When market shelves are fully stocked with toilet paper, isopropyl alcohol, flour, and yeast and we won’t be stunned
When our homecomings are not punctuated by a solid 20 seconds of hand washing
And we can smile at each other with the entirety of our faces, not solely as a pair of eyes above a mask
This will be true one day, but not today
There will be a time when Amazon Prime returns to next day delivery
When the targeted ads in my Instagram feed are anything other than athleisure, a tempting array of sweatpants like I’ve never before seen and somehow still resist
When I will book travel and look forward to experiencing somewhere new
And not adventure to the pharmacy or Target as vacation destinations
This will occur in the distant future, but it didn’t happen today
There will be a day
When our kids go back at school
When we see little ones on a playground and pause and smile with gratitude
And current events will cover a range of topics, not just the One
This will happen one day, just not today
There will be a day
When we begin to mend what was broken
When we may take a collective global breath and sigh with a big deep inhale and know that we will be okay except when we aren’t
And we’ll be better prepared god forbid there’s a next time
This will happen one day – it’s not today
We will return to a sense of “normal,” though normal will never be the same
We’ll have our hair cuts and manicures and pedicures, we’ll improvise graduations and proms
We’ll tell each other stories about how we managed with updates on our confinement projects
We’ll be happy except when we’re not, and we will continue to mourn and grieve what was lost
And we will remember what we found
This will happen one day. Today isn’t it.
Today I am grateful for the unavoidable moment at the bank supporting the essential nature of our business in which the teller and I talked about how much we dislike the heat under our face masks, celebrated our treasured personal hand sanitizer bottles then wished each other a good day
I might return to learning ukulele on YouTube
I will connect when I can and disconnect when I remember I need that too
I will write a letter and put it in the mail
I will reach out to the friend who lives alone
I will enjoy the smell of fresh baked cookies
I will complete another crossword puzzle like I did before all this started
I could even organize another closet
(there must still be one I haven’t done)
I will cuddle with my husband, kids and dogs, not necessarily in that order
I will send a silent prayer to all those on the front lines, to those recovering, to those suffering,
And to us all in our shared vulnerability and our resilient and delicate humanity
https://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/one-day-but-not-today-FEAT.jpg11251500Karen Peryhttps://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/karen-pery-header_logo-300x58.pngKaren Pery2020-04-06 22:19:312020-04-18 14:03:58One day, but not today
I am not an oracle. I’m not a fortune teller, a psychic or a mind reader. I have no way to predict the future though I wish I did. I am highly sensitive, deeply intuitive and empathic. I feel A LOT.
If I had the answers, believe me, I’d be shouting from YouTube or my driveway to anyone who might listen and not dismiss me as a mildly unkempt woman in her bathrobe yelling into the void.
I feel like we’re on a big timeout, a collective, global, slow the f down. Once the world opens up again, we may begin to realize how false borders are, human to human. Timelines have changed and expectations have changed along with them. Graduations, celebrations, weddings, fundraisers, festivals, even the due date of our tax returns (in the U.S.) have shifted forward. We’re living in a TBD world.
While we can’t make solid plans other than washing our hands and keeping a safe and healthy distance from each other, we can, optimistically plan ahead. We can work with what we’ve got. We can get ready.
I’ve noticed myself saying, “let’s hope to” instead of “let’s plan on.”
We can learn to be comfortably uncomfortable exactly where we are.
I think we’re going to be okay, but I also think we’re going to be really sad, frustrated and disappointed for quite awhile and we will grieve and mourn the loss of what was.
I think we’re going to have to learn to deal with how much we depend on future plans for our happiness, how quickly we look outside instead of inside for a sense of joy, fulfillment or satisfaction. I think we’re going to notice how quickly we get bored and how boring we become when we can’t have what we want when we want it.
I think we’re going to have to accept how fragile and interdependent we are, even though we used to believe we were strong, resilient and independent (at least in the U.S.).
I think we will continue to be humbled by all we don’t know, how quickly and easily we are seduced into fear and panic and how much we truly need community and to care about each other deeply.
I think resilience will begin to look and feel different than “toughing it out” and will become more relational, more knowing “we’re all in this together,” everyone, everywhere, without exception.
I think we have an opportunity to be more creative and more self-aware.
I think as more is taken away from us, the more we will begin to focus on and acknowledge our true needs and gifts.
I think we’re going to step up.
https://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/fortune-cookie.jpeg11251500Karen Peryhttps://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/karen-pery-header_logo-300x58.pngKaren Pery2020-03-19 17:44:062020-04-18 14:00:47I am not an oracle, but I feel things
This is a snippet of a conversation I had with a client a few months ago.
See how much of this feels true for you. X feels out of control, so instead of telling yourself, “Wow, X feels out of control” and acknowledging how powerless you feel right now, you’re trying to get everything right, but it’s impossible because of everything happening at the same time.
And, instead of sitting down and crying because you’re overwhelmed, or asking for help, or saying it’s too much, or saying no, or taking a pause, you’re focusing all of your energy on the one thing that does feel good and right (your work) and when that’s not perfect you’re snapping at everyone and feeling bad about yourself for doing it.
She laughed out loud and we shared a moment.
Overachieving is a beast we both intimately know. Unlike most addictions, overachieving tends to yield positive outcomes.
It’s like being a dog that can’t stop barking because it’s a self-rewarding behavior and we continue behaviors that are rewarded. We DO, and we get a gold star. We do MORE and get more gold stars. Hooray for gold stars! We LOVE knowing how well people think we are doing!
We produce like little machines and we receive all this delicious external validation. It feels like all the extra effort is worth it, and if the effort is worth it, we must therefore, be worth it. The achieve-reward cycle becomes a compulsion, earning validation, praise and elevated status … before it leads to burnout.
I don’t wear “overachiever” as a badge of honor; being labeled as one makes me feel misunderstood.
A new friend heard about my book and grilled me about it.
“But there’s no such thing as overachieving,” she insisted, “you can only achieve. Anything else is, well, redundant.”
I KNOW! I TOTALLY GET IT!
I wrote half a book about it. (The other half is about discovering joy.)
For most of my life, I believed I had to do more to be okay.
Just to be okay. Normal. Good enough.
One day, without realizing it, “overachiever” had become my identity. Without all the gold stars, I didn’t think I mattered.
Our culture LOVES overachievers and doesn’t consider the downsides.
The shame of overachieving comes when I realize I simply cannot do all I have committed to doing. I feel responsible for letting people down. No matter how much I achieve, the bar is set so high I am destined to disappoint. I am empty and depleted instead of full and accomplished.
Do you know how confusing this is?
I start to believe that if I cannot be and do all the things, I AM bad, unworthy and unlovable. I spiral into doubting everything about myself. Shame is a deep, deep well that bottoms out in depression. Depression SUCKS!
Even after watching Brené Brown’s illuminating TED talks (listening to shame, and the power of vulnerability), I had no personal concept of shame (likely because I had convinced myself I was over here being awesome … except for the times that I felt like a terrible human and not worthy of existing on this planet without having to earn my spot on the team…but again, I didn’t talk about that).
The good is thrown out with the bad, negative self-judgments fly every which way in a tornado of rotten garbage strewn around in my thoughts.
It’s not pretty.
Those were the thoughts I kept inside until I landed on a therapist’s couch to deal with childhood trauma, PTSD and C-PTSD. In therapy, I learned the difference between shame and guilt. Guilt=I did a bad thing. Shame=I am a bad thing.
We need better language for this.
Brené Brown‘s glorious “The Gifts of Imperfection” turns that word on its heels.
It’s about doing what’s right, and what comes from guiding myself by a sense of purpose, cultivated self-awareness, and trusting my intuition.
When I am guided by my own light, my life is different.
On the days I write, I am consumed and in the flow. I take everything off my plate that I can, which includes not scheduling a service appointment to fix my dishwasher “because I’m going to be home anyway,” and it will likely involve dinner delivered or something very simple if I’m cooking.
(My family reminds me that every meal I make does not have to be unique and spectacular.)
I will not be responding to every text when I see a badge on my phone nor will I be looking at my email to see who has responded to what and what I need to do next thinking I need to respond immediately.
I write so much about this because I think it’s helpful to know that I have made countless errors in judgment and I’m gently and continually on a path towards improvement. For all the times I ignore or crash through my feelings instead of slowing down to check in with myself, I know one way or another, I will end up in a heap of tissues and tears.
I am learning to question how I habitually hit the gas at emotional yellow lights instead of pausing to consider whether I should stop or go.
Usually, if I slow down to the speed of my unique GPS, the answer is no, not now, or no, and of course you don’t have to do it at all.
You don’t have to figure it all out and you really don’t have to do all the things – especially not all at once.
Spring 2016:Hamilton? That Broadway musical phenomenon about the first Secretary of the Treasury? Yeah, I guess I’ve heard of it.
Summer 2016: We sing along with Corden’s Broadway Carpool Karaoke before the Tony’s (which Ellie and I watch from beginning to end while the house sleeps). The Hamilton soundtrack is the music of our summer, accompanying every morning’s carpool to theatre camp. We listen to the songs intermixed with stories from the Audible reading of Hamilton: The Revolution for depth and context. We are obsessed, especially Ellie.
Even Jake starts rapping.
Daily Hamil-news, memes, Instagram posts, Pinterest boards. Our conversations start with an acknowledgment of our Hamilaria, “Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton…” We smile together and barely hold ourselves back from breaking into song when a woman at the store says her name is Angelica. I ask Ellie if she wants us to call her Eliza. She considers it.
June 23, 2016: I text Carrie while we’re talking about Ellie’s upcoming performance of The Tempest (and how she and I should attend next summer’s adult Shakespeare camp). Trying to get Ellie to NY before a lot of the Hamilton cast leave the show…but logistics are prohibitive.
We talk about going, but tickets are scarce and expensive, and I’m leading a retreat the days prior to the big show. After retreats, I’m practically a zombie and I’ve learned to put myself into seclusion to recharge. It’s the best thing I can do to keep myself sane and productive. I suggest it might be easier to buy 11 year old Ellie a Lamborghini than to see Hamilton on July 9. I put it out of my head…
Until Rafe and I start talking about it. The show is coming to Los Angeles in 2017. We can take her for her 13th birthday. But Lin-Manuel Miranda is developing the Chicago cast for that production, so maybe we’ll go sooner. The coin flip conversation of LA or Chicago is analyzed and discussed without a decision.
July 4th holiday weekend: car trips all over California give us miles to listen to the complete soundtrack together as a family, beginning to end, line by line and note by note. The Hamilaria epidemic has spread.
July 5, 2016: Rafe comes home. I need to talk to you about something. He’s serious.
He wants Ellie to see the show in New York on the 9th as an early celebration of her Bat Mitzvah. I cry, so touched by the gesture and how much it will mean to her. I know it’s best for him to take her. He’s a better traveler and I’ll be exhausted. Jake and I will enjoy a quiet weekend at home sharing the experience vicariously through texts and photos while recovering from the event. Jake tells him he’s a good dad and a good person for wanting to give this experience to Ellie. We find tickets and flights for them. When we share the surprise with Ellie, she lights up like fireworks.
July 7, 2016: The retreat changes the game when my role unexpectedly shifts from facilitator to participant. We are in the midst of an AMA session, Ask Me Anything. The organization’s leaders have given me a vision which this retreat will fulfill, and I’ve created an opportunity for the group to share stories as responses to anonymously submitted questions.
Storytelling builds leaders, and the ability to connect and relate to one another vulnerably builds bridges among and throughout this team. With new stories, they can work together towards new outcomes. They value equality and fairness; of course they want to include me in their process.
If you could change one thing about yourself, Karen, what would it be?
This group is courageous and it’s contagious. I’m serving people who are focused on a mission. They’ve opened their hearts to each other and to me. Earlier, I’ve explained that my approach to developing leaders involves identifying where they are and helping them expand into who they want to be. Now the tables have turned.
“I’d be more brave.” I explain how I see bravery, and how people assume I’m brave because I do crazy things like adopting horses and learning to surf in my 40s, but really there is a lot I choose to set aside regardless of what I want because I’m afraid.
That’s hard to admit.
(You want a revolution? I want a revelation.)
July 8, 2016: I wake up, not unlike other mornings, with a song from Hamilton in my head. Jefferson sings, “What did I miss?” and I’m telling Rafe what pictures I need him to take of Ellie in the Big Apple so I don’t miss out on the moment.
He’s already been up a while (he will never be satisfied). Do you want to go? Tickets to the show are still available, and we can catch a redeye after the retreat ends and be in New York in the morning. All of us together. An epic family weekend adventure. (History has its eyes on you.)
(Wait for it)
I’m acknowledged during this retreat for modeling healthy boundaries. Boundaries create safety, and when I’m asking people to take risks, I want them to do so feeling as secure as possible. We start and end on time. We stick with a program. It works. So saying no is not usually hard for me. (Say no to this.) But I don’t recognize how often in that NO, I’m saying NO to a part of me that wants to say YES.
How often does my automatic and immediate no stop me from an even better yes?
With new stories, we can work towards new outcomes.
(The world turns upside down.)
Yes. I do want to go. (I am not throwing away my shot.)
Yes. I will be tired. (Take a break.)
Yes. I want this. (She will never be satisfied.)
https://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/almost-didint-see-hamilton-FEAT.jpg11251500Karen Peryhttps://karenpery.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/karen-pery-header_logo-300x58.pngKaren Pery2019-07-12 14:36:492020-01-31 21:55:09The Time I Almost Didn’t See Hamilton on Broadway