As for adults, we're working on our White Space ebook and we're leading a free class to test out our ideas.  Interested?  E-mail whitespace at workingwithpower dot com (no hyperlink so we don't get spiders rsvp'ing for the class).  You'll get all the class details, and we'll send you links to the recordings, in case you can't  make it at class time.

We know  better.  We know – at some level – that we’ve got to help them drain the swamp.  But, see, what Sara and I have remembered in the past few weeks is that draining the swamp takes a deep remembering that there is such a thing as dry ground.  We are the ones who’ve come in to drain the swamp, but at times we’ve let ourselves be snapped at by the same alligators – time pressure, intense cultures, oppressive working norms, communication silos – that plague our clients. And we, like them, sometimes hopped around just trying to save our hineys from those gators.  We forgot our real job. 

Such is the nature of helping with change.  Whether you’re supporting a child to learn something new, helping a leadership team make better decisions and shift their culture, or working with your partner to build a more fulfilling relationship, you step into the swamp.  Your job is to drain it, but to do that you have to remember why you’re there and hold tight to the vision of dry ground.

Problem is, this habit of building capacity by putting myself out there in situations beyond my capacity has also exhausted me.  When we were remodeling our house and I lost my yoga space, I didn’t realize that would be devastating to my well-being until that devastation took place.  After my son was born, I underestimated the challenges of being a working mother, holding my mind in two places at once while my body focused on making food for Cooper.  My inner critic (I call him Morty) says my career has been a series of fits and starts.   “You have no staying power!” he berates me.  In fact, I’ve had to have extraordinary tenacity and resilience, mostly because I wear myself out doing things beyond my capacity.

So it was very inspiring this morning when Rainey, my yoga teacher, talked about the paradox of building capacity in our yoga practice.  We pull in, with our muscles, at the same time as we’re reaching out.  We create a container (for instance, pulling our arm bones back into their sockets with our shoulder muscles) that allows for a strong and sustainable expansion (in this case, extending our arms in front of us and above our heads).  From a more contained place, we have more capacity than if we just hurled ourselves out in the direction we want to go.  I had a visceral, inspiring sense of what this means, both on my yoga mat and in my life.  My clients build careers the same way I did, too:  they dive in over their heads and figure out how to swim. 

So more power to us.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep going for it. What I am saying is that we can cut some of the high costs of our initiative by investing in our capacity in less violent, less dramatic ways.  Often, people are one way or the other.  “Ready, Fire!  Aim???” has been my mantra.  Others might be more “Ready, Aim….. Ready, Aim… Ready?”  and go-getters like me are terrified our successes would evaporate if we over-planned.  Instead, let us keep reaching out, but from a grounded place.  Let us contain enough energy to make our efforts sustainable, even as we audaciously reach for the next thing that others think is impossible.  That’s the recipe for sustainability.

In practical terms, here’s what that looks like for me:  Making sure I have time and bandwidth to cook dinners.  Dinner is the canary in my coal mine:  it goes down the tubes when I’m moving so fast I’m ungrounded.  For sure, it also means getting in 2 yoga classes, a Nia class, and 1-2 Pilates sessions each week.  It means enough sleep.  It means morning pages (a la Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way).  And it means mostly-daily touch-base with Sara.  When I do those things, it’s like engaging my arm into its base, so it can reach for the sky … and keep reaching and reaching with no need for fits and starts.

I coach a lot of “nice guys” and some who wonder why people don’t realize how nice they are “on the inside.”  And here’s the sad part:  often the ones who others perceive as “nice” are working for the ones who are… er, in their own words… “misunderstood” by others.  That is to say, other people often think these leaders are domineering jerks.  But that interpersonal roughness is the edge of a skill set that gets them promoted over and over.  And it gets them promoted over the “nice guy” who might also be considered for the job.

Why is that?  And how can people win when they’re both ambitious and committed to being kind, courteous, and connected with other people?  Here’s the bottom line:  Being “nice” only holds you back when it stops you from addressing key issues with bottom-line importance.  Consultant Eric Allenbaugh taught me, years ago, a valuable distinction:  You can be soft on issues or hard on issues.  And you can be soft on people or hard on people.  True jerks are hard on people, no matter where they stand on issues.  The most promotable people are always those who’re hard on issues.  Unfortunately in most corporate cultures, they can be hard on people and still rise.  It’s my mission, however, to help people become truly extraordinary leaders:  hard on issues, while being soft on people.  That is to say:  keep the “nice” approach to people, but without confusing “nice” with indirect, indecisive, or following consensus. 

My “misunderstood,” hard-on-people, hard-on-issues clients are learning to build in warmth, connection, and empathy so they are just as tough on issues, but softer on people.

And my “nice guy” clients are learning that they finish first when they lean into the goodwill they’ve generated by being soft with people.  They risk a little of that social capital they’ve earned in spades, by being direct and decisive, and teaching other people how to deliver what they want.  What they find is that the risk pays off:  they begin to earn the same respect accorded their tough-guy bosses, but with all the fun and connection of a nice-guy approach.  No one gets mad or says, “wait!  I thought you were nice!”  They thank them for the guidance and clarity.

The solution to all of these is simple, though it’s seldom comfortable.  We’ve got to say what needs sayin’ (That’s a line from a country song.  If it weren’t, I’d have left that last “g” in there), or the problems will continue to multiply.  I know that you probably consider yourself a straight shooter.  But I’m also betting that you do your best not to create waves when it’s not necessary, and that, like many of my clients – and myself and Sara at times – you err on the side of stepping over those wave-making topics.  Here’s how you know when you’ve done that:

-          You find yourself annoyed with someone you really care about and like

-          You start to feel resentful, put-upon, or condescending (yes – this is always a sign you’re not saying what needs said – even if what needs said is “you’re fired” or “I’m not going to continue investing in this relationship”)

-          You find yourself saying or thinking “I can’t say ____”

-          You’ve been angry or disappointed with someone for more than a week and haven’t told them what they could do to change it

If you think about it, you probably have your own signs.  What are they?   Is there a conversation you need to have in the near future?  No promises here:  it might be uncomfortable, and one conversation will likely not fix everything.  But having it is a positive step forward, and the very first step will likely start to reduce the cost of the unsaid for you.

What if we knew that was the way it was supposed to go?  After the bright colors of Autumn (at least here in the northern latitudes!) we progress to cooler weather and shorter days.  Though we may grumble about summer heat or winter cold, most of us aren’t actively battling the cycle itself.  So wouldn’t it be nice if the march of personal progress were as familiar and accepted a cycle?  Could we relax into it – for all its struggles – if we knew and embraced the stages that were coming?

First, we don’t know what we don’t know.  Then we become aware that we need to learn something.  We start trying on the new skill or behavior or attitude.  Then,  just as we gain a little,  the awareness of how much more is possible lands with a thud.  Humbled, we struggle to keep integrating what we’re learning.  The new stuff feels clunky.  We question its value.  We remember that – to the best of our recollection – the old way was easier.  “Didn’t it work better than this, even?” we ask.  And maybe it did, because it was familiar and we are now in learning mode.  With time and practice, though, the new way – if we stick with it – gets easier.  More fun.  More effective.  And eventually becomes “second nature” – we can’t remember ever being any other way.  Learn? I didn’t learn this!  This is just how I am!

You’re really swamped, so attending the cross-functional team meeting today is really a stretch.

You have a 1:1 scheduled with a member of  your team, but that’s the only time today your client can meet.

You’re late to a meeting, so you take a seat at the back of the room, rather than squeezing in at the table.

In situations like these, it’s easy to justify your absence or the lower participation level that’s so tempting when you’re under pressure.  You’re aware of the cost to you of not exercising or not getting time with your people, and you can deal with that cost.   The real cost is subtle, insidious, and you often won’t hear about it.  The real cost is that other people miss you.  They miss your contribution.  Your ideas in the meeting.  Your enthusiasm (or just your sweaty pulse there beside them) in the exercise class.  Even if you reschedule for the same afternoon, there’s a loss when you don’t keep that appointment with your employee.  These small costs, the faint trickle of lost energy, lost value, loss trust, loss connection, add up.  If you want better results in your life and work, and more satisfaction with your day-to-day experiences, count these costs.  Minimize the number of such leaks.  And circle back to reduce the cost when they must happen.

It’s nearly impossible to be aware of the impact our mere presence has on other people.  Glimpses of the degree of power we hold just through our showing up are always humbling.  You matter more than you know.

Now, we’ve stepped into questions and discussion.  The leader of the team just noticed that other people’s comments are answering his questions.  This is what happens when we don’t jump in the instant a question pops to mind (but we DO capture it):  the conversation takes care of our concerns, or our questions evolve.  So waiting, listening, and making sure there’s time for questions and discussion all contribute to better conversations and better decisions.  Takes some restraint, but is entirely worthwhile.

What we came up with today (over one of those healthy lunches, but after we’d reviewed the PowerPoint for tomorrow’s all-day event) was the recognition that we need to relax into the hard work we’re doing.  Yes, we’re busy. Yes, it requires effort. But if we’ve learned anything from yoga and Nia, it’s that full effort requires that we relax into it.  Doing as little as possible, while completely going for it, isn’t a contradiction in terms.  Instead, it’s the prerequisite to peak performance.  So here we go:  This afternoon and tomorrow, we’re fully engaged with