how I'm finding my center—and then losing it

I've been writing to you so much in my mind (and heart) the past few weeks.

The truth is, I've been feeling like "too much"...you know that sensation, right?

Too opinionated.
Too angry.
Too emotional.
Too much of an irritant.
Too much of a downer.
Too difficult.
Too demanding.
Too impatient.
Too, too, too...

There are some days when I feel like my entire existence is one inconvenient truth.

I guess it's not surprising considering I've lived nearly 55 years in a woman's body and have had some pretty hard-core training on what that means—how dangerous we are, how we are not to be trusted, how we are wrong and to be blamed...for so much.

See what I mean? I'm doing it again. Too muching.

Can you handle me? Can I handle me? Can my family of white men handle me?

Do I need to be handled?

These are the questions that find me when I'm off my center. Which happens easily these days.

I have never had to work so diligently, so tenaciously, and so consciously to find my center than I have in the past three years.

When I find it, it feels fleeting and tremulous, like trying to hold egg whites in your hand.

And then I get those blessed extended moments—often in nature or with a dear friend—and I feel that deep breathe find me again and think huzzah, never again!

Until my eyes fall on a homeless encampment or I hear the water in the gulf reached 101 degrees or there are policies being made to support teaching the benefits of slavery in schools.

Such is the way of trying to find your center while living on something round. It's dynamic.

Michelle Obama wrote something in her lovely memoir, Becoming, that has always stayed with me.

When she was little she learned to play the piano from her aunt who lived downstairs. Like many women I know (including myself), Michelle had pretty high expectations for herself and she would double-down on her practices and drills to get it just right. She was going for perfect.

(which doesn't exist...spoiler alert)

Her aunt's piano was old and beat up. She was taught to always start by finding center C. That would be her constant bearing to orient her hands and help ground her.

Do you know what your center C is these days, ? When did you feel it last?

The center C on her aunt's piano was chipped, which made it stand out from the other keys and therefore easier to find without looking down at her hands. I remember reading that one part of her story again and again—marveling at how something that was chipped and imperfect, could be so helpful, even soothing.

A perfectly imperfect home—a safe place to roost, an eye in the storm.

One day she performed at a piano recital held in this swanky music hall with a brand new, shiny black piano. Not a chip in sight.

She panicked, fumbled, and almost gave up. Until her aunt calmly came on stage from her seat in the audience, took her finger and placed it on center C.

We all need those people in our lives, don't we? The ones who don't mind interrupting a performance. The ones who refuse to let you suffer alone. The ones who take a stand for you.

Friends, colleagues, teachers, loved ones, and even professionals who will help our shaky and sweaty hands find center C when we've lost our focus, feel disoriented and are terrified.

So these days, when I've been feeling all kinds of "too much" in my woman's body, I find my hands itching for center C.

And as I look around me and hear the stories my clients and friends are telling me of their experience on this blue-green planet we share, I take solace that I am not alone.

In many ways you—and this email I aim to write most Fridays—are that center C for me.

Writing helps.

I honestly don't know anyone—not one person—who that doesn't hold true for.

What I do know for sure, is it all rests on how we define "writing" for ourselves.

We think it has to be brilliant and pithy and perfect.
We think it has to be a novel and a NYT best seller.
We think we have to have a reason or an audience.
We think we have to know how to do it or have experience.
We think it has to be smart and poetic and original.

It doesn't.

It could be a card to a sick friend or a love note tucked into a lunch box.
It could be a haiku or a few words strung together in a Facebook post.
It could be jotting down memories of a father who recently passed or a kid who's leaving home.
It could be a list of beautiful things you see on your walk to work.
It could be writing recipes by hand that you found in your mother's drawer in her kitchen.
It could be notes to self with favorite quotes and pearls of wisdom you've gathered.

Sometimes chipped writing is the best kind of writing—because it's got soul and is beautifully imperfect, like you.

I think of that often as I catch the typos, omitted words and bungled or botched things I put out into the world to be consumed.

It's taken me years to love myself with chips.

I inevitably twitch and flitch when I discover them (because they're never singular), but then I remember I'm an artist, not a machine. And I think of the person out there that thinks..."Well Lael makes typos sometimes, too..."

I know you can handle me—that was never a question. I hear the word inspiring too often from you to believe otherwise.

And for that I am deeply grateful. Because in that moment, my too muchness feels like a mitzvah, a gift, or a deep service.

Chips have value, my friend.

So here's to yours, here's to mine, and here's to ours. May our fingers gently caress them as we all see to find our center.

If yours are over there itching to play, I've got a couple things for you that I just loaded up in our Community Garden (have you checked that out yet? It's free and filled with good $hit just for my subscribers). When you get out there, scroll to the bottom and look for the "Play" section I just added to see these tools:

A Story Arc by John Roedel—these are 7 of the most simple and powerful prompts I've ever used to string some sentences together in a story. It's magic every time and takes like 10 minutes.
Qoya Dance with Rochelle Schieck—her free movement videos will get your body "writing" itself back into center, I swear. She asks: How would you move if this were a prayer? So good.

So have at it this weekend, my friend. Or not.

But thank you for coming along for the ride with me. My center is smiling a chipped-tooth grin right now.

Mwah!

Lael

PS: Did you hear my interview on Chela Davidson's podcast came out?

I'm super proud of this because I've never spoken so plainly and boldly about my experience working with leaders inside organizations these days. It's the most honest I've ever been on the topic, so it felt risky, edgy, controversial and courageous. But I went there.

If you're someone who works in the corporate world or you know and love someone who does...you'll want to listen to this one. What you are living through and feeling on the daily isn't your imagination—and it's not just you. You're not as alone as you might think.

If you want to listen and you're a podcast person, you can listen to our episode on What is Leadership? now.

If you want to watch us and your a YouTube person, you can watch the full-monty show with all of our visuals and wildly gesticulating hands and happenings behind the scenes. Apparently my face shows everything.

PSS: I just released episode 4 of my podcast where I talk 1:1 with the amazing Jen Dean.

Have you ever been to a restaurant and listened in on the conversation happening in the booth behind you? What about listening in on something juicy two people are talking about while you're waiting for a train or standing in line?

Season 5 of my podcast is like that.

It's called On Her Mind, and I've already released three episodes in addition to the intro I did, so if you just hearing about this now, you can listen to my convo with Megan (we talk about nature, the economy, and community), May (we talk about loneliness, mattering, and service), and Michelle (we talk about education, how we invest our money, and spending our time)

In this episode, Jen Dean joins me in conversation—and we talk about this:

moving into the crone phase of our lives and how that has sharpened and deepened our vision.

those moments we have a foot in this world and a foot out of it—as we access our wisdom, play with our power, hone our intuition, and honor our instincts.

time—bending it, moving through it, our old/new stories about it, the experiences we've had, what we've been playing with recently and how to use it more powerfully.

religion and spirituality—from cults and conventional training to being a witch and reclaiming our divinity on our own terms.

how words have power and imagine what might be possible for the world if we talk about these things more openly—and why we don't.

the need to "unschool" ourselves—our children and our world—as a means to remember what we have forgotten and the call for leaders (women in particular) to "do power differently"

how storytelling, art and communities are the tools that will support us most because they are where we can be most free and feel safe to express our truth.

change being an "inside job" and the need to be true to ourselves, in integrity and aligned with our beliefs——because the way we treat ourselves is the way we treat others.

Welcome to our conversation. We loved it (as you'll hear) and we're happy to have you overhear it.