On Reflections and Resolutions

At the end of every year, I try to step back a little and think a little about what I hope to accomplish next year. It usually looks like spending some time at my favorite coffee shop, The Frothy Monkey, earbuds in, heavy on the Brandi Carlile playlist. That time is usually reflective, but I often will use some prompts, such as Michael Hyatt's Breakthrough Year or Jon Acuff's book Finish to help provide some structure to the time. It's been 10 months since I sat in an upstairs window seat at the Frothy Monkey and I miss it. On a good day, I'd bump into a couple of friends and maybe see a celebrity. There would almost certainly be a couple of worship leaders in skinny jeans talking about a new ministry idea, and maybe a table full of "Disney by me" or essential oil distributors nearby. Everyone had a twinkle of hope in their eye - excitement about the new innovation they were sharing with one another, the trips they would plan, sometimes the newly found sobriety they were helping each other maintain. The place buzzed with energy, and for $4, I could buy a breve with heavy cream, instead of half and half, and sit for half a day.

This year has been a little different. My reflection time has come in spurts, stepping away from family time for a few minutes in my home office. It's comfortable, if overly familiar here. Technically, the home office is in the "foot" of my L shaped bedroom. I spent 18 or more hours a day in here, when not traveling. So, even now, as I sit at my great-grandfather's 1940's roll-top desk writing this post, it's a little hard to separate my mind from the daily grind. That time in a different environment really does help me to get my head into a different place.

On the whiteboard behind me is a bulleted list of things I wanted to learn when the quarantine began. 13 years ago, when this pandemic began and we all retreated to our respective corners, I followed the lead of the productivity influencers and made a list of things that I thought I might accomplish while travels and life outside the house was suspended. My funnel of upcoming projects, all requiring interstate travel were postponed, and in that moment I thought I'd have nothing to do! (Remember when we all thought we'd cook our way through the pandemic, or earn a new certificate, or rebuild our house from the ground up, or write a novel...) That list quickly got pushed aside by the urgency we all felt to respond to the pandemic and I shifted my energies to helping clients use Microsoft Teams to facilitate their suddenly distributed workforces. I was writing white papers and pitching webinars at a feverish pace. At first, I was anxious, very anxious at the time and clamored for any way that I could offer something of value to someone. It felt as if all of the oxygen had left the room and all I was doing was breathing more carbon dioxide into the space. I wondered if any of those projects that had been on the board before March would ever resume.

But as May arrived and restrictions loosened, my clients called to schedule their projects. And they were ready to go. And so, the summer began and so did the travels. The summer was invigorating. My consulting largely consists of in-person white-boarding sessions with groups of people. The joy of being with people exceeded was a shot in the arm, and while I finished the summer exhausted, I also finished with optimism that things would work out. I also worked harder and more than I think I ever have before.

Most of my traveling was just close enough to drive instead of fly, which meant plenty of time for podcasts and books "on tape." By far, the most meaningful work I listened to was Brene` Brown's Dare to Lead, which focuses significantly on the importance of vulnerability in our business relationships (and also applies in our personal relationships). One of the things she talks about in the book is this idea that the tools we've used to get to this point in our lives are not the same tools that will take us to where we want to go. Specifically, the armor that we've built around ourselves. Listening to Brene` put words to my own fears, personally and professionally made me feel less alone and showed that dropping armor is essential because it also helps other people feel less alone, build trust, and drop their own armor. As she introduced the concepts of vulnerability, she even shares stories of working with technology engineers and the difficulty of convincing IT people to be vulnerable - after all, we are paid to reduce vulnerability!

So, it's now 2021. Resolutions have gotten a bad wrap the last few years. But I still have a few, and part of the thought behind this post is to put them out there and maybe hold myself more accountable to do them. Maybe you'll see me in a few months and ask me how I'm doing with that!

In 2021, I want to:

• Hold outcomes more loosely. This is a concept that I've wrestled with for years. But I think part of what it really means is being willing to draw good boundaries, even if the outcome is not achieved, to own what I can own, control what I can control, but not sweat the outcome - especially if I can't control the outcome. It means not "trying to force square pegs in round holes." So, for example, instead of holding to an outcome of losing 20 pounds, I'll focus on the action I can control - small changes in exercise and diet that will result in weight loss and healthier living.
• Live more vulnerability, which means living with less shame, and more empathy. There's a list in Dare to Lead (page 76-77 of the hardback) that compares armored leadership to daring leadership and puts some specifics to this idea.
• Make small changes, weekly. Spend 30 minutes reading a book each day. Increase pushups and sit-ups by 6 a day. Walk 30 minutes 3-4 days per week.

I'm looking forward to 2021 and whatever it brings. I hope you are too. I'd love to hear what you're hopeful for in 2021 and what you hope to reflect on a year from now.