Tag: authenticity

Those Pesky Bugs

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“The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.” – Mark Twain

Heads up: this post might bug you.

Oh boy, there are so many great puns about lice. I’ve been thinking about that because we got them last week. Lice, that is, not puns. Well, maybe both.

Funny thing about lice is that they come with an acute sense of shame. This has been going around the school – and seems to be worse after the classes rotated through the bike unit in PE. But even knowing that AND after finding out that four other families from our school were booked at the treatment clinic, I still felt it. It must be a powerful trigger of the fear of community ostracization.

I managed to get over it long enough to tell the school, the teachers, and the families we’d played with recently. Like I’ve found with my other vulnerabilities, it turns out that sharing came with a blessed sense of camaraderie. Most families with elementary school kids have gone through this and the parents had hilarious stories.

There was the family who had sent their three kids to a camp in France. The whole camp played a game where they passed a hat so that the hat wearer got a turn to speak, sing, or dance. Every single kid in the camp came home with lice.

And a mom told me the story of having to go to the clinic to be checked. As she was sitting in the chair getting her hair combed out, a former work colleague came in also to get checked. He launched in to a long conversation with her despite her best, “Can we talk another time?” face.

Someone shared a hilarious video with me that mapped the lifecycle of a mom’s feelings about lice: the shame, the fear, the disgust, the exhaustion, the acceptance.

It makes me scratch my head to wonder why I need to keep learning that being vulnerable results in benefits. I mean benefits in addition to immediately knowing the washing machine cycles answer in a recent NY Times Connections game because I’ve spent so much quality time with my washer in the last week.

These things that come with life aren’t easy. But when we put our heads together, [oops, don’t do that], they can be at least a little funny!

(featured photo from Pexels)

You can find me on Instagram @wynneleon and LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/

I co-host a storytelling podcast featuring authors and artists with the amazing 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.

Envisioning The Future Without the Filter of the Past

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“We have more possibilities available in each moment than we realize.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

After almost two years of working for the company that I sold my company to, I’m back in the business of working for myself. I’ve spent two-thirds of my career as a self-employed computer consultant. The inclination to build my business exactly as I did before is so strong – kinda like muscle memory. But that doesn’t honor that all the ways I’ve learned and changed since I did this previously.

So I love the inspiration I find to build outside of the box. Here’s one from Mark Nepo:

“It was a curious thing. Robert had filled the bathtub and put the fish in the tub, so he could clean their tank. After he’d scrubbed the film from the small walls of their make-believe deep, he went to retrieve them.

He was astonished to find that, though they had the entire tub to swim in, they were huddled in a small area the size of their tank. There was nothing containing them, nothing holding them back. Why wouldn’t they dart about freely? What had life in the tank done to their natural ability to swim?”

–The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo

In addition, my meditation teacher, Deirdre recently gave me some powerful imagery. She said we need to envision the future without the filter of our past.

I’ve spent enough years hiking and climbing to know the wisdom of why we continue on the same path we’ve always used. It helps keep us from getting lost and if we have to backtrack, we know the way.

But for almost every trail system I’ve been on, there are certain intersections where you can easily traverse to another path. Because some paths don’t go to the place we are trying to reach.

I’m trying to keep that in mind as I navigate my next steps. I feel so lucky that I am at an intersection point that has made doing something different not only possible but also preferable. It’s like the Universe has left some bread crumbs to a different route. I just need to follow them. It’s easier to type than it is to do.

For anyone navigating a similar intersection, consider this as an encouragement to envision the future without the filter of the past. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “We have more possibilities available in each moment than we realize.“

(featured photo is my daughter, Miss O, when she was almost two years old confidently finding her path)

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

Let’s Stick Together

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“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

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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)

Life is Like Legos

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“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

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“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

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“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

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“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

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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.