by Heather Plett | Oct 6, 2011 | Leadership, Wisdom, women
One of the things I love most about the work that I now do and the learning I do to support it, is that I’ve had the opportunity to develop deep and beautiful friendships with many amazing women of all generations. As I wrote in this post, I believe that we must all take responsibility for being conduits of this wisdom work – both receiving support and wisdom from women of older generations, and passing it down to the generations following us.
One of the women who has served as mentor and friend to me (and, truth be told, I have also had the opportunity to return the mentorship, so it’s a mutual benefit thing) is Margaret Sanders. I met her last year at a circle/story workshop, and I was drawn in almost immediately by the warmth and wisdom I saw on her face. She is an amazingly gifted educator, mentor, host, and wisdom-sharer.
It has become increasingly clear to me that we, as middle-aged (and younger) women, need strong role models in the generation ahead of us. We need women like Margaret who have forged a new path for women in leadership to support us, encourage us, and lend us their wisdom. I am grateful that I have Margaret in my corner, believing in what I do and challenging me to continue to move forward.
I asked Margaret to share a bit about her life as she steps into this new stage of “active wisdom”, and this is what she wrote…
I am a woman who turned 65 this year, and it rocked my world! Not just a minor tremor. It’s been a full-scale earthquake.
I believe there is significance in my story for others, because I have come to realize that I am at the front line of a surging crowd of baby boomers who are about to face the same thing.
This is my story from the front line:
I don’t see myself as a senior person, but other people do. The arrival of my Canada Old Age Benefit Card in the mail (seriously – who knew?) confirmed my new status as a person. Over the past year, colleagues who valued my presence in working with them or mentoring them have moved on in their careers, and that has caused me to question what I ever could do – or did know. I have been mired in the ditch of questioning whether and where I have value to contribute to this world.
I left my job as a school principal to care for my mother when my father died. She suffered from dementia, and needed “mothering” until her death a few years ago. I successfully reinvented my professional work to be able to give her the kind of loving attention she gave me all of my life.
It’s startling to realize that I am in this situation as a pioneer; I have no role models in my family history for what it means to be a professional woman. As a woman who has been successful and highly regarded for her expertise, who must re-find her place in the world upon seeing opportunities for paid “work” vanish, coincidentally, as the 65 year mark arrived.
Because I have been a new kind of mother model for my 40ish age children, they are extremely competent and confident professionals, spouses and parents who have no need of mothering. I’ve done myself out of that historical elder role.
I have Wisdom, expertise, energy and good health, and I am not sure what to do with those gifts in the currents of today’s world.
My views are broad, wide and long-term and I have come to see things in the way of Proust’s simplicity on the other side of complexity. Younger professionals are focusing on the absolute necessity of meeting today’s challenges. Their lives are frequently frenetic, and they have little time to “waste. ” [We live on completely different planes, and necessarily so – but my deepest instincts tell me that my wisdom has potential for changing their lives.]
I have lots and lots of things that I want to do to remain stimulated and independent and contributing over the next few years. There is a cost associated with all of these things. I want to continue to be paid for the value that I possess. I am trying to figure out how that might work.
So, I am at the point of reinvention again. Unlike all of the other transition points in my life where things seemed to resolve fairly quickly, it is taking a while to rebuild who I am and what I am about. But the good news today is that I know my experience is going to add up to something significant. And my reason for that today is that we have a new 46 year old premier-elect in Alberta, Canada and for the first time he is a woman. I am one of the shoulders upon which she stands. (Her mother died a few days before her election, and the one person she wanted to call first with the good news was her mother.) Invisibly, from behind this front-line head-line news, my experience and the experiences of the women surging behind me, enabled this new story to begin unfolding.
We baby boomer women have stories to tell, and our stories are changing the world. That may be where I come in …
by Heather Plett | Sep 28, 2011 | Uncategorized
If you’d asked me a year ago, when I was in the process of leaving my job, what I’d be doing now, probably the last thing I would have said would be that I’d be producing a guidebook for engaging in social media in a meaningful and mindful way.
And yet… I’ve just written that very guidebook and now it’s ready to be released into the world.
I don’t consider myself a social media expert by any stretch of the imagination, and most of the time I feel like I’m still stumbling in the dark. So why am I releasing this guidebook?
For a few reasons:
1. In the last six months, I have been asked by half a dozen people for help in stepping into social media and developing online profiles. Every time I was asked, I’d stammer and say “but… I’m not an expert, I just do what comes naturally and I make friends online. I don’t have a clue how to get larger readerships or how to do fancy things online.” And they say “you’re exactly the kind of person I want helping me. Someone who will offer me friendly advice without going over my head or encouraging me to do things that don’t feel right for me.” Since I like the people who asked, I started putting some thoughts on paper and before long, I had a guidebook.
2. I’ve been hired by the university to teach an introductory workshop in social media engagement. They apparently think I have a clue what I’m doing. When I started preparing for the course, I realized I knew more than I thought I did. Those thoughts added more ideas to my guidebook.
3. I’ve been witnessing some of the icky stuff happening online, like the suicide of someone who built an empire online, a strange relationship that resulted in possible death threats or at least some weird behaviour on the part of more than one “social media guru”, and more than one house of cards tumbling. Watching all of this was a strong reminder to me that we need to continue to foster meaningful relationships online and stay away from snake oil salespeople and emperors with no clothes, and we need to work hard to put good things into the world. I believe I have some wisdom to offer in terms of following your intuition, building trust online, and living authentic lives, so I added those thoughts to the guidebook.
Before long, I had something worth offering.
If you want to learn more, go here. It’s just $15 for a one time download, cheap enough that if you want to offer it as a gift to that aunt who keeps bugging you to teach her how to use Facebook, you can do so without breaking the bank.
?”I’m not a teacher: only a fellow-traveler of whom you asked the way. I pointed ahead – ahead of myself as well as you.” – George Bernard Shaw
by Heather Plett | Sep 16, 2011 | Beauty, birth, Community, Friendship, journey, Wisdom
just a few steps away from the finish line
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride to the camp? You can just skip the rest of the kilometres for the day, rest up, stay off your blisters for awhile, and start fresh tomorrow.”
We heard that often along the 100 km. walk. Well-meaning organizers, volunteers, and medics wanted to help us avoid some of the pain we were experiencing. They wanted to give us short-cuts, assuring us there was no shame in missing a few kilometres.
Every offer only set our resolve deeper, though. It even made us reluctant to visit the medics when the blisters got particularly ugly. We weren’t there to do 87 km – we were there to do 100.
Yes, it was painful. Yes, there were toes on our feet that were hardly recognizable as toes anymore. Yes, there were moments when there didn’t seem to be a single muscle in our body that was exempt from the overwhelming ache.
But we were there to complete the journey. We were there to test the limits of our endurance. We were there to be present in every painful step.
We live in a culture that likes shortcuts, especially when it comes to pain. We try to rush through grief, thinking that we’ll be better off if we can just put a bandaid on it and get back to real life. We over-medicate, thinking a dulling of the pain will help us feel “normal”. We short-circuit the birthing process (both literal and figurative), with unnecessary c-sections and inductions. We over-consume, thinking that shopping therapy will dull the ache of loneliness or heartbreak. We clamour over quick fixes and fill our lives with cheap throw-away solutions to our problems.
We prefer ten easy steps to one thousand painful ones.
But it’s the thousand painful steps that will change us. It takes those thousand painful steps for us to grow into what we’re meant to be at the end of the journey.
In ten easy steps, we can build little more than a house of cards, not the rich, beautiful temple we are meant to become. A strong wind blows away the house of cards, but the temple withstands the storm.
A fascinating thing happened at the end of our three day journey. We three women, walking together every step of the way, always within about 100 steps of each other, all began to menstruate before the end of the day. In just three days, our cycles aligned (though I wasn’t expecting mine for another week and a half and I’m not sure about the others). Interestingly enough, the next day was the full moon.
I’ve lived with enough roommates, daughters, and sisters to know that it is not unusual for women living in community to end up with cycles that are in sync. I’ve never seen it happen in such a short time, though. Three days of sharing an intense, painful experience, and our bodies were in tune with each other.
Extrapolate that story forward, and you have three women, living in community, whose bodies are preparing to go through the pain and glory of childbirth together. It’s a beautiful, poignant story. Expose three women’s bodies to shared pain and they find a way to support each other that goes much deeper than words.
Women, we are amazing vessels. We birth children and carry each other’s pain. Every month, we shed blood – our little painful sacrifice for the beauty we bear within us.
As an added element to this story, it was pain and childbirth that brought these three women together in the first place. Cath’s loss of Juggernaut led her to a place where walking helped her live through the pain. Christina’s deep compassion for her story and sharing of her pain made her want to support Cath on the journey. My own story of the loss of Matthew bonded me to Cath and made me want to be with her for the journey as well. It was pain that bonded us, pain that we journeyed through together, and pain that caused our bodies to align themselves with each other so that we could most fully support each other.
Our bodies carry wisdom that our minds know nothing about.
Our bodies understand the value of pain.
Without the pain, we don’t have the beauty. Without the blood, we don’t have the birth. Without the sacrifice, we don’t have the growth. Without the sharing of agony, we don’t have community.
We can’t shortcut through the pain. It’s not serving any of us. Shortcutting through our own pain makes us careless of other people’s pain. It makes us careless of the pain we cause Mother Earth.
Mark Nepo talks about pain as the tool that carves the holes in our bodies to make us the instruments through which breath blows and beautiful music is made. When we are present in the pain – when we don’t try to take shortcuts through it – our holes are seasoned and polished and the music comes out sweet and rich.
Imagine an orchestra playing on half-finished instruments, with holes that had never been polished and strings that had never been pulled tight. The music would be dull, lifeless, and out of tune.
Pain begets beauty.
Pain shines the edges of the holes through which God breathes.
The next step may be painful, but it must be taken nonetheless.
I only hope that your next painful step will be taken in community and that you will be supported in your pain.
And when the pain subsides and you can stand up straight again, let God breath through you and make your music beautiful.
“In stories and in life, pain is our friend. It’s an unwelcome friend, but a friend nonetheless. The good news is if we make friends with our pain, it won’t stay long and it will leave us with a gift. But if we avoid pain, it will chase us down until we finally accept the gift it has to offer.” – Donald Miller
******
Note: Full disclosure – I did take a few painkillers along the way, so I don’t want to paint myself as some kind of martyr. AND I do not want to stand in judgement of anyone who accepted a ride – we each must choose our own thresholds for pain and our own values and reasons for completing a particular journey. There is no shame in being supported through the roughest parts of your journey.
Another note: Cath has created a beautiful offering to help you walk through your pain, called Remembering for Good. She is letting her pain be turned into music.
by Heather Plett | Aug 25, 2011 | Leadership
It was 1992. I’d just gotten home from spending an evening with my boyfriend (who became my husband a year later).
“Your dad called,” my roommate said, as though it were just an ordinary every-day occurrence.
“My DAD called?!? Are you SURE?” My dad didn’t call. Ever. It just wasn’t his thing. In all my life, I got only a handful phone calls from him, and the other four were various Christmas Eves when he needed me to pick up a last-minute present for Mom. This wasn’t Christmas Eve.
“Yeah, it was your dad. I’m sure of it.”
What did that mean? Was I in trouble? Did something happen to Mom? My heart leapt to my throat.
“It didn’t seem urgent. He just wanted you to call him back when you were home.”
Phoning Dad back wasn’t an easy thing either. His farming lifestyle meant that he was rarely in the house, and he didn’t come in for meals at the times when normal people did.
Eventually, I made contact. “Dad? You called?”
“I heard from Mom that you were thinking of becoming a teacher. I just wanted to tell you that I think you should. You’d be a good teacher.”
And that was about the extent of the phone call. My Dad was a man of few words. When he spoke, the words were usually calculated and important.
At that time, I was in the early stages of my government career. After finishing an English degree, I was wrestling with what I should do with my life and was contemplating an after-degree in Education. That’s what my dad had heard.
He hadn’t heard it directly from me though. I wasn’t in the habit of discussing my life’s plans with my dad.
It wasn’t always easy being my father’s daughter. He was a stubborn man whose love for his farm often seemed more evident than his love for his children. And yet, he was a wise, astute man, and there were many things I greatly admired and respected about him. He was a lifelong learner who placed great value on education (though he had very little formal education himself). He had clarity of vision on some things like few people I know. And, despite his rather conservative worldview (and the fact that he never allowed me to do scripture reading in church because of my gender), he admired strong and eloquent women. (Canadians of a certain age will remember journalist Barbara Frum – one of my Dad’s hero’s.)
Though we didn’t often have heart-to-hearts, my dad saw things in me I didn’t always see in myself. He offered very few compliments in my life, but those he offered were golden. He didn’t exist in a world where women were supposed to be leaders (and he never overtly encouraged it in me), but he saw me as a leader. Once, after we’d had to move all of his tools out of the old house that was about to be torn down, he’d said to me “I felt better when I knew you were the one taking the responsibility. I knew I could trust you to take charge.” And he saw me as one of those strong women he admired. Once, after I’d gone through a really difficult personal valley, he said “I knew you’d survive. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
His recommendation that I become a teacher felt serious. I wasn’t sure at that point that I really wanted to be one, and yet if my dad saw it in me, perhaps…?
Despite my dad’s advice, I didn’t become a teacher – at least not then. I went through the process of applying for the after-degree program, but “forgot” to show up for my interview. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. I wasn’t sure I had enough patience to hang around with children all day every day.
I stayed in my government career at the time, and soon found my passion for communication and leadership. Before long, I was rising in the ranks and finding a place that fit.
My dad’s words never left me, though, and as the years evolved, I kept feeling a silent tug – my teacher heart wanting to emerge.
Last year, after several years of dreaming about being self employed and longing to leave my non-profit leadership job to work as a writer and consultant, I finally took the leap. I had no idea what was ahead, but the timing felt right. Within minutes of having a heart-to-heart conversation with my husband and deciding that it was time for me to quit my job, I got an email from the university, asking me if I would consider teaching a writing course. The message came completely out of the blue. Someone had recommended me for the position.
It was just the sign I needed to affirm that I was making the right move. I gave my notice the next day.
I taught that first course, and then I taught a couple more, and yesterday I was offered three new courses. Plus I have several one-day seminars lined up for the coming months.
From the first day I walked into a classroom, I knew I was where I belonged. I was energized, engaged, and happy. That first class full of students was just what I needed to affirm that I was doing the right thing. They embraced me and told me again and again how much they liked being in my classroom. I heard things like “you know how to build trust in your students” and “you taught us a lot about writing, but more importantly, you taught us how to live and work with integrity and boldness” and “you made us go deeper than we expected to go”.
Nearly twenty years after Dad gave me the advice, and eight years after he died, I am a teacher. I took a winding path to get here, but I don’t regret the path. I picked up a lot of the skills and confidence and wisdom and seasoning I needed along that path before I could stand fully in my teacher role.
Though I enjoy the courses I teach at the university, I know that this is not the end of the road. I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life teaching students how to write effective press releases or persuasive emails.
I want to teach people to write with passion, to live with boldness, to embrace creativity, to challenge themselves, and to dare to lead. I want to foster people’s imagination and help them re-experience the wonder they left behind with their childhood. I want to be a catalyst for positive change.
To start with, I’ll be offering an 8 week in-person course in “Creative Writing for Self Discovery“. (If you’re in Winnipeg, I hope you’ll check it out.) And in a few weeks, I’ll be opening registration for a few more online leadership workshops.
I wish you could see me now Dad. I am a teacher. Instead of taking the traditional route to get here, I’ve forged my own path. It’s been worth the journey.
by Heather Plett | Aug 22, 2011 | Passion, personality, savour, travel, Wisdom
Which way shall I wander next?
At the beginning of this summer, I turned 45. It was kind of a big deal – a mid-way point in my life.
When I turned 45, I decided that, instead of getting all serious and introspective (like I am inclined to do), I would do something fun to honour what I like about myself.
And so I created the e-course “A Path for Wanderers and Edge-walkers” and started writing lessons about what it means to be a wanderer, a globe-trotter, an edge-walker, a gypsy, a gadabout… in other words, what it means to be ME.
And then I spent much of the summer wandering. I wandered through my city, I wandered on beaches, I wandered through the woods… I wandered on foot, I wandered by bicycle, and I wandered by canoe. While I wandered, I came up with lessons and inspirations and I TOOK GREAT DELIGHT IN MY WANDERING! Not only that, but I learned a lot from it and realized that my wandering edge-walking spirit is one of my greatest strengths. You can see a lot from the edge that people in the centre can’t see.
Now I have completed 12 lessons in the series (none of which I wrote at home – it seems I needed to be doing the wandering in order to write about it), and it is some of my very favourite writing ever. It’s writing that stretched me to think outside the box, to re-define myself, to dig into my spiritual self, to re-imagine the world, and to see other people differently. I hope it will stretch you too.
One of the things I learned this summer is that not only am I a wanderer and an edge-walker, but most of the members of the tribe I tend to gather around myself are wanderers and edge-walkers too.
Here’s a quote from someone who’s been enjoying the series this summer:
“Heather’s unique blend of practical wisdom, passion & creativity is reflected so eloquently here. She instinctively knows how best to inspire & encourage, capturing perfectly the deep yearning of every edge-walker & wide-eyed wanderer! The rich mix of personal story-telling (with corresponding photographs), a treasure trove of insightful interviews plus a wealth of probing questions, provides the reader with much to ponder. It is both challenging, hugely inspirational & deeply uplifting – a real treat! Thank you!” – Jo Hassan
Last week I spent a good deal of time compiling all 12 lessons into an e-book. When I wander, I like to take photographs, and this e-book not only has 115 pages of juicy, rich, inspiring content, it also contains 115 of my original photographs from my global wanderings.
I am so in love with this product that I want to share it with everyone.
Here’s a list of the lesson titles:
1. Permission to be a wanderer
2. What does your Wandering say about You?
3. Risk Making Connections
4. The Wanderer at the Edge – On Naming Ourselves
5. When Journeys Change us – Slowing Down to the Speed of Soul
6. Curiosity DIDN’T kill the cat – Life as a Learning Journey
7. At the Halfway Point – Self-care for Wanderers & Wandering as Self-care
8. Following the Thread – A Wanderer’s Journey
9. Like the Wild Prairies, Remember your Nature
10. The Blessing of the Pelicans – Guidance in the Wandering
11. Wander to the Right – Playing with your Brain
12. Wandering as Spiritual Quest
Each of these lessons includes an interview with another wonderful wanderer. Find out who they are here.
For a sample lesson, click here.
Since it’s nearing the end of summer, I’m in a good mood, and I’m in the final stretch of preparing for my 100 km. wander in early September, I want to give you the chance to buy “A Path for Wanderers & Edge-walkers” for half price.
That’s just $12.50 for 115 pages of juicy, fun, challenging content. (But only until the September 7, and then it goes back to its regular price of $25.)
To learn more about it click here. On that page, you’ll have the option of buying it as a set of emails that you receive each week for 12 weeks or as a complete 115 page e-book.
If you already know that you want the complete e-book, go ahead and click “Add to cart” below.
One of the things I love most about the work that I now do and the learning I do to support it, is that I’ve had the opportunity to develop deep and beautiful friendships with many amazing women of all generations. As I wrote in this post, I believe that we must all take responsibility for being conduits of this wisdom work – both receiving support and wisdom from women of older generations, and passing it down to the generations following us.