The BOLD (A One Word Focus)

The Whisper (Perhaps It Isn’t What..or Where..I think it is)

A year, according to the song in the musical Rent, consists of five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes (and yes, I know that you sang that in your head).  A year is 12 distinct months, four or more seasons and 365 (give or take—thank you leap year) trips around the earth’s axis.  It is a long time and a blink.  Here we sit, at the beginning of 2019, contemplating the uses to which we would like to put those 525,600 units.  A quick poll of your friends or a search of the internet will reveal that we humans have developed a dizzying array of rituals to mark this change of the year.  One of my favorites came from a book by Dr. Henry Cloud.  A few years ago, I encountered an idea he presented that has enriched and challenged me.  For that eternally long, blisteringly fast unit, the year, one selects a word.

The word selected for a year is a theme.  It stands as a challenge.  The word can be a question or a statement.  It can embody hope or signal curiosity.  Across the breadth of a year, it can stand as a prayer and a query and an experiment and a reminder and a kick in the butt.

In 2016, I was anticipating the second half of my training with Newfield Network–The Art and Practice of Coaching. I knew that my new skills would provoke a deliberate pivot in my business, I knew that I would be hiring a business coach as I graduated to make the most of this pivot.  I knew that I was going to be engaged in learning that would stretch me, in business growth that would challenge me.  I was volunteering for new adventures that I anticipated with joy and trepidation.  My word for 2016 was courage.

It took courage to strike out in new directions. It took courage to undertake learning that swerved far from the conventional syllabus/book/test model of more familiar forms of education.  It took courage to pivot from work the way I had been doing it to undertake work with these new models and skills.  It took courage to weather a tumultuous election season, even as the most minor participant—as a voter.

I learned that courage is a muscle.  If you exercise it, it gets stronger.  I learned that courage answers fearful things, but it does not vanquish them.  The fearful things don’t run from courage or diminish in its presence.  No, courage allows us to stand up to the fearful things and take the actions that neutralize them.  Courage allows us to grow in strength and perspective until the fearful things appear small enough to be managed.

In 2016, I grew my courage muscle and learned a great deal about its capacity.

In 2017, the word that came to me, unbidden, was trust.  I knew that this would be a particularly difficult concept for that year.  The national landscape had become even more tumultuous.  In our family life, we were being called on to stay the course on decisions we had made in situations that were uncertain and trying.  I was building my business and I needed to trust that the investments I was making really did hold the promise of being fruitful.  I failed an important test and had to martial my strength to make another try.   Without trust, I would have had a difficult time making my second (and ultimately successful) attempt to pass.

What, or whom, was the promise holder for my trust?  Was I trusting me? Was I trusting the people in my life? Was I trusting God?  Was I trusting the odds?

I learned that trust is best applied when it is a concoction mixed with equal parts courage on my part and faithfulness on the part of the person or thing in which I am investing trust.  I have to give trust so that the trust can be earned, or validated.  It is a tipsy sort of dance.

It is a dance that requires courage because I must make myself vulnerable to trust.  I must trust that one of two things will happen.  I must be strong enough to weather the disappointment if my trust is misplaced or I must be graceful enough to waltz away with the results if my trust is invested well.

In 2017, I gained a new appreciation for the strength inherent in trust.

In 2018, my word was allow.  This word has deep roots and represents an aspect of living with which I struggle.

In December of 2016, I began seeing an Alexander Technique practitioner named Francis Kimmel.  When we met, I discussed with her my goal to find ways to learn that engaged more than my mind.  She suggested Alexander Technique.

I visited her small, sunny studio every week for six months to sit, stand, walk and lie down.  We discovered my habits and began to explore the way the energy flows through a body in “good use.”  My stamina, my poise, my energy, and my mood are all impacted by my stance and my carriage.  So are yours.

Since that initial 6 months, we have met every two weeks.  I cherish the time that I spend learning with more than my head.  I have had physical improvements and have experienced aha moments as my body has been allowed to share its wisdom, unencumbered with the command and control of the brain alone.

Frances says, “In Alexander, the most strenuous thing we do is inhibit and allow.”  We do not do a movement or make our bodies move into a position.  Sometimes we inhibit a bad habit.  For instance, I tended to lead with the tip of my chin, jutting it out in a way that compromises the movement in my neck.  Sometimes we allow good use.  I really enjoy the energy that I feel flowing through me when I re-establish and find that my feet, legs, spine, arms, shoulders, neck and crown are coiled, stacked and cantilevered for maximum efficiency.

This work had a major role to play in the 35 pounds I lost last year in weight training and exercise.  I would re-establish before lining up in a machine or with a weight.  My movements were smoother and I didn’t experience a single injury through all the lifting, running, pulling, pushing and other sorts of fun.

As I learned to allow, I noticed that many of my bad habits were the results of ideas.  I would not bend my knees when it would be helpful to do so because my command and control structure remembered that movement had resulted in a knee injury two decades ago.  That is a long time to protect a joint and it has resulted in stiffness and inflexibility.  This condition developed not because of any real limitation in the joint but because I believed the idea that I must protect my joint.

We control with and because of ideas.

In order to overcome paralyzing control, we must allow.

Therefore, 2018 was the year of allow.  I sought to relinquish control of processes when I desired outcomes.  I looked for ways to just let go and bob down the river of events.  I spoke in positive tones about opportunities and challenges.

At least, I attempted to do so.  I even learned to allow myself to be imperfect.

In 2018, I learned that the world will persist even if I am not in complete and utter control.  I learned that allowing events and blessings and even challenges to unfold on terms other than my own brings gifts of relief, adventure, fullness, and joy.

Now we sit on the precipice of 2019.  I spent the last day of 2018 and the first day of 2019 journaling, reviewing, planning, setting goals and formatting my new quarterly planner.  In the process, I also discovered my word for this year.

This will be the year of nurture.  One of the Prospects of Possibility (the framework I use to explore our available opportunities for growth and transformation) is Tolerate Nothing but Nurture.  This year, I want to invest further in my business and my health.  I want to find new ways to contribute to the vitality of my clients and to find new avenues for contribution.  All of these are opportunities to nurture.

My curiosity about this word leads me to hold the following questions as I move through my year:

I look forward to becoming better acquainted with nurture.

Do you participate in the word ritual?  Is so, what is your word for 2019?  How do you select your word?  What kinds of questions do you carry along as you learn about your theme?  I’d love to hear about your practice and your experience.

Expect to hear more about nurture this year.  I’m excited to share the grand experiment with you.  Perhaps we can nurture a deeper understanding of our words together.