Christina Brandt

I’ve been on another clearing jag, probably the result of the programs I’ve been teaching about living spaces.  I want my home to accurately reflect my essential self, to be clutter-free, and to be filled only with what I truly love, need and use.

That’s how I stumbled upon a ruler I’ve had since the third grade.  Yup, that upside-down peace sign you see here was written by yours truly at age 7, along with the following: “NO using for anyone but me!!!!!!”  I was a bossy little kid who apparently didn’t want to share.  Thankfully, I’m (mostly) a lot less bossy now, but I kept the ruler to remind myself not to go there.

I’m still obsessed with the peace sign, though I haven’t give much thought to why.  Back then, I cut one out of felt and sewed it, by hand, onto my fringed felt drawsting handbag.  (It went really well with the striped bell bottoms and fringed vest.)  But I sewed it on upside down, so the inside of the circle looked like a “Y.”  I’ve tossed old notebooks and photos, and that upside-down peace sign appears in a lot of places.  What the heck?  Why didn’t anyone tell me I was doing it wrong?  I was telling my friend, Tex Ann, about this and she said

She’s onto something!  I’m certainly not the first person to believe that world peace begins within each of us, but you don’t often hear coaches refer to themselves as peacemakers.  Yet giving people the tools to create peace in their lives and careers is at the core of everything I do.

Everything – our relationships, careers, homes, spirituality, etc. – is affected by our peaceful energy, or lack thereof.  Where in your life are you feeling anything less than peace?  Use the Life Wheel tool (download it free from my home page) to see where your satisfaction could be higher.  Consider using the results to help you create some 2011 goals – think of a few small steps you can take to up the joy, and peace, in your life.

Think about it:  if everyone took a few steps to create more peace in their own world, we’d collectively create a hell of a leap for mankind.  And, it’d make “world peace” more than a casually-stated throwaway line used in comedies about beauty pageants.

As for me, I’m making it my Word of The Year (unless, of course, I come up with two or three, as I did in 2010).  I’m setting the intention that I will ask myself “How does this bring me or others peace?” in every situation.  If there’s no peace to be found there, I will set it aside, and I will help my clients do the same.   I wish you a peace-full 2011.

How many of you out there say to yourselves, as you’re driving up to a red light “It’s time to apply pressure with my right foot to the pedal that’s next to the gas pedal.” Probably none of you, unless you’re a brand new driver, in which case we thank you for being so deliberate about knowing where the pedals are and using them correctly!

The conscious competence theory is another name for the “Four Stages of Learning,” a theory posited by 1940’s psychologist Abraham Maslow. The Four Stages of Learning are an explanation of how people learn something, progressing from

1. Unconscious Incompetence – you don’t know that you don’t know something, to
2. Conscious Incompetence – you are now aware that you are incompetent at something, to
3. Conscious Competence – you develop a skill in that area but have to deliberately think about it in order for it to happen, to the final stage:
4. Unconscious Competence – you are good at it and it now comes naturally.

I’d say that most of us can claim to be in each of these stages, depending on the task/skill in question.  I’m clueless about plenty, certain that I’m incompetent at lots of stuff, and I’m aware that I need to be deliberate about certain things.  That covers off on Stages 1 – 3.

What about Stage 4, though?  I know I don’t spend much time thinking about what I know so well that it doesn’t require thought.  Maybe it’s time to step back and be grateful for all the things we do so well that they’re second nature to us:  driving, typing without looking at the keys, sewing, making a pie crust, helping others become their best selves…the list for each of us is likely to be very long.

When we become grateful for what we already know, we’re likely to cut ourselves a bit o’ slack and loosen the “I’m a loser who can’t do anything” mindset.  And that, my friends, is always a good thing.

At what are you Unconsciously Competent?

“You’re such a Quick Start!”

For those of you who haven’t heard of the Kolbe A Index, this is a reference to Kathy Kolbe’s inventory of conative (or action) styles.  A fellow Kolbe afficionado lobbed this comment my way after I indicated I was unable to stick with a project I’d discussed with her.

Another friend was describing her husband as “a total J,” a reference to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a personality inventory that both of us use in our work.

While I’m a big fan of both these inventories and I believe they’re very helpful in providing insights to why we act, feel and prefer the things we do, I get nervous when we start labeling people in a way that precludes any further exploration.

It’s pretty natural to categorize our experiences.  Every day we – consciously or unconsciously – label others:  fat/skinny, smart/dumb, shy/extroverted, efficient/inefficent, etc.  It’s a way for our brains to make sense of, and classify, all the information coming our way.

What worries me, though, is when we lean (rely) too hard on one or two labels to define our experience of others.  It got me thinking of how many ways someone could label me:

• female
• blonde (more noticeable after a trip to the hairdresser!)
• Nissan owner
• smart
• funny
• creative
• ENFP
• Quick Start
• CT resident
• head of household
• college-educated
• tall
• travel lover
• Caucasian
• coach
• daughter
• former HR exec
• childless
• of German ancestry
• born in NY…there are tons more.

Taken as a whole package, those labels do help define me, but if you (or I) saw me only as a blonde, or an ENFP, or whatever, you start to lose the nuances that make me, well, me.

How often are we relying on too few labels, or are we too quick to try and define our experience of others?  Let’s promise ourselves to dig deeper and learn more about another person before writing them off or categorizing them in a way that diminishes their value in our eyes.

And, please, let’s start with ourselves.  How are you “self-labeling?”  How are those labels limiting the way you define yourself or describe yourself to others?  I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

Yup, there really is a potato chip in my slipper. I found it this morning when I came into my office and turned on the computer.

Last night, I was bored. I did the “grazing thing,” walking in and out of the kitchen, grabbing nibbles and wandering back to the sofa to watch bad TV, or over to my computer to check Facebook one more time in case something exciting happened. While on Facebook, I was popping chips into my mouth and didn’t even notice they were falling out of my hand, into my shoe.  Yikes.  Talk about unconscious eating!

So what’s the big deal about a few chips, some Facebook scanning and boob tube watching (she asks, defensively)? Nothing, unless it becomes a regular habit. Or when those activities replace the reading of a good book, which I’ve been complaining I never have time for. Or when I say I have no time to work on a creative project that’s been left unfinished. Or, most importantly, when I am using those activities to NOT FEEL SOMETHING.

When I don’t allow myself to feel, I miss the experience of noticing the thoughts that are causing the feeling. First, I thought I was bored, but underneath the boredom was this: “I’d really like some company right now, and there’s no one here. I’m lonely and I have no friends.” When I finally acknowledged the feeling and got to the thought/lie that I’m friendless, I got off Facebook, put the chips away, and called a friend. Loneliness over. Problem solved.

Next time you’re stuffing your face, or frantic about something, ask yourself “What don’t I want to know right now.” It’s a powerful question. Avoiding it doesn’t lead to happiness. It just leads to stuff in your shoe. And we all know how uncomfortable that is.

I’ve spent most of the last six weeks on the road, traveling to Spain, Mexico and within the United States. All the trips were a mix of business and pleasure, and each was transformative in its own way. As much as I love travel, though, there’s nothing like coming home.

You know that feeling I’m talking about, right? The one where you feel as though you could just shuck your shoes and contentedly plant yourself in one spot for a good long while. That, my friends, is the feeling you get when you’ve achieved your ideal, too. “Ideal” might mean life, home, career, relationship, weight – it could be any or all of those things – but we’ve all experienced the “aaah” of knowing we’ve landed exactly where we’re meant to be at some point in our lives. The trick is remembering to notice when we’re feeling at home, and then identifying the clues (i.e., conditions all around us) that caused the feeling.

This month, I’ll be talking about home quite a bit, both at the IKEA event and in my telecourse with my friend Terry. Our homes, as metaphors, speak volumes about what’s going on in our lives, both inner (in our psyches) and outer (what we project to the world). Since I don’t want to steal too much “thunder” from this month’s events, I’ll wait until next month to say more on this topic.

I will say this, though: Once I’ve rested for a bit, I’ll get the itch to go out into the world again. It’s because I’m continually working on “that thing I’m supposed to do.” Watch Martha’s Talk to understand what I mean and let me know if you can relate. If you’re with us, we’re moving at dawn!

This morning, I woke up at 4:45am to get to the elementary school by 5:30.  Why?  I am an Election Official.  That’s why.

I certainly don’t do it for the money, because I made less on my 8 hour shift than I could make in an hour of coaching.  I did it because I believe ya gotta “live it to give it,” as my mentor and teacher, Martha Beck, says.

I spend a lot of time talking with clients about incorporating their values into all aspects of their lives.  A life and career that doesn’t align with values causes suffering.  If I’m encouraging others to live their values, I’d better be willing to live my own, too.

Since community, using my voice to stand up for what I believe in, and honoring those who came before us are important to me, I decided to become an Election Official (sounds pretty lofty, but basically I handed out ballots and helped people understand how to use them).

Helping to ensure that everyone has the right to vote in an impartial and speedy way feels like a great way to support my community, as well as to honor all those people who fought for our right to do so.

Did you vote?  I hope so.

Ten days ago, I was in the Mexico City airport, using a pay phone to call the US because my four year old cell phone didn’t have a global roaming feature.  After finding an operator who spoke English, giving her all my credit card data and my friend’s phone number, I was finally able to connect with my friend to tell her my flight was canceled and I’d be a day late arriving at a seminar we were attending.

As I hung up the phone, I brushed against my cell phone, whose directory I’d just consulted to get my friend’s number (because who remembers anyone’s phone number any more?), and knocked it to the floor.  Of course, it broke into pieces that couldn’t be put back together.  It was the last straw in a seemingly endless day of bad luck.

Yesterday, I finally got myself to the Verizon store, and I did something I swore I’d never do again: I got myself a BlackBerry. No big deal, right?  After all, everyone’s got smart phones now and they come in handy when your flight’s canceled and you need to call a friend back in the States.

For me, though, buying that BlackBerry represented a return to my “old, corporate self.”  That person who had the thing pretty much attached to her hip, waiting to pounce on it the second the little red light started flashing at all hours of the day and night, responding to the latest “emergency” that meant someone couldn’t live without my input.

Really?   Look at that story I was telling myself: Owning a device that I used  in a job I hated meant that I’d again become a version of myself that I didn’t like very much.  Four years ago, when I left my corporate life behind, I swore I’d never wield a BlackBerry again.

How ridiculous. The device is just a bunch of plastic and metal.  The meaning I created about that gadget was not serving me at all.  Doing what I do for a living now, I spend a lot of time each day examining the little stories like this, helping others see where they’re telling a painful tale about a set of facts (in my case, buying a BlackBerry).  I’m grateful that all that practice helps me spot my own stories pretty quickly.

So, I’m now the owner of a smart phone, and I’m happy to report that if it has a blinking red light, I must’ve turned it off because I haven’t noticed it once.  But, just in case I might feel the urge to begin compulsively checking it every few minutes, I’m keeping it in my purse.  😉

What are YOUR “nevers?”  Are you telling yourself stories (a.k.a., lies) about those situations that are preventing you from a positive experience?  If you’re not sure, notice where you’re feeling any kind of discomfort – stress, sadness, anger, and frustration are hints that you’re telling yourself a tall tale – and see if you can spot the underlying story.  If you get stuck, call me.  I’ve got a cool new phone!

As mentioned in my last post, day five was the longest day of our walk at 24km. To that point, I hadn’t made it above the high teens during any of our walks. I was determined to go the distance, but wasn’t sure I could. Susan decided that she’d spend much of the walk by my side, acting as my “sherpa” and egging me on when I wanted to give up.

The mile markers helped, but after realizing that we were on our own to figure out how far we’d walked (see my last post) I got more and more wobbly. The German marching songs and Broadway show tunes I’d been using to make us laugh and get through the rocky descents weren’t working any more. I was huffing and puffing and quads were screaming at me to stop.

Susan kept bribing me, saying she’d do a headstand in the middle of a road, drop her drawers, and all sorts of other goofy stuff if I’d just finish climbing one more hill. In the middle of a road, next to a suburban office park, she did a headstand. So I tried to keep going. And then I cried.

Finally, I decided that this stupid hill was not going to be the end of me and I just cursed and cursed and yelled and shouted at every person and every thing that ever hurt me or pissed me off. The louder I yelled, the faster I walked. Mission accomplished. Top of hill reached. And we still weren’t finished.

And then I saw a different kind of sign: “Café – 400 meters.” I figured I had 400 meters left in me and then I’d call our driver. No amount of headstands was going to change my mind. The next sign said “Café – 200 meters.” Of course, it was uphill. I sat on a rock and Susan said she’d walk ahead to check things out while I talked to some Spanish bikers who’d stopped for a cigarette break (?).

Next thing I know, Susan, our driver, and the rest of our group was walking down the hill towards me. The café was at our stopping point for the day! I’d walked 23.8 km, and they decided to help me walk the last bit and reach my 24k goal. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to have that group show up for me in such a lovely way. And yes, I made it to the top of that last hill.

So what’s the metaphor/lesson of this particular post? Sometimes the goal’s just a little further than you can see, but it’s there. There’s no shame in stopping and resting, ever. There’s also no shame in asking for help. And man, it’s good to have friends.

Along the Camino de Santiago, yellow arrows point the way. They’re spray painted on walls, trees and pavement. Cement columns adorned with the symbol of the Camino (a scallop shell) provide information, too, letting us know how far we’ve still got to go before we reach our goal.

I’d come to rely quite heavily on those arrows and columns, using them as motivators to keep trudging along despite the sore knees, wobbly ankles and tight lower back. The 100 km marker’s a huge milestone for many pilgrims, because they’re finally down to the “double digits” after having walked in the “triples” for so long.

On day five, our group was to walk 24km, leaving only 4.5 km for the following day. Since it was going to be the longest and most hilly part of the trek, I really wanted to check off those mile markers (okay, technically they were kilometer markers). Susan and I couldn’t wait to snap a photo of KM 9 as a souvenir of hitting the “single digits.”

We kept walking and walking but the mile markers were gone. Sure, there were columns. Lots of freakin’ columns with the shell and with the stupid yellow arrow, but where were the numbers? Gone.

Turns out, the KM markers stop at 12 because according to our guide, “pilgrims are not supposed to know how close they are. They should get excited about what they will see around the next turn.”

I was so busy looking for outward signs of progress that I started to ignore the inward signs…the sore body, the feelings of anticipation and joy of a journey well spent with friends, the grouchiness our guide warned us about, and a whole host of other thoughts and feelings that were popping up about every minute or so.

Funny thing, but the night before Susan and I had composed the beginning of a welcome letter to our next group of Re-Treat participants: “Welcome, pilgrims, to the Camino de Santiago. You may not always get all the information you want, but you’ll always have all the information you need.”

Right in front of me, next to me, and all around me, was “information.”  A good friend to carry my walking sticks when I couldn’t anymore. A beautiful sunny day. Amazing scenery everywhere I looked. It was everything I needed.

At 6’4”, I’m used to casting a long shadow:

While walking (actually, a bit more like stumbling) today, I started thinking about shadows. We’ve all got a shadow side – the part of us that we’d rather not show to the world – imperfect, perhaps judgmental, unkind or maybe even evil…you get the picture.

I’ve been asking our group why they decided to come here, and their answers vary from “I’d like to get closer to God” to “I wanted a physical challenge” and “I wanted to to get away from my life and think for a while.” Whatever their reason, there’s always been a desire for something other. Other than their already perfect selves.

I suspect that if we all embraced our shadows a bit more, we’d need pilgrimages less.

My Camino guidebook had this to say about our route today: “The only way out of our dilemma is inward through Love.”

Amen, sister.