The New Year's countdown has begun, and as much as I hate to be trite, I am joining myriad pundits and commentators in expressing just how happy I am to move on the the new decade.
2009 was a hell of a year, right? Full of challenges and losses and transitions and victories, writ large and writ small. I can't help but think about the loved ones lost during the past twelve months, and over the past decade. One friend refers to the span of time between 1-1-2000 and 12-31-2009 as the "Aught-Oh's." I am feeling her on that.
However, I can't dismiss the amazing things I have seen and experienced in 2009. My country showed the world what is so unique about American democracy when it swore in an African American named Barack Hussein Obama as its 44th president. An airline pilot showed us the meaning of grace under pressure when he landed his disabled jet liner in the Hudson River.
And on a brilliant Sunday morning in May, I saw my son become a college graduate.
Of course, we know that the moments of triumph are just that -- moments; snapshots in time. Moments to cherish and celebrate, of course. And moments to help prepare us for whatever challenges are coming. 'Cause there's always another challenge coming.
And just like the triumphs provide the foundation to deal with the next challenge, the challenges can serve as the foundation to help reach the next triumph.
Lord knows this has been a year of challenge. A decade of challenge.
With a foundation like this, the next decade should be something great.
Best wishes for a fulfilling new year.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Merry Christmas
It's a few minutes after midnight on Christmas. I'm watching my son finish some last-minute gift wrapping, and thinking about how the frame through which I view Christmas has changed over the years.
I guess the first Christmas I can remember was when I was three years old, although I'm not sure whether it's a real memory or one I've created through old photographs. My big brother is spiffily turned out in a plaid bathrobe, holding his new cowboy gear. My sister has a new doll, and I'm seated beneath the tree with a big wrapped package between my legs. I can't remember what was in that package, but I do remember being pretty happy in the midst of all the chaos.
The age gap between me and my siblings is pretty big, but they did a good job of playing along with the whole Santa vibe -- helping me make cookies and deciding what kind Santa would like during his visit to our house. I don't remember too many Christmas disappointments as far as gifts go. Somehow, my wish lists managed to stay relatively reasonable, and early on I learned the joy of watching someone squeal with delight as they opened a special gift I made or saved my allowance to buy.
Still, things were changing. As time passed, my brother and sister left the Christmas dinner table to hang out with their friends. I finally realized that Santa looked a lot like my Dad, and the Christmas haul changed from toys to clothes and electronics. Eventually, the number of folks around the Christmas grew as we kids paired up and married.
Christmas returned to a time of anticipation, as the adults looked to create new fantasies and traditions for the next generation. I saw the holiday through multiple frames -- the children's, my parents, my parenting and my own personal appreciation of family and time together. Santa was back, along with new cookie varieties.
The first few Christmases after my husband died challenged all of us. We looked at December 25 with a clear reminder of what we'd lost, and also as a reminder of how blessed we were to have strong family and traditions to get us through our pain.
There have been a lot of Christmas changes over the past few years. My father and grandmother passed on. My mother's health deteriorated, and now the Christmas morning traditions and dinner have moved to my sister's home. We baby boomers now have to wake up the young adults in our family to get them down to the tree to open gifts, the reverse of all the years the kids would wake us at dawn.
So now my son has finished his wrapping. There's no expectation of Santa swooping down the chimney.
But there is anticipation of a great time next to the tree this morning, of surprise and delight and smiles and wry jokes and fellowship and love.
The frame continues to change. The joy remains.
Merry Christmas.
I guess the first Christmas I can remember was when I was three years old, although I'm not sure whether it's a real memory or one I've created through old photographs. My big brother is spiffily turned out in a plaid bathrobe, holding his new cowboy gear. My sister has a new doll, and I'm seated beneath the tree with a big wrapped package between my legs. I can't remember what was in that package, but I do remember being pretty happy in the midst of all the chaos.
The age gap between me and my siblings is pretty big, but they did a good job of playing along with the whole Santa vibe -- helping me make cookies and deciding what kind Santa would like during his visit to our house. I don't remember too many Christmas disappointments as far as gifts go. Somehow, my wish lists managed to stay relatively reasonable, and early on I learned the joy of watching someone squeal with delight as they opened a special gift I made or saved my allowance to buy.
Still, things were changing. As time passed, my brother and sister left the Christmas dinner table to hang out with their friends. I finally realized that Santa looked a lot like my Dad, and the Christmas haul changed from toys to clothes and electronics. Eventually, the number of folks around the Christmas grew as we kids paired up and married.
Christmas returned to a time of anticipation, as the adults looked to create new fantasies and traditions for the next generation. I saw the holiday through multiple frames -- the children's, my parents, my parenting and my own personal appreciation of family and time together. Santa was back, along with new cookie varieties.
The first few Christmases after my husband died challenged all of us. We looked at December 25 with a clear reminder of what we'd lost, and also as a reminder of how blessed we were to have strong family and traditions to get us through our pain.
There have been a lot of Christmas changes over the past few years. My father and grandmother passed on. My mother's health deteriorated, and now the Christmas morning traditions and dinner have moved to my sister's home. We baby boomers now have to wake up the young adults in our family to get them down to the tree to open gifts, the reverse of all the years the kids would wake us at dawn.
So now my son has finished his wrapping. There's no expectation of Santa swooping down the chimney.
But there is anticipation of a great time next to the tree this morning, of surprise and delight and smiles and wry jokes and fellowship and love.
The frame continues to change. The joy remains.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
"The Danger of a Single Story"
The concept and the power of "The Story" is a central feature in coaching. I've made numerous references to people's stories in this blog -- how all of us create stories or narratives to make sense of our situations or environments, or the stories we carry from our childhoods or past experiences.
Recently, a friend shared a video with me that gave me a new perspective on the power and the danger of our stories, and the global implications of when we insist on sticking with a familiar story.
This summer, Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie delivered a TED lecture about the Danger of a Single Story.(If you are not familiar with TED, you need to check it out. TED, which stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design, features short lectures by some of the most creative thinkers in the world, in all kinds of disciplines. The label: "Ideas Worth Spreading.")
On the surface, Adichie's lecture discusses the "single story" of Africa; the limited perspective in the Western World about the mosaic of Africa and its multiple cultures and peoples. Adichie is the child of two college professors, yet her college roommate in America initially believed her to live in some sort of rural hut. Adichie acknowledges her own experience with the Single Story, as applied to the rural domestic help who worked in her parents home.
As I listened to Adichie, I thought again how often the "single story" is applied in our individual workplaces, families and identities. If your personal workplace "story" is of you as the "wunderkind," how will you see yourself as time passes? If your "story" for your supervisor is as a clueless idiot, can you recognize when he or she has a great idea?
Here's the link. It's worth a listen:
Recently, a friend shared a video with me that gave me a new perspective on the power and the danger of our stories, and the global implications of when we insist on sticking with a familiar story.
This summer, Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie delivered a TED lecture about the Danger of a Single Story.(If you are not familiar with TED, you need to check it out. TED, which stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design, features short lectures by some of the most creative thinkers in the world, in all kinds of disciplines. The label: "Ideas Worth Spreading.")
On the surface, Adichie's lecture discusses the "single story" of Africa; the limited perspective in the Western World about the mosaic of Africa and its multiple cultures and peoples. Adichie is the child of two college professors, yet her college roommate in America initially believed her to live in some sort of rural hut. Adichie acknowledges her own experience with the Single Story, as applied to the rural domestic help who worked in her parents home.
As I listened to Adichie, I thought again how often the "single story" is applied in our individual workplaces, families and identities. If your personal workplace "story" is of you as the "wunderkind," how will you see yourself as time passes? If your "story" for your supervisor is as a clueless idiot, can you recognize when he or she has a great idea?
Here's the link. It's worth a listen:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
