REFLECTIONS ON TURNING 40

Save for the year after being orphaned, this year has been the toughest of my life. I finished four years researching and writing my book, and I didn’t pay any attention to how completely burned out I had become. It certainly didn’t help that 40 was looming and, while I have no hang-ups with getting older in and of itself, it kicked off another cycle of grief.

At its core, grief is loneliness. Obviously you are lonely for the person who no longer shares life with you, but it is also lonely knowing there is no one else who misses her the way you do or remembers him the way you do. Even my brother and sister – the closest people to understand the early loss of our parents – have different experiences, memories and reactions as members of the Orphan Club. 

In this place of exhaustion and loneliness, things that I thought were foundationally solid have been called into question. When you are forced to take a pit stop in life, you actually have time to survey your surroundings. Sometimes you like where you have ended up and sometimes you don’t. This is terrifying for someone who has built a life and career as the how-to girl. Slowly and painfully, I began to see the world differently. 

During my soul searching, I realized how judgmental I have been. In my own defense, I honestly didn’t realize I was being judgmental – I thought very open to other experiences and perspectives. But I secretly thought I had it all together and when you think this way, it is seductively easy to slide into a condescending attitude. Over the last year as I have been shaken to the core, I realized that I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to be that person. 

I think we choose to be judgmental because it makes us feel safe – we can hide behind the walls of our belief systems, our ideals, our routines, our absolutes, our decisions. Coming out from behind those walls to question those things is deeply frightening because we have to venture into no man’s land. The Franciscan friar Richard Rohr calls this place liminal space – when we have left all that we know but we have not yet arrived at the next place. In liminal space we cannot be sure where we will end up when we emerge. In fact, we fear we will get fully lost and never emerge at all. 

I was chatting with a friend the other day about all of this “40 Stuff,” and he looked me dead in the eyes and said very calmly, “It is human.” Going through these times in life is part of our personal evolution. Learning to accept and embrace the process doesn’t always look pretty, but it is so very important. Somewhere along the lines, amidst all the how-to’s and rules and checklists, I forgot the beauty of being human and all the messiness and uncertainty that it entails. 

So I am surrendering to this season and have stopped trying to control or rush it. I suppose it’s kind of like giving up the expectation that my life will look like a Renoir depicting clear images to the world, and coming to grips with the fact that it might end up looking like a Jackson Pollock with random paint splattered on a canvas. Or it could just end up looking like a three-year-old’s drawing. I suppose there is beauty in that as well, but it is difficult to see when the work is not yet finished. 

So as I turn 40 today, I realize that I don’t know much. I don’t have a lot of answers. In the months of musing and reflecting, however, I have some thoughts. 

I think authenticity matters because it is the only way we can hear the hearts of people who believe differently than us as well as the voices of our own tribe. 

I think staying bunkered in “us vs. them” mentality – always defining ourselves by what we are not – leaves no room for our own growth as well as extending that same opportunity to others around us. 

I think real change, revelation and connection takes place when we ask more questions and give fewer directives. 

I think wisdom is mined in the dark places, and if we refuse to allow seasons of darkness dwelling, we miss out on some of the best stuff in life. 

I think we only grow more tired, tattered, impatient and unkind when we do not create quiet places for our souls to rest and reflect. 

I think vulnerability is worth the risk of getting rejected because when we spend our lives covering up what we truly feel and think, we only guarantee chasms of loneliness between others and us. 

I think it is brave to ask for what we truly want and need from those closest to us rather than expecting them to just intuitively know. 

I think it is only when we accept ourselves as good enough – not pinning that acceptance to elusive achievements but right in the here and now – that we can love ourselves and others well. 

I think we all need intimacy – the connection between two human beings with the ability to say I see you, I accept you despite all your imperfections, and I love you. 

I think cultivating patterns of forgiveness with others and ourselves is better than striving and failing under the weight of perfectionism. 

I think having the courage to linger in the questions is more powerful and transformative than rushing to find the answers. 

And I know it is scary as hell to take the leap to put all this into practice. 

That’s all I’ve got.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach®
ErynFaye.Com

SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE?

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to dance. We didn’t have a lot of money as a family, so I wasn’t given options about extracurricular activities. I was slotted into piano year after year after year. In fact, I don’t ever remember being asked if I wanted to do it – it was just a foregone conclusion that I would play an instrument and my brother would play sports.

But I dreamt – literally and figuratively – about dancing. I was enthralled by dance shows. I was envious of my friends who danced. My heart would start to race and I could feel a rush of adrenaline when I saw a performance. Footloose was epic for me.

However, once I passed the age of ten, I thought that it was too late for me to learn. By that age, I was already a hard-core perfectionist and consequently was terrified of doing anything poorly. As an adult, I continued to buy into the fallacy that dance lessons are just for little kids. I put Riley in dance and watched from the sidelines.

A few years ago, a friend invited me to a hip-hop class. When I observed the class, I felt that old, familiar stirring within me. I enrolled in the class, but it was a dud for me. The class was large and so I struggled to get one-on-one time with the instructor. I joined the group halfway through the year and so I had to catch up to women who had been practicing the routine for months. But the death knell came when an important conference was scheduled for the same weekend of the recital. The whole experience was kind of like a firecracker that promises to be spectacularly impressive and just fizzles out before it even starts. But the class was significant in one respect – I had finally realized that a thirty-something-year-old mom could take dance.

So despite that first false start, I found an adult hip-hop class when we moved to Toronto. Then I recruited my friend Judy to go with me so it wouldn’t be so scary. This time, though, I was in for a radically different experience. I was privileged to have two amazing instructors – Lucy and Monique – who nudged me out of my comfort zone. They demonstrated the basic moves, of course, but they did so much more. They took the time to work with each of us, drawing out and honing our unique styles. They pushed us when we didn’t have the personal courage to push ourselves. They laughed with us when we messed up and cheered when we finally got the move. They created a safe place to be less than perfect. They invested in us. Because of them, the year was transformational.

In my professional life, I encourage people to pursue the passions deep within. I teach about learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. I highlight the pitfalls of perfectionism. I coach people to press through the awkward learning phase so that a new skill set has the chance to emerge. I demystify body image issues. I know all these things intellectually and I see the benefits in the lives of my clients. But I had the opportunity to practice what I preach on the dance floor all year long.

Yesterday, I did a dance recital in front of hundreds of people. I looked nothing like the competitors on So You Think You Can Dance, but that wasn’t the point. I had worked hard so I could earn a spot on that stage. I wasn’t in the audience anymore. My husband and daughter got to witness me practicing courage. I modeled “out of my comfort zone” in living colour. I faced down the gremlins that told me I was too old and too uncoordinated to perform. Best of all, I had so much fun. It was an amazing way to fulfill a life-long dream.

And next year, I’m going back for more.

ERYN-FAYE, FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach ®

ErynFaye.com

HIT BY FRIENDLY FIRE - and what I learned

Have you ever worked for a company that you supported and stood up for - but they, in turn, treated you poorly? Perhaps you volunteered and sacrificed for an organization that took advantage of you? Maybe you were part of a committee or team that you really cared about, and your teammates selfishly turned on you to preserve their own place on the team? If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, then you understand firsthand the feeling of being hit by friendly fire.

I, too, have been wounded deeply by those I trusted in the workplace. But if you know me, then you also know that I try my best to never waste pain. I ask myself what I can learn from it and how can I grow?

WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT MYSELF AFTER BEING HIT BY FRIENDLY FIRE

• I need clear structure and authority. I will not be part of an organization that doesn’t have an organizational chart in place. It must be clear who each person reports to and what the chain of authority is. If this is not in place, then I will choose to step aside until it has been established.

• I need to have the courage to confront from the ‘get go’. The moment I feel uncomfortable, I will go to the source and get clarification. I will never confront by email - only face to face. And it will be my responsibility to ask any question needed at any time.

• I will not be bullied or pressured into decision-making. I will walk away from any situation that makes me feel this way. I will ask myself and evaluate, “Why the hurry? Why the pressure?” After that, if I am not confident of my answer or my input, then my answer is “no”.

• I need to feel valued. I need the freedom to express my ideas and thoughts. I feel respected when I am kept in the appropriate loop of communication. I need appreciation for what I do right or what I do well. I also need correction and input for my growth where needed. And, I need to be challenged.

• I won’t enable others to treat me poorly. I am the only one responsible for standing up for myself. I will take full responsibility for what I have control over and I will set personal boundaries. I specifically will not allow myself to be mistreated and/or devalued in order to keep a false peace amongst others.

Christie Lee Rayburn

ChristieLeeRayburn.com