Amy Swift Crosby

To accept or decline.
To engage or pass.

It’s hard to predict when saying “yes” to something has the unintended consequence of disappointing people who hold you in high esteem. A recent situation had me questioning whether showing up at half-strength… was worse than canceling all together.

Like many of us, I’ve lived in different cities for meaningful periods of time. So when I find myself in my former stomping grounds, I often suffer from “never enough time to…” There’s rarely time to see everyone I want to see, do everything I want to do or be everywhere I want to be — because I’m there for work — which is the priority.

Recently, while on one such over-scheduled trip, I accepted an invitation to attend an intimate gathering organized by a friend; someone who, in kind, supports professional events/gatherings that I sponsor. But when the time came, my eyes were glazed over with fatigue, my voice was raw from talking all day, my brain was drained from problem-solving since 6am (to accommodate east coast time)…and all I wanted to do was turn off my phone and decompress. At the same time, I have always had an almost visceral reaction to flakiness, to a broken word — to disappointing anyone. I didn’t feel I could cancel, especially when I knew my presence was important to my friend.

In the end, I’m not sure that attending was the right decision because the version of me who did show up — kind of sucked. It was a “half me” — with energy more like a wilted flower than an additive contributor.

You have to wonder — who wins in that scenario? I kept a promise — but showed up on fumes. For those of you with an amazing game-face — you can pull this off far better than I can…. as I tend to wear my feelings, for better or worse, right on my face. At a big event, I can get away with it – but among just a few people — it doesn’t go unnoticed. Clearly (I mean I’m writing this, right?) it’s still pulling on my conscience in some way.

I find myself torn between wanting to apologize for lackluster presence — and – wanting a pat on the back for showing up at all.

Is the only option to prequalify a RSVP with, “Maybe, but I’ll be coming off a long day”?

This, and others like it, sound so (very) lame to me, as I judge them all as a half-yes — in other words — an insurance policy on a future copout.

But I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate support and make room for the possibility of yes, but insulate myself from the chagrin of canceling at the last hour and becoming one of “those” people.

This post requires suggestions.

What is your strategy for conundrums like these? Weigh in here. Inquiring minds need your wisdom.

You really remind me of…
This project is a lot like…
That situation is very similar to…

Metaphors help us make sense of things. When we compare ‘this’ to ‘that’ it gives us the ability to experience something new, as familiar. But the moment we look for sameness, might also be the moment we lose our ability to experience something new in its purest expression. It seems like the act of searching for relatedness — in a relationship, project or circumstance – might unknowingly steal its potential. As a person conditioned to finding a pattern and connecting dots, there may be real value in doing the opposite. Could a tabula rasa state-of-being be more conducive to creativity, growth or depth? Is that even possible?

When I traveled to India earlier this year, our teacher asked us to resist making comparisons when tasting a new food or making cultural observations. This doesn’t seem revolutionary, but it takes conscientious restraint. When goats meandered through a chaotic urban thoroughfare, we made an effort to see that juxtaposition through new eyes, rather than revisit past trips and locales in our minds. We resisted the urge to compare monastic Ashrams in India to their cushy American counterparts, even though instant comparisons would have been easy to draw. It would also be natural to compare daily staples like chapatti, chai or Kanda Poha to other cultures’ quotidian equivalents. It takes discipline not to do this, surprisingly, especially in every day (non-exotic) settings.

I brought home an important lesson in this teaching.

Our instinct is to make meaning when faced with something new or foreign — to tie it to something we do know and understand. In fact running a successful business depends on it and signals our level of experience. Practically speaking, it creates efficiencies for others who need to understand our vision more immediately — and there’s obviously a place for this.

But maybe there’s also room to abstain from it, too. Assigning something we know, to something we don’t yet know, may have the unintended effect of removing whatever may be idiosyncratic or defining or purest about the new experience. Knee-jerk ‘labeling’ may actually limit our potential to see/grow or feel something more fully for what it really is.

Lately, I’m trying to clear this particular cache, if you will.
When a circumstance arises that makes me uncomfortable, or that I don’t immediately understand, I’m resisting the urge to narrate it — to put the expected punctuation around it as a salve to comfort or soothe what unsettles me about it.

Sometimes our own certainty is the very barrier we need to break through. Expansion – or a different kind of knowledge – could be waiting on the other side.

A friend of mine, one of the most capable, talented, effective entrepreneurs I know, recently handed over his daily meal prep to a nutritionist. Twice a week, perfectly portioned, custom-created breakfasts, lunches and dinners are delivered to his apartment. Why? So that he doesn’t have to plan/chop/decide what to eat, or how much. Why else? To lose weight.

But here’s the twist: he’s a chef.

How often do we abdicate control over something we’re really good at, to someone else who (deep breath) might actually know better? Usually, it is only when we find ourselves powerless to make the changes we know, deep down, are imperative; When we see that what we do that works so well for others, doesn’t produce the same results for our own practices/habits/ambitions.

It’s hard…
…to be a relationships expert who needs a dating coach.
…to be a CEO in need of outside management and leadership counsel.
…to be chef who helps clients combine food for optimal health, hire someone to do this very same thing, for him.

When owners or founders lose (or forget) their ability to say, “maybe I don’t know best,” they silo themselves and prevent others with the right perspective and appropriate training, to do right by the business. But what if real strength and leadership means knowing how (and when) to ask for help? Not at delegating to those who fulfill deficits – that’s easier – but in areas where progress is slow despite your own experience and wisdom?

What I tell myself is that support – even when it may seem duplicative and in my own lane – doesn’t mean completely letting go of the reins. Experience has shown, though, that there’s some real benefit, and maybe even relief, in loosening them…trusting another source…when I’ve been standing in one spot for too long.

This is a story about the benefit of intentionally limiting peripheral vision — for a finite period of time.

A few years back, I was in the hospital with a contagious and (at the time) unknown condition that posed a public health issue (thanks to modern medicine, Victorian diseases are now curable.) I was quarantined in a negative pressure room with two heavy glass doors — one to the outside hospital floor, and one to my room.  I half expected the nurses to wear Hasmat suits, their fitted masks always covering half of their faces. I found myself alone with my thoughts — big, scary, unthinkable thoughts. For anyone who has spent time in a hospital, you know that all you want to do is get out. Not knowing how long you have to stay is a particular kind of torture. My early days were filled with doing whatever it took to not fall apart. What’s wrong with falling apart? Nothing at all. But when you know you have to keep it together for an indefinite length of time, keeping emotional mayhem at arms length seems perfectly justifiable.

Not being able to see my little girls, my husband, my friends, and knowing that it might be a while before I could see them, was a harsh realization. Strangely, it was at this time that something unexpected and fierce kicked in, almost involuntarily. In an isolation unit, I made the choice to stay present, as acutely as possible, to my immediate surroundings, doctor visits, and the times my husband could be in the room by my side. In my mind, the future was either infinitely hopeful, or unnervingly bleak — and because I didn’t know what the future held – I had to make a conscious effort to tune out either extreme. I distinctly remember forcing myself away from the rabbit hole lurking nearby.

I’ve heard extreme athletes talk about how they manage pain and distance in this way. North Pole explorer Ben Saunders talks about only putting one foot in front of the other, in the course of a 900-mile journey, as one way to manage the journey still ahead. By blocking out their immediate future — which is just too big to endure at times — they find relief in presence.

Recognizing that sobbing and losing my mind was not going to make anything better, I began a disciplined practice of not indulging in anything outside of “here and now.” This allowed me to conserve my energy – for whatever was in store. Some people later called this brave or resilient — but I recognize it for what it is, and for me, it was survival.

I’ll bring this back to intense periods of work or life cycles — and here’s why. Sometimes, when the work / people / deadlines / expectations / inner dialogue are unusually heavy or loud, I find that these same blinders function as a curtain on what can’t be immediately solved. They pull focus — just for a period of time, especially in a crisis.

Having the ability to shut a few things down that I can’t control, to power up for what I can, has proven to be a an invaluable skill.

It’s amazing to me that unprecedented strength can be born of such fragility. And how temporary blinders can serve as safe passage to whatever is next.

I like to think of this strategy less like a dam holding back rising waters and more like a sieve narrowing the flow; Its one way to manage feelings that would otherwise cause certain collapse.

When Alicia Keys started her #NoMakeup movement, like many of you, I said finally, a famous woman standing up to false ideals of feminine beauty standards and the quest for eternal youth — someone in the limelight, unapologetically showing her un-made up face. Her message was unequivocal:  “I’m not going to cover myself up anymore; not my face, not my feelings, not my dreams, not my pain. No more.”

YES. Could you high-five that woman any harder?

Lipstick, mascara, concealer –  these are the enhancements that we think make us more valuable or wanted. It’s totally fun (I love make-up), but it’s also a crutch, something that let’s us obscure reality, or create an unhealthy hiding place. We’ve created lots of them:

Apologizing for no reason.
Deflecting compliments.
Being ashamed of our emotions.
Questioning our gut instincts.
Asking for less.
Botox.

When we get real with ourselves and others, by speaking or being the truth, drawing boundaries, trusting ourselves — confidence, and with it freedom — become real.

I love seeing advertisers like Valentino (Christy, above) celebrate a naked female face, because it’s really expressing much more than a fashionable aesthetic; it’s no handcuffs. No industry. No veil. No apologies.

Crutches aren’t the enemy.
It’s the false pretense that they determine our value, that is.

When we’re free, from whatever has us captive, it feels different. We can breathe, because we’re more fully expressed. We stand in our talents / scopes of work / leadership — not with indignation or self-righteousness, but with a quieter, more truthful strength that doesn’t need to be radicalized, to be real.