You’ve committed to do something big and bold.

Like telling your boss you need a new project or you’ll quit. Or deciding to start your own business. Or launching a new product.

All of a sudden, woosh! You’ve got a ton of energy and enthusiasm. You’re fired up and furiously moving forward. Woo hoo! It’s a joy, it’s a gas, to move full-steam ahead in the direction of your dreams.

Everything is great…um…uh oh…until you hit a heap of hesitation. A crapload of confusion. An megaton of misgivings.

The way you navigate your doubt-storm really matters.

The big and bold thing I decided to do? A few weeks ago, I made a huge commitment. I quit my part-time job and chose to pursue to my new vision full-time, The Sensational Shift — which I’ll be launching as a website in July, to help guide entrepreneurs, solopreneurs, visionaries, leaders, and creative types — like you — to experience amazing breakthroughs that spark you to be truly sensational.

I even held a commitment ceremony in nature, with six friends surrounding me. I love ritual, and I figured that by consciously announcing my intention, I’d expand my positive energy and feel propelled forward to create The Sensational Shift.

For a few weeks, I was on a roll with The Sensational Shift, my new venture!

I hired a web designer. I drafted an eBook. I developed a unique kind of coaching. I launched my first Sensational Play Date.

And then, last week, the heap of hesitation started.

I started getting jumpy. For no logical reason, I felt a tsunami wave of doubt.

Worries invaded my mind: “Is this the right business name?” “What if no one wants what I have to offer?” “Did I choose a good web designer?”

The more I believed those thoughts, the more tense I became. My shoulders tightened intensely. My stomach went jello-y and jittery. My forehead squished up.

I started wondering if I should abandon The Sensational Shift before I even started. Hmm, “Maybe I should take a part-time job,” crossed my mind.

And then, I got the hiccups. You know, those little gasps of air, the bursts of energy throughout the day. My diaphragm muscles went into spasm. I started swallowing more air. My body was pulling in more inspiration.

When YOU get the hiccups, you get upset, wish them away, and find them to be a nuisance?

Or do you just “ride the wave” and allow the hiccups to emerge, without making a big deal of them?

For me, instead of pushing away the hiccups, each time they’d emerge, I gently inquired of my body: “What are you trying to tell me?”

Then, I awaited a reply.

Later in the day, the words “courage hiccup” came to me.

Oh! I was just experiencing a “hiccup” in my sense of courage. A momentary lapse in inspiration. A temporary departure from believing in myself. Not a permanent condition.

I discovered this: The more I simply acknowledged the courage hiccups, without really doing anything about them, other than caring for myself, the sooner they passed.

I didn’t fight the courage hiccups. But I didn’t give in to them, either.

When these courage hiccups came on, I told myself, “These self-defeating thoughts are temporary. They’ll pass.” When the courage hiccups descended, I chose to nurture myself. For me, that meant calling friends for support. And hiking in nature on a trail with expansive vistas. And slowly savoring a chocolate-dipped strawberry.

I found relief from the courage hiccups came fastest when I awakened my sensational, sensate self, through pleasing touch, taste, smell, and sounds.

I also slept off the courage hiccup. Happily, I awakened the next morning feeling more energized. The tension I’d felt in my body had melted away substantially.

So, maybe your temporary loss of courageousness is like having hiccups.

They’ll pass. Don’t worry too much about them. Don’t make a big deal about them. Don’t imbue them with any deep meaning. Just distract yourself with something else, particularly something pleasing, until they pass.

I’ve been eating big, hairy monsters in the morning. And it’s making me feel good.

If that sounds crazy, here’s what I mean: “Big, hairy monsters” are the projects and activities that I dread. That scare me. That I worry about. And I’m practicing something new. Instead of putting them off, I’m slaying them. Early. At the beginning of the day.

I try to plan just one big hairy monster per day. Yes, sometimes more monsters await me. Especially because I quit my job to launch a new business in a few weeks, The Sensational Shift. If you’re an entrepreneur, you know that you’re always venturing into the unknown, doing things you’ve never done before, wondering what’s ahead. That’s hairy and scary to me.

So I’ve been reminding myself to start the day with eating those big, hairy monsters. Yesterday, the monster was writing a creative brief for the woman who’s designing The Sensational Shift website. Today, the hairy monsters have been writing this blog post and getting my newsletter out. Slaying the monsters has taken me the whole day. But it’s done. No more of this monster. Just the happy result:  Connecting with you.

Here’s what’s been really powerful for me: The more I deal with them in the morning, the less those big, hairy monsters bother me at night.

I no longer go to sleep fretting about what needs to be done. I no longer wake up at 3 am with hairy tasks on my mind.

So, how can you start eating big, hairy monsters in the morning?

1. Make a to-do list the night before. That way, you’ve got your day planned in advance, and you can hit the ground running in the morning.

2. When you make the to-do list, put it into priority order. What must be done today? What big, hairy monsters do you need to slay? Make sure to take care of them first thing, instead of procrastinating.

3. Look over each activity on your to-do list, and ask yourself, “Can I get this done in 25 minutes or less?” I’ll explain the “25 minute” part in just a moment, but the basic idea is that you want to give yourself manageable “chunks” of work (or monster slaying) to do. For example, if you write down “Do the bookkeeping,” that could be an all-day task. What are the components of that task? Gathering your receipts. Matching receipts up to bank statements. Reconciling your online account. The smaller the task, the more likely you’ll get it accomplished.

4. To motivate yourself, imagine the task as complete. How will you feel energetically, in your body, when it’s done? Relieved? Excited? Peaceful? Allow yourself to feel that energy now, before you start. Let that energy build. Then, use that energy as fuel to jump in, instead of getting mired in self-doubt and procrastination.

5. To make the feel easier and faster to complete, use the Pomodoro Technique. I am so glad I learned this method of self-motivation. I’m using it as I write this blog post. “Pomodoro” is the Italian word for “tomato” and the person who articulated it, Francesco Cirillo, nicknamed a 25-minute minute interval a “pomodoro.” The technique has five basic steps: 1. Decide on the task to be done 2. Set the pomodoro (timer) to 25 minutes 3. Work on the task until the timer rings  4. Take a short break (3-5 minutes) 5. Every four “pomodori” take a longer break (15–30 minutes). You can zoom through tasks this way.

6. Use music to boost your performance. My favorite music for concentration is the Monroe Institute’s “Breakthrough for Peak Performance.” It uses Hemi-Sync technology that’s geared to help your brain work effectively.

7. Congratulate yourself for slaying each big, hairy monster – and share the good news. I love to send an email or a text to a supportive friend, letting her know I’ve got this covered. The public acknowledgement feels uplifting.

What about you? What are your favorite ways to tackle down those hairy monsters on your to-do list?

Please share them with us, so everyone can slay their monsters!

Here’s to you being sensational!

Susan

I quit!

Yep. I just quit one job without another one in hand. Rebellious! I hope that you’ll use my story to give you some key insights and steps to clarify “what’s next?” in your career.

For the last six months, I’ve had a part-time job at in a local college’s MBA program. With the seemingly lofty title of “Associate Director, Employer Relations.”

Last week, I quit my job.

Truth: I didn’t have my next step totally lined up. Sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith.

I made this leap because I believe life is about maximizing your ROLE. (That’s doesn’t mean getting the biggest title you can). Your ROLE is your Return On Life Energy – the net outcome of maximizing your energy Gains, and minimizing your energy Drains.

I kept trying to make my ROLE work. But it couldn’t. The Drains outweighed the Gains.

The Gains? I’m a big-picture gal, a strategic creator. Teaching workshops on career management techniques jazzed me. Counseling students felt great. Reaching out to employers was fun. Unfortunately, those energy Gains accounted for only about 20% of my work.

Oy, the Drains! I was immersed in too much energy draining detail work for my taste. Administrivia, Like entering student data into Excel spreadsheets in hard-to-find places in multiple electronic databases. Dealing with too much academic bureaucracy.

For a few months, I tried to tough it out. But I know how dangerous it can be to do a job that’s a misfit.

We all have parts of our work that we don’t like. But when the drains outweigh the gains, continually forcing yourself to do work that doesn’t fit is dangerous. It gets you out of touch with yourself. (tweet this!)

I didn’t know what I’d do next…so I imagined knowing

Here’s the thing: When I first started getting inklings that I needed to leave this job, I couldn’t figure out what I’d do next.

Would I go back to my career reinvention coaching full-time? That didn’t excite me.

Would I take another academic job? Nope. Not entrepreneurial enough for me.

I was getting really frustrated about my future, until I remembered my own wisdom: Stuck on a problem? Can’t figure it out? Feel it out! (tweet this!)

I decided to actively listen to and trust my instincts and impulses.

How did I do that?

I started a daily practice: I imagined that clarity came to me, instead of me working so darned hard to make an answer appear. I stopped analyzing and researching and otherwise overthinking.

Instead, I visualized myself receiving a big huge “aha.” I also felt this in my body, like being hit by a powerful “shazam” lightning bolt moment of clarity about my future. I’d simply lie in bed in the morning and at night, and for a few minutes, I’d envision myself jumping for joy as I was hit with insights.

I felt playful as I immersed myself in this fun visualization activity.

Dealing with Doubt

Sure, I had some self-doubt or skepticism about whether this creative visualization practice would work its magic and give me insight.

I consciously decided to tell those negative voices, “Thank you. I hear you. And I’m working on cultivating faith. So please, for now, help me work on that. If you can’t do that, please take a hike.”

I also opened up my heart and asked the Universe (you know, a force bigger than myself – you might call it by a different name) to send me signs, symbols, coincidences, and flashes of insight about my future. I believe that we live in a benevolent Universe that is set up to support us. This is important, because sometimes I need my ego to get out of the way and trust that I don’t have to do everything for myself, all alone.

Even if you don’t believe all that, if it sounds like mumbo-jumbo woo-woo words, another way to view the “turning over” is that by dropping the attention of my conscious mind, my subconscious mind went to work on this.

Regardless of how the mechanism of change works, I asked, “Please show me clarity about my future. Don’t hit me over the head with a brick, since that would hurt. But how about some gentle signals and nudges to show me my path?” Cool tingles ran through my whole body as I imagined those signs popping up.

Within weeks, I started waking up with insights about my future work. Phrases would come, spontaneously. First thing in the morning, I’d feel moved by short poems about the body that seem sort of “dictated” to me. It would be as though I heard my voice in my head, reading words to someone else. So I got some colorful pens and began writing down these words in a cheery lime colored journal.

In February, I attended Paula Shaw’s workshop, The Max, where I became a 4 year-old. More importantly, I made a commitment to “play full out” in my life. In other words, that I would share my talents and perspectives without holding back. As Paula says, “Be yourself. Or suffer.”

Next, I felt an intuitive pull to sign up for KC Baker’s Women’s Thought Leadership Society, where KC supports women to bring out their message in the world. In our online forum, I shared a piece of my wisdom that I love to share: “If you want a sensational life, pay attention to your sensations.” (click to tweet this wisdom)

I felt affirmed when so many of the women in the group told me they loved that phrase.

But I didn’t immediately know what to do with this phrase.

“How could I turn this wisdom into a business?”

I mulled over ideas in my head, on paper, with friends, but I still felt stuck. So again, I consciously chose to allow the Universe to carry some of the weight of knowing the next step.

I also decided to do my own practices on myself. I letting the sensations of my body tell me how I was feeling about not knowing my new direction, and constrasted that with how I felt when I allowed myself to imagine that I did know my new direction.

About a week later, I awoke to the words “The Sensational Shift”

OMG! Wow! Yes! Zing! Ta-da! Eureka! That’s it — “The Sensational Shift!”

“The Sensational Shift.” These simple words encapsulate and hold so much of what I have been sharing with my clients in coaching sessions, so much of what I’ve been facilitating in workshops, so much of what I love to teach.

There’s immense power in our sensational bodies – to support us in making the shift from stress to success.

Sadly, most people use only using a fraction of their smarts – they focus on the logic and intellect of the brain. Exciting new research shows that when you get more in touch with the innate wisdom in your whole body – in addition to your brain — you activate:
• increased self-awareness
• greater emotional flexibility + fluidity
• stronger mental focus
• enhanced energy + vitality
• increased creativity + imagination
• more frequent inspirations + insights

I’m so excited to share this sensational shift with you!

Do you see why I quit that job? I was having trouble concentrating on students and spreadsheets when I was regularly being flooded with insights and ideas about The Sensational Shift.

I was moved to follow my heart and take a leap of faith. To start this new venture, even though I didn’t have it all set up.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing more of what I’m creating to support you in actively listening to and trust your sensations — the instincts and impulses that are your inner navigation system.

I’ll be keeping Work from Within for a few more weeks…and then transitioning over to The Sensational Shift. If you’re not already receiving the weekly newsletter I write, please do, so you’ll get updates.

So, is this new direction sensational…or what?!?!

On Sunday, I posted a story about easing physical pain. I suggested that by focusing your attention on your sensations, you

could become more present, aware, and vibrant.

But does this work with emotional pain, too? If you feel a strong emotion, like sadness, anger, fear, or dread, can you yourself to a state of serenity, just by focusing on what you’re feeling in your body?

Making a sensational shift, to paying attention to your sensory experiences, really allows me to regulate and shift my emotions.

I encourage you to try the practices I share, below, and see how this works for yourself. Try this with a not-too-upsetting emotion the first time, so you can work up to more stressful emotions.

Story:  The Boston Marathon coverage that had me in emotional knots…and how I returned to myself

Last Monday, April 15, I made a big mistake. I watched the coverage of the tragic bombing at the Boston Marathon. For the past twelve years, I have not owned a television. But my curiosity got the best of me. I knew I could watch video or see images online.

I ought to know better than to look at gruesome, upsetting images like that. Bad idea to peek.

My body felt the intensity of the event. My stomach knotted up. My back muscles constricted. My jaw tightened. I felt like I’d been on a rollercoaster too long. Enormous up and down waves of energy moved up and down within me. It felt as though my guts were in my throat.

I was at my part-time job at Mills College, working late in my office. What could I do for relief?

I found two sweet students nearby, and ask for a hug. It was as though they held me together when I felt unglued.

But ultimately, I had to go home, alone.

Despite staying away from the internet for a full day after that, I could not deny that my body was still filled with loads of tension from what I’d seen. When unspeakably horrific events occur and we see or hear about them, we are all connected to it, even if in only a small way.

And if the media sensationalizes these events, then the most empathetic of us can feel a toll that is spelled out in seemingly unpleasant sensations.

After watching the coverage, I had trouble concentrating. I felt disoriented.

Some people try to push away sensations they label as “upsetting” or “bad” with painkillers, alcohol, marijuana, mindless TV watching, or other distractions.

But I knew I had to listen to what my body was saying. Here’s what I did. And what you can try for yourself, too.

Surf one sensational spot, and speak it

I focused on my belly, as the sensations there were dominating my attention. So I sensed and spoke words including these, for over 10 minutes, patiently tuning in to my body’s sensory communication:

“Gurgling belly.”

“Tightness towards the bottom of my stomach.”

“Sour feeling at the pit of my abdomen, with slight burning.”

The sensations eased up, but less rapidly than my demanding mind would have liked. Still, I knew that I had to listen in to my own precious organism.

Stay simple and truthful

As I listened more to my body, I started to think “I need an antacid.” And my mind craved more answers about what happening in Boston. But I just kept re-directing my attention back to my moment-to-moment sensations.

“Tightness at the top of my head.”

“Pursing my lips together as I clench my jaw.”

“Squeezing sensation just under my sternum.”

Still, I couldn’t stay focused on these sensations. My judgments and perceptions kept telling me, “I want to shake this feeling.” So I tried an adaptation to step three.

Take respite in a neutral or nurturing sensation

My mind wanted to make sense of what I was seeing. I felt the urge to call a friend and ask to watch television. But no. I didn’t.

Instead, I focused on locating on a positive or neutral sensation in my body. It wasn’t easy, honestly. The “icky” sensations seemed to be crowding out the positive ones. But I noticed that my feet felt pretty ordinary, no pain, so I just focused there.

And I felt that they felt a little bit cool, especially at the toes. I didn’t make that mean anything. Then, I put a hand on my right foot and asked, “What are you trying to tell me?”

Interestingly, I got back a very intuitive message:

“Hey would you warm us toesies up with a hot shower? You know, that might feel good to the rest of the body, too. And how about going to bed early, and just seeing if this tension subsides if you sleep it off? You can’t concentrate anyway…”

And despite some considerations that I had some writing I’d planned to do that evening, and my judgment that going to sleep at 8:30 was waaaay early for me, I took that knowledge into account. And ultimately, I listened to my body’s wisdom.

That hot shower melted away a wee bit of the tension. Sleeping helped even more. And while I still had some discomfort the next day, especially as I flashed on upsetting Boston Marathon images I’d seen the day before, when they’d grab my attention, I’d notice what my body was experiencing, and put a hand on whatever part of my body seemed to be “speaking” the loudest. It was like a mother’s or friend’s care, concern, and love.

Slowly but surely, I could allow the tension and trauma to work its way through me. Sensational transformation, by being present to my moment-to-moment experience.

So, what does all of this mean to you?

I hope you’ll try out focusing on your sensational wisdom, before you ever need to use it to transform physical or emotional pain.

Practice now.

Surf one sensational spot, and speak it….and as you do…

Stay simple and truthful

Take respite in a neutral or nurturing sensation

What do you sense when you to this, right now?

I’d love to hear from you about your sensational self.

Remember:  If you want a sensational life, pay attention to your sensations!

If you’re a sensitive person like me, when you experience either physical or emotional pain, it can feel overwhelming.

I used to get panicky, jumpy, obsessive, mentally confused, and just downright exhausted if I either hurt myself, or felt hurt by someone’s mean-spirited comment or some unpleasant event that I’d experienced.

Fortunately, I’ve learned how to shift out of overwhelm and back into emotional and physical ease and presence.

If you’ve ever suffered from emotional or physical pain, I’d like to share with you a practice that can transform your experience, so you return to your own sense of serenity.

This week, I’ll post two stories. The first one, posted here is about physical pain. Later this week, check back for my story of transforming  emotional pain. Both will give you the steps you need to ease your own physical and emotional pains.

Story 1:  When the dog bites…transforming physical pain

One morning, a few weeks ago, I was petting a neighbor’s very adorable dog, Mason, when he unexpectedly bit me. I looked down to see a bleeding puncture wound on the middle finger of my right hand. I figured that washing my finger, applying rubbing alcohol an antibiotic, and a bandage would be enough.

Nope.

Unfortunately, at 4 am, I awoke to a tremendous throbbing in the injured finger. I hadn’t thought to remove the ring that I wear on that hand. My knuckle was enormous. Even if I’d greased my finger, that ring would be stuck.

A wave of nausea swept over me as I imagined my finger turning impossibly blue and tight. How much more unbearable could this throbbing become, I wondered? I was scared to go to the emergency room. I imagined seeing patients in much worse trauma than me. What if I heard someone scream in agony?

I know, I know, these thoughts didn’t help.

And I knew I had to get to a doctor. STAT!

So I drove myself to the ER. When I arrived around 4:30, I was the only patient in line.  My heart was racing, and I attempted to convince myself, “You’ll be fine.”

But by the time I finally filled out the paperwork and was assigned to a bed, I felt dizzy and incredibly frightened. I wanted to be seen immediately. But other patients needed care first.

So, while I waited, alone, I knew it was up to me to keep myself calm. I went back to the most basic, powerful transformational practice of my clinical training in somatic psychology:  simple awareness of my sensations.

Surf one sensational spot, and speak it

Surfing in one spot is like riding the waves of energy by focusing, for a moment, on one place in your body — and as you are there, mentally describe to yourself (or aloud, if that helps) the physical sensations what you are feeling in the moment

For me, in that moment, I was able to mentally describe what I was experiencing. But, truthfully, I also whispered some of these aloud. Hearing my own voice calmed me down:

“Throbbing in my finger. “

“Heat in my palm.“

“A line of warm, prickly energy moving down from just above my first knuckle to the center of my palm.”

“A squeezing sensation, left to right, as though my finger was in a vise grip.”

Stay simple and truthful

Staying simple and truthful means using specific, non-judgmental descriptions of what you’re experiencing in the present moment. No commentary. No interpretation. No dramatizing.  No conceptualizing. No jumping ahead and predicting what’s going to happen next.

After a while of this describing my moment-to-moment sensory awareness, and growing jittery waiting to be seen by the doctor, I veered off course. I started hearing in my head, “Well, this finger hurts like crazy! It’s intense. Shoot, now it’s going to get worse and worse, I just know it…”

My tendency in tough situations is to “awfulize,” in other words, to dream up the most awful scenario and play it out in my mind. Like that I’d have to have my finger amputated. Or that I’d be ignored and have to scream for a doctor.

Ah, my neurotic tendencies!

I started to tell myself, “This hurts!” Of course it did, but my sensory awareness practice teaches me to use specific, non-judgmental descriptions, and to avoid concepts. “Hurting” is a fuzzy concept. I could be more descriptive.

“My finger feels like fire!”

“The pinching of my ring is sharp.”

“The knuckle feels like it’s poofing up.”

By being neutral and non-judgmental, I could just be present, vibrant, and aware, instead of getting so emotionally worked up.

Take respite in a neutral or nurturing sensation

I was at a loss of other words to describe what I was feeling in my finger. So I decided to scan the rest of my body. It was helpful to find a spot that didn’t hurt so much. I chose the toes on my left foot. I’d already kicked off my shoes and socks before hopping up on the hospital bed, so I looked at the toes and wiggled them.

“My toes are wiggling.”

“My toes feel warmer towards the bottom, and cooler towards the top.”

“As I sweep my toes across the sheets, I sense that the sheets feel a bit rough.”

Within a matter of a few minutes, I transformed from a panicked, fearful mess into a more relaxed, coherent patient who could joke around with the doctor, and who smiled and giggled when the nurse ultimately cut off my ring and gave me a course of antibiotics that brought down the swelling and healed my finger.

All better now. : )

So, what about you trying these sensitivity supportive steps?

More on how to do this for emotional pain, coming up on April 23. Stay tuned to www.WorkFromWithin.com/blog for the next post.

Remember:  If you want a sensational life, pay attention to your sensations!

I love being four years old!

Yes, you read that correctly.

Being four allows me to run my business. Being four allows me to get through tough days. Being four helps me deal with difficult people.

I know, I know. You think I’ve lost my mind.

My driver’s license doesn’t say I’m four years old. It says I’ve been on the planet over ten times that long.

So, let me tell you what’s up.

More importantly, I’m going to share what you can learn from me, a humble four year-old.

The Max: Playing Full Out
I discovered my four year-old self about two weeks ago, while I was at the Esalen Institute, taking a life-changing five-day workshop called The Max with 24 other participants, eight assistants, and a leader named Paula Shaw. She’s a professional actress and acting teacher who conducts workshops for people interested in expanding their self-expression, well-being, and creativity. The workshop is about discovering yourself beyond who you know yourself to be. I signed up because I’d been feeling limited, and playing small in my business. It felt like time for a breakthrough.

During the workshop, Paula asks each person to stand up on a makeshift stage. The audience area is pretty dark, but you can make out the first row or two of chairs, filled with your fellow workshop participants. You’ve got a spotlight on you. From that vantage point, you look into people’s eyes. Not just skimming. Really looking. Then you choose one person and continue to look into his or her eyes, as Paula asks you about what you’re feeling in your body.

When it was my turn to get up, I felt curious and excited. Since I’ve spoken on hundreds of stages, so unlike other participants, I wasn’t nervous before getting up on stage.

But then I looked at the audience, slowly, seeing each member, one by one. And I fixed my gaze on Meg and her warm smile and short-cropped blonde hair.

Then I was nervous. For no apparent reason.

Paula asked me about the sensations I was experiencing.

“Um, my legs are shaking. Trembling, really. ” I uttered, as my voice shook.

Paula kept her eyes focus on me and said, “Let your legs shake and tremble. Where do you feel that? And what else do you feel?”

“The shaking is moving up from my knees to my hips.”

“Great! Great! Keep going. What are you sensing now in your body?”

Paula and I went on like this for five or six minutes, with the shaking intensifying. My body felt full of intense waves. I was undulating. The only other times I’d experienced this intensity of full-body shaking was in a body-centered practice like a Kundalini yoga class or a Continuum movement workshop.

Although I’m trained, through my experiential PhD in Somatic Psychology, to be highly attuned to my own sensory awareness, the sensations in my body were honestly starting to freak me out. My mind was trying to make sense of these unusual inner vibrations. People in the audience later told me that the shaking was quite visible.

Five or six minutes into the shaking, Paula asked me, “How are you doing?”

“I feel dizzy.”

She came up on stage and put a hand on my back for support. I kept looking into Meg’s eyes.

“Susan, you have shaking in your legs and hips. Can you connect it to anything in your life?” Paula asked me.

“Hmm, yes. I wore braces and casts on my legs from three days old until I was five years old.” I replied.

Oooh, boy. I opened up a powder keg.

Connecting Past and Present
“I was born with my feet turning the wrong direction. Essentially, a mild case of club-foot. So, to correct that, at night, I wore special shoes that fit into a bar. Kind of like having my feet connected. And sometimes, my feet and lower legs were in casts. And I wore saddle shoes, backwards. Well, I’d wear the shoe made for the left foot on my right foot, and vice versa.”

Paula asked me if I had any pain with this setup as a child. “No, my parents told me I was a good baby, and I didn’t cry or complain. Apparently, even though I don’t recall it, I learned to ride a bicycle while I was wearing the casts.”

While Paula and I spoke, she had me keep looking at Meg. Despite not looking at Paula, I imagined her grimacing as she said, “Really? Do you really think that your parents knew how you felt?”

Paula hit pay dirt. Tender feelings. A deep wound.

“No, I imagine that I was in pain. But my parents didn’t want to see the pain. So they focused on the smiling, happy me.”

“Were you allowed to be — or supposed to be — smiling and happy as a child?” Paula wanted to know.

“Yes. But sometimes, my family had enough of my exuberance. For example, I wanted to put on little shows and perform for people. I’d sing. And dance. And be silly. I could do it for a few minutes, but soon after, especially if we had company or visitors, I was told “that’s enough.” Somehow, I came to feel like I was too much, like I was a show off.”

“And how old were you when your parents started closing down your performances?” Paula asked.

“About four, I think.”

Being Four
So, for the next two days of the workshop, Paula asked me to be a four year-old, and to play, full out. To be silly, goofy, unbridled. To sing and dance.

I latched on to people. I asked lots of questions. I ran. I jumped. I wore mismatched clothes. I skipped. I was a very messy eater. I interrupted conversations. I blabbered on and on. I told potty jokes and giggled at them.

I tugged on people’s shirts. I made funny faces.

In short, I reveled in being a four year-old.

At the end of the two days, I had a startling realization:

I’ve always had this four year-old energy in me.

“Little Suzie” is the self who shows up when I’m improvising. Little Suzie fuels my imagination and allows me to come up with improbable, yet dazzling answers and insights. Little Suzie gives me the guts to do difficult things because she just shrugs he shoulders and says, “Oh, OK. I’ll do that,” without overthinking, worrying, or analyzing. She jumps in, fully. Unbraced. Unimpeded. Uninhibited.

Unbelievable, really.

I just hadn’t used that four year-old energy consciously. My experience at The Max helped me to see that I can call up that lively, childlike energy at will. When I need it. When I want it. No one has to know I’m doing it. Or I can tell everyone, like I’m doing now, with this story.

With my consciously invoked four year-old energy, I feel so much more powerful, creative, and excited about the directions I’m planning for my work. I’ll be sharing my plans with you in a few weeks. Woo hoo!

In the meantime, I have a big question for YOU…
When you look back at your life, what energy or aspect of yourself would you like to recapture? Maybe a playful four year-old?? A rebellious teenager? A clingy toddler?

How about you tell a few friends that you want to play that part, full out, for a day, and that you want their support by playing along? What might you discover about yourself? And if you’re not quite ready to let this energy loose for a day, how about for an hour? Or in your mirror? Or in your journal?

Getting in touch with your unexpressed energy is, in a word: Sensational!

Have you ever bombed?

I mean, really blown it?

Maybe you had to make a presentation to your executive team, and gobbledygook came out of your mouth instead of brilliance. Or you were supposed to make dinner for your in-laws, and you burned everything. Perhaps you volunteered to write the newsletter for your favorite charity, and a third grader could have done a better job.

What do you say to yourself in those moments when things don’t go the way you expected?

I bombed this past weekend.

Well, OK. Maybe, just maybe, I was being tough on myself.

If you’re tough on yourself, this story’s for you.

Here’s the situation: Last weekend, I took a workshop with the gifted performer and director, Ann Randolph. She helps people write and perform their life stories. I’d taken three previous workshops with this storytelling mama.

In one of Ann’s signature exercises, you repeat a phrase — either “I love,” or “I hate” — over and over again. Ann watches for the moment when you embody that strong feeling in a visibly potent way. Then, Ann calls out a word or a phrase, and you create an improvisation around that word or phrase, on the fly. No script. No rehearsal. It’s “go!” You’re moving, no time to think. Pure impulse.

Previously, Ann has had me improvise about “dating,” “working,” and “my housemate.” On stage, in the moment, I’ve bemoaned being single with my New York Jewish mother who wants grandchildren. I’ve complained about wanting to stay in my warm, comfy bed rather than go to the office to counsel people on their careers. I’ve shared the true — yet preposterous — story of a former housemate who wanted me to inject her cat with insulin.

With Ann, I never know what scenes and dialogue will emerge from me in the moment. Improvisation is full-on, giddy play. I don’t censor myself. So all sorts of inappropriate and taboo nonsense comes out of my mouth.

On stage, I am naturally funny. I love hearing the audience laugh.

But this time was different.

After a weekend of writing and performing with our intimate group of 10, it was time for the big performance with an audience of 40 friends and family. I could have elected to read and perform something I’d written that weekend, as most of my fellow workshop participants did.

But no! I love improvisation, and I was excited and delighted to revel in the moment. No scripted piece for me! I prefer the exhilaration of not knowing what’s ahead. Eight minutes with no agenda.

When it was my turn to perform, I stood before the audience, and giggled. Then, Ann told the audience about the exercise, and she gave me the words, “I love.”

I allowed love to fill my heart, and pranced around the room declaring, with full force, like a hyperactive teenager, “I love! I love! I love! I love!” Ann directed me to repeat a particular gesture, where I’d melted down and scooped my arms from waist to the ground. The movement felt kind of sexy and sultry, so I wondered if Ann would toss out a word like “sex.”

But that wasn’t the word.

Ann called out “Being alone.”

What? I love being alone?

For a moment, my mind went blank. Dark, really. Darkness was the first image that came to me. So I used it. I remembered my honeymoon, many years ago, and the blackout curtains in our hotel room, and how disoriented and alone I feel in the dark.

I wasn’t too keen on how I described the scene in our Roman hotel room. Was I telling a story about feeling alone with my husband, or alone in the darkness? If that confused me, I wondered if my on-the-fly story confused others.

Then, I moved to another story about being with a boyfriend in a gold mine. As we went down the mineshaft, I realized that I’d be underground, in the dark. My mind multitasked, giving me the story and also a none-too-helpful internal commentary: “Susan, what a stupid story to tell!”

Next, I confessed that I just don’t like to be alone. My internal judge wasn’t too thrilled with some of the things that tumbled out of my mouth. I mentioned my mother had wished I could be a Jewish nun, but I hated how I described her remarks. I spoke of being asked on a 21-day silent meditation retreat, and thought “That’s boring.” I mentioned that a friend had asked me recently to try a floatation tank. Honestly, I disgusted at the words emerging from my imagination and my lips.

My energy was pulled in multiple directions. I tried to be an open channel to allow inspiration to pour through for my performance. Simultaneously, my inner criticism was running rampant. “Sheesh! Don’t you have something wise to say? Can’t you create a coherent story? That was a dumb remark!”

When my performance was over, I was relieved. I’d wanted to make people laugh more. I didn’t want to perform about such a heavy topic as “being alone.” But that’s what Ann had given me.

Truthfully, I cried after my performance.

I bit my lip as I sat and listened to the last two performers while repeatedly wiping my eyes as warm tears ran down my face. I’m not sure if the audience could see my watery eyes when we took our final bows.

After the performance, I ran out of the gallery.

I felt so humiliated. Embarrassed. I kept telling myself, “You were awful. You didn’t measure up to your usual self.”

Fortunately, I also knew that those thoughts didn’t feel good in my body. So I reminded myself:

“Don’t believe everything you think.”

I walked briskly around the San Francisco block in the Potrero Hill neighborhood, then retreated to my car and sobbed. I called a friend, Louise, who’s taken Ann’s workshops. Louise empathized with me. “It’s tough to say “I love being alone,” Susan. I realized those words triggered negative emotions.

“I love being alone” hurt. Why? Because I really wish I was in a relationship. But, for now, I’m single.

After about thirty minutes on the phone with Louise, I saw Ann walk by my car. I called to her. She kept walking. I called again. No answer. Finally, I full-on shrieked. Ann stopped, surprised.

“Susan, what happened? Everyone missed you.”

Ann hugged me, invited me into to my own car, and we sat and chatted. She dispelled any myth that I had given an awful performance. She reminded me that the audience clapped. She highlighted that I took an interesting, unexpected angle on “aloneness” and “the dark.” And she told me that my movement always generates reliable creative impulses and that I follow them in ways that intrigue audiences.

I came home to an email from one of my fellow performers:

“Hi! I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the performance but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your monologue. You brought that miner’s cave “ride” to life and I was right there with you. I probably would have run back up the mine shaft, personally. It was a great four days and I really enjoyed being in class with you, seeing you take risks and be vulnerable is inspiring.”

Gulp. Deep breath. Maybe I need to go easy on myself. And enjoy what did work about this spontaneous experience.

I’ve been on a quest to learn to be easier with myself. Ease – not tension — cultivates resilience.

So, in that vein, here are three things you can say to yourself when you go hard on yourself. Print them out and leave them near your desk, bedside, or wherever they’ll be useful to you:

1. You’re probably being harsher with yourself than anyone else is being with you. Notice how your body feels. If you’re tense or tight, what you can to lighten up towards yourself? Take a deep breath, and tell yourself at least a few positive things to counteract the negativity you’ve spewed on yourself.
2. You probably want your performance to be even better than it is. That drive for improvement is natural. But don’t let perfectionism steal your enjoyment of the moment. Just for today, experiment with dialing down the punishment and perfectionism, and dialing up the enjoyment. Try that on for size.
3. Hey, I hear you being tough on yourself. Is that attitude helping? Really? How about softening up a bit? Just a little bit. Does that feel better, or worse? If it feels better, let’s try going just a wee bit easier for a moment. Hmm, does that feel better or worse? Keep loosening, softening, easing, in teeny, incremental steps. See what new levels of tenderness you can show to yourself.

What else do you say to yourself when you bomb, or don’t measure up to your own demanding standards?

Lovingly yours,
Susan

PS – Fair warning: The video of me includes loads of cursing. A lot. I think my foul language is genetically based, on the New York side of my family, not the British side of my family. That latter is the part of myself that’s being considerate and warning those who have kids not to listen to this with them around, unless you want to explain all the potty-mouth words. I didn’t think you did…