What does the wisdom of autumn have to teach those who listen? What does the dormancy of winter teach, what does emergence of spring and the ripening of summer teach us? To those who expect to learn, much is taught.
“The worst enemies of trust are cynicism and selfishness and naïve conception of life in which one expects more than one is willing to give. Resentment, distrust and inauthenticity are the result. ” Fernando Flores
As we stand at the crossroads of the two party’s conventions here in the US, one has to wonder about the wisdom of being a nation divided in attacking rather than united in listening. When are we the people going to grow up and demand that our leaders grow up and form common goals, even if they are in only two or four year time frames? When are we going to start demanding their accountability to join forces in researching and developing new strategies that transcend the fragmented and positional solutions of pathetic partisanship?
Everyone reveals themselves in layers. That’s what makes it interesting to get to know people in our work, our life, and our world. When I was younger, one of my weaknesses was being seduced by the positive energy of people I got to know. I still have this weakness because as we now know, weaknesses are abilities, and as such, once we have them we will always have them. I am still enamored by the positive energy people express in my direction. What I am getting wiser about is expecting that if people express negative energy toward others, it won’t be long before you will find the same negative energy focused toward you. It becomes simply a call for paying better attention so we can better surround ourselves with people who are genuinely life-giving.
I got a call today from a nurse manager who I used to coach. We happened to be in the same city where neither of us live, so the serendipity was sweet. She’s starting to feel a somewhat “scary” yet compelling sense of spirituality and connectedness she’s never experienced in her life. Her question is what to do with this emerging new sense of herself and her world and sought me out because she always experienced this sense about me and thought I could give her some insight. My advice was to listen deeply and often to this inner voice. Listen for what it yearns and longs for. Maybe it’s some kind of reading or teacher, practice of meditation or yoga. It’s very beautiful to see the blossoming of spirit for the first time in someone’s life.
There are two ways we get in the way of our effectiveness: questioning everything we do and questioning nothing we do. The first is self-doubt leading to paralysis and the second is arrogance leading to blind spots. The antidote to both is a simple empowering reflection: What matters most?
I spent a few hours of cross country travel today working on creating an example of the power of dialogue as narrative. Nothing in my first 7 books comes even close to dialogue of any kind. I’ve never done dialogue writing or fiction before (unless you consider business books fiction), so this first piece is written with the intention to hopefully approximate some of the artistry and uniqueness of the craft. I now have a huge new appreciation for playwrights who do it masterfully.
…
Gabriela had been pacing all morning. She had already lost a week of sleep to restless and torturous dreams. Her mother, Susanna, had been watching her, still protective of her since her birth 16 years ago this month.
“You’re not sleeping”, Susanna said.
“No mama, it’s the dreams”, Gabriela said. “I’ve been having terrible dreams about wars and people in the jungle getting killed.”
“Do you know them?”, Susanna asked, “Do you recognize them?”
“No mama”, Gabriella replied, staring at the shoestrings on her tennis shoes she had been tracing with her fingers. It was true that the faces were unfamiliar to her, but she knew what the dreams were about. She knew they were about her father and the stories about his fighting in the revolution.
“Mama, can you tell me again the story about when I was born?”, Gabriela asked.
“I’ve told you a million times”, Susanna said.
“I know, but I need to hear it again.”, Gabriela pleaded. Something in Gabriela’s voice reminded Susanna of her own mother. The sincerity of her request was difficult to resist.
Rearranging the pillows on the couch behind her, Susanna began. “It was the revolution and I was a nurse in the volunteer army. Your father and I joined because we believed in the cause, and all of our friends joined too. It was what everyone did then. Our passion for a different world gave us such courage.”
“Were you afraid?” Susanna asked, her questions maturing with each telling of the story.
“We were, but I was so happy because I knew I was already having you”, Susanna replied. “And fortunately the fighting was light when I went into labor with you and I had medical people around me to make sure everything was smooth. I was lucky for sure when I went unconscious during your delivery.”
“But you saw me when you woke up. What did I look like?”, Gabriela insisted.
“It was awful. When I woke up you were gone. The fighting started up again and your father and his brother Pedro fled to take you and the other children to the place where Pedro’s wife Camilla was in safe hiding. She and I were pregnant at the same time, me with you and she with your cousin Miguel. It was wonderful because we became like sisters and when she died shortly after that in the fighting, I was devastated.”
Susanna paused for a moment, looking out the window and then continued. “You and I were separated for three months. They were the longest three months of my life and when I finally saw you I wept tears of joy and relief for days.”
“And father?”, Gabriela asked.
“I remember his face as I was losing consciousness and never saw him again. The reports we got were that he was with a group fighting in the North who were never heard from again”, Susanna replied.
Gabriela knew this, but she needed to hear it one more time. She sat quietly, now looking at Susanna. “Mama”, she said.
“Yes, sweetheart”, Susanna replied.
“Mama, have I been a good daughter?”, Gabriela asked.
“Why of course you have. It hasn’t been easy to raise you alone, but I have always been proud to be your mother”, Susanna reassured her.
Gabriela’s eyes lowered, and in almost a whisper said, “I wish you were.”
“You wish I was proud of you? How could you say that?”, Susanna said, “Of course I am, Gabriela. What do you mean?”
“I mean, I wish you were my mother”, Gabriela replied.
“Sweetheart, what are you saying?”, Susanna puzzled.
Gabriela paused and looked up. “Last week when I was on my way home from school for your birthday, a man came from across the street and started to walk with me. He said his name was Pedro”, Gabriela said.
“He had your uncle’s name?”, Susanna asked. “What did he say?”
“He told me the story of how I was born”, Gabriela said.
“What do you mean?”, Susanna replied.
Gabriela reached over, gently placed her hands in Susanna’s and in a soft, unsteady voice continued. “He knew everything. You know the part about how you always wanted a girl? He knew that. He knew everything about you. He told me about how he and my father fought together and how one day when everyone in their group was killed, he saved my father’s life. He told me that when Camilla had her child, she was a girl and that she and Pedro were heart broken because they wanted a boy who could carry on in his father’s footsteps for the revolution.”
Her hands had begun to tremble in the hands of Susanna. She paused as if it was impossible to continue, but she did. “They knew you always wanted a girl and that you never saw the child you had. And so he and my father agreed to give your son Miguel to Pedro and return me to you.”
Susanna sat, stunned and silent as Gabriela watched a tear trace the contour of her soft brown cheek. “How is this possible?”, she whispered.
Gabriela reached into her pocket, carefully retrieving a hand carved necklace, the way a priest would reach for communion in a chalice. She handed it to Susanna. It was the necklace her husband gave her when they were married the day before they went to war in the jungle. Somewhere in the confusion when Gabriela was born, it was never seen again. It still bore the engraving of Susanna’s name and it would change everything and nothing in their lives from that day on.
The Bush administration continues to flounder in diplomacy on the world stage, no help by the President who has been quoted as saying, “In politics, there are people who will tell you things that aren’t on their mind.” This would lead to diplomatic confusion indeed.
Today I helped a room of emerging leaders in government try on the 4 new conversations of the Intentional Model we present in “Instructions from the Cook.” They learned the profound difference between dreaming and complaining, inviting and blaming, small acts and waiting for consensus, and focus on gifts rather than deficiencies.
The prime take-away for this new generation of leaders: stop trying to transform public service cultures with the old reactive, defensive, and pessimistic conversations. Dare to dream, act, include, and appreciate.
