At various points in our personal and professional lives we realize that things are amiss. Sometimes there's just a vague sense of unease, a flickering shadow that gives us pause. On rare occasions it's a full-blown crisis, a breakdown, a sudden and sharp recognition that important parts of our lives are broken. More often we find ourselves somewhere along that spectrum, aware that we've drifted away from our hopes and aspirations, confused as to how we got here, uncertain about what to do next.
Each of these moments presents us with an opportunity to do the work. To acknowledge to ourselves, and to others, that we're flawed, anxious, misguided, grasping, human. To recognize that our explanatory narratives and organizing principles--the ways we interpret and make sense of the world--are out of date and need revising. To pause our ordinary activities and ask Why am I doing things this way? Or even Why am I doing these things at all?
But doing the work is work. It takes effort. It compels us to see ourselves clearly and honestly, and to cultivate a tolerance for the resulting discomfort. It takes time. It requires us to deprioritize other commitments and reserve those hours for these purposes. And it takes patience, because the work is a process, not an event. Breakthroughs and epiphanies do occur, but not on a reliable schedule, and usually after a period of struggle.
Most of us opt out, declining these invitations on a consistent basis. We don't have the energy, we don't have the time, we don't have the patience to do the work. At least not today, not this week, not this year. Or so we tell ourselves. And for long stretches of time, sometimes decades, this is fine. We cope. We get by. We muddle along. But without regular maintenance, things tend to work until suddenly they don't, and that's as true for individuals and careers as it is for relationships, operating systems, and internal combustion engines.
Sometimes a crisis or breakdown jolts us out of our illusions and into reality. The work will get done under these circumstances, but it's a hard way to get started. We thought we were taking a walk around the block, only to find ourselves hitchhiking cross-country, with just the contents of our pockets to see us through. Thus the value of accepting the invitation, even--and perhaps especially--when we'd rather not. Every uncomfortable experience we avoid is a missed opportunity to practice for the times when we have no choice.
So what does this look like in concrete terms? What is the work? There are three fundamental practices, although they can take countless forms:
Reflection
It starts by creating some open space that will allow us to think. Then we need to stop "doing things" for a while and perhaps just sit there, although this doesn't mean that "nothing happens." A fallow field looks lifeless, but the soil is actively replenishing itself to prepare for the next growing season. And when we sleep our brain doesn't "turn off"--it's humming with activity in preparation for our next period of wakefulness.
Similarly, when we pause to reflect, we transcend our deliberate intentions and allow all sorts of other things to happen. We tune in to faint signals that are drowned out by the noise of daily life. We slow down our monkey mind, gaining perspective on our assumptions, interpretations and responses. We stop confusing motion with progress.
Reflection can occur in a brief interlude, a long walk, a meditation session, a quiet drive. It can take a few minutes or occupy a span of hours. But it doesn't happen when we routinely prioritize what's urgent and neglect what's important.
Journaling
And yet reflection isn't enough. After a period we have to take our abstract thoughts and feelings and render them more specific and tangible. We have to make choices about what to focus on and what to leave out. And we have to distill it all into language, which necessarily involves a form of "translation," even when writing in our mother tongue.
This act of journaling accomplishes many goals at once: It strengthens our memories of experiences, evokes implicit emotions about those experiences, and helps us work through and resolve difficult emotions. It also allows us to revisit these ideas over time and to share them with others.
There's no particular format that's optimal, but note that I'm not talking about the equivalent of a middle-school diary in which we meticulously record the mundane details of existence--such efforts are quickly abandoned. A journal can be a leather-bound volume, a stack of Post-Its, a Word doc, or a website. And a journal entry can be an in-depth essay, three words scrawled at bedtime, a string of musings, or even a post like this one. The key is choosing a format that meets our needs, making it more likely that we'll follow through.
Dialogue
Despite the necessity of solitary reflection and journaling, we can't go into a corner and think our way to the solution in isolation. We desperately want this to be true, so we can hide our vulnerability and avoid the terrible embarrassment of being flawed, anxious, misguided, grasping, human.
But we are fundamentally social creatures, and reality is socially constructed through narrative. Doing the work inevitably entails sharing our thoughts and feelings with others in order to create and re-create our narratives, solidify and re-establish our reality. We must be seen and acknowledged, and we must observe ourselves in the image reflected back by others.
Again, there are innumerable settings in which to pursue this practice: An informal talk with a friend. A formal engagement with a coach or therapist. A T-group, peer support network or even a 12-step meeting. All are forums for dialogue in which we can be witnessed and bear witness in turn. And yet such conversations don't always come easily--they must be built on a foundation of safety, trust, and intimacy.
These practices are the building blocks of The Art of Self-Coaching, the course that I created at Stanford in 2015 and made freely available to the public last year.
For Further Reading
Open Space, Deep Work and Self-Care
How to Think (More on Open Space and Deep Work)
Don't Just Do Something, Sit There! (Mindfulness for Busy People)
Brené Brown, Vulnerability, Empathy and Leadership
The Art of Self-Coaching (Public Course)
When We Are Ready, The Practice Will Be Waiting
Photo by Public Domain Pictures.