A Clean, Quiet Life: Part Two

Not talking has made me feel sick. As in, if I'm being so quiet I might as well just go lay down for a while. And, if I'm just going to go lay down for a while I met as well not feel very well. And, if I don't feel very well, I must be sick. You know, the stay-in-bed kind, not the nodule-on-the-vocal-chord kind. An odd logical progression, perhaps, but one of the many strange feelings I've had in my efforts to obey my doctor's orders: two weeks of "vocal rest." Today is day eight. I give myself a C+ so far.

I have three children. They thought it was funny and mildly interesting on day one. Now, they're just confused. On the upside, there's been no yelling but, boy, have I perfected some intense, highly-directional facial contortions, not to mention the absolutely expert finger wagging, waving and thrusting. I have a whole new disciplinary vocabulary.

Did I mention there's been no yelling? That is, except for my wife. She's been "yelling for two" as she calls it. Parenting for two, really. Aside from my facial expressions and finger pointing, I'm really not much more than a pair of hands. I can help put shoes on, get teeth brushed and give a bath, but not much more. The parental equivalent of ditch-digging. Quiet, focused, get it done and move on. No fun. And, I know my wife feels alone. My being quiet is an isolating thing, for both of us. In some ways, I'm less a husband and more of a "dependent" who needs taking care of. Another child in the house.

One upside is that I've taken to laying with the girls when mom reads books at bedtime. For the first book, I'm with one daughter, for the next, I'm with the other. I found out that Avery really likes me to scratch her back during these brief sessions. An even better use for that "pair of hands."

I mentioned isolation. Keeping quiet has made me invisible in a way. In some ways, by my choosing. I am and always have been an expressive guy. I process verbally. I say most of what comes into my head. When I can't do that, I'd rather just fade into the background. Not a very creative response to the circumstances, but I've never done this before. I'm learning. And, I realize I've been more focused on getting to next Monday than on sorting out ways to make the "quiet period" a fun, if entirely different way to parent, husband, and so on.

Work isn't much different. I talk for a living. I listen too, of course, but part of the deal with listening is that once you've done so the other participant in the interaction is expecting something in return. I can't give that right now so I'm pretty much staying away. At first I thought it would be easier to work from home; more acceptance, less weirdness. Then I went into the office after home got a little constraining. Acceptance there, too, but what's the point, really? I shut my door so no one will be tempted to engage, including me, and I pound away on "projects" and "initiatives" and "all that work we're supposed to want to get caught up on if only we had some time to ourselves." That may be for others, but it's not for me. I don't work like that. I need variety. Just grinding away on "stuff" is soul-sucking, deflating and exhausting. People energize me. I energize people. And pantomime is frowned upon in the workplace.

The greatest gift of this "quiet time"? A new resolve for writing. Not just the blog, something bigger. It's provided me with some space to begin to piece together the very fragile first thoughts of what even a small book might be. I've been writing this blog for two years as a practice in expression, transparency and the discipline to "just write." These past eight days have given me a chance to recognize how that practice has awakened a confidence to do more.

As with being quiet, there's a lot to learn. As ever, I am a beginner.

© 2010 David Berry

(Image: Sculpture by Cliff Baldwin. Fulton Ferry State Park, Brooklyn, NY 1991)

A Clean, Quiet Life: Part One

Earlier this year I coughed for about a month before some people started telling me to go see a doctor. I am not anti-doctor, but it's such a pain to take the time for an appointment so I just ignored it for a while. As you will soon see, shame on me.

Finally, I relented. I was diagnosed with bronchitis, took my prescribed antibiotics and assumed all would be well. The heavy coughing subsided but a lingering heaviness remained in my throat. A coarseness in my voice that just didn't sound like me. I described it as feeling like there was a lid on my voice that I just couldn't remove. It was most noticeable when I raised my voice - I just couldn't do it. And, when I tried to sing, let's just say it wasn't pretty - no projection, no upper range. No fun.

Like the bronchitis, I let this continuing annoyance continue for too long, finally going back to my doctor who couldn't figure it out and decided I needed to see a specialist, an ear-nose-throat guy, soon to become public enemy #1.

After he unceremoniously snaked a not-so-tiny tube with a light and a camera attached to it up my nose and down my throat (I'm telling you, it was like being on the wrong end of an Anderson Cooper investigation) he told me I have a nodule on my vocal chords (most likely brought on by too much coughing!). He then launched into a litany of prescriptions in an all too practiced, painfully banal, completely unsympathetic tone of voice that assured me I had not won him over as the best patient ever! (perhaps it was the gagging and grabbing his arm during the scope?).

Complete vocal rest for two weeks.

No caffeine, chocolate, or alcohol (aka breakfast, lunch and dinner) for two months.

In the very moment he hit me with his cornucopia of remedies, peering at me as if I was about to run screaming from his office to kick off an orgy of espresso, ganache and gin, two things became painfully clear: first, I saw how willingly ignorant I can keep myself when I don't really want to know the truth; second, I realized how very, very much I enjoy and rely upon the rituals of my life. My morning coffee, my afternoon treat and my evening cocktail are all highlights of my day. Brief moments on the path that give me comfort, pleasure, and assurance. I really enjoy those things. What I don't enjoy is the realization that "ritual" is a terrific euphemism for "habit."

What is so interesting to me about this hiatus from (some of) my ritualized habits is how big the adjustment really is. Without coffee, I would much rather sleep than get up and read. Reading in the morning without coffee is unthinkable. So, I'm not. Without a cocktail or a glass of wine, I would rather keep working than unwind from the day. I don't yet know what else to do with that time, without that well-practiced pattern to guide me. It seems so silly that any of this should matter so much and, yet, here I am; unpracticed in this new way of being, still resentful of it and still positive that I'll form something new in the process.

And, yes, it's only day 5. The bad news is, there's a long way to go. And, the good news is, there's a long way to go.

Scattered Thoughts On Creativity (including a very interesting tree metaphor)

As I sit down to write today it feels hard. I lack a cohesive, inspired thought process in which to operate. There's no fluidity...it feels like work. This hasn't happened too often and I don't like it one bit. So, I could choose not to write anything which, as we will find out, may turn out to have been the right decision. Or, I could choose to tap into what's present and just go with that. I suspect this will feel random and disjointed - it certainly does to me. And, perhaps, with a little luck, it will become both an appropriate and accurate meditation on the often unclear, uncertain, frequently confusing progression of my life.

Let me start here: I recently watched the film, "My Neighbor Totoro" by Hayao Miyazaki. It was recommended by a friend following a conversation on creativity. A children's film, such as it is, I settled down with my two daughters last Sunday afternoon to check it out. Interestingly enough, the movie centers on two sisters who are adapting to a move to the countryside. As they explore their new home the power of their imagination brings to life magical creatures and incredible happenings, the most significant of which is an enormous tree sprouting from their yard in the middle of the night. In reality they had simply planted some seeds. In their imagination (fueled by their insistence on immediate gratification) the tree erupted from the ground, filled the sky and became their new vantage point on the world around them.

Creativity starts with "rootedness." A grounding in something solid and well-defined. Seeds are planted, roots move into the earth fed by nutrients and pulled by gravity, preparing for an upward push towards the sky. The tree is simultaneously moving into the earth as it extends itself into open space.

When I weave in Andy Goldsworthy's idea that "change is best understood by staying in one place" the image of the tree as a metaphor for creative thought and action takes on another layer of meaning. The tree is stationary; growing down to grow up. It is a keen observer of the world around it and it uses this awareness to adapt and to grow. Stay with me here...

Let's personalize it: I am the tree. If I am well-planted, well-rooted in my beliefs and values; if I am willing to stand firmly in reality, aware of who and what is around me and committed to continuous learning about them, I create the conditions for creative possibility. As I stretch myself upward, I do not do so at the risk of losing my "groundedness," I do so because of it. My confidence is fed by the core truths at my base; the steady supply of food and water.

Change is a certainty. It is the wind that topples the shallow-rooted tree. Learning, creativity and adaptability are a must in the face of change. And they are only possible when the conditions are right, when the roots are deep.

Feels like the right place to stop. This has actually helped me clarify some thoughts about some work I will be doing soon. Glad I chose to write. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

© 2010 David Berry

Coaching, Re-defined

Coaching is a young profession, a still developing field emerging at a time when a new kind of conversation is necessary to meet the challenges of our time, to crudely paraphrase both Peter Block and Julio Olalla. As such, what coaching actually is, how it is defined by its leadership and practitioners and how it is understood by its customers and clientele is slowly and steadily evolving.

In its search for definition and clarification, coaching is trying to become less San Diego and more San Francisco. Let's face it, San Diego is an awesome place but where the heck is it? There's lots to do and see but sometimes it feels as if there's no there, there. It's sprawling, disconnected and uncoordinated. San Francisco, on the other hand, couldn't be more identifiable, distinct and clear. It is TransAmerica, Golden Gate, Marin Headlands, Presidio, Chinatown and Coit Tower. San Francisco is definitely "there." And you know what the biggest difference is? (no, not the politics, but that's a good one...). The biggest difference is concentration and identity.

In most parts of San Diego you could be anywhere in Southern California. I'm talking from Santa Barbara all the way down. In San Francisco you can only be in San Francisco. Take it or leave it, love it or hate it, that place is what it is. And, while the image of a peninsula might feel too narrowing and even claustrophobic it offers a concentrating effect that tightens up identity while still leaving room for interpretation. The Haight and Pacific Heights are more than a little different.

So, what's the point? Well, coaching seems to be inching its way along the continuum from sprawling, disjointed, "everywhereness" to a "somewhereness" that feels a bit more distinct, somewhat clearer and know-able. As a practitioner in the field, I sense a move towards definition that is refreshing, if not wholly clear. The best evidence is the new "definition of coaching" found on the website of the International Coach Federation (coachfederation.org):

"Coaching is partnering with clients in a thought-provoking and creative process that inspires them to maximize their personal and professional potential."

Compare this to the old definition and see what you think:

"An ongoing professional relationship that helps people produce extraordinary results in their lives, careers, businesses or organizations. Through the process of coaching, clients deepen their learning, improve their performance and enhance their quality of life."

Personally, I miss "extraordinary results" but I am thrilled to see the word "creative." Also, without the word "relationship" it seems we miss the point that development only happens in the context of an "other." For me, a hybrid makes the most sense, so I'll take a few liberties and offer this:

"Coaching is a thought-provoking and creative professional relationship that helps people produce extraordinary results; at home, at work or in any endeavor worthy of meaningful change."

It may not be perfect but, for me, it gets us a little closer to San Francisco. And, for coaching, every mile north on Highway 101 is a journey in the right direction.

© 2010 David Berry