To NICHE or not to NICHE. That was the question.

Recently I tried to formally coach a family member. Yes Yoda, there is such a thing as try. We did the usual needs analysis, talked about goals, and uncovered values. I should have stopped at “I’m uncoachable” but of course I rolled the dice and tried to pass go.

The problem, you may be thinking is, you should never coach family members. I would agree with you except for the latest insight I had when I chatted with a potential client to see if there was a fit.
When asked what my “niche” was… I just chuckled and said, “I don’t have a niche, if you mean a demographic like women who are in their 30’s and stressed, or men who don’t know whether to climb the corporate ladder or the metal ladder.”

In thinking about this “niche” question I realized…wait… indeed, I do have a niche and all of my clients are nicely in it.

They are all:
Hard-working, intellectually curious, know that more is possible, want more for their life and the lives they touch, optimistic, committed to their growth and development, and generous with their appreciation.

What are the qualities and characteristics of people you do your best work with? Your closest friends?

Take a look at who is on your personal Board of Directors and see if there isn’t a pattern. Then ask yourself if your niche is a reflection of you (or your best self) and see what you come up with.

Or So They Say….Where “Piss Poor” comes from….

Where did “Piss Poor” come from?

“They” used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot and then once a day it was taken and sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were “Piss Poor.” But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn’t even afford to buy a pot — they “didn’t have a pot to piss in,” and were the lowest of the low.

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May,and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a “bouquet of flowers” to hide the body odor.. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water,then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water!”

Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying, “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house.This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That’s how “canopy beds” came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, “Dirt poor.” The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a “thresh hold.”

Sometimes they could obtain pork to add to a stew of mostly vegatables, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, “bring home the bacon.”They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and “chew the fat.”

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes,so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle,
and guests got the top, or the “upper crust.”

Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of “holding a wake.”

Or so they say…..

Living Life on Open Mic Night

My definition of hell is a place where the tapes of your worst moments on earth are played back over and over and over. What if the times when you were unkind to your partner, or yelling at your kid, or gossiping about a friend, relative or someone in the office, or really mean to someone in a store or restaurant was the only channel available 24/7?

This fear however, has never been enough motivation to lead an exemplary life where I am always mindful of what I say, how I say it, to whom I say it and when I say it. I’m more like the person who gets horribly drunk and prays to God they will never drink again, if only they come through this one.

Being married to someone perpetually kind, rarely angry and probably doesn’t have a total of two minutes worth of regrettable tapes from his entire life is a great example of what’s possible; but works as a motivator about as well as putting a picture of a model on the refrigerator as an incentive not to eat.

Well, I was busted last night on a conference call and NOT on mute. In fact, I wasn’t even listening to the call when they kept on saying, “we hear every word you are saying, Ronni. Can you please put us on mute?” My excuse-I was having a conversation with a friend who rescheduled because of hurricane Irene telling her about the call I was on, thinking she would then join the others and I could continue on my call.

That’s not the way it rolled. After 10 or 15 minutes I checked back in and discovered I had disrupted the entire call and they could only hear me. This of course was my second concern. My first concern? What did I say? What did I say? What did I say? Visions of public figures doing perp walks danced through my mind. As I quickly played the tape back in my mind I rated the content as personal and embarrassing but not humiliating. But who knows.

The question is, were those 10 minutes of shame enough of a reminder that life today is an open mic? If I can’t lead an exemplary life of words and deeds and kindness because I’m not the highly evolved person I admire and strive to be, can I at least stop making some of that noises that I will regret here on earth?

I’ve cleaned up my email life so those can’t be read back over and over but that’s an outside-in approach. An inside out approach is to always be a person I admire so that I would never have to worry about anything I said or wrote or did that was caught on tape. And guess what? We are all, always being taped. Even if there is no recording our words play over and over in the lives of everyone we speak to.

Please God, if you stop this awful feeling, I promise, I will never ever utter an unworthy thought again.

When the Shoe, Job, or Partner fits….Buy it, Take it, Love it

Recently I had a huge insight. In some ways it was a “duh” because it was so simple yet not so obvious. Everything is different when you look at a situation with different eyes.

“Fit” is my new favorite word. It means something feels good, and it implies it works for both parties. Okay, a shoe isn’t really another party, but it’s a great metaphor to feel the discomfort of trying to make something work when it doesn’t really fit. Blisters, pain, mad at the shoe, mad at yourself, let’s try and stretch it, let’s take a back-up pair, let’s break it in slowly, oh let’s just throw them out….or give them away.

Recently I had an “audition” for a gig. I knew instantly it didn’t feel right (not a fit) and I briefly fell into the trap of listening to my head (prestigious gig, give it a chance, nice money) instead of listening to my gut. The gut knows about fit, the head will try and make things fit.

As I was preparing my speech to say “no” they called me and said they didn’t think it was…..drum roll… “a good fit”. What a relief— for both parties. So why did it sting for just a second even though I knew I dodged a bullet? Note to self: A slightly bruised ego is a small price to pay to get rejected for something that wasn’t right and caused temptation.

Fit, whether it is a school, a job interview, a blind date, or a new client is that moment of knowing this feels right vs. I can make this work. When you buy the shoes in the wrong size they hurt, and in the long run you have to find another pair or walk around with sore feet. When it’s right, it’s easy.

And fit is always a two way street. It has to work for both parties. I knew the opportunity didn’t work for me, and I had forgotten to figure that it probably didn’t work for them either. Looking at “fit” as a two way street moves it away from judging the situation or yourself as “good or bad” to a much more neutral place of not for me, not for us, not for now.

Can you fit me in? Please? I’m about to have a fit.

Pee Wee Earns Wii. Do you Play the Note, or Add the Harmony?

I was reviewing a presentation with an MBA student who shared with me how important he feels good management communication skills are both in your career and in life. He noted how little formal preparation or courses he had in school and in his career relative to all the important things he had to learn (like financial accounting). To make sure his kids know how to communicate, he has already started to teach his 4 children (ages 18 months-9 years) how to communicate persuasively.

Here’s what he told me. Before they get something they want (I’m assuming a toy, not a trip to Rome or a car) they need to research and then present the idea to the whole family for a vote. Wow. What a cool idea!

I suggested to take it to the next level, why not consider having each presenter (I would love to be there for the 18 month debut) talk about not only why they should get a new Nintendo Wii game, but to do it in terms of what the benefits would be to the other family members. “Mom, if I get this game, I won’t be bothering you while you make our delicious dinner, and the two younger kids will be able to develop their fine motor skills and eye brain control, and you will be in a much better mood when daddy comes home and he will be so happy he will buy you a new car, and then we can all go on a trip to Disneyland”.

I think I hear some beautiful music.

Autism Ought To Be Understood…

When Zac ran a triathlon a year or so ago, I was there and so excited and touched by the effort it took, I couldn’t wait to post his picture and share the story. PBS is currently doing a special on autism. Zac and his family are featured.

There is power in using personal stories to connect deeply with others. I have know Zac (and his family) all his life and have watched this story unfold. PBS tells parts of this family’s story in a way you will always remember.

I promise you that watching this 12 minute clip will connect you to the pain and possibility a family with an autistic child goes through. Since autism is now 1 in approx. 110 births, we all know a family that is affected. This story will touch everyone. There is still so much to be said and done.

Pass this along to your friends and family and maybe, maybe perceptions will start to shift and legislation will get written.

Nancy and Steve, and Skylar, in your honor, I proudly post the link to Zac’s continuing story.

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/health/jan-june11/autism5adults_04-22.html

Re-Entry…It’s not Just for Astronauts Anymore

For the last several months I’ve had the privilege of getting to know some folks I may not have otherwise come across in my day to day life. For right now, the particulars aren’t important. Suffice it to say, meeting some of these gentleman started me thinking of the resilience of the human spirit, how much courage it takes and how difficult it is to go through some of the simple transitions let alone what it takes to make a huge re-entry.

Let’s start with a simple re-entry. Students coming home from college for Christmas vacation. Now they have to account for their sleep, their driving, their spending, their eating and their coming home or not. Re-entry into rules. Stressful for all, but not life-altering.

There is going back into the workplace after you’ve been out for a while….having a baby, unemployed, taking time off. Re-entry into matrix management and the collapse of hierarchy, technology challenges and work-life balance. Confusing, but eventually most figure it out.

And those who are back into the world of dating after they’ve lost a spouse, gotten divorced or broken up in a relationship. Cyber-dating, learning to pay bills, not being a “we” or an “us”. Lonely, sad, frustrating but eventually most learn how to cope and go on to build a “new normal”.

How difficult it must be to finish treatment for an addiction and re-enter a world filled with temptations and people who can partake and enjoy. …and you can’t. So hard, so hard, so hard.

And now, back to the gentleman who started this train of thought last night.
Incarcerated for 15 years. (He started off in a Federal penitentiary. I learned that as you “do your time” you move around from higher security facilities to lower security places….who knew?).

Talk about re-entry. Formerly making $20,000/day…yes…drugs…and now re-entered and excited about building a small business with all the frustrations associated with any business. When he “re-entered” he did not know we had moved from subway tokens to Metrocards, did not have a clue about all the technology changes, the neighborhoods that had reinvented, and yet he was committed to figuring it all out and making it work. He re-entered with all of his baggage and labels and an even stronger commitment to do good and never go back.

Putting things on a spectrum doesn’t take away from how it feels for an individual…it’s just an order of magnitude in a more objective sense. We each carry our own load and have our baggage. Sometimes it helps to see that others are carrying an even heavier load.

So grateful, so hopeful, so filled with admiration.

Happy New Year to all as we re-enter.

Did You Hear the One About……

Things in 3’s are powerful. It gives us a psychologically satisfying feeling. There is closure. It sounds musical to the ear. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. The father, the son and the holy ghost. We cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. Friends, Romans, countryman. A priest, a rabbi and a minister. Yes we have, yes we can and yes we will. Wine, women, and song. The butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker. Tall, dark, and handsome. Hook, line, and sinker. Hop, skip, and a jump. Beg, borrow, and steal, Signed, sealed, and delivered. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. The good the bad and the ugly.

The 3 experiences I had in the last 3 days were great, greater and greatest, perhaps not in that order. However, it did feel like one of those times when one of the proverbial, things in 3’s had indeed occurred.

-I attended a lecture by several distinguished professors at NYU.
-I attended the taping of a friend’s son’s debut on Comedy Central. (Way to go Michael).
-And then, I attended (yet another) lecture on the brain and neuroplasticity.

So how do these 3 events link up in my mind to be a holy triumvirate?

Let’s start with two and three. I have always loved laughter and feel like it is a sweet sound of joy and freedom. Since I can rightfully say, “I’ve done some standup myself” I couldn’t wait to cheer on our friends son. And he did a great job. Did you hear the one about the devilishly handsome comedian telling R rated jokes about his family and parents with all of them in the audience applauding wildly? A hilarious and brave performance!

The next day in the “brain” lecture, the main point was that the brain is a connection machine. It loves to make connections between what it is currently experiencing and how that maps to what is stored. Jokes are so satisfying to us (and we release dopamine and adrenaline when we laugh) because ultimately a joke is about connecting two things together that we hadn’t thought about in that way. Woody Allen: Some day we will all be in space, traveling from planet to planet going at the speed of light, but we will still all have to wait 45 minutes for our luggage.

And number 3. One of the distinguished professors spoke about how a teacher in her life inspired her. She described him as “the shadow that stands behind you to urge you on to reach a standard of excellence….when the paper is good enough and you still press on, when what you’ve produced is good enough for an “A” but it’s not as great as you can do and you press on, and when you’re tired and you keep going and press on.”

We all stand on the shoulders of everyone who has come before us and those applauding now, telling us….you can do it, you did it, you can do more.

What I Learned on my Summer Vacation. Not.

BLOT….Bottom line on top—We complicate things. We over-think things. We analyze instead of appreciating. And, it’s all a lot easier than we think.

After taking many courses this summer (most that I truly loved) on NLP (neurolinguistic programming) Neuro-psychology, Intuition, Focusing, The Egoic Mind vs. Essence, Q-storming, and I can’t even recall right now all the other classes and courses that were so funzy and inspiring….. (and I won’t begin to list all the books I read), I will net it out for you. Don’t.

How about this thought? What if we were to believe, right now, just as we are, that we are ENOUGH? That the answer is not around the next corner, in the next book, in the next job or relationship, but is and always has existed within us.

Here’s what I know…always knew….and didn’t have to learn. All we have to do is turn up the volume on what it is we really want and listen to our own voice and message. Don’t rationalize, distort, make excuses, dummy it down, pretty it up or ignore it and TA DA….you are there. We know ourselves better than anyone. Trust yourself. Like yourself. Believe you know best and act on this information.

The wallpaper in the guest bathroom in my old house was filled with “wise” sayings. (Yes, I love words and like to have something to inspire me at all times). One of the sayings I remember is, “worry is interest paid, in advance, on borrowed trouble”. Seriously, when has worrying about something ever helped? Taking actions help. Worrying is distracting and not productive. When we worry about bad things happening; and they happen, we say, “see, I was right”. It’s almost as if we actually believe that worrying prepares us or in some cases, wards it off. NO. Preparation prepares us. How often have we worried about something, say, medical and we go to the doctor and they found “it”. “IT” would have been there if we worried about it or not. It wasn’t the worrying that got you to the doctor. It was making an appointment and having a test done.

We are worried about being late for an appointment. The only thing that changes whether we are on time or late is how fast we are going and if there is traffic. Worrying is like making wacky movements as the bowling ball is going down the alley, as if crunching or body hard to the left will guide the ball from going into the gutter. (No, I don’t bowl, I just like analogies).

Hard to believe, Bob Marley was closer than all the genius’s. It’s really simple. Don’t worry. Be happy. At any moment we are only one thought away from peace. Choose it.

Eat Cake and Die? My Adventures with Celiac Sprue

A colleague of mine just sent me an email telling me she was recently diagnosed with celiac disease. I was going to send her an email about my experience and then I thought,….hmmmm….why should one person be bored and tortured with my tale when I can blog and reach out to others who may possibly benefit from this story?

Twenty-five years ago I went home to live with my folks for a few months. I arrived with a medical chart that said I was suffering from malnutrition and I refused to be admitted to the hospital. This diagnosis was very hard to believe since I had a voracious appetite and was living in the USA. (Okay, so New Jersey isn’t the gourmet capital of the world.) The malnutrition diagnosis, however, came after they ruled out end stage cancer or aids. (Yes, I looked like one of those starving children we are asked to adopt on late night TV). So when they finally diagnosed my illness as “only” celiac disease, it really was a cause for celebration. At least for me.

In order to get back to total and complete health, all I needed to do was stop eating foods that contained gluten. That seemed like a really good deal from where I was coming from. (The next Thanksgiving my Uncle gave a toast, “to Ron…who’s still with us”…and that was the first time I heard they thought I might not make it. This possibility never crossed my mind).

My family showed their concern about my new condition in fairly typical fashion. My mother declared at most meals that she would rather kill herself then live without bread, my father continued to ask me if it was okay to drink orange juice (I never drink orange juice before or since) and my brother, upon hearing me tell someone that this was a well-known and common disease in England, Ireland and Wales, asked, “Why do whales get this”? This is thought to be a genetic disease. Hmmm. Not in my family. We only pass on the good stuff. No one was willing to go out on a limb that perhaps my Grandma Celia(c)….who chugged Pepto Bismol and chewed antacids her whole life may have had this or something related.

At that time, this was considered a relatively rare disease (my doctor said I was the first case he saw) and the stores were not plentiful as they are today with gluten free foods. Just a bit of medical info here. Gluten (from the Latin, glue) pastes down the villi on your intestines and you are unable to absorb nutrients from the food you are eating. There is a host of gastro-intestinal issues and in my case, as it was quite far gone, I had a few other complications (no clotting factor, anemia, edema, etc.). Basically, with celiac you are missing (or maybe even used up) the enzyme that breaks down the protein in certain grains. With a gluten free diet, the “sludge” is removed and the villi, after several months of no gluten, are happy to stand up and wave again. When you ingest gluten, the villi go down for the count and after a certain point of playing stand up and laying down, they stubbornly refuse to get up and fight and you may have chronic problems. (This varies greatly, from cheater to cheater).

I used to be the “go to” person for anyone suffering with gastro-intestinal problems. Today, they have a blood test to determine if you have celiac disease (common in young babies and then in adulthood). The stores are now filled with gluten free foods and many people even chose to live gluten free even if they don’t have celiac disease. Many people confuse it with a wheat allergy, but it is truly not an allergy at all. Since being diagnosed though, I have developed food allergies that I never had before, like throat closing and skin rashes from eating or even touching the skins of many fruits.

Here is what I know:

There is a continuum of gluten sensitivity and intolerance. (Some people will eat foods containing gluten and remain asymptomatic—remember, it’s not an allergy so no “allergic” reaction like eating nuts— although eating these foods may be doing gradual, internal damage). Once you are diagnosed, for all of us, it is a lifelong adherence to a gluten free diet—it doesn’t “go away” or get better. (It’s still an orphan disease and not much money is going towards finding any cures). What you need to know, however, is that gluten is in just about everything we have come to think of as “good” like in “goodies”.

The literature talks about a nun who gets sick from a communion wafer, someone else who can’t lick a postage stamp without getting symptoms, and now there’s the celebrity author, Elizabeth Hasselhorf, (The G-Factor) who keeps two sets of everything in the kitchen (heaven forbid the knife that was used to cut her kiddies sandwiches into triangles could ever be sterilized enough to cut her melon).

I don’t eat anything “overtly” glutinous. No cake, cookies, pie, bread, pasta, pizza, cereal, etc. However, I know there are trace amounts in the condiments like ketchup, mustard, salad dressing, and in some of the sauces, cheese, soup, ice cream etc. that I consume. I don’t chose to live my life at the microscopic level so I’m willing to suffer the potential consequences (long term you are a bit more pre-disposed to certain cancers and there is more internal inflammation) of the minor indiscretions of having trace amounts of gluten in my food. I do this because I don’t want to think about this condition on a day-to-day basis any more than I have to.

It’s not hard to pick your way through any meal, anywhere in the world. I don’t obsess that the bread touched the turkey on a sandwich at a meeting. I just throw out the bread and eat the turkey. There never is a restaurant that doesn’t have something I can eat, and most Asian and Indian foods (my personal favorites and always have been) don’t contain much or any gluten. There is gluten-free pizza at the place on my corner and gluten pasta in many of the Italian restaurants in NYC. I’m totally used to the internal conversation (this is what I would love to have) and then there is what I actually order. There are those people who torment waiters and are just picky, fussy, or watching their calories but that may not be what’s happening when a celiac-er is ordering.

There are smaller things in my life that I’ve made a bigger or noisier deal over than having celiac sprue. There’s not a lot of “poor me” and as I don’t really like sweets, I’m luckier than some and fine with the occasional chocolate, frosting on the cake or just ice cream. It’s really hard for kids and those are the ones I really feel sorry for. Imagine how difficult birthday parties are for them and what it’s like for the other kids in the house who are not gluten intolerant. What I miss most is pretzels…all shapes and sizes. Glutino makes a gluten free pretzel ($7.99/bag) and it’s okay but it’s not a Philly pretzel with mustard or an Anderson’s Bavarian hard pretzel.

I will say that it wasn’t until last month when my dear, sweet friend Terry invited us over for a TOTALLY gluten free dinner that I realized just how deeply I appreciated someone taking the time to pay attention to me and my celiac. She had several hors d’oeuvres and appetizers with at least 3 kinds of crackers and multiple dips and about 7 dishes all meticulously prepared gluten free. She made an amazing cake and desert which she insisted we take home (I ate it as a breakfast bread for a week)
I was so tearfully appreciative of her efforts (thoughts of erecting a statue to honor her) that it made me realize that although I suck it up and go on as if it’s no big deal that perhaps it really has been more difficult then I admit to myself. (I’m not built not to have the things I want so of course, it must be a little hard…at times.)

HINT: If you have a friend or relative with celiac….small homages of gluten free crackers in your house when they come over will be greatly appreciated.
CAUTION: If you don’t do anything to acknowledge their plight and you know they have this disease, they WILL notice you haven’t said or done anything. This could cause endless conversations depending on their personality.

So what can I say, all these years later? Relative to what some people have on their plates, this is really is NO BIG DEAL. However, if they develop the enzyme, synthetic or otherwise so you can eat gluten….I’m taking it. I have also declared that if I find out I’m dying and only have a few months to live, I’m gonna shovel in pancakes, pizza, hamburgers with the bun, and pasta like nobody has ever seen before. And every pretzel I’ve ever denied myself. And, I will make Joey Chestnut look like he’s only grazing when he wins the eating contests.