There were two lines, and I was prepared to join whichever one moved fastest.

At my left, the customer’s voice was loud and sharp.  “Two dollars and nineteen cents for THAT?”  The cashier did not make eye contact, but politely repeated the total. 

To my shock, the customer flung the cash at the young lady behind the cash register.  She didn’t flinch, gathered the money, rang up the purchase, thanked the customer, and I was next.

I expressed my amazement at what I’d just witnessed, and the cashier informed me coolly that sort of thing happens quite frequently. She has been trained to remain polite and professional without tolerating abuse.

This incident kept coming to mind long after I left the store, so I wondered what I was supposed to recognize or learn about my own behavior.

Well, I like the “remain calm and polite and professional without tolerating abuse” thing.  I installed that program immediately, and have had several opportunities to simply remain calm while someone else is figuratively flinging cash at me.

But I’m also capable of behaving like the irate customer. The inappropriate placement of blame, the inappropriate treatment of a fellow human being, the arrogance of assuming a position of rank in the social hierarchy that allows us to maltreat another…oh, yes, all of these are present in me.

Like the angry lady ahead of me in line,  I have not always accepted complete responsibility for the price of my choices.

 Buddha says,  ’”Take what you want, and pay for it.” 

 And, I remind myself,  don’t throw the money at the clerk.

My first thought upon awakening almost every morning: “Where am I?”

I travel so frequently that until I open my eyes, I have no idea whether I’m in the United States or not, whether I’m in a familiar bed or not, whether I’m alone or not.

If I’m not alone, I’m with my husband.

Last week we were in yet another hotel room, and I was struggling in yet another unfamiliar shower, trying to find a comfortable balance of hot and cold.

“I am having a hard time getting the temperature right,” I said through the shower curtain.  ”Counterclockwise makes it hotter,” my husband answered from the bedroom. ”HOW WOULD YOU KNOW THAT?” I hollered over the now-perfectly-adjusted shower.

“Because,” he said, “I take into account that you are probably going to need some help with things like that, so I pay attention to the details, so I can tell you when you can’t figure it out.”

I am directionally declined.  There are lots of things I’m really good at, but directions? Not so much. I used to be ashamed of having directional dyslexia. Now I’m quite comfortable telling people that I can’t read a map* or that I got lost for 15 minutes trying to get from my hotel room to the lobby. 

Since I was a tiny tot, I have had a near-mystical ability to put clothing on inside out or backwards, even when I pinch the tag between my fingers to make sure that’s what’s going in the back on the inside. I amaze myself with this trait. I honestly don’t know how I do it.

That shower adjustment? I know YOU can look at the dial and see blue with an arrow going one way and red with an arrow going the other and say, “Any idiot could tell how to make it hotter or colder.” Not this idiot.

What I did not know was that my loving husband has been quietly noting, for many years, how to help his spatially challenged wife.  I stood there in the shower, washing away a tear or two.

When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel and then wrapped him in a damp embrace. “Counterclockwise makes it hotter,” I said, “Might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Many of my coaching clients have complained that they are not being shown love or respect in a way that speaks to them.  I remind them that people show love in their own way, in the “language” that they speak. 

Maybe you’re looking for a dozen roses when your beloved is offering a bouquet you haven’t recognized as love in a different language. 

—————

*  The best money I’ve spent in years: the iPad with Google Maps.  It’s big enough to see, you can instantly zoom in and out, and for the first time in my life I have some sense of where I am when I hold it in my hands.  Also for the first time in my life, I can be helpful as a co-navigator.  Emphasis on “co.”

Ahem.  You may now refer to this college dropout as “Professor.”

(If you speak at TED University  that’s what they call you.)

(That photo was lifted from Flickr, shot by James Duncan Davidson for TED.)

Maybe sometime next week I’ll upload the script and my faaaaabulous slides, which were conceived and produced by the world’s foremost curator of interestingness, Maria Popova .

(This is the thing I thought would be fun but threatened to turn into “work” until Maria made it fun again.)

It was very challenging to put myself through this experience.  How’d it go? Not a disaster.  That is good enough for me.

I’ve just returned from a reception for the TEDGlobal2010 Fellows. These world-changing individuals are intimidating even to the Fellows who precede them. Every time we meet a new class of Fellows, at least one of the outgoing Fellows or Senior Fellows will say, “I’m glad I didn’t have to compete for a spot in THIS class! I never would have been chosen!”

After engaging in a wonderful conversation with one of them, she asked, “And what do you do?”  I answered, “Nothing.  I am doing nothing at this time.”  She looked incredulous.  “I am on sabbatical,” I explained, “And I’m not doing anything.”

After a lifetime of trying so hard to rack up achievement points, I have become completely comfortable telling ultra-high achievers that my job is “doing no work.”

I am beginning to integrate the notion that it’s OK just to be, without having to do.  I always thought that was a crock, a good excuse for lazy people not to pull their weight in the world.  But somewhere deep inside, I have begun to believe that we are enough, each of us,  just being who we are.

“I’m not asking you to ENDORSE me, I’m asking you to INDULGE me,” said my husband.

We were in a familiar conversation pattern: he says something with which I cannot agree, and I respond with “logic” and “common sense.”  He becomes frustrated, because there are times when his motto is “This is what I think, don’t confuse me with the facts.”

OK, the truth is,  he really said, “I’m not asking you to ENDORSE me, I’m asking you to INDULGE me, and keep quiet.”

I can do that.  (Yes, I can.)  He deserves a little harmless indulgence once in a while.  Of course I would never keep quiet about something significant, nor would he want me to. But shut up about the small stuff? Fine.

Now, I am thinking of ALL the people with whom I can use this simple formula for harmony: you don’t have to endorse them if it’s OK with you to just indulge them…and keep quiet.

Oh, I love the movie Bedazzled .  Not the one with Elizabeth Hurley and Brendan Fraser  - no knock on the performers.  It’s just that Peter Cook  and Dudley Moore  achieved such perfection that it’s really hard for anyone else to riff successfully on it.

The premise is that poor Stanley sells his soul to the devil for a guaranteed Happily-Ever-After with the object of his affection. But the Devil being the Devil, there’s always a catch.  No matter how specific Stanley’s wishes become, no matter how many loopholes he closes, no matter how many contingencies he provides for in his wish, the Devil is always one step ahead with a detail Stanley overlooked, and therefore Stanley’s life is a perpetual Hell.

So, you thought the person who specified exactly what was wanted (in yesterday’s post)  had covered every base, every eventuality, every detail?

Today I received an urgent message, grateful for the many interesting respondents. However, the plea came,

Could I please add  ”NEW YORK CITY ONLY?”

I wrote back: 

I am going to encourage you to consider beginning more than one relationship, including long distance, via Skype.  I think this is proving the power of electronic communication and my best advice to you is to look at the bounty the Universe is trying to lay at your feet and see if you might not say “NO!” But “YES! And….” Are you willing to think BIGGER and just say “NYC PREFERRED?

And the response came:

“While I’d love to meet ALL the interesting people who wrote to me, and turn them all into my coaches-friends-mommys-and-daddies, there won’t be enough of me to barter for their services!  The essence of this is face-to-face, since it is NYC that I need to adapt myself to – the subcultural niches, the collectives, the opportunities.”

And there you have it.  I am updating yesterday’s post to reflect this edit, so if you forwarded before, keep going if you are so inclined.

Are you tempted to pass judgment on this person? I’m grateful for the reminder that if specifics are essential, you must be very sure that you have covered EVERY specific that is important to you, and never dismiss the possibility that you have overlooked something truly obvious.  I try to ask at least one other person if I have missed anything obvious. 

Have I?

(POST UPDATED: NEW YORK CITY AREA ONLY, PLEASE)

You can’t get what you want ’til you know what you want . 

In my experience as a coach, darn few people know exactly what they want and why they want it and how to get it and what they’re prepared to do to make it happen.  That’s why so many of them hire coaches in the first place.

This “want ad” came to my attention today and I thought it showed gumption.  I pass it along and invite you to do the same. I would suggest that the eventual mentor consider proposing a barter arrangement.  I have at least five ideas where the advertiser’s skills and talents would be an even swap for the hoped-for mentor’s time – this could benefit lots of people.  An hour for an hour in the tradition of Time Banks .

Anyway, here it is, and I invite the community of coaches, Facebook, Twitter, to help this bold person prove that if you have the courage to tell the world what you want, you just might get what you need.

—————————————

I know, it is too good to be true – but as Somerset Maugham once said, “Life is a funny thing… If you don’t settle for anything but the best, you usually find it.

YOU: 
-lives in New York City

femmeternelle@gmail.com

—————————————————-

Yeah, it’s not for everyone. But that’s the point. This person is looking for a person so unusual and specific that it will take a lot of strangers forwarding and posting and passing along to help one seeker find a soul-mentor-friend-coach-father-figure at $30/hr.  Won’t it be amazing if it happens?

And you can say all you want about how unrealistic, how arrogant, how presumptuous, how inappropriate, how ________ this is, the point is, it’s out there. The person took the time and trouble to outline the best possible situation imaginable, define the dealbreakers, make the ask, and have the courage to trust that the right person will think it was splendid, intelligent, daring, modern, and fascinating.  Who knows, a club of “elders” might emerge.  Or….. anything’s possible.

Why? Because someone dared to take action, boldly and fearlessly.

If ever one is tempted to take one’s self (or anything else) too seriously, one might meditate upon

 The Whoopee Cushion.

To quote the young lady wielding the mighty Whoopee, “It’s fun just to SAY ‘Whoopee Cushion.’ Go on, say it!”

While reading a book on creating intrinsic motivation, <note: link to the book was added because of requests.>  I came upon an exercise I thought would be useful.  Nobody gets a name tag.  You have to introduce yourself with an adjective that begins with the same letter as your first name, like “Musical Michelle”.  I forget the details, but after a round or two people are supposed to know each other’s names, and a little bit about the other people. If someone forgets a name, they only get the adjective clue: Musical.  

It’s always interesting to me when something like this happens: within maybe an hour of seeing that book, I saw the little game was mentioned in an article  about the hiring process at a new hotel. The prospective employees were asked to describe themselves with an adjective beginning with their first initial.  The article mentioned “Amazing Ashton” and “Phenomenal Patti.” 

Naturally, I’ve been trying to think of what I’d say if I were playing that game.  I couldn’t think of anything that accurately reflected what I wanted to say about myself.  I came up with one that was strictly “settling for,” definitely no better than “least objectionable.”

I asked my husband what he would choose for himself. It was exactly the adjective that came to my mind when I thought of him.  Then I asked what he thought would be a good one for me. “What does _____ mean?” he asked, using what we used to call a “fifty-center” when I was a kid.  It didn’t mean what he thought it did, so that wasn’t it.  He pondered. In a moment, he said, “Real.”

I like it, I told him. I am very happy with that. It’s true and it’s me.

If I return to coaching when my sabbatical ends, I’ll definitely add this to my repertoire of self-revealing exercises for clients. 

I think I’ll call it “Initial Reaction.”  What was yours?

Meet Kaitlyn Marie Scott, born this morning at 8:10am weighing 7 lb. 14 oz, to a healthy and happy Laura Scott and her husband Rodney Scott (who took that picture, which I just copied from his Facebook page).

The Scotts don’t announce baby names ahead of baby arrival.  We grandparents had no clue what their firstborn’s name would be until Kylie, who’ll be 4 in August, was several minutes old. This time,  Kylie was in on the family secret. She was the only one entrusted with the name chosen for the new baby.  When I heard that Laura and Rodney expected their chatty little social belle to keep it under wraps, I thought, Yeah, good luck with THAT. But somehow, it seems she told nobody at her school, nobody at summer day camp, not even her beloved grandmother “Giggles” who sees Kylie nearly every day.

When Giggles (Laura’s mom Diane), Pom Pom (Laura’s father Bill) and Tootie (guess who) were in the waiting room this morning with Kylie, we got an email message from Rodney giving Big Sis permission to tell us Little Sister’s name.  She wouldn’t do it.   Showing her the message, reading the words aloud, pointing to Rodney’s name – not enough.  Jaws of steel.

Only when Rodney came out personally and told her that it was OK did she spill it.

Of course I’m in awe of the miracle of birth and the beauty of a laboring/new mother and the elegance of nature’s way. It’s hard to beat the proverbial “ten fingers, ten toes, good Apgar, Mother and Baby doing fine” thing.

But a three-year-old who can keep a secret for a long time?  That’s pretty impressive too.  In the reporting biz we used to joke, “How many people can keep a secret among them? Three, if two are dead.”  Ha! The Scotts prove that three people who are very much alive can indeed keep a secret.

In my reporting work, I used to promise my sources, “I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail before I’d tell anyone what you told me in confidence.”  In my coaching work, confidentiality is the foundation of the relationship.  I still have every one of those reporting and coaching confidences (maybe yours) behind locked lips.  I have no idea how a little kid could be capable of such mental discipline.

Today I’m grateful for family and for major milestones.  And I am especially grateful for the reminder that integrity, trustworthiness, and loyalty can be found where one might least expect it.