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[post_content] => After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Uncomfortable Conversations: Diffuse the Discomfort by Speaking Up
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[post_content] => Last week I saw a show by a troop of comedians at a tiny theater in Montana. Though they were talented, I didn’t find myself laughing much at the recurring “battle of the sexes” theme. The men accused the women of being frigid and overly emotional. The women complained that the men need to be mothered and only care about sex. And back and forth it went. Sure, there’s comic relief in sharing about our common issues, but as I sat there seeing men and women cast somewhat bitterly in these one-dimensional ways, I couldn’t help thinking, “Are we really still doing this?”
In my previous article, we looked at the role that attitude plays in the health and sustainability of a relationship. Of course, you can’t make your partner change their attitude, but it’s worth fully exploiting the potential of your own attitude before concluding that the relationship isn’t going to work. One way to be responsible for your attitude is by abstaining from relating your partner as a stereotype.
I believe almost everyone does this to an extent. It’s difficult to banish from our minds the ideas we have about men, women, and humans in general. Even if your partner isn’t a typical male or female, your conditioning can cause you to relate to them based on ideas and experiences from the past. And even when you relate to someone simply based on your ideas about that specific person – rather than whoever they are in this very moment – this may still serve as an impediment to authentic connection.
Practice presence with them. It’s good to start with a relatively casual conversation. Let both parties be innocent – try to enter the conversation without judgment, expectations, or lenses. Who knows what might happen and how you might see the other person if you were to enter the exchange with absolute freshness.
See if you can internally choose when to talk and when to listen. When it’s your turn to listen, don’t think about what you’re going to say next. Just listen. Listen with your ears and eyes and heart. Breathe slowly and fully.
What else is involved in “your work”? Here are some examples:
To the extent that you actively work to resolve past experiences (especially traumatic ones) that infringe on your current ability to show up “cleanly” with your partner, you will benefit.
To the extent that you work to deactivate your “buttons” which cause you to make you react disproportionately to relatively benign behaviors by your partner, you will benefit.
To the extent that you choose to show up in your relationship with as much presence and enthusiasm as you can muster, you will benefit.
To the extent that you take responsibility for your baggage, attitude, communication, and interpretations, you will benefit.
To the extent that you choose to remember and honor your commitment (assuming, of course, that neither party is getting hurt by remaining together), you will benefit.
All these benefits are yours whether or not the relationship survives, and the chances of its survival are so much greater when you’re an active and responsible participant in the above ways. Further, if you’re not in a relationship but want to be, doing your work will make for a healthier relationship when the time comes, and it will also support you to make better choices of who to invite into your life. If you’re not in a romantic relationship and don’t care to be, this work will serve you in all your other relationships, including the one with yourself.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Relationship Repair Part Two: Do Your Own Work
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[post_content] => June 22nd is my wife Briana’s birthday. She’s the Dragontree’s founder and fearless leader.
On the way to art school at age 18, she was in a car accident and broke her neck. It changed the course of her life. She never made it to art school, instead spending the following six months in a brace at home in Montana. During her rehabilitation period she received massage and this kindled an interest in the healing arts.
She decided to go to massage school in Portland, and later to California College of Ayurveda to learn the traditional medical system of India. When we met, she was a massage therapist at a little spa in Portland and also a professional belly dancer. Less than a year later, she was opening her own spa. She was just 23 then.
I helped with the planning and painting, but she has always been the engine and visionary. I’ve watched her grow tremendously in the 20 years that we’ve been together. Besides her business acumen, she has an incredible knack for making spaces beautiful. She’s an amazing mother and wife. She is generous and kind and funny. She’s a pretty good guitar player, too.
The funny thing is, for probably the first 15 years we were together she had these moments of insecurity when she would ask me with despair in her voice, “What am I doing with my life?!” It was as if she saw herself as floundering and aimless.
It’s interesting how outsiders sometimes see our gifts more clearly than we do. In this case, my response came so easily. “Well,” I would say, “you have built spas where thousands of people have come to feel better. You’ve created programs and courses to educate, uplift, and support people’s healing. You’ve written books. You’ve provided jobs for probably a thousand people over the years. You’re a mother and wife. You beautify the world. You’re a great friend. You’re always trying to be your best self. You’re good at Boggle – though not as good as me. I think that’s a pretty good start.”
I’m not sure if what I said was helpful in a lasting way. But over time, and especially as she began to do more spiritual and coaching work, there was an ever-growing group of people who said to her, “You changed my life for the better.” And I think it started to sink in. She doesn’t ask me what she’s doing with her life anymore.
From all of us whose lives have been made better by our association with you, Briana Borten, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! We love you.
[post_title] => Happy Birthday, Briana!
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[post_content] => After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
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Well said. Needed to be said with honor and appreciation.
I am sharing this with my friends and family!