I am afraid the “What just happened?” scenario is how a recent Saturday evening (10.29.11) played out for me.  I was invited to read Tarot cards at a private Halloween party at the White House.  A fellow Tarot card reader got the gig and asked me if I would join her.  Of course, I said, “Yes!”  The juicy carrot was that we would get our picture taken with the President and Mrs. Obama.  How off-the-charts cool is that?

The requirements were to dress up as gypsies and tell fortunes.  This was a party for military families and in the spirit of Halloween we were asked to dress the part.  Not a big sacrifice if it meant meeting the president and his wife, or so I thought.  After all it was a party, and fun, costumes and laughter were the leitmotif.

Playing By the Rules

Let me digress for a moment.  I have been reading Tarot cards for close to seven years.  I see the cards as a sacred tool to explore the subconscious through pictures.  Many liken it to a Rorschach test, where images trigger emotions and help people explore feelings about certain issues and concerns. 

When an individual picks a card, an uncanny synergy occurs.  Inevitably the card that appears confirms and/or uncovers the energy within and around that individual regarding his question.  Sometimes the individual is already aware of that energy, but other times it awakens him to a whole new perspective.  It can be startling.

This is how I view the Tarot.  When I agreed to dress up as a gypsy, I knew I wouldn’t be reading the cards in the way I am used to.  More importantly, I wouldn’t be reading the cards the way I believe they should be read—with the reverence they deserve.  I was entering a situation where my values conflicted with what was being asked of me.  Accepting this gig meant suspending judgment and playing by the party giver’s rules.

The Pivotal Moment—Meeting the President

As planned, my colleague and I had our picture taken with the Obamas before the party.  We were two out of a small group of 15-20 people having their photo taken.  What a privilege!  I had given thought about what I would say when I met them.  It would be something like “You’re doing a great job, Mr. President.” and “Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Obama.”  When the time came, however, all I could do was give direct eye contact and say, “Mr. President” and “Mrs. Obama.” 

The presidential encounter took less than two minutes—much like going through the receiving line at a wedding.  One brief moment and it was over!  A few quips and then back to the party room where we had set up our stations to read fortunes for children ranging from ages five to 10 and their parents, if they felt game.  The piped-in music, costumes, decorations and food made it a festive, fun, well-orchestrated party.  The Obamas did not attend.

I did my best to play the fortune-telling gypsy.  It turned out to be hard work.  The piped-in music made it difficult to hear the soft voices of little children.  At their tender ages, most don’t understand what to ask or how to interpret the pictures on the cards.  More than likely, their parents had never had a reading either.  For them my colleague and I were the stereotypical tarot card readers—fortune-telling gypsies.    

The Aftermath—Expectations Exhumed

When I arrived home a few hours later, I was feeling slightly depressed and exhausted.  What just happened?  Why wasn’t I jubilant to have met the Obamas and read cards at the White House?  It’s taken me a few days to deconstruct my feelings, so I could make sense of the experience. 

It’s hard to say what I expected.  At times, before the event, I denied I had any expectations.  That’s because whenever I do, I am disappointed.  I had never been to a White House event and had never shaken the hand of a U.S. president.  I had hoped to say more to the president when I shook his hand, but stunned in the actual moment, that didn’t happen.  Disappointed in myself for not making more of what appeared to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I had to come to terms with what transpired.

Something else didn’t set quite right—my meeting the president and his wife in a costume.  My ticket into the receiving line was my role as a Tarot-card-reading gypsy.  Some might say, “Hey, who cares?  You got to meet the president!”  Yep, I did.  But, guess what?  He’s a person just like you and me.  He’s playing a role, too.  Still I would have preferred to have gone as myself.  The Pennsylvania farmers in front of us in the photo line went as themselves.  They had donated 60 pumpkins.

Get the Facts

Caught up in the brouhaha of meeting the president before the event, I missed asking a few key questions in advance.  Details about the audience and aspects of the environment would have been helpful in preparing for it.  Had I known I would be reading for children ages five to 10, I could have brought a deck with images that would have spoken more directly to them.  Aware that I would be reading in the party room, I could have been more accepting of the environment and adjusted more easily to it.  

This was all part of my learning curve.  How fortunate for me to learn at the White House!  In this instance, I couldn’t avoid having expectations.  Next time, I’ll have them, too, but wherever the venue is, I must ask the necessary questions beforehand and get the facts.  Keeping my expectations in check is my responsibility and an important aspect of taking care of myself and being professional. 

Now that the dust has settled, and I’ve sorted through my feelings, I can say, “I read Tarot cards at the White House.  I had my picture taken with the President and First Lady.  It was an experience!”

Bev Hitchins © 2011

It turns out that everything has a certain electrical frequency, even intentions.  Not only do our bodies have a frequency that changes due to a multitude of internal and external factors, but our thoughts and intentions have one, too.  The higher the frequency, the healthier and happier we are.  The lower, the more prone we are to being depressed and immobile.

In her memoir Grand Obsession, Perri Knitze asks Graves, “So do we each have our own frequency?”  Graves is one of the piano tuning experts she hires to regain the perfect sound her piano had when she bought it in New York City before it was shipped to her home in Montana.  Here’s what he replies,

“We have a full spectrum of frequencies.  We have to watch how we treat our frequencies.  What we image, ingest, taste—we have a lot more to learn about biochemistry.  We do things that don’t let us grow, like watch degraded stuff on TV, eat depleted food, listen to music with a ‘heavy’ frequency.  We don’t vibrate like no sine wave.  The way we vibrate is deep.  We have to understand what biological waves are all about.” 

Wow!  I suspect I have unconsciously imagined, ingested and tasted a lot of degraded, depleted, heavy stuff.  I didn’t even know it.  It’s too easy to digress about the shoot-em up television shows, MacDonald’s hamburgers, and heavy metal music of which our American culture boasts.  Let’s focus on intentions for now. 

Change Causes Resistance—Even if it’s for Our Own Good!

Even if we have an intention, it’s sometimes tough to get beyond the first step of setting it.  Here’s an example.  During the first session of my most recent “Consciously Clearing Clutter” class, I asked participants to declare an intention for the next three weeks while the class occurs.  They identify a particular area they plan to de-clutter and commit to working on it for a minimum of five minutes every day.  No more than five minutes is required.  The class meets four times. 

At the second session, one week after the first class, only one out of four participants had honored her intention.  At first I was surprised.  These participants had paid good money to work on their clutter.  They are expecting to see results by the last class.  Staying where we are, stuck and unhappy, holds a frequency we are familiar with.  Our long-term discomfort turns comfortable.  To raise our frequency to a higher, healthier level takes effort, in most cases, a concerted one. 

One participant in my class had decided to focus on the poorly designed laundry area in her home as her assignment; this same area also serves as a pass-through to the garage.  Due to a number of factors, laundry for her family of five piles up and often clogs the passageway.  She rarely sees the floor.  Her report after the first week was discouraging.  She couldn’t do her five-minutes-a-day de-cluttering.  Only a load or two of laundry was washed, in spite of her family’s average 13 loads a week.  

When the Frequency Shifts—Look Out!

At the end of the second week, however, things started to shift.  She reported having done many loads of laundry and was beginning to see the floor again.  Even more amazing was the problem-solving that occurred during the third class. 

She herself is an engineer and had asked movers to change the location of the washer and dryer before her family moved into the house.  Months later, it became clear the new location of the appliances wasn’t working.  Mentally she has been feverishly reconfiguring the space ever since they moved in.  Nothing seemed to feel right.

During the class we discovered that it took two hours for the dryer to dry a load of clothes—way too long, especially for a 13-load a week family.  A new dryer was in order.  This discussion spurred more ideas from others in the class:

• Why not get a professional consultant’s opinion on how to redesign the space?
• What if she delegated laundry duty, or at least a portion of it, to the two oldest children?
• How about using a Wash and Fold Service, that takes dirty laundry and returns it washed and folded a couple days later?

All of us engaged in solving her problem, and she was open to hearing our ideas.  From hopeless and overwhelmed to ready for action, this participant left the third class with options she hadn’t considered before. 

At the beginning of the class everyone had set an intention and agreed to support each another in realizing it.  By the third class a noticeable alignment had occurred.  From there the problem-solving ideas gushed out, one right after another. 

Intention is Everything

Let’s return to Perri Knitze and her piano, which she calls Marlene.  In her memoir, she writes, “I tell Graves about my first encounter with Marlene, how I resonated deeply with her, how I fell hard for her.  What was it I experienced?”

This is how Graves responds:  “You experienced the intention of every person who ever worked on that piano,” he says.  “The person who tuned it, the person who built it.  That piano carries their intentions.  Intention is everything.”

It’s the same with us.  Who are we hanging out with?  Have we defined our intention?  What is the intention of those folks we choose to be with?  That’s why a class or a like-minded group is so helpful.  If we set the intention and commit to it with the added benefit of being with like-minded people, the likelihood is great we will see it happen.  And if it’s clutter you are struggling with, consider setting an intention with my “Consciously Clearing Clutter” class! 

Hey, want to visit the Iguazu Falls?  Together we can support each other’s intention, raise each other’s frequency, and see what solutions percolate to the surface.  Together we’ll experience the mysterious unfolding of an amazing Argentinian adventure.

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Scenario 1:  A woman takes her boyfriend of two years on a trip to meet her family.  Upon their return home he breaks up with her.

Scenario 2:  Man A is attracted to Man B.  Man B responds up to a point until he meets a woman 20 years his junior and begins to spend the majority of his personal time with her.

The Dam Analogy

In both cases, a give-and-take process occurred.  One person gave, the other received and vice-versa.  In a mutually beneficial relationship, the give-and-take process maintains enough of a balance to be rewarding for both individuals.  Intimacies are disclosed comfortably and freely.     

I liken intimacy to a lovely, warm shower—water flows on us cleansing all our fears and inhibitions, even if for a moment, so we can be totally present to and vulnerable with the other person.  However, when our feelings for that other person turn intense, the flow of water can become so fierce and overpowering that it causes disruption. 

Here’s where my dam analogy comes in.  Knowing certain parts of a dam may help make my point.  A spillway is the section of a dam designed to pass water from upstream to downstream.  Many spillways have floodgates designed to control the flow through the spillway.  The spillway can be gradually eroded by water flow.  When erosion occurs, water may encounter cavities in the spillway, or if there is turbulence, water may flow over the spillway.  Either could lead to the dam’s failure.

The level of intimacy we expose in relationships is reflected by the thoughts and feelings we share.  Some of those thoughts may be the most trivial, while others our deepest, darkest secrets.  We begin by testing the waters with one thought, almost like opening a floodgate partway.  If received in a way we find acceptable, another thought or feeling is shared and then another.  The intensity increases—just like water when a dam’s floodgates are open all the way.   

We All Have Our Limits 

In Scenario #1, the woman took the risk of introducing her family to her boyfriend.  She knew that any unresolved issues among family members or dysfunction within the family constellation would be exposed, but she believed that two years of building a relationship with her boyfriend would allow them to withstand any discomfort either one might encounter.  Her floodgates were wide open; water roared down the spillway. 

For reasons we are not equipped to identify, the boyfriend couldn’t keep his gates open. He couldn’t reciprocate the woman’s open gate policy.  What he saw or felt immediately before, during or after the trip triggered him to close his gates.  Bam!  No discussion, no exploration of what happened—just the jolting slam of floodgates closing.  When they returned home, he bolted.

Shocked and in a state of emergency because of the unexpected turn of events, the woman now had to seal her gates, but the rapidity of the water in her dam made it difficult and exhausting.  The clarity she had about the relationship before the trip was shattered.  The effort to close her gates felt Herculean.    

In Scenario #2, Man A and Man B were exploring an intimate relationship.  The gates were open, maybe only part-way, but open nonetheless.  Perhaps Man A’s gates were opening a little wider when Man B turned in another direction.  This left Man A struggling to close his gates in the midst of gushing water that had been slowly gaining momentum.  We can only guess that Man B had been stemming the flow of water in his dam before he closed his gates.

What Happened?

It would be easy and also unfair to cast judgment on any of these individuals.  What happened in both scenarios has happened countless times throughout history and continues to happen around the world.  What is relevant to all of us is the exploration of boundaries around intimacy. 

All four of these individuals deserve credit.  They invested in an intimate relationship.  Somewhere along the way the boyfriend in Scenario #1 and Man B in Scenario #2 couldn’t go any further.  It became too scary.  What they may have felt being asked of them—no matter whether real or illusory—couldn’t be given at that point in time.  In fact, whatever got stirred up felt so scary, they had to reject the relationship outright. 

As for the woman in Scenario #1 and Man A in Scenario #2, they were drawn to these relationships to learn more about themselves.  It was good the woman brought her boyfriend to meet her family.  She discovered the limits of her relationship sooner than she would have liked, but had she continued the relationship, it was inevitable she would have confronted them down the road.  Man A did the same.  These discoveries are painful but infinitely valuable.  If heeded, the lesson learned in each one will not be repeated.         

Intimate relationships that end or are altered abruptly merit further exploration.  Issues residing in the shadow parts of ourselves are probably the reason why relationships become untenable.  If these issues aren’t examined and dealt with, they stay with us like dusty, dirty piles of untended clutter.  More importantly, they keep us from being intimate with ourselves—the most valuable relationship of all.

Intimacy is a tricky business.  Making sure the efficacy our spillway is maintained and gauging when and how wide to open our floodgates takes practice.  Perhaps by taking more time to test the waters, we can get a better idea of how to manage them.  When we can manage them effectively, we can be intimate with those who value us as much as we value ourselves.  Is it time to inspect your dam?

Bev Hitchins © 2011

What makes his story compelling is that he is a talented, charmingly funny, dare I say—brilliant soul.  When he was in high school, he was one of the most loved people in his class.  A top student, he went on to get a medical degree and had a small clinic in Mill Valley, California, where he successfully treated patients using alternative medicine, way before it was recognized and acceptable.  His ability to connect with children and patients was jaw-dropping.  Consistently I witnessed people drawn to his self-effacing charm and tender, guileless attention.  His bedside manner couldn’t be matched.   

Sixteen Years Later

Somewhere along the way things skewed out of balance.  He ended his practice and withdrew from friends and family.  He took on a more hermitic lifestyle.  In one phone conversation he told me he needed to be alone for awhile and that he wouldn’t be in touch for at least two years.  Two years stretched into 16, when I finally decided I needed to make contact with him. 

With only knowing his last address, I booked a flight from Northern Virginia to California.  My safety valve was my best friend.  She was making a business trip to the same city; I could stay with her.  She would be there to hold my hand regardless of what I confronted.

My first encounter was a shock.  I found my dear brother blind from cataracts and probably glaucoma.  Boxes two-rows-deep bordered both sides of a short path to the far side of his studio apartment.  It led to a table and two chairs, the locus of most of his living.  Although he didn’t admit guests, he had an occasional volunteer come in to help with bill paying and sorting mail.  Boxes packed the kitchen from floor to ceiling, so there was no access to the sink or stove.  Whenever he needed hot water, he used water from the bathroom sink.  A tattered sofa immediately to the left of entering the room served as his bed.  A sleeping bag took the place of sheets.  The apartment probably hadn’t been cleaned since he first moved in—more than 30 years ago. 

What Was I To Do?

My first visit lasted three days.  I did as much as I thought I could.  Together we went to the grocery store and the bank.  Under his direction I sorted his mail.  We even took a couple of long walks.  We talked easily and comfortably between us, but I was careful not to give any unsolicited opinions.  Only when I suggested going through his boxes did he firmly reject my offer.

I had to go home before I could assimilate what I experienced.  I felt so sad.  My lovely, sweet, funny brother had come to this.  I concluded what I didn’t want to admit—he was suffering from mental illness.  It had gone untreated.  I knew that when left untreated, it only gets worse.

What Is Mine to Do?

I crossed the country three more times.  The third trip was devoted to cleaning his bathroom and entryway.  Together we traipsed to the hardware store and bought a bucket, cleansers, Clorox, brushes and sponges.  I was determined to leave that visit knowing I had made a tangible difference.

The results of my efforts were marginal.  After working six hours straight on the bathroom, primarily the sink, toilet and floor, I never got to the bathtub/shower.  Without a mask I had naively inhaled the toxic odors of Clorox most of those six hours.  I was exhausted and discouraged by the time I called it quits. 

Trying to clean up my brother’s life was a much bigger project than I had imagined.  I was beginning to grasp that this was not in my purview.  Once I got home, it took getting sick—in part due to the toxicity I exposed myself to—to let this sink in.  He had never asked me to clean his bathroom.  I had taken it upon myself. 

My Brother’s Choice

My fourth and final trip several months later confirmed what I had deduced in my sickbed.  The bathroom, my major contribution to helping my brother, returned to its homeostatic state—just as filthy as it was before I touched it.  This was how my brother chose to live. 

For a few months after my last trip he would initiate phone calls, usually asking me to do a favor like calling the books-on-tape company to ensure an order had been placed or check the Internet about something he heard on talk radio.  Eventually the calls stopped.  His phone has remained unplugged ever since.  I am left with either waiting for a call or flying out there to see him.  This is the way he wants it.

Why I Share This Story

I share this story because a few of my friends find themselves asking the same question, “Am I my brother’s or sister’s keeper?”  A sibling falls on hard times due to bad relationships, financial difficulties, or ill health.  These untoward situations don’t happen because of one poor judgment or mistake.  They happen over time usually because emotional wounds weren’t tended to.  With each wound the sibling’s self-esteem gets tarnished or chipped.  Without the proper tools to handle the slings and arrows of daily living, these siblings start making choices most victims make.  Their behavior turns into self-sabotage, a setup for abuse.  Too proud or too ashamed of their consistent misstepping, they don’t ask for help.  They shut down.  Their life becomes small, and things go from grim to grimmer. 

Is it our responsibility to step in and take over?  In my case, the answer is a categorical “NO!”  My brother neither invited me to visit him nor asked me to clean his apartment.  I did it all on my own.  He acquiesced to my visits and accepted my offer to clean his bathroom.  He is getting by, thank you very much, on his own moxie.  It’s just not according to my standards.

Getting sick after my third visit tipped the scales.  My own illness gave me clarity.  I discovered I had crossed a boundary that tacitly said “No Trespassing.”  Now I know that until I am called upon, I have no business crossing that boundary.  Even when called upon, I must be cautious about how much I can take on and what I can reasonably do.  I was vulnerable with my brother because I love him.  But, to love him well, I must love myself first.  Being my brother’s keeper does not qualify in either case.      

Bev Hitchins © 2011

After doing the exercise this student carried the dress sans carrying bag to the front of the class to share what she discovered.  We all gasped at its magnificence, yet she carried it haphazardly—bunched in her arms, like a pile of clothes you would give to charity or take to the dry cleaners.  It seemed heretical to treat such an awesome item with such nonchalance.  Here is what she told us:

A Storybook Wedding

She wore this gown to her first wedding.  She was on her third marriage when she stood before us.  When she married for the first time, she thought she was on her way to becoming a princess.  Husband #1 was undoubtedly her prince.  The dress represented the fantasy she had been nurturing as she prepared for marriage and probably well before that.  It was a storybook dress for a storybook wedding.

For a brief moment in time her fantasy seemed real.  The gown symbolized how she would live—happily ever after—pampered, taken care of, tended to.  Somewhere along the way the fantasy cracked and shattered.  Poof!  The prince went off to seek his fortune.  The princess vanished.  Real life set in.  

I can’t imagine how heartbroken she must have been once she discovered that marriage, and life for that matter, are no tea party.  Owning the gown allowed her to hold onto that fantasy—if only when she goes to the back of her closet to find it.  Now a remnant of her past, it evoked ambivalence.  In one moment it could whisk her away to that storybook life and in the next slap her in the face with the pain of a shattered dream—a marriage that couldn’t continue. 

Clutter:  A Catalyst for Clarity

She stood in front of all of us that night and told us the gown was a symbol of what she imagined her marriage would be.  Her insight was more magnificent than the gown itself.  What mattered more than this gown or any gown was how she saw herself.  Being a princess wasn’t going to get her very far.  It comes with so many expectations along with an equal number of disappointments.   Seeing herself for who she really was—a young woman learning about and experiencing her own growth—would take her much farther.   

She could have chosen to bring anything other than the gown that night, but she knew on some level she was poised to let it go.  Her princess fantasy seemed to evaporate before us.   She couldn’t give me an unequivocal yes when I asked if she would let it go, but we all knew she saw herself differently.  We had witnessed her transformation, and she had gotten clarity from an item she called “clutter.”

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Salesman #1 was in a hurry.  Within the first five minutes of my meeting him he asked if I were going to buy a car that day.  C’mon!  I was just beginning my search and told him that.  I could see his immediate disinterest in me after my honest response.  I asked if I could test drive the model I was interested in.  Once he photocopied my driver’s license and put plates on the car, he let me and my friend who came with me go on our own.  This surprised me.

Very little time was spent going over the car’s features.  When I asked for a brochure, he said they had given them all away and that I could find all I needed on the Internet.  In between our leaving to do a test drive and our returning, a shipment of new cars arrived. He asked again if I were going to buy that day.  When my response mirrored the one I gave during our first five minutes together, he dismissed us and hurried to the business of unloading the new shipment.

Salesman #2 had taken the advanced-level sales training.  He was relaxed, friendly and present to both me and my friend the whole time we were together.  He answered our questions giving us all the time we needed.  When we asked if we could test drive the model we were interested in, he photocopied my license, put plates on the car and sat in the back seat as I drove the nearby neighborhood streets.  He let me get a feel of how the car drove by being silent or responding appropriately to our comments and questions.  When we asked to test drive another model, he willingly said yes and accompanied us on our second test drive.   

By the time my friend and I had test driven both models, we had spent 45 minutes together and he knew we were in the research mode, not the buying mode.  It didn’t seem to make any difference to him.  He didn’t invite us to come inside and sit down because he knew that we were just exploring.  He asked when I might be interested in buying a car.  I said later in the fall.  No problem.  He was going out of town to serve the National Guard and would be back in the fall.  When we parted, I felt we could do business with him.  In fact, I liked the car better than the one I drove at the first dealership.  Was it him or the car?

Salesman #3 appeared tentative and new to selling cars.  In the first few minutes, he sat us down and talked to us about what we were looking for and then readied the model we were interested in for a test drive.  A couple of times, when we had questions he couldn’t answer, he would leave us to get the answers from the manager or someone more knowledgeable.  Before setting off on our test drive he took time to describe all the new features in the 2012 model, almost too many to grasp.  Once we were all in the car, he let us absorb the feel of the car.  It wasn’t until we returned and he sat us down again, that he began to ask what it would take for us to buy the car that day.  I said I wasn’t in the market to buy a car that day. 

When he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he brought the manager out to save the day.  This one had missed the advanced sales training course.  He asked, “What would it take to buy the car today?” not once but three times.  “What price will get you to buy?  We have everything you need to buy the car today.  You can finance with us.” 

I was getting more and more uncomfortable as the conversation ensued.  I hadn’t yet done my homework of figuring out exactly what I could afford.  By the time I could get myself out the door, and it wasn’t fast enough, I knew I would not do business with either of these men. 

Lessons Learned

Persuasion is an art.  It takes sensitivity, good listening skills, and creativity.  Salesmen #1 and #3 failed miserably, because they wanted me to accommodate their timetable. They didn’t take me at my word—that I wasn’t going to buy a car that day. I was doing my research.  Salesman #2, however, left the door open for further conversation.  He understood where I was in the process.  He met me where I was, not where he wanted me to be. 

Pushy persuasion may work on a certain number of customers, but I suspect those folks are so inebriated with the thought of having a new car that they aren’t in touch with how they feel they are being treated.  If they were to stop and consider all their options, they might find a better car at a better price a week or two later.  Who knows?  Pushy persuasion doesn’t work for me.  The one thing I do know is that I have to keep doing my homework.  Then I can talk more intelligently about price and negotiate with more confidence.

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Focusing on What Wasn’t Said

Before we could get started, Debra told us she would not ask for anything this week.  When Marilyn asked why, she responded with a mixture of frustration, helplessness, and a tinge of anger.  Marilyn suggested, “Could you ask for peace or space to relax?” The answer was a sharp “No!” 

The only tidbit she shared was that she spent the weekend with family.  This made me wonder what she meant by family—her nuclear family, her husband’s family, her extended family.  Was family really the issue?

This scant amount of information incited more questions.  I wanted to ask, “What’s going on?  What’s the real issue?  What can we do to support you?” but her fragilely hostile stance kept me from offering anything.  Out of respect for her boundary we launched into our weekly ritual now somewhat crippled by her refusal to participate fully in the process.  Marilyn and I made our requests and got the support we hoped for, but the person who needed support the most didn’t get any.  Our focus landed on what Debra wasn’t saying, rather than what she was saying. 

Broken Trust

Debra’s shut-down behavior impeded our process.  Our purpose in coming together is to support one another.  To do this requires trust, compassion and understanding.   When one person in the group stops trusting, then the whole dynamic gets out of whack.   

It seemed to me that Debra didn’t trust us enough to tell us why she didn’t want to fully participate in our Mastermind process.  Her behavior made me wonder whether I had misplaced my trust.  Was she worthy of hearing my dreams and desires, when she wouldn’t reveal her own?  These weekly conversations are intimate.  Trusting is paramount to the group’s success.  A fracture had been chiseled into our weekly ritual.            

This Got Me Thinking

During this brief exchange my attention had twisted off-course.  I started questioning my own intentions.  Am I getting enough of what I want from these weekly conversations?  If this behavior continues, will I tolerate it or say how I feel about it?  Do I have the courage to be honest?  Can I trust myself enough to listen to my inner voice and act on what it says? 

The three of us bear witness to each other’s deepest desires.  When we started this weekly ritual, we agreed to support each other with love and enthusiasm.  When one of us puts up a roadblock, all of us are affected.  Perhaps Debra was having the proverbial “bad day,” but that doesn’t excuse her behavior on our call.  I suspect she would be surprised, maybe shocked, if Marilyn and I were to share our unexpurgated reactions to this last conversation.

Taking Responsibility

I must confess I’ve had my shut-down moments with some of my closest friends.  It’s not a pretty picture.  Fortunately they “hung in there” with me, and I’ve gotten wiser about my aberrant behavior.  I’ve learned that it’s a grave disservice to everyone involved.  In the end, I am the only one responsible for my behavior.  If I can’t meet the agreed-upon terms of a conversation, then perhaps I should excuse myself temporarily until I can pony up the requisite input and responses.

Conversations are a mirror of our emotional maturity.  If we come to a conversation distracted, we siphon off the synergy of a productive exchange.  If we arrive angry, we become a catalyst for dissension.  If we approach a discussion with ambivalence, we can actually filibuster a decision making process.  Some of us come with the conscious intention of disrupting a conversation.  Others do it unconsciously. 

Consciously or unconsciously, it’s important to examine our motives and intentions before, during and after our conversations.  When we do, we can learn a lot about ourselves and what next steps are best for us to take in future conversations.

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Before Pamela gave me her laundry room key, which she said would open all the other laundry rooms throughout her condominium, she wanted to ask me a question.  Both of us sat down.  Having my full attention, she told me she had landed a contract with a big company and needed help.  Would I assist her? 

When Your Gut Says “No!” but You Still Say “Yes”

My gut kicked in.  It immediately said “No!” but feeling cornered and slightly vulnerable, I said yes.  She had just done me a favor—extending an invitation to post fliers in her condo’s laundry rooms.  Did I owe her something? 

Accepting the job meant giving up a day of my time, if you include the additional preparation, to help her out.  That one day would cause me to expend precious energy and time away from the work I want and need to do for myself.  She said she would pay me and we agreed on a price.  As a solo entrepreneur, I’ll admit the money enticed me.  My gut, however, kept saying “No!” loud and clear.

Once the agreement was made, Pamela showed me her laundry room and the bulletin board where I posted my first flier.  I mentioned my surprise at being able to do this, since my condo’s policy forbid it.  Unresponsive to my comment, she left for another appointment, and I was left to find the other laundry rooms on my own.  Before stepping out, she suggested I go to the condo office to inform them of my intentions.  Perhaps they could help.

Discovering the Truth

Feeling somewhat abandoned and lost in her condo neighborhood I started looking for the other laundry rooms.  The key didn’t work in the first one, so I hunted for the next.  When the key didn’t open the second one, I thought, “This isn’t working.  I will go to the condo office and ask them if each laundry room has its own key.”

When I entered the condo office I was greeted with immediate disdain.  The office manager gave me a look that would have scared even puppies and bunnies.  I got my answer quickly.  “Absolutely, without question, if you do not live here, you cannot solicit here!  We will take down any fliers you have put up.”

“Okay.  Okay.  I will take down the one I put up.”  I beat it out of the office, removed the one flier I posted, slipped Pamela’s key through her mail slot and headed home.  The time spent preparing the fliers, driving to and from Pamela’s and all the shenanigans in between added up to close to three hours.

Was There a Hidden Agenda?

Once home I started thinking about what happened.  Why didn’t Pamela know her condo’s policy?  She’s been living there for years.  What a waste of my time.  And I accepted a job I didn’t want.  Was her invitation to post fliers simply a foil for a hidden agenda?  Perhaps she knew if she offered me the job on the phone, I would have said “No.”  By seeing me face-to-face in her condo, on her territory, she had a better chance of describing the job and getting me to say “Yes,” especially after inviting me to post fliers at her condo.

I have a hunch this was her unconscious intention.  This kind of interaction, dear reader, is what often happens when we’ve agreed to do something we don’t want to do and know we should have declined.  Someone wants us to say “Yes,” and knows if given our druthers we would say “No.”  That person then sets up the conversation in such a way that it makes it difficult to say “No.”  The conversation begins about something else.  For me, it was posting my fliers in her condo’s laundry rooms. 

Once that other person has your full attention, then the conversation shifts to the true agenda—the hidden agenda.  If she knows you well enough to know your vulnerabilities, she will incorporate them into whatever offer or ultimatum is presented.  For me it was the offer of money.  Pamela’s monetary offer seemed attractive at first, but when I factored in the number of hours and amount of energy I would expend, the payback wasn’t worth it.

The Final Analysis

A day later I called Pamela.  I left a message to thank her and to let her know I wouldn’t be able to accept her offer.  I had another commitment—one that was true to me and the work I was meant to do.  What a relief it was to cut the threads of this heartless acceptance and move forward. 

In the end I was grateful.  I had another opportunity to define how to spend my time.  My self-worth was sharpened in the process.  I discerned what felt right for me and then took action to preserve it.  The “Me of the Past” would have been complimented by Pamela’s offer and remained unaware that I had been suckered into someone else’s hidden agenda.  The “Me of the Present” now listens to her inner voice and knows its truth.

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Once I figured out the particulars of the conversation—who was on the other end of the line and what they were talking about—I began to empathize with the recipient (or is victim more apt?) of her angry demands.  I asked myself, “Why would I want to help anyone yelling at me over the phone—especially a stranger?”

Everyone Has a Story

Then I stepped back and thought about my client.  Let’s call her Joan.  You see, Joan lost her husband of 30 years to cancer six months ago.  In her eighties Joan is showing early signs of dementia.  She suffers from deep grief now that her husband is gone.  Even though she is the mother of three adult children, her raison d’être was her husband.  He’s the one who had the security system installed.  He’s the one who knew the code to activate the system.  Now she needs to know how to use the darn system and the code, but it’s just too complicated for her to figure out.

Frustrated that she must now learn something she believes she needs to learn but doesn’t want to, she engages in conversation, one she didn’t initiate, and thus, couldn’t initially control.  Her anger is displaced.  After all, her husband abandoned her.  The sharp acumen she used as a lawyer in earlier years has dulled.  Her cognitive skills are challenged.  She doesn’t know the code and activating the system is just too daunting for her to make the effort to learn it.  She wants the company to send a representative to her home and demonstrate the system.  Guess what?  They only do that when they install the system.

Getting What We Want

During the conversation she keeps repeating that her husband died and he’s the only one who knew the code.  This fact, she believes, makes a plausible case for why she can’t operate the system at least at the moment, but digging deeper, I think her angry repetitions are a ploy to gain the sympathy of the representative and to cover up her inability to navigate the system and her desire not be bothered with it. 

This is just one conversation, but look at the tangled emotions it piques and the veiled manipulations it evokes.  I never learned how the conversation was resolved because I had to leave.  Nonetheless it gave me pause.  We don’t always know what is going on during a conversation.  In this case, Joan struggled to make sense of her security system, but it was complicated.  She didn’t really want to figure it out but felt she must.  Why didn’t he share the security code with her?  Most of all, she was mad that she finds herself alone, abandoned by her husband. 

Bev Hitchins © 2011

Can’t Find What You’re Looking For

At first it’s puzzling.  You start looking in piles and places where it would most likely be.  Unsuccessful, you move to other piles and places where you haven’t been or touched in ages, but, gosh, it might be there.  In the meanwhile, your concern is ratcheting up.  You start talking to yourself in not so kind and gentle a voice, “Where did it go?  Who’s been messing with my stuff?  I am sure I put it there!”  And if someone is close by, like a spouse or friend, you get them looking, too.

As your sense of frustration builds, the other person you’ve enlisted slides right into the pitch of your emotional vortex.  You start getting angry at the piles you have let accumulate and the stuff you should have put away.  “How could I have let things get this way?  Where is that damn thing I am looking for?”  You start having heated exchanges with the person who agreed to help you when she suggests looking elsewhere.  “No!” you scream.  “That’s ridiculous.  IT ISN’T THERE!”

This was the scenario with my client’s husband a couple evenings ago.  He had just spent hours writing a book review—a valuable piece of intellectual property.  Ready to send it (via the U.S. Postal Service) to the organization who requested the review, he began to look for THE LETTER—his only source of communication spelling out the details of when and where to send it.  No e-mail or website had been provided.  He had to have THE LETTER!

The Search

The search began in earnest on Sunday evening at 9:00 PM.  At one point my client goes to the Internet to track down the organization.  Since her husband couldn’t remember its name, her efforts resulted in three possibilities—a creative approach in this technological age but a woefully inadequate replacement for THE MISSING LETTER.  Not until 11:00 PM did their frantic search end.  In a last ditch effort, they checked the trash scheduled for pickup the next morning.  Lo and behold—they found THE LETTER among the detritus of daily living.  What a relief!  All the angst and pent-up worry, however, didn’t let my client go to sleep until 1:00 AM. 

When I saw her the next morning, she was exhausted and started blaming all the piles of clutter stationed around the house.  The poor clutter!  It gets blamed for so much.  We know, though, it wasn’t the clutter’s fault—at least the physical piles of clutter.  Perhaps we can more accurately lay responsibility on her husband’s distracted (dare I say cluttered?) mind.  Apparently THE LETTER had been residing in the reviewed book along with a piece of junk mail for a while.  When the junk mail was tossed, so was THE LETTER. 

Slowing Down is Our Best Revenge

How many times have we done this–thrown something important away with something unimportant?  I confess, I’ve done it many times.  Maybe the best way to stave off these inadvertent mishaps is to just slow down.  I mean, where is the fire?  We have access these days to so many ideas and opportunities, it’s mind-boggling.  We want to do this, try that, go there, and acquire whatever.  We forget that life consists of small things, like details.  We go on to the next thing before we finish what we’ve been working on.  We rush through life. 

Perhaps a comedienne said it best, when she told her audience what she wants engraved on her tombstone—GOT IT ALL DONE, DEAD ANYWAY.  Yep, we are all going to kick the bucket one day.  So, let’s enjoy each moment in the meantime.  By slowing down we can be more conscious of what we are doing with stray pieces of paper, jackets we thought we left somewhere else besides in the back of our closet, and anything else we put some place for “the time being” rather than in its proper home.  We can circumvent the angst and anguish of looking for lost stuff.

Let’s exonerate our clutter.  We’re the ones who need to calm down and become more mindful our actions.  By giving ourselves a second or two more as to where we put things and what we’ve put where, we can imprint that moment onto our memory and possibly prevent our tossing important items into the trash.  After all, what’s two seconds compared to two hours of fruitless, frantic hunting?

Bev Hitchins © 2011