While there’s a part of me that enjoys this time of year - I increasingly love wintering and lights - there’s also a part of me that feels the shoulds and gets overwhelmed.

The shoulds disconnect us from our bodies. And then they build up into regrets and grief.

The impact of living disconnected from your body likely shows up as feelings of…

Since November hit, I’ve wanted to jump ahead to January to get away from all of the buzz of November and December.

Some of the buzz feels nice - like downtown trees all lit up with lights, more baking to both warm up the kitchen and our stomachs, and candles and fires. Nature shows us this season is for slow down, rest, a turn inward, and connection with loved ones. I imagine myself reading a book tucked under warm fluffy covers with hot tea. 

But so much of the buzz feels icky and stressful.

“I’m a talking head, fully disconnected from my body. So I don’t know what I feel.”

That quote came from my own mouth when I started yoga teacher training, which I enrolled in 6 or so years ago, in part to learn how to listen to my body. I had a lifetime of learning to ignore my own body. I’ve had to learn how to shift from the overthinking that guided my decision-making to aligned embodied choices.

As I say to my clients, it’s a shift from “what do you need to do?” to “how do you want to feel?"

Making the changes in your life - whether it’s the career part or the personal part - requires a recognition that the inner work involves both the brain and the body, and the understanding that complex issues cannot be solely resolved through intellectual means.

Who are you?

Because you know at your core, you’re bigger and more alive than you are now.

This is the most important question you’ll answer. Trust me.

It is so common to experience an oscillation between love for your current career and a desire for a radically different life.

Last month, I was at the Gardens on Spring Creek, feeling drawn to the seeds bursting out of all the plants and trees as they made their way into autumn mode. I was struck by how nature was full of promises and future possibilities.

Each seed felt like gratitude even though the plant or flower had died (at least as we humans understand it). Yet the life-death-life cycle promises new growth out of that death. We may grieve the loss of that flower and also be grateful to those seeds and their promise of a new spring.

A few years before I quit academia, I wrote a “dear John” letter to the Higher Ed community to help me process letting go, even though I knew then I wasn’t quite ready. I could feel the need for radical, right-aligned change looming after my burnout and stress injuries.

There was a letter version that was angry and blaming. Then, there was a version filled with gratitude. I needed to write both versions.

Most everyone I‘ve interacted with over the last couple of years has experienced grief, even if they couldn’t name it that at the moment. Grief is something many of us spend time trying to avoid or ward off. If you’ve tried this yourself, you likely know how grief tends to snowball and catch up with you in ways that knock you down.

To be human is to hold the gift of grief that is love.

Grief is not linear nor limited to a timeline. Grief, instead, is to be befriended so that it becomes a part of us, not something we move beyond.

My recent conversations with Creativity Lab folks have really highlighted the struggle of high achievers to balance their desire for excellence with self-compassion.

These conversations remind me of why it’s so important to minimize the pressure to meet certain expectations that we create for ourselves. As talked about last week, often those expectations are ridiculously high and unrealistic when they are set by the perfectionist, hypervigilant part of ourselves.

I am not immune to this.

Routines. Love them or hate them. I hold both feelings. 

I love them in theory. In reality, they tend to fail me. 

If you have a routine and it is paired with little motivation, procrastination is likely to set in. Pair it with a neuro-divergent brain, and routine resistance triples. Recently I talked about my new practice of nature journaling with watercolors to kick me out when I find myself procrastinating. And going out for a walk when I feel blocked and want to procrastinate.

The failure of routines then isn’t about a lack of structure or a plan. Actually when I don’t have a plan going into the week, it will likely trigger some anxiety or overwhelm. That’s counterproductive for sure. 

Instead I want to present the idea that practices are the new routines.

Want to trigger perfectionism for folks? Start up something new.

In kicking off any group coaching program or workshop, I try to stress that whatever way you show up is just right for you. However, with the start of Creativity Lab, I’m reminded of some of my own and others’ signs that perfectionism has been alerted to the potential of failure and embarrassment. Or worse, to our potential success and happiness!

Take a look at these examples and see if your perfectionism shows up in similar ways.

“What got you here won't get you there.” - Marshall Goldsmith

With the kick-off to Creativity Lab last Friday, I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity work as an invitation to change work. I’m also in deep with a lot of organizational change literature as part of my consulting work.

Here are some themes I’m noticing: 

• You have to want change. And wanting isn’t enough. Willpower isn’t an effective change technique. 

• You have to build new neural pathways with nudges - small movements - that (1) shift your mindset to be more open and (2) engage new behavioral patterns. 

• You have to then do it all consistently enough over time as you continue to reset your nervous system through embodiment and connection.

Courtship is the slow, purposeful process of pursuit. The approach is one of open curiosity and commitment. 

And this, folks, is what your creativity is waiting for from you. Do you feel that tapping on your heart?

When you shift out of the acute burnout that comes from overing, you start to yearn for something more. But not more in the usual overing way. More in the sense of deeper, more regenerative, more whole, more YOU.