Category: life lessons

Navigating Unwelcome Surprises

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“Living is the art of getting used to what we didn’t expect.” – Eleanor C. Wood

Last week, at an off-leash area for dogs, a dog latched on to my 18-month-old dog, Cooper’s, face. This dog, a pit bull mix, had been showing a lot of interest in Cooper. But Cooper doesn’t have, or hasn’t yet developed, any defensive postures – he doesn’t bark, raise his hackles, or growl. He’s bigger than many of the dogs and mostly runs away.

For whatever reason, this dog latched on to Cooper’s face between his eye and his ear. The dogs weren’t fighting – and neither dog was even growling. The owner was right there and was doing all that he could to get the dog to let go.

I can’t say how long it went on for – it felt like five minutes but could have been only one or two. As it went on, all the humans in the dog park circled around but no one seemed to be able to help the owner get the dog to let go.

And then finally the dog released. Cooper wimpered and scampered away. The owner said to me, “I’m so sorry. We’re never coming here again.” I’d like to report what I said but I have no idea. Maybe nothing.

I checked Cooper as we walked out of the park and he didn’t have any blood or wounds. The side of his face appeared to be a little puffier but undamaged.

These kinds of things always surprise me when they happen. It’s not that I’m unaware that they can. It’s that I’ve found carrying around the armor of anticipation to be too exhausting. It fends off bad and good things equally. It weighs me down too much in a way that keeps me from trying new things.

Instead I’ve come to figure out what works for me to process these things. I sit on my meditation cushion and breathe and pray. I write about it. I tell the story to others and it helps me to get a handle on it myself.

Somewhere during this process after we’d gotten home from the dog park, I started to settle down. The shaky feeling had lessened and after a time, I even stopped saying “I’m sorry that happened” to Cooper every time I looked at him.

Then as the kids settled into bed that night, Cooper featured high in our list of what we were grateful for. Five-year-old Mr. D was glad his buddy was okay. Nine-year-old Miss O pointed out that it was great that the other owner was helping and was apologetic. I was grateful that the kids weren’t there and it wasn’t any worse.

So in the end, we found bright spots in a story that started with “a dog latched on to Cooper’s face.” I’ve found that navigating unwelcome surprises often helps me to dig deep.

(featured photo is Cooper after the incident)

I co-host a storytelling podcast featuring authors and artists with the amazing Dr. Vicki Atkinson. To tune in, search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music or Pocketcasts (and subscribe) or click here. Or the YouTube channel features videos of our interviews. Please subscribe!

My other projects include work as a CEO (Chief Encouragement Officer), speaking about creativity and AI through the Chicago Writer’s Association, and my book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

You can find me on Instagram and Twitter @wynneleon

Transforming Anger Into Something Life-Giving

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“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Margaret Mead

I witnessed a short, angry burst of aggression the other day. A driver pulled into an intersection as if to take a free right. A woman on foot with her dog in tow, crossed against the light, rapped on the car’s passenger window to tell the driver that it was “No turn on red.” Then she kept knocking on the window to continue angrily yelling the same thing over and over again.

The funny thing was that the driver had not yet taken a right turn but the woman was so incensed that it was likely to happen that she broke the rules to tell them not to. It would have been comical had she not been so apoplectic.

The light turned green, the car turned right and the interaction was over. But it stuck with me, so I went home and looked up anger in Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown:

Anger is a catalyst. Holding on to it will make us exhausted and sick. Internalizing anger will take away our joy and spirit; externalizing anger will make us less effective in our attempts to create change and forge connection. It’s an emotion that we need to transform into something life-giving: courage, love, change, compassion, justice.

Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown

I think this piqued my interest because the injustices of this world and our recent national politics make me angry. I need to remember to transform that into something life-giving in order to participate in creating change.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Staying in My Own Lane

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“Always be a first rate version of yourself and not a second rate version of someone else.” – Judy Garland

My brother and I like to talk about Wordle strategies. It seems to be our easy, go-to conversation. To be fair, my brother has all the strategies and I’m just a decent guesser.

His goal is to have more successes getting the word in three guesses than in four. I hadn’t thought of that particular challenge. So when I changed computers a while back, I had to relog in to the NY Times and it started my stats all over again. I thought this was a great chance to give his approach a try.

For a while my 3’s and 4’s were neck in neck. But then I realized, taking the time to be strategic about getting it in three was irritating me. I’d rather go faster and get it in four.

Taking the time to play Wordle is pleasureful, but taking time to think through all the possible combinations to land on the most likely was just unrealistic.

I was chagrined to realize that life had just given me another opportunity to learn to stay in my own lane. The only way I’ve figured out how to be happy playing the game of life is to find my own goals – not try to live up to others.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Too Mad To Listen

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“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” – Mark Twain

I saw this gas station sign and it reminded me of a story from many years ago.

The house next door to mine used to be a duplex. On the main floor lived a 40-something year old opera singer and music teacher who had lived there for nearly twenty years. She gardened and was friendly with all the neighbors so it was easy to get to know her.

One summer, a new renter moved into the top floor. She was younger than the opera singer – maybe in her early 30’s. I frequently saw her roller skating around the little lake we live near wearing bright red lipstick. She was noticeable but harder to get to know beyond a wave here and there.

The roller skater frequently walked loudly in high heels when she was home and slammed her kitchen cupboards late at night. This was keeping the opera singer in the apartment below her awake past her bedtime. She tried to ask her to stop. The roller skater didn’t want to talk about it. So, the opera singer tried sending her an email. The roller skater’s dad who lived in Florida called her to tell her to stop bothering his daughter.

Then one night the roller skater came home, parked her car in the driveway and left her car lights on. The opera singer noticed and tried to call out to her but the roller skater slammed the door. The opera singer tried to call her on the phone but the roller skater hung up on her. So the opera singer sent her an email.

The next morning, the roller skater’s car battery was dead. The opera singer watched as she slammed the door crying, eventually getting AAA to come help. The roller skater moved out shortly after.

I heard this story from the opera singer so I only have that perspective. I think the roller skater was a sensitive soul that felt every comment deeply. But even so, it’s always reminded me that not listening to others can come at a cost.

I searched my memory banks for a story of when I was too mad to listen. Funny thing is that I came up empty. I take that as a sign that someone out there is right now telling a story about me not listening. I’m just not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that we often are oblivious to the help never taken.

What do you think?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Creating Space

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“The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.” – Albert Einstein

When I packed up my car to go on vacation with my family last week, it was so heavily loaded that there was no floor space visible. The cereal boxes were under Mr. D’s feet and came out a little dented. I hauled the organic milk the kids drink because it is so much more expensive on the island. I even brought our own snuggly blankets because the ones at the cabin are 40 years old and scratchy.

What happened to the days when I could travel with just a toothbrush and passport?

Not claiming that I ever did go THAT light. Especially climbing trips came with duffel bags of gear. But it felt like I could.

To make this even sillier, this vacation was just going 90 minutes from home and on an island that’s the 4th biggest in the US. To put it all in perspective about how close to commerce we are, even when on vacation, there’s a Chinese restaurant 10 minutes from where we stay.

But still I loaded up the car. Even with all that brought, it wasn’t long before I realized that I forgot to bring my favorite tea. A blueberry green tea by Yogi that is pretty hard to find.

As I was lamenting the tea I forgot, I was chagrined to remember that I only discovered this tea because I was on a business trip last year and didn’t have my usual.

Sheesh, I wonder how many times I will have to learn that when we leave space – by breaking from habit or routine or just doing something differently – it creates room for discovery.

Two Stories About Death

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“Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.” – Alan Sachs

I was going to publish something else today — but then I found this post written three years ago and never published in my drafts folder. Who can argue with a post that’s already written?

Story 1

Last weekend my friend Eric and I took the kids on a long bike ride. My toddler was in a bike seat behind me and my six-year-old daughter was on a third wheel bike attached to Eric’s. It was a gorgeous fall morning with moderate temperatures, colorful fall leaves, not too many clouds and we biked five miles to a marina on the waterfront where we met my brother and sister-in-law.

Along the route we’d seen a draw bridge go up, a police car, all sorts of interesting people getting ready for a breast cancer benefit race. So when my daughter said to my brother, “Guess what we saw on the way here?” I was surprised by her answer, “A dead bunny.”

And we had seen a dead bunny about 4 blocks from home.

Story 2

One of my mom’s friends is moving back to Utah. She’s 97-years-old and lived in Seattle for at least 15 but she told my mom that she’s moving back because her husband is buried there. She looked up how expensive it was to transport a body after someone died. Apparently, it’s costly so she decided to move so she’s nearby the cemetery when she passes.

Conclusion

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that perhaps the very young and the very old have a frankness when talking about death that is harder to find in middle age.

Leadership Lessons From Climbing

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“Great people are those who make others feel that they, too, can become great.” – Mark Twain

We went to Mt. Rainier this weekend and spent two nights at Paradise Inn, one of the historical National Park Lodges first opened in 1917. It’s has no Wi-Fi connectivity: instead it has this fantastic lobby area where guests can hang out by the fireplaces, listen to ranger talks in the evening, find a majestic wood table and play cards, or post a postcard in the “mail stump” – a huge stump next to the registration desk. The rooms are like tiny postage stamps in which you have to be creative about where to hang your wet clothes.

Paradise Inn is at 5,420 feet and is the entry point for most of the guided climbs. There are many routes up the mountain, but this is the route I took for the times I climbed on Mt. Rainier (summit is at 14,410 feet). That sounds like I did a lot, which is not the case – four climbs, two of which we summitted. But I did spend a lot of time doing training hikes on the paths out of Paradise.

Arriving at Paradise was like plugging myself into a higher voltage circuit. I don’t think I stopped grinning all weekend. So, buckle up for some climbing metaphors….

My friend Eric traveled with us this weekend. He did a fair amount of climbing back in the day as well so between the two of us, we have a fair number of climbing stories.

Leading my kids out for a couple of hikes this weekend reminded me of all the good and bad things about hiking with a group. The path up from Paradise starts out paved. But at this time of year, it was still covered with slushy snow.

Eric had a story about a guy he used to climb with named Dave. Dave was 6’3” with size 13 shoes. Apparently, everyone cheered when Dave was leading because he’d kick in the best steps. When the snow is fresh or icy, the person in the lead does the work to kick in solid steps. It’s like doing two or three stomps with each step. It’s exhausting. But for the rest of the team, if the steps kicked in are nicely spaced and solid, it’s a far easier experience, somewhat akin to climbing a set of stairs.

And that’s just one factor in which the person leading can affect the whole group. Going at a steady pace, not too fast and not too slow, and calling breaks at the right time all help everyone settle into a rhythm. Then there’s also the matter of encouragement.

I remember a practice climb on Mt. Rainier I did years ago when I felt totally spent halfway through. My friend encouraged me to take a break to eat and drink before deciding whether I could continue. He was absolutely right – I was totally fine to continue. Great guides are so good at making this call, knowing who needs to take a break and who needs to turn back. It’s not a one-size-fit-all encouragement train.

And climbers have great phrases to encapsulate the down sides, not that they own them by any stretch. There’s “Embrace the suck” to encourage leaning in when the going is tough. And there’s also the acknowledgement that someone has to carry the poop bucket – literally and metaphorically, our stuff goes with us.

Funny that my happy place is one where all those realities, including the suck, are parts of the experience.

Leading my own little team reminded me that life is better when we kick in steps for others, set a sustainable pace, and get a feel for when to encourage and when to walk alongside others when they need to go down to camp.

(featured photo is mine: Mt. Rainier taken from Paradise)

Related climbing metaphor posts:

Frozen Heart

Guides for Transformation

Finding a Rhythm

Climbing Out of My Gunk

Friendship Brownies

The Return Trip

Endurance Versus Enjoyment

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“Believe you can and you’re halfway there.” – Theodore Roosevelt

This was originally published on 4/26/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

I was recently reminded of the time I did a long-distance bike trip on a bike with mountain biking tires. Here’s how that colossal misjudgment came to happen.

The first time I did a really intense workout to prepare for an upcoming mountain climb, my legs were shaking, I thought I’d pass out or throw up, possibly both, and instead I hung in there with the thought, “I can do anything for 20 minutes.”

And I could. So when it came to the next progression in the training, a fast, steep hike, I was equally as wobbly but thought, “I can do anything for a couple of hours.”

By the time it came to actually climb the mountain, I arrived with a 50-pound pack and the mantra, “I can do anything for two days.” I didn’t summit the mountain on that particular attempt but I did prove that I could endure for two days.

So when a friend invited me to do a long-distance bike ride down the California coast and my work schedule meant I could only be on the trip for two days. I thought, “No problem, I can do anything for two days.” It seemed to me that biking is very similar to mountain climbing – takes a lot of leg strength and more importantly, the same endurance muscle.

But I didn’t think long-distance biking was going to be the mainstay of my hobbies so when it came to shipping my bike to the starting point, for reasons of time and money, plus a little ignorance, I just sent my bike that had mountain bike tires. Not super heavy duty, grip the trail mountain biking tires but grippy enough to have a high amount on friction on a paved surface.

By lunch on the first day of the bike trip, my legs were completely gassed. I don’t think I’d experienced that level of fatigue even on the toughest mountain climb I’d done. I made it to the end of the day and then had to immerse myself in an ice bath to have any hope of getting my muscles flushed and restored to ride the second day.

But hey, I can do anything for two days and I made it.

Which is to say, it was a good lesson in endurance. Now when I look at a particular phase with my children that is getting my goat, I think “I can do anything for two years.”

But, and this is a big one for me, I’ve learned that enduring and enjoying are two different things.

On a recent Sunday morning, I was at home with my kids who are now 7 and 3 years old, and they were happily engaged with each other on a project. It left me with 20 minutes of discretionary free time and I was thrilled. As I actually took my time with some self-care, I marveled at the feeling of freedom and enjoyment I was experiencing.

That’s when it hit me. I thought “I can do anything for 20 minutes.” But that’s “anything” said with a sense of wonder and good fortune of an unexpected gift. That’s “anything” that acknowledges the enjoyment that comes with a little lessening of the strictures I tighten around myself. That’s “anything” that remembers that life is to be enjoyed and not just endured.

I’m so good at putting my head down and grinding out the miles to the end of the planned route each day. But it’s completely different training to raise my nostrils to the wind and my eyes to the scenery and notice each mile as it goes by. It’s a practice that is a lot less of a dramatic story tell but instead makes for a story worth telling.

So on Sunday, with a nod to the authors of The Power of Awe, I intentionally savored having unexpected moments to myself and micro-dosed some mindfulness full of gratitude and enjoyment and that made the experience even more impactful.

So I’m entering a new phase of training, one where I’m allowing myself the freedom and unscripted time so “I can do anything for 20 minutes.” I’d like to work up to “I can do anything for 2 days” but I’m taking my workouts slowly.

Open Up, Buttercup

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“The opposite of faith isn’t doubt, it’s cynicism.” – Billy Bragg

I was telling my kids the other day that my mom used to say to me about my chores, “If you’re going to do a bad job, I might as well do it myself.”

My kids looked at me quizzically, an expression that I’m quite sure mirrored mine as a kid when my mom said it. As a parenting trope, that might be one of the worst.

Because I would immediately think, but not say (after all, this was parenting in the 1970’s), “Go ahead and do it yourself.”

Little did I know that a half century later, I’d come to see that it’s pattern I fight against. I tend to do things myself and not ask for help. It’s a tendency that isolates me – which I mean that I sometimes ignore the bridges others throw my direction.

I recognize that I have two different types of, “I’ll do it myself.” There’s the “It’s okay, I’m good – I’ve got this.” And there’s the “Argh, I’m disappointed with other humans. It’s enervating to just think about communicating my needs to someone else so I’m just going to hunker down and do it myself.”

It’s the second type, the one that’s a little cynical, that I need to watch for. I’m come to think of it as when I get a little heart-sore. It happens when I get tired, when someone is spinning out at work, have watched too much news, or when I’ve tried to say something that matters to someone dear to me and they miss the point.

I’ve come to recognize this state of cynicism because the dialogue in my head starts to run a roll call of my disappointments. When the litany starts to get long, involve old wounds, or last for more than a day, I know I’ve got more than a situation, I’m a little heart sore. It may be imperceptible from the outside but my willingness to be vulnerable goes down and my protective shield goes up.

It’s funny – just like with my mom’s phrase, the only person I hurt when I close in on myself is me. I work better in life when I’m open. It behooves me to recognize when I get cynical and do some movement (the modified side plank pose opens up that space so that I can breath elasticity into the heart space when it’s tight), have lunch with a friend, or write a post about it.

Ah, I feel better now…

Speaking of great conversations with friends, check out the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast this week. I talk with my dear friend and co-host, Vicki Atkinson about the Keys to Collaborative Success. Being open is just one of them.

Also, I’m so grateful to Edward Ortiz from the Thoughts about leadership, history, and more blog to writing a review of my book. I so appreciate his incredibly thoughtful and deep analysis about life in his writings. I couldn’t be more appreciative that he spent the time to read and review my book: Book Review: Finding My Father’s Faith

The Lingering Effect of One Good Person

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“Great things are done when men and mountains meet.” – William Blake

I was eating dinner with Mr. D this past Wednesday night when I couldn’t stop looking at the pictures on my laptop. I have a no device rule at the table but Mr. D kept getting up to do other things during dinner. In his absence, I would flip to the next picture in the slideshow from Lou Whittaker’s obituary in the Seattle Times.

Lou Whittaker, a legendary mountain climber and guide, died on Sunday, March 24 at age 95. In my book, one of the most important accomplishments for a climber is to die of old age.

Lou and his twin brother, Jim, were sometimes referred to as the First Family in American Mountaineering climbing. These two incredibly tall (6’5”) and skinny kids from West Seattle climbed Rainier at age 16, and all the peaks in Washington by age 18.

Lou started Rainier Mountaineering Inc. (RMI) which was the only guiding service on Mt. Rainier for about forty years. When I first attempted Mt. Rainier in 1998, I signed up and climbed with RMI.

Jim started REI (Recreational Equipment, Inc.) and was the first American to climb Everest. Jim is still living.

The Seattle Times obituary captured the brothers relationship well:

“After his brother gained international fame for becoming the first American to climb Everest in 1963, Lou Whittaker — who had declined to join the expedition — said if he had, “Fifty feet from the top, we’d have wrestled there in the snow to see who’d be the first up.”

The Seattle Times

Which isn’t to imply that Lou didn’t do the big peaks too. He climbed Denali, K2, Everest, and more. But more importantly, he trained generations of responsible and thoughtful guides.

My friend, Phil Ershler, the first American who climbed the North side of Everest, trained as a guide with RMI.

As did Ed Viesturs, another Seattle boy, who guided for RMI for many years. Also he climbed fourteen 8,000 meter peaks, the world’s highest mountains, without supplemental oxygen and starred in the IMAX film about Everest released in 1998.

I never met Lou but I’ve climbed with and encountered at least 40-50 guides from his company while spending time on Mt. Rainier. To a person, they were helpful people who wanted to teach others about climbing, respect and appreciation of the mountains, and safety. They made the mountain a safer place by participating in rescues and maintaining marked routes.

More than any other accomplishment, and Lou had many, it is that company ethic that stands out to me. There is a whole generation of guides and mountaineers that will likely die of old age because RMI taught them how to be safe and respectful in the mountains. And tens of thousands of mountaineers who know how to handle garbage, waste, and their impact in the mountains because of the lessons taught by RMI.

Lou’s amazing summit pictures celebrate the high points in life. But I thought it worth also memorializing the long effort and incredible impact one guide and leader can have.

(featured photo from Pexels)

P.S. I love telling stories about the remarkable guides that I’ve met or climbed with and the life lessons they passed along. Here are some of my favorites:

  • The time that Ed Viesturs reached the central summit on Shishapangma at 26,273 (8,008m) feet climbing alone. He looked over the 100 meter traverse to the true summit (26,335 feet) and decided it was too dangerous. He had to return eight years later to claim the summit in a safe way.
  • The story of Beck Weathers being left for dead on Everest and Ed Viesturs and filmmaker, David Breashears, giving up their own summit plans to help Beck descend the mountain.
  • My friend, guide, and amazing climber, Phil Ershler who taught me about objective versus subjective risks.
  • The lasting impact Phil had teaching me how to walk lightly in the mountains and in life.
  • How I learned from Phil about how different things look on the return trip.