Story Hunger
We were sitting in a haphazard circle. CEOs, creatives, mental health professionals, a couple of attorneys, a high school principal, some folks of dubious vocational origins, and me. The facilitator, a little fairy of a woman flitted amongst the group, and delivered what amounted to sub-fortune cookie strips of wisdom. By no means is this an insult. Ill explain why, later. She locked eyes with a tech millionaire and said, “If you’d only give yourself permission, you could get it done, with zero problems.” His eyes welled with appreciative tears. She then moved with almost supernatural grace to this woman who had just retired after over forty-years as a personal assistant. Fairy facilitator gently held this woman’s face in her elegant hands and told her, sotto voce, “You will be that butterfly you’ve always dreamed of being.” Their eyes remained connected for a handful of seconds, and the former assistant let her tears flow freely, with a smile beaming on her face. She went around the room, connecting with everyone. When she got to me, I leaned into my default skepticism. There’s nothing she can say to me that will matter. Might as well consult one of those Magic 8-Ball toys. I can’t believe this was suggested to me by someone I trust.
At that time, I was in a slump. For my entire working life, I had always had more than one job. For the money, yes, but also to assuage my boredom. So I thought. I clamored for new experiences, something to inform me, my worldview, and to give me something to connect on with others. But there was something missing. Not bragging, but I’m mostly good at almost everything I set my mind to—except for drawing. Yeah. Zero skills there.
Back in the day, when I reached the point when the work became too easy for me, when it became rote, when it became uninspiring, I self-sabotaged. I’m talking about entering a crowded room, pulling the pin on a grenade and sitting there until it exploded, making sure that everyone caught a piece of shrapnel. Not only did I injure myself, I did my best to make sure others felt what I did. I tried to blame others, as if it were their fault that I was caught in job amber. Through individual and therapeutic self-reflection, I was able to point to why I did this.
That I was a good worker was undisputed. I did, can, and will outwork most people. I used to see work as a covenant. I saw it as akin to something nigh-holy. And when it stopped feeling like that, I felt like I was unworthy of my position, and the company’s mission, which I held in high regard. I felt betrayed. I saw my value as inextricably linked to what I could produce or solve for others. I saw myself as a machine. I saw myself as work, not as someone who works. It was my primary identity. So I felt adrift when the work was no longer satisfying. Hence the big why of my attendance at the workshop, recommended by the late, great, Simon Kraft. I miss that dude. He was a kind of connoisseur of self-help and self-help adjacent methodologies. And being the good friend that he was, after I expressed my numerous frustrations with him, he recommended the workshop I was currently attending. If Simon vouched for it, I was going to do it. No questions asked.
When Mallory, the facilitator, approached me, I thought I should’ve asked more questions.
Our time together was billed as a, “reset for mid-career professionals, those who who wanted to change careers, and recent retirees.” I really wasn’t any of those. I was trying to figure out who I was outside of working, and this seemed nearest the mark. I’d done incredibly deep dives trying to get help for my particular ailment, and nothing seemed particularly helpful. At two-hundred bucks for the day, not only was it the nearest to what I needed, it was the cheapest. I had a Calistoga water jug filled almost halfway with coins, took those to the nearest Coinstar machine (back before the fee was exorbitant) and cashed them in. All told, I cashed in $311.17. I could attend the workshop, and have a few lunches/dinners covered.
As she stood in front of my, I tried to telepathically deliver my hardcore skepticism. I needed her to know that I thought she was a fraud, and that I’d find a way to get my money back. I was down to one job and that $200 could go a long way. Mallory took a deep breath, stared my square in the face and louder than she had spoken to anyone else said, “You are so much more than you realize. You can do so much more than you’ve imagined, so far. Get after it.”
Lightning. Lightning strikes to my head and my heart. In those few words, she exposed my cowardice, my utter fear at being something other than a machine that generated profits for others, others who would replace me without a second thought. She forced me to see myself as…more. It was earthshaking.
I was the last one she spoke to, but not the only one crying. She continued on.
She had us in the palm of her hands. I won’t say that we were hypnotized—not sure I even believe in hypnosis—but we were most definitely transfixed until she gently informed us that our time together had concluded.
I stumbled onto the Berkeley streets in a daze. I got into my car and sat for what seemed like hours, trying to decipher what had just happened.
The intellectual part of me understood that she had taken what we’d offered on the pre-workshop questionnaire and had designed her simple responses based on that information. But the other part of me, that wonder-seeking part, the part that wants the world to be a magical place understood that words, languages, did not always have to be deep to have an impact. Despite my skepticism, I wanted to be transformed by that experience. And being that I was ready (even unconsciously) to receive an affirming message, I allowed her words to be the alchemical process I needed to become unstuck. It was analogous to that overused saying: When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
Mallory did nothing special, other than invite me to question myself in a way I’d never done so before. And more than 20 years later, I hold that lesson as tight as anything else important in my life:
The right words, delivered at the right time, and to the right person can enhance their lives. And this is why, in my work with organizations and individuals, I try my very best not to speak in calligraphy. I try to print when I speak. I want the words to be apprehended as easily, and as quickly as possible. I’m not always as good as this as I strive to be, however the results I’ve co-generated speak for themselves.
We won’t have a completed questionnaire when we interact with people, but what we can do is be direct, honest, and extend grace in any and every connection we may have, whether long term or microalliance--more on the latter, later.
