Friday, May 28, 2010

Time for a Change

This is my final post to the blog "Coaching Inside." As of today, as spring greets summer and longer days allow us to see and experience more of the world around us, I have re-named and re-purposed this space. I began this exercise two years ago as a practice in self-expression, trusting that if I could just commit to a regular practice of writing about my experience something of significance would emerge. And, thankfully, that is what has occurred.

As a professional coach inside an organization and as an individual who has grown increasingly committed to my own learning, "Coaching Inside" was an ideal way to "house" my efforts to share my experience. Recently, however, I began to notice that my original intent and what has actually taken place weren't matching up very well. My suspicion about that was confirmed when a trusted friend said to me, "You need to change the name of your blog." This is interesting, I thought. She went on to observe that while I am a coach I am also many other things. And, while I do work "inside" an organization I also operate "outside" that setting, often sharing anecdotes beyond that singular point of view. She was challenging me to inhabit a much bigger perspective, one that more accurately takes into account my many roles and my many experiences, both inside and out.

Exactly the validation, exactly the push that I needed.

As I notice what the blog has become I recognize that the entries that feel most authentic, most inspired and that I was most eager to share are the ones that are most personal. Not to mention that those tend to be the ones about which I get the most feedback. Interesting but not surprising. I have long known and believed that what is most personal is most universal. That by sharing more openly I tap into what is most personal in others. And from that emerges a deeper and more meaningful connection than would otherwise be possible. It is in this way that I see myself as a catalyst for the generative process of self exploration from which true personal learning can emerge. This is what excites me and this is what I want to be more and more about.

As I began the process of finding a new name for the blog, as I was anxiously awaiting the "bolt from the blue" to spark my creativity, it dawned on me to go toward those key ideas and resources I have already identified as true to my practice and my purpose. For some time now I have relied heavily on a quote by John Updike from his 1984 memoir, Self-Consciousness. In the preface he writes: "...my autobiography is my attempt to treat this life...as a specimen life, representative in its odd uniqueness of all the oddly unique lives in the world."

And there it was, right before my eyes: Specimen Life.

I am proud to introduce you to my new blog. It is a place from which I hope to share my experience as genuinely as I possibly can. And, it is a place from which I hope you will draw inspiration for your journey, as I will for mine.

© 2010 David Berry

Monday, May 24, 2010

I Am the Center of the Universe (Right?)

Every once in a while I find myself feeling a little needy; not quite special enough; not quite tended to; not quite important enough. I wonder why the small band of people who are my friends and family aren't doing more to take care of me, more to encourage, support, appreciate and validate my existence, if not my awesomeness. I wonder why they are so wrapped up in their so-called "busy" lives with their commitments, careers, families, passions, heartaches, headaches, losses, goals, joys and dreams that they can't take the 5 minutes it requires to remind me of the gift I am to the world. (Seriously, what the hell is with them anyway?).

It's a little embarrassing to write this as I'm sure no one else ever feels this way. But, on the off chance that you, or someone close to you ever has one of these moments, this poem may be of use.

We who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting,
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
Your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
In announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
But since our Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective.

- Phillip Lopate -


© 2010 David Berry

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

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)

Friday, May 14, 2010

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.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

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