Ambush

I’ve been wondering how we cope with that feeling of being ambushed.

It’s not the season for it, but it felt like there were lots of bees in bonnets over the past week.

I was ambushed by committee members. By a co-facilitator. By a friend. So many ambushes in a row it felt like a siege.

At least a workshop participant gave me some warning that she was going to ambush the session – ‘I’ve got a presentation!’ she warned. Hardly an ‘ambush’, you’d be right to point out. But I wasn’t going to get semantic with her.

Her words would make any facilitator quake at the knees. The prospect of ‘death by power point’ I mean, not her views or opinions.

I welcome passionate views and opinions when I’m working with groups. I’d much rather fireworks than silence. One of my jobs is to make sure those fireworks are lit safely, and don’t harm any onlookers.

I know how to prepare for ambushes when I’m working with groups. As I hunkered down sheltering from the various ambushes outside of work, I thought about how I prepare for the unexpected with groups. I wondered how I could apply that to the next lot of ambushes that life will throw at me. And we know it will. As Horace said all the way back in 8 BC, ‘every moment’s an ambush.’

Ground yourself - physically. That means feeling all corners of your feet, wiggling your toes and placing them as wide apart as you can. As my yoga teacher says, you should be able to see the floor through your toes. You can still get grounded with shoes on.

Breathe. The worst thing we can do when ambushed psychologically or emotionally is to hold our breath. Holding our breath served us well when we didn’t want the sabre-toothed tiger to hear us as it prowled for dinner.

Hold things loosely. Hafez, another ancient poet (this time from Persia) advised in the face of ambush that the ‘rider of life’ should ‘run with loosened reins.’

It’s a fine balance knowing how to hold things loosely.

I play much better tennis when I don’t grip the racquet, but the ball just dribbles off my strings if my grip isn’t firm enough.

I float in tango when the embrace is ‘just right’ – not so tight that you can’t breathe, not so loose that the embellishments I add with my feet will throw me and my partner off balance.

Ambushes are by their very nature unexpected so it’s hard to prepare. Perhaps I should look at my tennis racquet or a tango shoe before I step outside.

I wonder what helps you to hold things loosely? I’d love to hear.