Let’s Stick Together

In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity.” – Albert Einstein

Last Thursday, I had a moment of chaperone panic. I was in charge of Mr. D and another 5-year-old, a little girl named, Lydia. She was a delightful little girl who wanted to name our team, Rainbow Unicorn. So she was exactly on message for her age group.

After seeing all the sights, playing the games, eating lunch and picking out pumpkins, I asked Lydia if she wanted to do the corn maze. She had said several times she wanted to do it. As we approached the entrance of the maze, it was just the three of us: Mr. D, Lydia and me.

We walked fifteen feet to the first intersection and Lydia yelled, “Let’s split up!

I bit back my scream of “Noooooo!” and eked out a mostly calm, “Let’s stick together.

It strikes me that spreading chaos is a little fun. Not that little Lydia meant anything by it. She was just injecting a little five-year-old energy into the event.

Maybe my panic struck a little harder than usual since it’s election season in the US. I’m tired of the divisiveness that stokes up fear and the conflict entrepreneurs that capitalize on it. Let’s stick together.

Staying in My Own Lane

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)

Life is Like Legos

Learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist.” – Pablo Picasso

This weekend I played a lot of Legos with my kids. Mr. D was building a house, finding any square or rectangular pieces and putting them together.

I was following an instruction booklet to build a teddy bear. I spent most of my time looking through the 800 pieces for pieces the size of my pinky fingernail that were the right size, shape and color to match the instructions.

It struck me that life in general, and creativity specifically, is a lot like building Legos. We start out life creating off the cuff – listening to our gut, stacking and combining from what’s available. It’s intuitive and faster but it’s not long before we are told there are norms and expectations we are supposed to be adhering to.

Then we discover the instruction booklet and shift into making the prescribed things. In this mode, we make things that cutely and appropriately match other people’s expectations and instructions. But it takes a lot longer to find exactly the right pieces and we have to guard the pieces we find really carefully lest someone else takes the only one that will fit the specifications.

Once I was done building my teddy bear, I discovered a third way. I started building a structure with some of the remnants of our past creations. It built on both the structured and unstructured components. I went back to working like Mr. D and listening to my gut.

Seems like this is a great place to get to in creation and in life – where we can still be mindful of others, incorporating what has already been built, but leave the instructions behind.

Being Difficult

There will never be an “us” if I play small.” – Sharon Preiss

Last Monday when Miss O, Mr. D, and I were getting ready for bike camp, nine-year-old Miss O was dragging her feet. She had a ton of “problems” that were blocking her: she couldn’t find shoes, Cooper the dog was in her way, her helmet was missing one unicorn ear, she didn’t remember the route we usually use to go down to the lake, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I turned to her and said, “You are being difficult.”

She replied, “I am.” And then added, “I wish I could tell you when you are being difficult too.”

To which I replied, “Please do. But I’d especially love to know when I’m being difficult when others are trying to be helpful and supportive or if it’s when you all are dragging your feet.”

I’ve been troubled by this conversation ever since. In fact, I’m finding it hard to write about. Here’s my best guess at why.

I think I’m starting to experience the generational BS that women in my family pass down. And it’s so ingrained and insidious, I’m not even doing it intentionally.

You are being difficult.” It’s like code for saying that I expect her to fall in line and be agreeable. To be flexible and accommodating like a young woman.

To be fair, she was being difficult. It’s just that the word hits a note of a gender stereotype that I’ve tried to avoid my whole life. I had no intention of passing it on. Then it slipped out of my mouth.

I’m naturally pretty agreeable. But inheriting the expectations of how a woman should behave has kept me from speaking up when I needed to – both in pursuing my own interests and also when something is wrong. And it kept me playing small. Trying not to stand up or stand out has kept me quiet about what I know or am capable of doing. It’s made me intentionally dim my light so I’m not too much.

It’s taken me decades in leadership positions to figure out that I can be genial AND forthright. And when needed, it’s acceptable to be hard-headedly, certainly, yet kindly, difficult.

So, I’m officially okay with Miss O being difficult. While I prefer she not do it when we are heading out the door, it’s fine if she does that too. Because sometimes that is when we learn to flip the script.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Do It Again: The Magic of Repetition

Next time you’re afraid to share your ideas, remember someone once said in a meeting let’s make a movie with a tornado full of sharks.” – unknown

This post was originally published on 8/9/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.


I was recently lucky enough to be able to talk about the magic of theater in a podcast conversation with writer, playwright, and Wise & Shine colleague, Jack Canfora. As we talked about the powerful feeling of a night in the theater when it all comes together and just works, he told me a story about Laurence Olivier and young Maggie Smith.

After a night where the performance was particularly magical, Laurence Olivier angrily stormed into his dressing room. Maggie Smith inquired after him, asking him “What’s the matter, Larry? It was brilliant.” Laurence replied, “I know. And I have absolutely no idea how I did it, and it’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Wow, that story speaks to me! About how I want to capture magic, to define it, and put it into a bottle. Also about the repetitive nature of life. Preparing a meal, writing a post, or having a moment with friends – there are so many things that I do repeatedly and when it goes well, want to know why. Laurence Olivier’s reply gets to the desire to capture it in a formula so that we know exactly how to do it again.

The elusive nature of life seems to ensure that there is no perfect replica. Even for someone with the talent of a great actor cannot control all the factors that go into a delivery.  Yet we still strive for those wonderful moments when it all comes together.

If you’re anything like me, that striving actually takes away from the moment. Instead of savoring the now moment, when everything went wonderfully well, and being grateful, I start thinking of what I have to do next, or how things might go differently in the future.

Fortunately, I keep getting the chance to do it again. I’ve found that life requires us to repeat ourselves and then begs us to stay present for each show. I feel this most starkly when it comes to writing. Every time I sit down to write, it feels like breaking through my barrier of protectiveness and layers of my own BS to try to write something meaningful. Then I post something, for better or for worse, and then think, “I’ve got to do that again?”

Of course I do, because life isn’t static. I’ve found that writing rubs off that tarnish or moss that grows when I don’t do the work to show up authentically. For me, that’s where the magic happens. I can only imagine that something similar was at work for Laurence Olivier.

(featured photo from Pexels)

There’s Magic In the Air

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” – Lao Tzu

I’ve told the story so many times. How I finished the preparations to get pregnant via IVF on a Thursday and then my 79-year-old dad died suddenly in a bike accident the very next day. I spent the next nine months in this dance between birth and death writing a book about my dad while I waited for my daughter to arrive.

And that would be the end of it. I’m not excessively morbid (I don’t think). I miss my beloved dad but there’s a lot of life in the here and now. I’ve said my goodbyes to him and feel at peace with the loss. So there’s no reason to keep talking about it EXCEPT…

Except things keep happening to bring my daughter and my dad close. Some of it comes from the stories I tell and my kids’ questions about him. Some of it is the delightful part of having my mom alive and a lovely and longstanding community around us. But there’s also a little magic in the air and the invitations that we get that makes my dad feel palpable.

So we share a little bit of that magic in this week’s episode of the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast. Vicki Atkinson and I are with my almost nine-year-old daughter, Miss O.

Miss O recently sang an acapella solo at the church that my dad used to lead. Listening to her pure, soprano voice while sitting in a sanctuary where I often feel the presence of him (and Him) surrounding me, brought me to tears.

So she generously sings a bit of what she sang and tells us how she prepared to sing this not once, but twice. Miss O reminds us that people are pulling for us when we step up and are brave.

Then she brings all the other elements that go in to stepping up – practice, preparation, nerves and excitement.

This is a wonderful episode from a young girl who feels and celebrates the generational pull of family and is willing to share her a bit of herself to honor that tie to those that have gone before.

I’m certain you’ll enjoy the scenic and beautiful places we go when we share the power of story… and song.

We know you’ll love it!

P.S. Miss O ends the podcast with a sweet rendition of You Are My Sunshine to celebrate those of you who listen all the way through.

Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts OR Listen to it from your computer on Anchor: Episode 77: Singing to the Heavens with Miss O

AND subscribe to our YouTube channel to see a video clip of each story: @SharingtheHeartoftheMatter.

Other Episodes with Miss O

Episode 45: Third Grade Writing Wisdom with Miss O

From the hosts:

Vicki’s personal blog: Victoria Ponders

Wynne’s personal blog: Surprised by Joy

Vicki’s recently released book: Surviving Sue

Wynne’s book about her beloved father: Finding My Father’s Faith

Two Stories About Death

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.

Writing From the Heart

There is a wisdom of the head, and…a wisdom of the heart.” – Charles Dickens

This post was originally published on 3/1/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.


The other day I read a beautiful post that was a tribute to a dearly departed pet. It was so touching and zinged me right where there’s a sore spot from missing my beloved dog, Biscuit, that died six years ago. I had to walk away for about 30 minutes before I could write a comment.

I find this so often be true – the topics that are the closest to my heart are hard to write about when the tears are still flowing. When I had to say good-bye to Biscuit, the next day the only words I could manage was to put a sign next to the cat who was also grieving the loss of his buddy:

Cat missing his newly departed dog

So this set me off wondering why it is so hard. Loss of perspective? Lack of clarity so I can’t yet make meaning? Inability to see the keyboard when the tears are flowing?

Thinking it could be a left-brain/right-brain kind of thing, I looked up the neuroscience of writing and found this New York Times article: This is Your Brain on Writing. Turns out that left-brain/right-brain isn’t much of a delineation that they make these days. Instead the article describes the results an fMRI study of the brain while writing including the detail that in expert writers, there is a part of the brain, the caudate nucelus, that lights up. The same part of the brain doesn’t light up for novice writers, a result that made sense to the scientists because the caudate nucleus is the part of the brain associated with expertise. Which was interesting but didn’t get me any closer to an answer.

Then I looked to our sacred texts and the spiritual world for wisdom on those moments when I can’t write. I was reacquainted with one of my dad’s favorite quotes from 17th century mathematician and philosopher Blaise Pascal: “The heart has its reasons, that reason does not know.” My dad often cited this quote in an argument about belief in God – that our heart knows even if there isn’t any proof for the head. Maybe those topics that zing me are too close to my heart so they haven’t made it to the head yet?

Next on my list of possible explanations was poly-vagal theory about the three states of our nervous system. When I wrote about it for a post, The Unified Theory of Breathing I summarized the three states as: ventral which is calm and regulated, sympathetic the fight or flight response, and dorsal which is when the nervous system has been so stimulated that it shuts down. Perhaps when I can’t write, I’m flooded, in a dorsal state and can’t write? While this alludes to an answer, I don’t feel like I’m dysregulated and can’t write, just that I can’t find the words.

Finally, I turned to the world of yoga and meditation and found an explanation that makes sense to me. Stillness. When my waters are muddied, I have a harder time seeing into my depths. In times of life when the waves are choppy, I am all churned up inside. It’s only when I reconnect with my inner stillness that I can see well enough to cross the space between me and you.

What I found to be as fascinating as the question itself were the lenses I looked through to find my answer. Brain science, theology, physiology, and meditation – my four go-tos and I usually find the answer sitting in meditation. Must be why I do it every day. A confirmation bias loop because it works for me.

Here’s my take-away from the journey: It’s hard to write when I’m too wet and stirred up in my heart. And it’s also hard when I’m too dry and too much in my head. I have to aim for somewhere in the middle where I’m soft, warm, and clear.

What about you?

The Imposter Syndrome In Blogging

Write without pay until somebody offers to pay.” – Mark Twain

The was originally published on 5/3/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.


On a recent podcast, Dan Harris was telling a story about when he suggested to his wife, a physician who graduated top in her class from a prestigious medical school and has practiced at some of the best teaching hospitals, that she might suffer from Imposter’s Syndrome. His wife’s response made me laugh out loud. Dan said it was something like “It’s interesting that some other people felt like that but I really AM an imposter.”

This Ten Percent Happier podcast with Dr. Valerie Young, an expert on the syndrome for more than 40 years, is fascinating for their deep dive in Imposter Syndrome or “feeling like a fraud, despite evidence to the contrary.” She also noted that some areas are more susceptible to this kind of thinking and being creative is one of them. According to Dr. Young, “when you are in a creative field, you are only as good as your last book or your last performance.

Or, to expand on the professor’s point — your last blog post. That really resonated with me. Here’s why I think that.

I didn’t go to school for it.

In my professional life, I’m an expert in Microsoft collaboration software – things like creating structure and process about where people put and find their files, and workflow (e.g. how do I submit something for approval?).

Does my electrical engineering degree have any bearing on that? No. Outside of some basic troubleshooting and thinking skills, there isn’t any relationship between my degree and what I do now. I could draw a similarly loose relationship between the writing classes and I took in college and writing now, but I wouldn’t ever call myself an expert because….

Writing has been around a long time.

Writing has been around for about 5,500 years. I’m pulling that number from this delightful Psychology Today article about The Evolution of the Written Word. It’s a lot easier to feel like I know a good deal about collaborative software even though it changes daily and I’m always have to look something up. But writing? Well, there’s been Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Garcia Marquez, Rushdie, and Hemingway and just typing that list makes me remember all that I don’t even know about the great writers, much less about writing.

No one pays me to write

For whatever I do and do not know about Microsoft software, I’ve been able to make a living out of a career providing consulting services around it. I’ve even published a couple of technical books, some of the least profitable parts of my career, which doesn’t bode well for me making a living from writing. But no one pays me to write, or at least not that I’ve managed to figure out yet, which makes me lack in the most basic form of transactional affirmation.

For some people, and I’m thinking of my colleague, Jack Canfora, who have made a go of writing as a career, the mantel of a writer seems to fit a lot better. Which affirms my inclination to think of myself as just a hobbyist.

And yet…

So why persist as a writer? Because writing feels more meaningful than any single consulting project I’ve ever done. Because writing requires me to dig deep and put myself out there is a way that is not required with computer consulting. Because writing about life creates a goodness in my experience that increases my enjoyment in life.

Here’s what I’ve concluded. Sure, sometimes (or a lot of times), I feel like an imposter as a writer and I know I’m not alone in that feeling. But every one who lives their authentic words out on paper can’t be an imposter to their experience. Any one who has hit the word “publish” has indeed created something. No one who uses words to create feelings in others and communicate should suffer from the distinction that others may have done it better. All who bleed, figuratively speaking, to put themselves out there should be proud of the effort.

What about you? Do you feel like you’ve suffered from Imposter Syndrome as a creative? What have you done to combat it?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Going to the Next Level

I am convinced all of humanity is born with more gifts than we know. Most are born geniuses and just get de-geniused rapidly.” – R. Buckminster Fuller

We are coming to the end of our school year. 28 more school days in third grade for Miss O. And 50 days until Mr. D graduates from his preschool program. Do you remember that feeling as a kid? Being not only ready for summer break but also ready to ascend to that next level?

It has me thinking of what milestones we have in our lives as grown-ups that celebrate our readiness to go on to the next level. There are some big ones like becoming an empty-nester or retirement. Or we have annual ones like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. But often, I find myself at those moments planning on what I’m going to do next instead of commemorating what I’ve learned.

Let me suggest that we take a moment to bring back that feeling of finishing a school year. To actually name something we’ve graduated from and celebrate it. I’ll start:

I’ve come to believe that I am enough. Or at least to understand that pretending to be someone else is ineffective. So if a situation or expectations make me feel otherwise, I try to slow enough to double-down on being me long enough to get through.

And by graduating, I don’t mean being done. It brings to mind another graphic from Miss O’s 3rd grade teacher:

It seems fitting on this last day of teacher appreciation week to honor our teachers by naming what we’ve learned. Are you with me? If you are stuck, maybe visit the list from Pick Three Affirmations to find a place to start.

(featured photo from Pexels)

For a story about the circle of life, please listen to our Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast: Episode 66: The Power of Story with Wynne and Vicki.

We are changing our format starting with this episode. Vicki Atkinson and I are big believers in the power of story – to connect us, to create intergenerational healing, and to make meaning out of the events of our lives. To set the stage, we will be starting with someone telling a story in each episode.

To listen to the podcast, Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts. Or subscribe to our YouTube channel to see a video clip of each story: @SharingtheHeartoftheMatter.