Three Thoughts for Thursday – June 2023 – Expanding Vision

Desiree Briel Rodi Consulting & Coaching's avatar June 15, 2023

Photo by NOAA on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking about our different lenses and how our perceptions can change as our experiences and learnings expand, or as they contract. Positive experiences and positive emotions can help us expand our view, while negative experiences and negative emotions such as fear can cause us to contract.  Over time, these experiences and emotions allow our brains to make shortcuts and this leads to biases – the brain’s shortcuts based on our experiences used to save energy. We develop blueprints as children that are stored in our unconscious. Stressful or threatening situations often are triggers that cause the brain to rely on these old blueprints. I have been wondering how we might leverage even the hardships and negative emotions and experiences to expand our vision rather than becoming myopic.

This past term, I taught an undergraduate course on Organizational Behavior and we learned about all the different traps and biases that come into play in making decisions, and how these decisions can impact team and corporate decisions, too.  Our thinking directs our behavior, and our behaviors have ripple effect. Our behaviors impact others, possibly in ways we do not intend. If we don’t examine our lenses, formed by our experiences, values, and emotions and the shortcuts our brain has created, we might start bumping into people and tripping over our own feet, so to speak. 

There’s a scene in a movie my mom used to love, “Doc Hollywood,” in which a woman comes to see the doctor for her blurry vision. Noting where the spot appears in her vision, the doctor observed the spot consistently moved with her gaze. He removed the glasses from her face, and cleaned her lenses.  She then proclaimed with gratitude, “I’m cured!”

I’ve seen how my lenses have shifted over the years, how I’ve gained clarity with experience, and wonder how my continued journey will reshape my vision going forward.  With this hindsight, I feel more eager to accept that my view will shift, and I am open to the learnings and experiences that will cultivate my lenses anew to better see the path in front of me, and to also see the path behind me with greater clarity.

I often describe coaching as like going to the eye doctor; it is an opportunity to examine your lens and to try a different lens, a few different lenses, to then decide what gives you the clarity you want and need to move yourself forward.

What experiences in life have changed and shaped how you see the world? How often do you dare to clean your “lenses”? How often do you take off your proverbial lenses and examine them for scratches? When do you know when it is time for an updated prescription?  What might be obscuring your view? Who supports you when you struggle to see? What resources do you have and what resources do you need to check your vision and update your lens? How might you be more open to allowing life’s experiences to reshape your perspective?

Photo by Pourya Sharifi on Unsplash

Quote I’m pondering:

“I look at the human life like an experiment. Every new moment, every new experience, tragic or otherwise, is an opportunity to gain a more accurate perspective and helps lead me to clarity.”

-Steve Gleason

Photo by Tim Stief on Unsplash

What I’m listening to:

Transcending our Stories,

Eckhart Tolle: Essential Teachings

June 9, 2021

Eckhart Tolle talks with a live audience about our tendency to manufacture stories…about ourselves and others, our desperate need to be right and to make others wrong. Eckhart says having a story actually strengthens the ego and keeps us stuck. However, we don’t have to stay there. He says we can learn to shift our inner narrative, release the ego and align ourselves with the peace of the present moment.

What is sticking with me:

Eckhart advises us, “Don’t become completely taken over by knowledge.  You apply your knowledge, but if you get taken over completely by accumulated knowledge, what is lost is that sense of spaciousness.” He tells us to ask ourselves, “Is there space here? Is there still a sense of space within me and between us?”

If we think we “know”, we lose our curiosity and the opportunity to learn and grow and change, the opportunity to connect. We need to be mindful of creating space for curiosity, learning, and new outcomes, the opportunity to be surprised.

Photo by Colby Thomas on Unsplash

What I’m reading:

Facing the Mountain

By Daniel James Brown

What Amazon has to say:

A NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
One of NPR’s “Books We Love” of 2021
Longlisted for the PEN/Jacqueline Bograd Weld Award for Biography 

Winner of the Christopher Award 
 
“Masterly. An epic story of four Japanese-American families and their sons who volunteered for military service and displayed uncommon heroism… Propulsive and gripping, in part because of Mr. Brown’s ability to make us care deeply about the fates of these individual soldiers…a page-turner.” – Wall Street Journal

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Boys in the Boat, a gripping World War II saga of patriotism and resistance, focusing on four Japanese American men and their families, and the contributions and sacrifices that they made for the sake of the nation.

In the days and months after Pearl Harbor, the lives of Japanese Americans across the continent and Hawaii were changed forever. In this unforgettable chronicle of war-time America and the battlefields of Europe, Daniel James Brown portrays the journey of Rudy Tokiwa, Fred Shiosaki, and Kats Miho, who volunteered for the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and were deployed to France, Germany, and Italy, where they were asked to do the near impossible. Brown also tells the story of these soldiers’ parents, immigrants who were forced to submit to life in concentration camps on U.S. soil. Woven throughout is the chronicle of Gordon Hirabayashi, one of a cadre of patriotic resisters who stood up against their government in defense of their own rights. Whether fighting on battlefields or in courtrooms, these were Americans under unprecedented strain, doing what Americans do best—striving, resisting, pushing back, rising up, standing on principle, laying down their lives, and enduring.

My thoughts:

This book was a book that inspired me to open my mind, to be shocked, saddened, appalled and willing to reconsider my lens, to allow the new information and emotions to help adjust my lens and way of seeing.  I remember learning in history class that during World War II, following the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the U.S. had created internment camps for Japanese in America.  I didn’t fully realize what this meant, perhaps because of my age when learning about World War II, but I will also say that I think my lack of knowledge also came from the lack of information presented to me in history books in school. This book really opened my eyes to what it was like to be Japanese living in America, that they were denied citizenship, couldn’t own property, and were essentially declared guilty because of their race and out of fear.  Another lesson in how fear can cloud our lenses, and a lesson in the need for curiosity and understanding, for a continuous openness to updating lenses and creating more space for change. I was inspired by the stories of men who fought for our country and our freedom despite being denied citizenship and the freedoms our country offered to others, despite the unfair imprisonment of their families.  I was also inspired by the many stories of resolve and resilience to return from the horrors of war and the destruction of their lives in America, to build lives dedicated to creating a better world for others.

Photo by Azin Javadzadeh on Unsplash

You can sign up to receive my Three Thoughts for Thursday post as an email on the third Thursday of every month by clicking here.  If you’ve missed any of my Three Thoughts, you can find them all on my blog.  If you enjoyed this post, take a look at May’s Three Thoughts and my post, The Climb.
 
If you are interested or know someone who may be interested, I also offer leadership and emotional intelligence coaching and workshops. You can find more information on my website, or you can use this link to set up a free 30-minute introduction to coaching session.

I recently celebrated the 5th anniversary of my stroke with the writing of this commemorative post, a training run, flowers, pie and special time with my kids.  I continued the celebration by running the Boston Marathon in April, five years after I ran the course for the first time (six weeks after my stroke). Please join me in celebrating these milestones by taking time to celebrate your own milestones, and by fully embracing the opportunities in front of you, the value in the little things, and the beauty that surrounds you in this wonderful, messy life.


Also in September, I hosted my first local, in-person event here in the Seattle area, Savor the Sweetness.  It was a fulfilling experience and event, and I look forward to hosting quarterly events for local women in 2023 – stay tuned and contact me for more information or to join the invite list!
 
I have the privilege of hosting the Emotional Intelligence Special Interest Group for ICFLA.  Please join me for sessions in June and October to continue the EI learning and growth journey.  You do not need to be a coach or a member of ICFLA to attend.

  
If you are interested in joining and co-creating these learning communities, please use the links above to find out more about ICFLA’s Emotional Intelligence Special Interest Group and the Women’s Events. I hope you will come along for the journey!
 
I’m always looking for new inspiration, new books to read, and new podcasts to listen to, so please send your suggestions my way or comment on this post to offer some new recommendations!
 
As always, thank you for your continued support and readership! Stay strong, stay brave, stay true to you!
 
Wishing you a season of clean lenses, clear vision, spaciousness, new ways of seeing, and illuminating ideas!

Photo by Matteo Catanese on Unsplash

The Creator of YOUR Story

Desiree Briel Rodi Consulting & Coaching's avatar May 18, 2023

A race or a journey? What meaning are you making?

On Monday, April 17th, I ran the Boston Marathon. This was my second Boston Marathon, the first I ran in 2018. Many of you will recall I set out to qualify for Boston this year as a way to celebrate and commemorate the 5th anniversary of the stroke I had just six weeks before running in 2018. Qualifying and running Boston this year was my way of really stepping back into running, paying homage to the growth and work of the last five years, living without fear, closing a chapter on my stroke, and taking forward lessons that have helped me to live bigger.

The weather defined the 2018 marathon; some of the worst weather in the history of the Boston Marathon, cold winds, and icy rain ran with us the whole way. This year what defined Boston for me was the ability to soak in and revel in the experience, the sights and sounds, and high fives from the incredible crowd that lined the entire route to support us and cheer us on. What defined Boston for me this year was the choice I made to experience the journey and not simply focus on the finish line.

I have found myself pondering the meaning I am making from this experience and thinking about the choices we have in creating meaning from our experiences. I have been mulling over our ability to rewrite and reinvent our meaning with the passage of time and the collection of new learnings and experiences in life that allow us to see the past differently. In the moments and days since crossing the finish line, I have found myself teetering between feelings and sensations of joy, contentment, pride, accomplishment, disappointment, loss, sadness, and emptiness now that the marathon is over. My training hadn’t gone as I’d hoped, and the weeks leading up to race day had left me weary, anxious, and disappointed as my pace seemed to slow the harder I concentrated and tried to run faster. I tried to let go of expectations for a personal best or a Boston-qualifying time at Boston, though in the back of my mind, I secretly, not so secretly, hoped I might surprise myself.

On the morning of the marathon, the bus from the hotel to the buses that would take runners to the start in Hopkinton was full.  I found myself taking an Uber with another runner I’d taken up with at the hotel. A new connection was made.  In the line for the bus, I conversed with another woman waiting to run. I met up with a neighbor also running; we took a photo to commemorate the moment and rode the bus together from Boston Commons to the staging area for the start of the race. I savored the opportunity to get to know her better and relished the calming effect the conversation had on my nerves. When I last ran Boston, the weather was so bad there was no staging at the start of the race; the corrals we’d been assigned were forgotten, and we were simply told to run.  This time on race day, I paid attention to the experience of staging and all the volunteers there to support our endeavor  – I’d had no idea there was a school where the buses dropped us off or that we would walk over a mile from the school to the corrals at the start line or that there would be so many stations with water and food.

Usually, as I begin a marathon, my ambition and competitive nature set in, and I do my best to begin forging my way to the front of the pack, the finish line solely in mind. I found myself instead holding back, observing, paying attention to my pace, and intentionally maintaining rather than pushing. The last time I ran Boston, I couldn’t remember any details of the towns we ran through; I couldn’t even recall the infamous Heartbreak Hill or when I’d climbed it. This time, I found myself recording every detail, taking every opportunity to high-five the many, many adorable children who lined the course with their parents to cheer us on.  I paid attention to the mass of runners in front of me that never thinned out; as I crested a hill, the sea of runners stretched in front of me all the way up the next hill. I stopped to hand off an unnecessary jacket and gloves to my husband and said hi to my parents and kiddos, who were able to come out to watch and greet me along the streets of Framingham. Last time I didn’t get to see my soggy cheer crew until the finish line. I noted that Heartbreak Hill doesn’t come until after mile 20, making an uphill climb all the more challenging both mentally and physically. I appreciated that my last experience in Boston gave me a sense of excitement and curiosity to help conquer the climb. At the finish line, which I crossed in good spirits and even with smiles, I took a photo and offered to take photos for other runners to celebrate reaching this goal. I crossed at 4 hours and 8 seconds, found my family, cleaned up, and changed clothes in a porta-potty, and off we went to continue our explorations of Boston, ending the night back at Fenway Park for the 27th Mile Post-Marathon Party. I felt gratitude that I crossed the finish line with the energy and physical ability to keep going.

In the days following the marathon, I have found myself in this state of post-race blues, struggling with disappointment that I didn’t get a better time, frustration that my watch died at mile 23, and thoughts of how I could have and wish I would have just shaved off 9 more seconds to cross the finish line under 4 hours. And I have also had moments of bliss and gratitude that I felt good at the finish line, pride and accomplishment that I took the opportunity to enjoy the experience, savor the course, and I still finished at the 4-hour mark, remembering why I set out to run Boston again in the first place – not to set a personal record but to bookend a life-altering experience. My mind has been going back and forth between the perfectionist and the recovering perfectionist, the part of my inner voice that has always told me I can and should do better, be better, and the part I’ve been retraining myself to hear the voice that says, “Well done! That was awesome!” My 2-year-old daughter has been an incredible inspiration; her inner voice is an encourager, and I not only hear her encourage herself, but I am also often greeted in the morning with “Good morning, mommy! You go for a run? Good job, mommy-bear!” I am a firm believer these days that we are the authors of our stories, we are the ones who shape our narratives, and we can take charge of our inner monologues.  I also want to acknowledge that old habits die hard; the struggle is real. I think I will choose to take forward the view through the lens of gratitude, accomplishment, overcoming, satisfaction, and joy, but I feel it is also necessary to acknowledge the other lenses through which I have viewed my experience of the Boston Marathon since crossing the finish line. The inner critic is real, and so is the inner mentor, the inner encourager. I am choosing to give voice these days to the inner mentor and to allow this wise voice to have a say in how the story is written.

The Boston Marathon experience was so much more than the run. The experience was the time with my kids, sharing the history of Boston and our country, sharing the experience of savoring the moments. The experience was remembering the “why” of being there again. The experience was about overcoming and relishing, not about setting a record. The experience was about sharing this victory with my greatest fans and cheerleaders, with those for whom I strive to be an example and from whom I learn so much from the example they set – my family and my kids. If I keep in mind my goals and reasons for setting out to run Boston again, the run was hands down a success – I enjoyed every high-five I took the time to take. I remember the course and all the great signs and support. I can recall Heartbreak Hill. I crossed the finish line with a smile, feeling fine, able to change and go about the explorations of Boston, capping the day and the marathon experience with the Post-Marathon Party at Fenway Park. If I let the first narrator write the story, the experience was joyful, blissful, and deeply satisfying. The other voice that wants to try to edit the story to focus on the time that wasn’t good enough or could have been better, well that narrator has been asked to sit down; their story is incomplete, their view myopic, and they tell a story that doesn’t serve the future I want to create. I am owning my role as the creator of my story. I am the narrator, and I choose the tone of voice that tells the story. Of course, not all parts of the story are joyful, but this chapter was filled with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude, so I’m bringing in joy to tell this part of my story.

Have you taken ownership of your life story? Do you see yourself as the author? Can you identify the dominant voice telling the story of your experiences? What other voices might you allow to speak? When, why, and how? Have you experienced a shift in how you perceive your story as time passes, or you experience something that gives a new perspective to your past journey and the part an experience has played that has shaped your present or your future? Do you see the importance of taking ownership? Of directing how the story is told in order to direct how the story plays out?

Celebrate with me, the 5th anniversary of my stroke!

Desiree Briel Rodi Consulting & Coaching's avatar February 28, 2023

Today marks the 5th anniversary of my stroke and I am celebrating with a training run and pie with my kids.  In April, I will again run the Boston Marathon as another celebration of my journey. I am celebrating for many reasons.  I am celebrating most obviously, that I am still here.  I am also celebrating that I am not just here, not just surviving, but I am thriving.  I am celebrating because I am genuinely grateful for February 28, 2018 – a day that changed my life in so many great ways.  I am celebrating because I am so thankful for the opportunity to have experienced at 37, what many others may experience, but not until their 70s or 80s.  I was given this gift to not look back with regret but to look forward with intention, purpose, and renewed focus.

Five years ago, on this day, I came home from a swim to get my older son to preschool.  I was moving books from a shelf in his room when my left arm inexplicably dropped the books, and a tingle shot up and down the left side of my body.  My arm went offline.  I took some migraine medication convinced this was just an odd symptom as I had had complicated migraines before, and I went about my day, taking my oldest son to school, taking my younger son to childcare, and going to a parenting class.  I clearly remember mentally questioning at the parenting class, if people could tell I couldn’t feel the left side of my face or that my tongue felt funny when I spoke, but I carried on.

By lunchtime, the numbness persisted.  I called a doctor I’d been meaning to call to establish care since we’d moved to LA and was told they would not see me.  Instead, they directed me to the ER.  So, I directed my car to UCLA Westwood with, I will admit, a little frustration with this inconvenient situation.  I remember my husband and our two-year-old meeting me there and being greeted by a whole team of physicians who soon informed me I’d had a stroke.  I remember the first words out of my mouth were, “Can I still run the Boston Marathon?” The doctor responded, “There will be other marathons” to which I explained that I’d run 10 marathons to finally qualify, and I really wanted to run this race. I remember thinking, I don’t need my left arm to run. People thought I was crazy, including these doctors, and as I reflect, I’ll admit, I sounded pretty crazy.  Six weeks later, I ran the Boston Marathon in some of the worst weather in the history of the Boston Marathon.  I crossed that finish line with the odds stacked against me.  I didn’t run another marathon until last June when I decided qualifying for Boston and running the infamous marathon would be a really great way to celebrate the post-stroke years.

 I remember all the “shoulds” that flooded in with good intentions.  I remember choosing to sit in the discomfort and pause, to not be too quick to take action, but to allow myself to question, research, feel the fear and anger and frustration and grief. A few months later, I had an “ah-ha” moment.  I call the first of these epiphanies, a “God moment” as it was sincerely life-changing, from the inside out, and felt as if it has been a thought simply delivered, not conceived.  One morning, as I stood in our home office, the sun gently coming through, I felt warmth and light from within and there was a sudden knowing and confidence that came over me. I’ve learned to be more comfortable with these moments that garner looks of judgment from others, that garner those looks that say, “you’re nuts!” I realized in that moment, I didn’t find it crazy that I’d run the Boston Marathon after a stroke because I’d been training my whole life to overcome.  I’d had so many opportunities to overcome that it had become second nature. I was determined and resilient and strong and courageous because of these experiences, and this stroke was no different.   I realized the time had come to stop hiding these experiences that made me different – brain surgeries, lots of moves, financial struggles, growing up in a Hispanic family, so much self-doubt and lack of belonging – it was time to celebrate them.  These were the experiences I’d been taught to hide in order to “fit in” but by hiding them, I’d been denying my very existence.  I had been denying my voice, my value, my worth, and my strength, courage, determination, grit, and resilience; I had been denying my superpowers.  The time had come to own my power, to use my voice, to be fully and unapologetically me.  Over the coming months, I also found a deep desire to support others on their journeys of authenticity, to find and own their superpowers, too. There were more learnings and epiphanies that came that year that have encouraged me to live boldly, fearlessly and more authentically.  My life now has direction and my struggles and triumphs have a purpose.

Since my stroke, I have learned to live bigger, to begin to stop listening to the “shoulds” or at least to question them, to speak up, to stop banging on doors that don’t want to open, to follow the path unfolding before me, to allow things to be easier, and to be more intentional and less reactionary. I officially launched my own business and had the third child I dreamed of having. I started a PhD program to look at what is impacting elementary school teachers tasked with implementing social and emotional learning programs after realizing my own vision for the way emotional intelligence might increase our capacity for being human, and therefore increase our capacity for other humans such that we might realize our full potential and become the unique puzzle piece in this world that we are meant to be. I started coaching, facilitating EQ workshops, and writing. I have also been working as an adjunct faculty member at Seattle University. As a child, I wanted to teach. I have reacquainted myself with my inner child and the wisdom she holds. I am manifesting these dreams, one day at a time.

I am learning to invest more in the people who see me and love me for who I am and who I am becoming. I am taking more risks, allowing myself to be seen, to be vulnerable and authentic. I am learning to dare more greatly, to cultivate an ability to listen to my inner voice and to follow the direction and guidance this voice provides.  I am committed to my own well-being, growth, passions and to being an example to forge a unique path rather than trying to follow and live up to others. I am no longer chasing – chasing opportunities not meant for me, chasing relationships and love not freely given, chasing people who don’t or won’t see me, chasing a sense of worth and value determined by others. 

I am taking time to observe and appreciate the little things too often taken for granted.  I am making the space for the things I’ve learned seem small but have a big impact, like volunteering to read in the classroom of my son, reading with my kids and taking them to the library, teaching them to ski, playing Magna-tiles on the floor with my daughter, snuggling under the blankets to watch a movie with my three littles, and giving and receiving more hugs. I am reminding myself as needed, that life is best lived in the moments, and restful moments are just as important as productive moments.

I am learning to see my own value and worth.  I am fully committed to creating my own authentic journey, to exploring the meaning I make from life and how this meaning-making influences my choices. I am learning to be freer and kinder to myself, to stop and admire the beauty that surrounds me, and I am finding peace, deeper satisfaction, purpose, and joy.  So, on this 5th anniversary of my stroke, I hope you will join me in a toast to living a life that is true and full, never taking for granted tomorrow, and never letting yesterday’s regret keep you from living life today!

As Henry David Thoreau said, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined!”