Beware of the chairs

Chairs. They provide comfort. Security. A soft spot to land a tired tush at the end of the day. And if you work at a desk eight hours a day, they definitely know your butt better than you do. 

But they’re deceptive objects: they support us, but they also condition us. Leaving us a bit numb and indifferent to spontaneous opportunities and whims.

Did you know that the fewer chairs you have at a party the happier your guests will be?

I learned that at my previous job in marketing where we regularly hosted events for our community.

Events were the glue that kept our community close. Without them, the social seams that we worked so hard to build unraveled quickly. Needless to say, we became damn good at party-throwing.

As soon as we entered a venu we removed all chairs in sight. 

Stacking them up in closets, behind bars, under blankets, so that when the first guests arrived they they had no where to hide. (If you’re wondering, the second most important thing is to have the music playing by the time people show up. There’s nothing sadder than a music-less party, ami right?!).

Speaking of parties. I held my first little gathering for my coaching clients a few weeks ago. It’s been a dream of mine since before I became a coach to build a community of awesome, inspiring women.

Women who don’t know each other. Who come from different backgrounds. Who come with different expertise. Who come from different generations. From different cultures. Who have different projects and dreams. 

What would these fabulous women talk about? What common threads would they discover? How would they help each other? Get inspired? Partner or even create a project together? I just loved the idea that something could spring to life out of their unique and bizarre alchemy. 

So here I am. A “certified” event thrower hosting the most meaningful gathering of my coaching career, and I forgot the cardinal party rule. 

Busy welcoming people and setting up their pot-lock treats, ten minutes into the party I looked around and found a perfectly polite group of women seated shyly around a table. Hesitant to speak. Stiff and self-conscious. 

Why? Because I forgot to hide the chairs!!

I could have just left them there, of course. Hoping “the mayonnaise would take” as they say in French, that these disparate ingredients would somehow whip themselves up into a seamless blend. 

But I made an executive decision. I told everyone that at the count of three they all had to stand up and forget the chairs existed, kicking those social crutches to the curb for the evening. 

They indulged me (I am their coach, after all). And the energy shifted just like that. People started milling about. Conversations got louder. Little groups came together. Numbers were exchanged. Bonds were formed, and by the end of the evening they were clamoring for more opportunities to get together to share stories, learnings and challenges from their self discovery journeys.  

The mayonnaise did take. In large part thanks to the forbidden chairs.

So I ask you, what proverbial chairs could you move to side to loosen up your moves?

What’s supporting you just a little too much?
What crutches are you turning to that you likely don't need as much as you think?
What if those "chairs" weren’t there? 
What would you do? 
Who would you navigate towards? 
What muscles would you strengthen? 
And where would those muscles take you?


Let me know what comes up. 

PS. Speaking of chairs, I've got two seats left at my upcoming Vision Board workshop in Paris on June 21st. Head over here to reserve your spot. 

When Ideas Get Under Your Skin

I had a very intimidating social studies teacher in High School named Mr Savage. 

He would walk into the classroom, silently go up to the blackboard, scribble a provocative open question, like “What is democracy?” in his chicken-scratch handwriting and then stare back at the class with his beady little eyes. (can you tell how much of a fan I was??)

He’d smile slyly with pinched lips revealing a little scar alongside his mouth. Then he’d gesture to the class to let the debate begin. 

I dreaded that moment. I was a shy and insecure adolescent and that kind of intellectual dogfighting made me shrink even further into my shell. 

Mr Savage didn’t give homework, but he did assign two big writing projects per year that were famously tough. For one project we had to propose our ideal presidential candidate and then argue and defend why we thought he or she should win.

Feeling totally overwhelmed, I asked my dad for help. He’s a school teacher and a very opinionated liberal. This kind of thing was totally his cup of tea.  

He suggested Ralph Nader. This was back in 1990 and Nader at the time was a relative unknown. It seemed like a cool, underground pick. I let me dad run with it. 

My dad wound up writing most of the paper. I was nervous handing in the assignment and felt a bit guilty about getting a great grade on something I didn’t write on my own. Then I was thrown a curveball: I got a really shitty, grade on that paper. Or rather, my dad got a really shitty grade. 

And what was the message that stuck with me after this experience? Not, “cheating is bad”, or “Ralph Nadar is a terrible presidential candidate,” or “failing with your own ideas is better than failing with someone else’s”. 

No, the one that stuck for me was:

You’re a terrible writer, Zeva. Your dad thought so, that’s why he wrote your paper.  

I lived with this belief for a long time. In college, writing assignments were torturous. I’d spend double the time as my peers on my papers. I was ashamed every time I handed something in. Even when I got positive feedback on my work I was convinced that someone was just being generous and feeling pity for me. 

The belief penetrated under my skin and became my ugly little secret:  I was a terrible writer and a fraud for getting into my school. 

Five years after graduation I moved to Paris and went on an interview at a magazine where a friend of mine had worked. Rebecca, the editor-in-chief of the magazine who interviewed me asked if I had any writing experience. I said “not outside of the writing I did in college.” She answered back,  “well, you seem smart, and if you got through Vassar I’m sure you can write.” 

She hired me on the spot. 

I was thrilled to get a job, but terrified that my ugly little secret would slowly reveal its disgusting face and she’d realize that I was a total fraud. 

But it was my job. I had no other choice. I had to write. And I started to get better and better at it. 

Over time, I got some extra freelance jobs. People started to pay me well for my words. 

I was slowly and steadily growing into the person that I was convinced I was not. A writer! Go figure. 

Where am I going with this?

I speak to a lot of people who feel like they’re not credible or capable of doing something because long ago they had a bad experience, or were told that they weren’t great at it. 

Over time, those feelings grow into beliefs and get more massive, dense and resilient until they become as real and unquestionable as the nose on your face.  

How does this happen? 

“Ideas get under your skin, simply by sticking around for long enough”  explains the neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett in her book (that I’m obsessed with), How Emotions Are Made.  “Once an idea is hard-wired, you might not be in a position to easily reject it.”

Some of these hard-wired, unshakeable beliefs could be:

I’m bad at writing 

I’m bad at relationship

I’m bad with numbers

I’m bad at business

I’m bad with conflict

I’m bad at confrontation

I’m bad at making decisions

I’m bad at making changes

I’m bad at being bad….

There is nothing concrete about these beliefs. They’re just dirty little secrets that prevent us from taking action on what we want. From seizing opportunities to igniting change. 

What dirty little secret prevents you from moving forward with meaning?

I promise, I won’t tell :)