Are you wildly growing or overly-designing your professional path?

My biggest adolescent annoyance was my mom’s unshakable trust in me. 

While my friends were pushed into engineering programs or into schools where their siblings went, my mom would say “Why should I tell you what to do when you always make great decisions on your own?”

Arggh!!! That drove me nuts! I wanted someone to GIVE ME THE ANSWER. To become a doctor or lawyer or dancer or writer or whatever. Just tell me!

The most advice she would offer was: “Zeva, just be an interesting person.” 

I couldn’t help laughing about my mom’s wisdom while listening to the developmental psychologist Alison Gopnik recently on the podcast On Being. 

Gopnik explains how “parenting” became a verb in the 1970s, and how over time parents have become more and more hands-on, helicoptering over their kids, bulldozing problems out of the way in order to architect lives to match a preconceived model of perfection. (If you need proof, have a look at the 50 people charged in the college admissions bribery scandal)

She calls this type of parenting “carpentering” mode, and thinks it’s a terrible invention. 

By trying to eliminate all risks and failures and control the outcome like a carpenter, smoothing and sanding the sides of a bookshelf, we wind up raising dependent, terrified humans who are ill-equipped for the evolving challenges of the world

Gopnik advocates for a different parenting model: the “gardening” variety. Instead of focusing on creating the perfect person, you focus on creating a loving, nurturing space where experimentation and discovery can thrive so that a diverse and resilient ecosystem emerges. She explains:

“Love’s purpose is not to shape our beloved’s destiny, but to help them shape their own. It isn’t to show them the way, but to help them find a path for themselves, even if the path they take isn’t one we would choose ourselves, or even one we would choose for them."

This all made me think not only about my childhood and the wild gardening my mom did with me, but also how these models apply to the self-discovery work we do when trying to get clear on our next professional path. 

Do we measure and predict what's going to happen with a specific image of perfection in mind, or do we sow our seeds in a loving environment and see how they can grow in unpredictably beautiful ways?
 

Whether or not you have kids, you were a kid, so what was the environment like for you?

Were you raised like a carpenter’s child or a gardener’s child?

More importantly how are you growing your life today? 

Are you creating a nurturing space for experimentation, discovery and variety?  Or are you measuring, chiseling, and sanding your angles down to a precise science? 

Let me know what comes up!

PS. My mom still never tells me what to do, but now I like it that way.! 

PPS. In my upcoming group online coaching program I’m slathering on some sunscreen, getting out my rubber boots, and heading into to garden to plant a lot of self-discovery seeds to see which ones spark your path forward. If you’d like to learn more about it, book a call with me here:



Override the panic button

I was in bed with an elephant on my chest. It wasn't the first time I felt that kind of pain. It had been going on for a few days. Should I tell my husband about it? Or was it all in my head? 

My father-in-law had passed away a year prior from a sudden heart attack. He had had pain in his stomach for a few days that were the early signs that something was wrong. He didn't catch them fast enough. 

Was I doing the same? Was I having a silent heart attack?

I caved in and told my husband who calmly said it was probably nothing but that I should get it checked out. 

It was cold in my doctor's office. I kept my winter coat on in the waiting room as I scrolled mindlessly on my phone. 

It was early January 2018, and I had just tipped into the second and final year of my unemployment benefits. In one year I'd be 100% on my own. 

The date loomed in my mind. "Was I making the right decision to become a coach?" "Could I survive financially?" "Would I be any good at it?" 'Should I just go back to marketing?" "Should I answer some ads on LinkedIn?" "What if this is all a big waste of time and I lose these precious months of benefits to get a full time job?"

My doctor asked what was going on. I told him about the pain in my chest and that I was a bit stressed out because I had a tipped into the final year of unemployment while I transitioned to a new career and was spending my days in cafés drinking a million coffees while I built my coaching website. 

He examined me and then said, "You're not having a heart attack. Just stop drinking so much coffee and go back to your full-time job if you don't want the stress of owning your own business. It's hard." 

And that was that! 

I listened to just half of his advice. Can you guess which half, Zeva?

I was reminded of this story this week when a client had that deep, heavy feeling in her chest the day after she announced her new business to her contacts, and was debating whether to throw in the towel and go back to her old line of work.

I think she and I both experienced the "point of no return" panic button that our brains hit when they feel us tilting into a truly new territory. As you sink deeper and deeper in love with your new path, your brain starts freaking out like an old boyfriend trying to woo you back. 

"But wait, it wasn't all that bad, right?"
"You've had some time to relax and take a break, isn't it time just go back to what you know?"
"Play it safe."
"The unknown is scary and hard. Beware!"

All it takes is a sharp-witted doctor, a worried parent or a friend with a fab new promotion, to cue your brain to strum up its favorite fear-mongering phrases. 

I'm here to say: don't let your fears lead you off your path! Listen to them, welcome them, but explore what's really going on under the surface.

What do you really need right now? 

Very often you're just looking for a concrete sign that you are moving in the right direction, and need a friendly reminder to ease off the caffeine!

Moving forward despite the fog

We were 20 minutes into our hike in the mountains and my brother-in-law was on his second lesson on how to use a compass. He was speaking to my son but I was listening in slyly to see whether I could answer any of his questions correctly. 

He described a hypothetical scenario. "What do you do when you're hiking in the mountains and you can't see past your feet because the fog is so thick."

My son said: "You stop and wait." 
Thierry answered: "That's an option, yes..."
Then I added, half jokingly: "You don't go on the hike in the first place."
Thierry laughed: "But what happens if the fog comes in unexpectedly?"
My answer: "You panic and cry!"

I can't remember what Thierry said after that and I've just sent him a text to try to find out (cliffhanger, alert!)

Why? Because my mind started racing.

Thierry's Survivor/Koh Lanta quiz was a great metaphor for what my clients experience before beginning our work together: they're in a panic because they're in a thick fog professionally and the longer they wait for the fog to clear up, the heavier, darker and scarier it seems to get.

They can't run back to the car (turning back the clock is out of the question) and they're desperate to find that crystal-clear mountain range up ahead in the distance where a picnic rock awaits their tired tush.  

So what do you do when you can't see your path clearly but you have to move forward?

Do you wait for the fog to clear?
What if it just gets thicker? 
How long do you wait?
Can you find a point somewhere, anywhere, that can help you move ahead?
Maybe its the sound of a river nearby.
Or a light source.
Or maybe if you calm down and listen to your heart, there's a North Star that you can set your compass to now?
So that you can take another step ahead.
And another. 
And another.

Just remember: the entire path doesn't have to be crystal clear for you to feel your way towards your destination. 

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash