by Heather Plett | Jan 29, 2014 | Uncategorized
A few days ago, Tara Mohr shared this post on Facebook, asking people whether or not they agreed with the critique of “do what you love, love what you do”. The article suggests “the problem with DWYL is that it leads not to salvation but to the devaluation of actual work—and more importantly, the dehumanization of the vast majority of labourers.” It goes on to say that it is only the privileged few who can do what they love, and it is almost always at the expense of hundreds of other people contributing less enjoyable labour so that a few people can remain in their privilege (e.g. Steve Jobs did what he loved, but could only do so with the support of thousands of employees, janitors, food service providers, etc.)
I admit, this article causes some inner tension for me. My response is both “bravo” and “wait a minute…”.
There is part of me that says a big “Yes!” to the article. Yes, let’s be aware of our privilege and our sense of entitlement that we should be allowed to do what we love. Yes, let’s recognize the labour of those who provide food, clothes, and clean hospital floors for us. Yes, let’s realize that the marginalized single mother scraping together a meagre income on three part time jobs has never been afforded the kind of privilege that a “do what you love” mentality suggests. Yes, let’s examine the complexities of a world in which the colour of your skin, your gender, your sexual orientation, your mobility, the country you live in, the government that makes decisions for you, or a hundred other things could be the deciding factor whether or not you ever have an opportunity to “do what you love”. Yes. Let’s be honest and not be arrogant and entitled.
And then there’s the part of me that says “but wait…” I’m a coach and retreat facilitator. I work with many of those privileged (and some less privileged) who find themselves able to make decisions that lead in the direction of their heart’s work, and I ADVISE them to seek the path that love calls them toward. I’ve even written a book to support that quest. AND I was able to quit a perfectly good job myself in pursuit of more of what I love to do (recognizing, of course, my privilege in the fact that I had a savings account and income-earning husband that allowed me to do so).
How can I now say that doing what we love is not a worthwhile pursuit and we should abandon it in order to honour work of all kind? I can’t. I believe that our passions and our love were given to us for a reason. I believe that those of us who find a way to follow that love are making important contributions to the world because of it. I believe that I am better able to serve the world if I use my giftedness and follow my passions than if I do the kind of work that doesn’t make use of my gifts and doesn’t allow me to share my love.
But… let’s go back to the flip side… There’s another belief that sometimes conflicts with the “do what you love and love what you do” mentality. I believe in community. I believe that we are meant to serve each other and sometimes that means making sacrifices and doing hard things for the good of the whole. I believe in the hard work and sacrifice of Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela and I don’t believe they always “did what they loved and loved what they did”.
I can’t help but think about Elizabeth, a woman I met in the remotest part of Ethiopia. At the age of 23, this remarkable young woman was running a water diversion project that would eventually give a community access to fresh water to grow crops in the desert. As a young woman leading a crew of 80 skilled labourers (all men) and hundreds of unskilled labourers, she faced prejudice, isolation, and a great deal of loneliness. It took a lot of courage and commitment to stay where she was and see this project to completion. Although she was using her leadership and engineering gifts, there probably weren’t many days when she loved what she was doing. And yet she did it, and today a community has beautiful lush gardens because of it.
And that brings me to my greatest concern with the “do what you love” mantra. It is too “me-centric”. It is the product of a society that is increasingly separating us from each other, turning us into consumers rather than citizens, and making us believe that the pursuit of our own happiness trumps the happiness of the collective. This doesn’t work. The more separated we are and the more self-centred we become, the less we rely on community and the less we make healthy decisions that serve our world and not just ourselves. This is why we end up with greedy economic systems where 1% of the population owns 40% of the wealth. This is why we destroy our ecosystems and overlook slave labour – because we feel entitled to consume the things we love and focus on ourselves instead of the good of the whole.
“The new Story of the People, then, is a Story of Interbeing, of reunion. In its personal expression, it proclaims our deep interdependency on other beings, not only for the sake of surviving but also even to exist. It knows that my being is more for your being. In its collective expression, the new story says the same thing about humanity’s role on Earth and relationship to the rest of nature. It is this story that unites us across so many areas of activism and healing. The more we act from it, the better able we are to create a world that reflects it. The more we act from Separation, the more we helplessly create more of that, too.” – Charles Eisenstein, The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know is Possible
I would like to suggest an alternative to the “do what you love” mantra, and it is this…
Do it for love.
Take “you” out of the picture, and focus on the collective picture of love. Once you do that, then the balance comes back into the picture. You can still follow your passion and believe that those passions contribute to a better world, but now you are doing it not for yourself, but because you believe in the collective good.
When you do it for love, you can show up as the most kind and respectful janitor at the hospital, because you are serving the people around you.
When you do it for love, you can quit your soul-sucking job, move out of the city and grow an eco-friendly garden in your little patch of paradise.
When you do it for love, you can own a big business and let yourself get excited about the financial success of it while treating the people who support you in that business with respect and compassion.
When you do it for love, you can move out to the remotest part of Ethiopia and oversee a water diversion project and find strength in your love for the people and the land.
When you do it for love, you can spend 27 years in jail and emerge with forgiveness for your captors and go on to lead your country into a new political paradigm.
When you do it for love, you can make art passionately and believe that you are helping to create a better world.
When you do it for love, you can survive those three part time jobs (or work yourself to exhaustion on a farm like my father did) because you believe that your family is worth it.
Do it for love. Do it for the world.
Maybe then we’ll find that “more beautiful world our hearts know is possible.”
If you want to do it for love, let me help you find your path.
by Heather Plett | Jan 22, 2014 | Uncategorized
I am very excited about this and hope that many, many people will dive into its pages, dig into the juicy journal prompts and creative exercises, and find their way to the places where their hearts want to take them. Buy your copy here.
Preparing for this launch, I asked a number of people I love and respect for their brief stories about finding their paths. Here’s what I asked them:
Who or what helped you find your path to the work of your heart?
I LOVE the stories I gathered! They are unique, beautiful and wise. Just as you’ll discover when you work your way through Pathfinder, no two people have the same story or the same path.
If their stories inspire you, feel free to add your own stories in the comments. Or write your story on your blog and I’ll add the link to the bottom of this post.
Tess Marshall, courage coach, author, blogger and teacher, Michigan
I was 25 and a young mother of four daughters ages 7, 5, 3 and 3. A young priest at the church we attended took personal interest in me. He convinced me to attend a nearby college when the twins went to kindergarten. I was AFRAID. He took me, signed me up for 2 classes: speed reading and how to study. I graduated nine years later. In two more years I had a master’s degree in counseling psychology. Life-changing.
Alana Sheeren, writer & intuitive coach, California
My daughter who made me want to deal with my demons so she didn’t have to inherit them. My son, whose stillbirth wiped the slate clean and began the journey of tying the loose ends of my life back together. The incredible women, like Heather, who crossed my path both virtually and in real life, whose love and support kept pointing me back to my true self. And through it all, listening to and trusting that deep inner wisdom kept me believing I’d find my way, even I was stumbling in the dark.
Christine Claire Reed, spontaneous dance maker and guide, Pennsylvania
Death. Finding my way back to dance and back to my essential self, finding my way back to LIFE after decades of debilitating depression and anxiety came through the lessons of death. My partner and I had a few years when death was a constant companion, and rather than shrink from that, we learned to embrace it and to live more fully because of it. I do not know where I would be now if I had not learned that death is just another necessary and beautiful part of life.
Mary Anne Radmacher, author, artist, actionista, Washington
Reading Hugh Prather’s HOW TO LIVE IN THE WORLD AND STILL BE HAPPY was a “line in the sand” turning point in my young life. We are now familiar that a single Chinese character represents both “crisis” and “opportunity.” That which felt tragic in the moment I was experiencing it – turned out to be key to turning me to my true life’s path.
Christina Baldwin, author & teacher, Washington
One thing that helped me find the path to the work of my heart is my own journal. There is a circular nature to the act of writing something down and through reading what I’m writing informing myself of my own desires… Countless times over the years, the pen has slipped out truth before my waiting gaze and I have been startled, surprised, delighted, or shocked at what I have just revealed to myself. The inner teacher is a sly one! In a life so richly full of people, I have enjoyed again and again the surprises springing forth from this most subtle inner source.
Amy Tingle, writer, artist, typewriter poet, New Jersey
The first dip into finding my heart’s work was quite literal, dipping my toes into Squam Lake during the inaugural Squam Art Workshops in 2008. I met so many women that weekend who were in the process of searching for, or who had already found, the heart of their passion. Taking art classes with great teachers like Judy Wise and Misty Mawn, and writing with Jen Lee and eventually, with Maya Rachel Stein, led me to begin teaching again myself. I started BraveGirlsArt, offering art and self-empowerment classes for girls and women in New Jersey, and more recently Maya and I embarked on a new adventure together with our mobile creativity business, Food for the Soul Train. Art and writing are no longer pursuits I daydream about, but integral pieces of my daily life. That first dip in Squam Lake was freezing, but I knew immediately that I could swim. -Amy Tingle, Food for the Soul Train
Rachelle Mee-Chapman, spiritual director specializing in “care for creative souls, Washington
What helped me find my path to my heart’s work? Art. I often say that when church failed me, art saved me. To me the creative process is an act faith, and to view the artwork of others is a connection to the divine. I was especially guided by the letters of Vincent VanGogh — another former preacher converted to the church of art. Now I help people connect the dots between spiritual development and creative expression. As an ordained minister, I never thought a museum would become my cathedral, but I’m grateful that it has.
Beth Sanders, conversation host and city planner, Alberta
Being a bit of an explorer has opened my life to my heart. When I went to university, and took my first job, I didn’t know what I was getting into; I just knew there was something there for me and I set out to explore what called to me, even if I didn’t understand why. As I look back, the path seems clear and I now understand that when I explore, the path finds me.
Kara LC Jones, creative grief coach and teacher, Washington
As odd as it may sound, my three dead sons helped me find my path to comfort with groundlessness. Prior to their lives/deaths, I wanted a fixed path; to know what I was meant to do; to feel I could accomplish or clearly show what I was doing in my life and work. But their deaths pulled all path from under my feet. I had to face the chaos of groundlessness and make peace with the path being no path. I do what I do. I treasure the moment — or lament, celebrate, curse, or dance it. I aim for things sometimes, but I know the path branches in dimensions I can’t even fathom. The aim is aimless. The purpose wanders. The path is no path, *and* being okay with that groundlessness every moment.
Tuesday Ryan-Hart, host/facilitator, community builder, Ohio
While I have been supported and loved into the work of my heart by many kind friends and family, I would say that I have always been led by my own internal compass. If I can get quiet enough to listen, I will always find my own “true north” and then those same friends and family give me the courage to follow where that leads. My path – finding it, walking it, blazing it if I have to – is always located at the intersection of myself and my beloveds, the personal and the collective, the known and unknown.
Mary Alice Arthur, story activist and conversation host, New Zealand and other places
I learn by travelling and being in new places, different cultures and groups has challenged my perspective and taught me to take a broader view. I’ve been blessed to meet many friends of the heart who have helped me to see my own guts more clearly. But the outward journey has to be mirrored by the inner one. I’ve learned as much or more through the prompting of my spirit and the longing of my soul. Always it calls to me to be still a moment and listen. That isn’t easy! In a world where”doing” has become paramount I look again and again to those who are profoundly “being”, and who, in following their hearts are a beacon to others. I hope I can be one of those. May you be one, too!
Terri Belford, writer, teacher, muse, California
The greatest wisdom about finding my true path came to me at a point when I began to feel like a dilettante because I was on my third business and once again feeling called to do something new. I literally was walking up a trail in the woods and heard a whisper asking “What if I have more than one life purpose? What if I’m not meant to stay on a single path?” At that moment I gave myself permission to remain open to unplanned twists and “stopovers” on the journey. Now, rather than judging myself as fickle, I honor my different callings and I’m guided by the question, “How will this make a difference?”
Lisa Wilson, artist, writer, mindfulness teacher, Indiana
Stillness. Because beyond all of the paths that were offered by others, all of the shoulds and the rights and wrongs…beyond it all was my heart, keeping rhythm for my breath. I simply need to listen, again and again, to remember who I already am.
Connie Zhuwarara, human rights lawyer, Zimbabwe
Being able to finally listen to that inner voice that tells you there is a better way of doing things more authentically. The yearning that never goes away and later the joy and peace that follows when you make the decision to finally listen to that inner strong desire for change. The grace that thrives when you know that although the work you are doing is important, there is a whole new world out there not known by many. It requires you to walk on the edge to discover new ways of living, working and being. It dawn on me, that mere existence was not an option anymore.
Walking the path to the work of my heart was like stepping in front of the train track. It was faith, then magic happened and everything started happening in slow motion. Then the chips started falling in place, slowly one by one. I was pointed to the right people to guide me to let me know that many have walked this path before me. I came across various tools that have lead me to this path; mandala’s, women in circle. Slowly like a baby learning to walk, I stumble, but get up knowing that I am on the right path. I allowed myself to talk to the women that have walked the path before me. Two particular women have had such a big influence in my life. One introduced me to the new way of doing things. I did not hesitate. I walked to the door and the other I called on. She told me, I was an edge walker. She told me, that the truth was within – she was going to hold my hand and guide me to reach my truth. Am slowly, but surely, picking up the pebbles of my truth. Am walking the edgy path. This path comes with it Grace, gratitude and courage. Sometimes it’s lonely but that path is worth walking.
Maya Stein, ninja poet, writing guide, and creative adventuress, New Jersey
I had great role models in my parents. They’ve lived a very creative life, pursuing activities and ideas and places they felt passionate about. They always carved out time and space for themselves – together and separately – and I was always aware that their interests and pursuits were a necessary part of our family life, even if I wouldn’t have known to articulate exactly why. But I understand, now, that their personal pursuits defined them just as much as parenting did. And this has taught me a lot about identity, about the importance of carving space and time for that amid the other roles and responsibilities of daily life. It’s so easy to lose sight of our personal identities, or even the investigation of what makes us tick inside – it’s probably the first thing that gets sacrificed because we can get so overloaded by what’s being demanded of us – but I think it’s ultimately a huge loss, not just for ourselves, but for others who might look to us for inspiration and guidance. I feel that when we let our passionate selves slip away, the best part of us is gone. And so I make decisions – not always simple or easy ones – on behalf of that “best part.” I want her around for a long time.
Jodi Crane, play therapist and professor, Texas
My parents, teachers, and mentors have influenced me through lessons learned via their teaching and modeling. And some steps on my path I didn’t have control over. For instance, only one school accepted both my husband and I for further graduate work. Thus, we moved from Texas to Iowa. My path has been most fulfilling when it includes elements of what I loved to play as a child: house, school, writing stories, and making crafts. In the end, my path has been one of self-exploration and increasing self-awareness, knowing above all else, I must trust myself.
Cigdem Kobu, writer, teacher and business coach, New Jersey
I’ve had many truly great guides and teachers, but I think my intuitive and daring inner self, whenever I remember to notice and listen to her voice, has been the one who helped me the most because she urged me to keep going and encouraged me to take risk, experiment and learn continuously.
I believe each of us has her own inner wise self who knows all the answers, who has all the guidance, and who can show the way if we let her.
Joseph Campbell said, “Life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life. It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer.”
I trust that the meaning I search for – as well as the work of my heart – comes from within myself in my commitment to do the work in spite of my fears, doubts and trepidations. It is the practice that sheds light on the path.
Oftentimes people want to know the meaning first – before they feel they can rise to act. But I think it happens the other way around. Meaning comes from practice. You feel drawn to do something. You feel called to do some type of work. You accept the challenge with an open mind, you take the first step, you experiment, you create, you serve. And all the time, you remain observant. Then you change, transform, shift, redefine, course-correct as the need arises. And then you do it again.
Laurie Foley, brand strategist and coach, Georgia
As much as I dislike the experience, uncertainty has always been the most profound teacher for me as I seek my path. Call me stubborn but I seem to require being dissolved into total surrender in order to discover the path that really matters. One of the best parts of getting older is that I can now shake my fist at the challenges of uncertainty while knowing deep down that growth and alignment will come in due time. Journaling is my best tool for allowing fist-shaking and anticipation to co-exist.
Jennifer Louden, author & teacher, Washington
A persistent tug, push, psychic shove that has always arose in me to create (something! anything!) and to help others (it can be better, really!) is what ushers me along the path of my work. I won’t say that following this path is easy nor is the path very clear but so what? I will continue to listen and follow. Knowing others are doing the same helps immensely.
Barbara Winter, self-employed gypsy teacher & writer, California
I spent a decade zigzagging around and wondering why I couldn’t find my calling like my archaeologist sister had when she was a kid. After three unhappy attempts at “good jobs”, I met a wise man who kept reminding me that the biggest influences in our lives are the people you meet and the books that you read. Although I wasn’t sure where to find those positive influences, one evening I read a little article in the local paper about two women who had started a business from their apartment in New York. Best of all, they’d written a book about their adventures called Supergirls: Autobiography of an Outrageous Business. I dashed to the bookstore the next day, bought their only copy and had a new world open up before my eyes. I must have read it 5 or 6 times in a row. Within a few months, I headed out on my first adventure in self-employment.
Andrea Shroeder, dream incubator & muse for creative magic, Manitoba
Joseph Campbell said that where you stumble, that’s where your treasure lies. When I look back on the path that has led me to where I am now, doing the work of my heart as my full time gig, I see my stumbles as my greatest teachers. Learning how to be ok with the struggle and to find the gifts in the darkness and what ultimately helped me to develop the courage to believe in myself enough to go after what I really wanted.
Miki’ala DeVivo, lifestyle photographer and family history chronicler, Arizona
I used to think that the answer to “what am I supposed to do with my life” was out there somewhere. I took all the courses and read all the books. Turns out the answer was with me all along, but in a place I’d never thought to look before. (Click here for a longer post by Miki’ala on the subject on her blog.)
Martha Atkins, PhD, master certified coach, licensed professional counsellor, Texas
Dr. Hooker, my psychology professor and advisor at Southwestern University was the key player. He started me down a path that led toward pediatric hospital work, then death and dying work. A WWII survivor, he practiced and lived unconditional positive regard. As an 19 year old college student, Dr. Hooker changed the course of my life.
Connie Hozvicka, artist, writer, yogini, Arizona
My paintbrush has always been my trusty ol’ compass in navigating my path. Simply the act of painting has helped me become comfortable with taking risks, lessen my fear of failure, and most of all tap into my innate wisdom. If it wasn’t for my paintbrush, I wouldn’t have the courage to paint a life that is true to my spirit and to find work that stems directly from my heart . (Click here for a longer version of Connie’s story on her blog.)
Mahala Mazerov, meditation teacher, New Mexico
I was born connected. A mystic. As I think we all are. The vital challenge is not to lose our heart connection as we move from the inner richness of childhood into adulthood. And, in particular, not to divide our heart from our work in the world.
David Harkins, business advisor, facilitator, speaker, teacher,
The work of my heart, my passion, is to build and create new things. It takes different forms, from painting and writing, to creating products and building businesses. I am grateful for my parents for giving me the tools and encouragement to begin, and thankful for a string of employers who have enabled me to continue to explore and support my passion.
Are you looking for your path? Pathfinder can help!
Want to share your own story of who our what helped you find your path? Add it in the comments, or write a blog post and leave the link in the comments.
by Heather Plett | Jan 20, 2014 | beginnings, Uncategorized
Pam Slim’s book Body of Work arrived at the perfect time – just as I was on the threshold of doing some big work that marks the next stage of my own body of work.
A few months ago, Dianne McCoy and I accepted a contract to facilitate a major meeting of a national association and their stakeholders from across the country, gathering in our city this past weekend. This was one of the biggest and most complex meetings I’ve ever been called on to facilitate. There were moments leading up to it, when the complexities mounted and the potential for failure grew more evident, when both Dianne and I were sure we were in over our heads. There was even a moment or two when we considered turning down the contract.
But we worked up the courage to carry on. Not only did we carry on, but we pushed the client to allow us to use some methods that we both strongly believe in, but that we knew would create discomfort for many in the room who are used to more formal, hierarchical ways of gathering. Circle was at the foundation of how we wanted to gather, and there aren’t a lot of people in the corporate world who are accustomed to engaging with each other while they hold a talking piece in their hands and look into each others’ eyes. (Thankfully, we had an ally on the planning committee who is equally committed to circle work and she nudged the others to trust us.)
This was a monumental meeting for the organization. The ground was shifting beneath them, and they weren’t sure what shape they’d need to emerge into to continue to be relevant. They needed a brand new level of engagement with their stakeholders (that was both risky and unheard-of) if they were to continue to serve their public.
Needless to say, these two days of work required all of the skills I’ve accumulated – ability to read and respond to the energy in the room, leadership and strength in the face of conflict, intuition, good communication (speaking and writing) skills, attention to detail, ability to host meaningful conversations, creativity, adaptability… and a few skills I didn’t even know I had.
The meeting went well. There was more agreement in the room than the organization had anticipated, and even though things got tense at moments, we were able to redirect the energy and take it into a positive direction. Thanks to strong partners in the room who understand what it means to hold the rim of the circle, we worked our way through some very difficult territory to a positive conclusion. People in the room felt heard in a way they never had before, and the governing council had clarity about the new direction their organization needs to head. At the end of the meeting, several people remarked how the circle had been instrumental in changing the way they’d gathered.
In the evenings, when I returned home, exhausted and yet invigorated, I relaxed while reading Body of Work. As I’d expected, it’s a beautiful articulation of the way my own work has evolved. Pam talks about how the emerging story of our work is a compilation of all of the pieces that led us to this place – experiences we’ve had, things we’re passionate about, things that have happened to us, skills we’ve developed, etc.
Although there’s a part of me that’s long known that this was the direction my work was taking me, there was nothing in the early days of my education or career that indicated that I would one day relish the opportunity to host such a gathering. And yet… when I sit on this side of history and look back, I can see how the threads started coming together a long time ago to tie into this tapestry of my work.
In university, I studied literature and theatre. I’ve always known that writing would be part of my life in some way or another. I also thought that I’d find a place on stage. Little did I know that that place was not on a theatre stage, but at the front of the room speaking, teaching, and facilitating.
I found my way into a career in communication, first in government and then in non-profit. I worked hard to master the art of effective communication, writing more press releases and planning more press conferences than I can count. That grew old, though, and I knew that my longing to communicate was not about finding the best way to tell people about new government policies, but to tell meaningful stories that would change people’s lives.
I left government for non-profit, and finally got to tell more meaningful stories, but knew that wasn’t the final stop either – it was another stepping stone that was helping to prepare me for the next stage of my work. While there, I gained immense value from the opportunities to travel internationally and learn to communicate effectively with people of different cultures and different socio-economic status. This experience built a beautiful platform for the way I hold the container for meaningful conversation – recognizing the value of all of the stories in the room and honouring the differences we bring to the circle.
There have been lots of other things, aside from my paid work, that have helped grow this body of work – serving in leadership and church and community organizations, being a mom, getting some of my writing published, developing relationships with people all over the world, making art, developing creative practices, making mandalas, walking labyrinths, traveling, etc. All of it is meaningful, and even those moments that felt like dead-ends were learning opportunities.
All of those pieces helped prepare me for that moment, nearly at the end of the meeting, when I stood in front of the room, and somebody threw something into the mix that felt like it could derail everything that had just happened. It was the scariest moment of the weekend, and I wouldn’t say I handled it perfectly, but I adapted, trusted the others who were helping me hold the container of the room, and shifted into what was needed for that moment.
I wouldn’t have been ready for this moment ten years ago, or even five years ago, but I was now. As circle has taught me, I was especially ready for it because I had allies in the room (and outside of the room) and I knew I wasn’t standing alone. One of the most important things that the growth of this work has taught me is that I don’t do it alone.
Just before the weekend started, I bought myself a new ring. This is something I’ve done a few times in the past – buy a special piece of jewellery at significant moments of my life both as an act of kindness to myself and as a way of marking a new threshold in my growth. It’s a practice that holds a lot of meaning for me. This particular ring has a series of spirals that wrap around my finger. As many of you know, the spiral has a lot of meaning in my work (especially in Mandala Discovery). In this case, it reflects the way my work grows like a fern, reaching with tender green spirals further and further into the world, never in a linear path, but always in the direction it feels pulled. (Later this week, I launch the hard copy version of Pathfinder, so my week of big offers and spirals reaching in different directions, is not yet over.)
I would highly recommend Body of Work if you want to take a closer look at the path your own work is taking. If you want a meaningful companion for this exploration, I’d also recommend Pathfinder: A creative journal for finding your way. Pathfinder will on Wednesday, January 22nd. Come back then to order your copy!
by Heather Plett | Dec 20, 2013 | Leadership, Uncategorized
Archbishop Desmond Tutu was once boarding a plane flying out of South Africa, a few years after apartheid had ended, and he was delighted to see that the pilot was black. “Finally!” he thought. “My people can fly planes! We’re making progress!”
A few hours later, the plane hit turbulence, and his immediate thought was “can a black man really be trusted to navigate this plane safely through this rough patch?”
The thought surprised him and made him realize how deeply oppression imbeds thoughts of unworthiness in the minds of those being oppressed. Though he was a powerful advocate for justice, he too had fallen victim to the power of the oppressor to change the very way a person thinks about his own people and himself.
I’ve had a fairly profound realization lately, that the same can be said for my most instinctual response to the rise of the feminine in the face of the patriarchy. Though I’ve been a feminist for almost as long as I’ve known the definition of the word, I serve on the board of a feminist organization, I’ve fought my way through the glass ceiling to senior leadership positions, and I write and teach a lot about women’s leadership, there still remain some instinctual, deep-rooted beliefs that I am not fully worthy because I am a woman.
Or… Let me correct that… It’s not simply an unworthiness of me as a women (because I’ve gotten quite used to women in power, have been in positions of power myself, and don’t think I have any deep-seated issues that I need to excavate in that regard). It’s more of a sense that the feminine (whether it appears in women or men) is not quite worthy of power.
Let me explain…
When I left my last formal employment in a leadership position, I did it partly because I was burnt out from the tension I felt between the two tugs – either lead in the way the patriarchy accepted, or turn against the stream and lead with my feminine heart in a masculine-dominated world. I’d tried both, and both were equally stressful for me. I either had to give up what came instinctually for me and live an inauthentic life, or I had to have the courage to face the criticism I received when I dared to lead with more vulnerability, ambiguity, love, and community.
When I first became self-employed, I started a blog called Sophia Leadership, which was all about bringing more feminine wisdom into leadership. (Sophia being the Greek word for feminine wisdom.) I’ll be honest… I had a bit of an uneasy relationship with that blog. I loved it and I wrote my heart out, but I didn’t share it broadly with my former colleagues or my students at the university. I’d been so frequently wounded in my own attempts to bring the feminine into my leadership, that I was afraid to be ridiculed for writing something that I expected they’d judge as “woo-woo” or too “touchy-feely”.
At that time, I had a more professional website at heatherplett.com, and that was the one I shared with students, potential clients, and former colleagues. I was more comfortable with them seeing me behind the mask of my professional persona.
After awhile, though, I got tired of maintaining two sites that made me feel splintered, and so I combined them at heatherplett.com. That took some courage (because now my students, who have to access my site to get to their assignments and class notes, would witness me pouring my heart out on my blog), but once I did it, it felt good, and there were positive results (like four students in my class asking if I’d consider coaching them in non-class-related life changes).
Feminine leadership continued to drive much of what I wrote about and taught about (eg. Lead with your Wild Heart), but the more I focused on that, the more I realized that I was targeting my work specifically for women. That’s not a bad thing, but it hadn’t been my original intent. When I created Sophia Leadership, it had always been with the intent to bring more of the feminine into ALL of leadership, not just into the way women lead.
A couple of interesting things happened this Fall that helped me realize that some of the direction my business was taking was related to my own fear and my own deeply-rooted sense of inadequacy in the face of the patriarchy.
I was approached by a local training organization to teach workshops for executive directors in non-profit. I was flattered, but my instinctual thought was “oh… I don’t really think that’s my target audience. After all, my work will probably be too touchy-feely for them, and what they’ll be looking for will be more of a traditional leadership approach.”
It took me awhile to realize that my response to the invitation was not unlike Desmond Tutu on that plane. When push comes to shove, I don’t fully trust my feminine approach to leadership to be good enough. And I’m fearful that, if I trust it, I’ll crash the plane and people will get hurt.
Sure, it’s good enough for the women who’ve come to my leadership retreats, who read my blog, and who’ve participated in Lead with Your Wild Heart, but it’s probably not good enough FOR MEN. That’s the bottom line.
It pains me to admit this out loud, after all that I’ve been teaching and advocating for in the last three years (because what if you start to think that I don’t practice what I preach?), but I think it’s something that we need to bring out of the shadows and into the light. I think it’s a story that many of us share and that we’re afraid to admit, so it will continue to haunt us.
Do we REALLY believe in the power of the feminine, or do we only believe (in the deepest, shadowy recesses of our hearts) that this is fine for women, but when it comes to REAL power, we have to fall back on the masculine model?
Since I started taking a closer look at this shadow in myself, it’s been showing up in other ways as well (including my dreams). I realized it when a couple of men bought copies of Pathfinder and I was more flattered than the dozens of women who’d bought it before them. Why? Because in my shadowy, wounded heart, I thought that my wisdom was good enough for women, but wouldn’t really be considered valuable by men.
It really surprised me that this was coming up for me, considering how long I’ve been working on this exact issue, and how many years I sat confidently at boardroom tables, surrounded by men but never doubting that I was equal to them and had lots of wisdom to share at those tables. Why didn’t I doubt it then? Because I was good at putting on a masculine mask and sharing my wisdom in a way that was acceptable in a patriarchal world. Very little that I said at those tables was a threat to them, because I wasn’t really challenging them to accept paradigms that they weren’t comfortable with.
Now my work has shifted, and I AM asking them to accept new paradigms, and it’s a whole lot scarier, a whole lot more authentic, and a whole lot more susceptible to their resistance and criticism. This is where the rubber hits the road, and suddenly I don’t feel as confident as I once did, because I now have to expose all of the wounds I suffered in all of those years of leadership. And if I expose wounds, I might make some of them feel uncomfortable when they realize they are the perpetrators of some of those wounds (if not in me, then in other people trying to lead authentically). AND I might even have to admit that I was the perpetrator of wounds for some people, back in my mask-wearing days.
It’s all rather scary stuff, and putting it out here on my blog feels even more scary. This is vulnerability, though, and vulnerability and courage are close companions.
In rather profound timing, I’ve been reading Marion Woodman’s book “Leaving My Father’s House: A Journey to Conscious Femininity”. In it are the stories of three women who, like me, are on long journeys deeper into their feminine. The book has been bringing up a lot for me (and inducing some of the wildest dreams, since Woodman teaches a lot about what the psyche is trying to teach us through our dreams).
One of the things I didn’t expect the book to bring up for me was the importance of integrating the feminine with the masculine. The feminine, she says, cannot be fully realized in us unless the masculine is also fully realized. The same is true in our culture – if one is kept hidden, the other can never be fully healthy.
And that is where I must turn in my personal inquiry right now. How can I trust the intuitive, wild, passionate feminine dancer, and still embrace my strong, confident masculine warrior? How do I embrace both love AND power?
If I truly believe that the feminine must rise in our culture (and I do), how do I do that with power and courage? How do I heal my wounded heart and convince it that the only way forward is to speak my truth with confidence and power, in the public arena, not just where women gather? How do I stop shrinking back in the face of the patriarchy? How do I serve as a catalyst for real and lasting change instead of letting the shadow diminish my power?
I’m taking heart in the fact that, a few nights ago, I had a dream about a graduation ceremony. The ceremony couldn’t start until my date arrived. He did arrive, and – other than a few other complications that I won’t go into – we were ready to graduate (though the dream ended before the ceremony happened). According to Woodman, everyone who shows up in your dreams is an element of yourself, so I’m taking this dream to mean that I am inviting my masculine in and am almost ready to graduate into something new.
This is not a finished story, it is primarily an inquiry into where I need to go next and how we, as a collective body, who believe that the feminine must rise and take its rightful place alongside the masculine, move forward into the future.
I welcome your thoughts on this. While this is my story, I know that it is a story that many of us share.
by Heather Plett | Dec 4, 2013 | Uncategorized
Suddenly I know what my word for 2014 will be.
Grace.
The sudden realization of it made my eyes well up with tears just now. Because that is what I wish to spread more of in the world and it’s what I need to practice giving more of to myself as well.
This past year has not been an easy one – first there was Mom’s death, then Marcel’s heart attack, and then my broken foot – but it has been a year that has taught me that there are few things more worthy of spreading in the world than grace.
Grace is the woodpecker that arrived at the bird feeder moments after mom died reminding us that the world is still beautiful in the midst of pain.
Grace is the circle of friends who rallied around me to help pay for my trip to Lake Tahoe and Atlanta.
Grace is the food friends brought in our times of grief and illness.
Grace is that quiet moment in the woods when a deer stopped to look deeply into my eyes.
Grace is my daughters, giggling all night in a cheap hotel room, satisfied even though their friends hopped on planes to exotic destinations.
Grace is a picnic table and a bottle of wine at the edge of the lake while the sun set over the prairies.
Grace is accepting the quiet moment at Lake Louise with my post-surgery brother as enough, even though we both longed for more.
Grace is the many circles I have sat in and hosted – writing groups, leadership retreats, an artist retreat in a tiny border town, an international circle of women in Lake Tahoe, and a circle of grown-up campers at Lake Lanier.
Grace is late night swimming with a new circle of wild women friends.
Grace is hundreds of heart-opening conversations.
Grace is a quiet comment from a client that “your work changed me.”
Grace is getting up in the morning and forgiving the mistakes of yesterday.
Yes, 2014 will be a year of grace. Just like 2013 has been.
by Heather Plett | Dec 2, 2013 | Uncategorized
“Decide in your heart of hearts what really excites and challenges you, and start moving your life in that direction. Every decision you make, from what you eat to what you do with your time tonight, turns you into who you are tomorrow, and the day after that. Look at who you want to be, and start sculpting yourself into that person. You may not get exactly where you thought you’d be, but you will be doing things that suit you in a profession you believe in. Don’t let life randomly kick you into the adult you don’t want to become.”
― Chris Hadfield
Last Thursday, as Marcel and I were heading to bed, our night-owl daughters were teasing us because they’d get to sleep in the next day (it was a day off school) and we had to get up to work. Smiling, we both gave a similar reply… “I don’t mind. I actually LIKE my job, so it’s not that hard to get up in the morning.”
It was a lovely realization that we’d both come to places in our lives that “work” feels a lot like “play”. We’re both doing what we love to do and we feel like we’re making a difference in the world.
It wasn’t always that way. A dozen years ago, when we were expecting our third daughter, we were both pretty miserable in our jobs. Marcel was working in the transportation industry more by default than intention (a former truck driver who’d moved into management), and I’d worked my way up the government ranks into a job that used a lot of my creativity and leadership skills but left me feeling miserable and without a sense of purpose. We were making good money, and we enjoyed the perks that money bought us (like a boat, camper, a second vehicle, trips, etc.), so we’d stuck with it through the misery.
Gradually, though, we both recognized that we were nearing burnout and that our unhappiness wasn’t helping us to be very effective parents. Plus our exhaustion was causing us to make poor choices, like buying a few too many MacDonalds meals for our kids at the end of our long days at work.
So we started making changes. We sold our boat, camper, and second vehicle, and cut out as many discretionary expenses as we could. Marcel quit his job so that he could become primary caregiver to our kids (and cook us healthier meals than MacDonalds could offer) while attending university.
More changes followed. A few years later, we downsized even more so that I could leave my government job to take a job in non-profit that suited my passions and sense of purpose better. I loved that job for about 5 and a half years, and then got burnt out during my last year and knew it was time to move on and pursue the thing I’d long dreamed of – starting my own business.
It was pretty risky jumping into self-employment when I did, given the fact that Marcel had only managed to find work as a substitute teacher and his income wasn’t very stable or high enough to support our family, but the timing felt right, so we agreed to try. A year and a half later, Marcel got a great job teaching at a jail, and my business started to grow.
Which brings us to today, when things finally feel financially stable and we are both happy to get out of bed in the morning and work.
Has it been an easy 12 years? Not at all. We’ve had to do without a lot of things, say no to our kids more times than we’d like, not go on the trips we dreamed of taking our kids on, and cash in more of our savings than we wanted to. There have been lots of sleepless nights when we weren’t sure how we’d pay all the bills that were coming in. We’ve been living with the ugliest set of couches this side of the garbage dump, our carpets need replacing, our walls need painting, and most of our dining room chairs are broken. (An aside… yes, I recognize my privilege when I talk about these things as hardships. Some people would think of my ugly couches and worn out carpet as luxury.)
But has it been worth it? I would have to say an unequivocal YES to that. I am living my dream – doing just the kind of work I’d been longing to do. The same for Marcel.
AND, even though those 12 years have been without many of the benefits that money brings, they have been (mostly) good years. Marcel thoroughly enjoyed going to university, and I loved the non-profit work I did (especially when it took me to interesting places like Ethiopia and Bangladesh). We were much happier parents than we were when we had more money and more stress. Our kids may not have gotten Disneyland, but they have lots of good memories of road trips, camping weekends, and cheap hotel rooms. (Some of our best family conversations have been around campfires.) They’ve learned to appreciate the simple things in life and are rather proud of themselves when they pay their own cell phone bills while some of their friends have parents who pay for everything.
There is not much in our lives that promotes the value of sacrifice. We all want easy lives, and advertisers try to convince us that we deserve easy, so we buy bigger houses than we can afford, put more on our credit cards than we should, and seek that which will make us feel (temporarily) happy.
The market economy that drives so much of our culture is based on the quick fix rather than the long sacrifice. In order for businesses to grow, they have to sell us the next best thing that will make our lives easy, and we buy into that, so we are forever searching for something outside of ourselves that will fix our unhappiness. It’s a never-ending cycle, though – we go into debt to buy the things that will make us happy and bring ease to our lives, and then the debt stresses us out, so we need to buy MORE things to make us happy, and so on, and so on. There is no true ease or true happiness in that.
There is also a culture of ease within the self-help and coaching industry. There’s this dream that if I can only find my giftedness and if I think all of the right positive thoughts, I will always live a life of ease and abundance and won’t have to make any sacrifices. Many coaches and self-help authors try to sell you that dream because it makes them more money, but it’s not based in truth. Living your dream means putting in the effort to get there.
True happiness comes from the long sacrifice, not the quick fix.
Last Friday night, we celebrated my friend Jo’s registration as a licensed clinical psychologist. For nineteen long years, she has worked her way through her education to finally get her PhD and pass all of the requirements to be a psychologist. That’s a whole lot of sacrifice, but if you ask Jo, she says it’s been worth it. She’s doing work she loves and is making an impact in the world.
This past weekend, I read Chris Hadfield’s book, An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth. Christ spent almost all of his life training to be an astronaut, and only spent a total of 6 months in space. The path to astronaut is an incredibly difficult one and the competition is fierce, and even when you finally make it in to the space agency, there are no guarantees you’ll end up in space. And yet, Chris would tell you that all of the sacrifice was worth it. He lived his dream, and even if he’d never made it to space, he said his years in the space agency learning everything he needed to know to go to space were worth it.
As I say in Pathfinder, that path to true happiness is not a smooth and easy one. “Sometimes the journey is excruciating. The ground is rocky and uneven, the storms come and wash away the trail markers and leave giant puddles for you to navigate, and your travel companions desert you. You’re in the middle of a jungle of broken dreams, failed relationships, disappointment, betrayal and confusion, and you’re scratched, bruised, disheartened and exhausted.” But does that mean it’s not worth it? Not at all.
A life of authenticity, integrity, and following your dreams is worth every sacrifice you make and every rocky patch you have to go through.
Instead of ease, seek truth. Instead of momentary happiness, seek long-lasting joy. Instead of the quick fix, choose the long road that leads you to a life of purpose.
Note: If this reflects the path that you have chosen in life, you may find “Pathfinder: A creative journal to find your way” to be a good companion on the journey.
