get in our way, when we keep ourselves from doing that which is closest to our hearts, when we cower in fear of failure and rejection, we not only cheat ourselves, we cheat the world out of what it needs for healing. We cheat people out of what makes them feel less alone. We isolate ourselves and we isolate others.
I would like to get Mandala Discovery into the hands of more people who need it, not because my ego says “it must be big to mean something”, but because I know that it has transformative value. I would be honoured and pleased if you would help me do that.
Please share a link to Mandala Discovery (and/or this post) with your friends, followers, fans, family, and either use the hashtag #mandaladiscovery on social media so that I know that you have done so, or leave a note at the end of this post letting me know that you have.
Two people will be selected from those who’ve shared to win one of the following:
1. A free one-on-one coaching session with me.
2. Free registration for the November offering of Mandala Discovery.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for honouring this gift.
