Field notes from the control room

Hello Reader,

We’re in the dark recesses of COVID. I’m not sick, but the blue laptop hue makes me look unwell. Small faces stack like a weird Hollywood Squares episode, but instead of celebrities competing for charity, we’re a group of middle-aged (ish) women gathered together in a coaching certification course.

Wiebke, our teacher, with her brown pixie cut and piercing blue eyes, loves cats and freedom (she changes homes frequently). Now, she’s live from Spain, her tabby making the occasional guest appearance.

In this strange time of stockpiling toilet paper and avoiding human contact (does it ever normalize?) something shakes loose and we’re more open and intimate.

Coaching training is more practice than theory.

Over-sharing and TMI is the name of the game. As the folks at the Co-active Training Institute say, one of the prerequisites of any coaching relationship is that the client is coachable aka willing to be coached. And we all fit the bill.

Wiebke drops a lot of wisdom over the course of six months, but this one resurfaces again and again, even four years later.

We’re always at choice.

It’s easy to forget. Life can feel like bumper cars without the cotton candy, unable to dodge fender benders. Boom. Hit. Shook. Hair style ruined. Starbucks mocha frappuccino on jeans and the dashboard. Frustration rising. Cheeks turning into Flaming Hot Reds.

At least that’s what it feels like to me.

Until I remember that I get to choose. I get to choose how I respond to anything and everything. This choice is always available to me. I could laugh out loud when a glittery pink car shakes me out of my routine. I can get off the ride and try my luck at winning an oversized Kit Kat and teddy bear.

When I stop and take stock, I see that I’m creating my experience.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. The idea that life is happening to me, as I herd calendar appointments like cats, is what causes the overflow.

Whether this energy is coming from the planets, Black Mirror politics, my hormones, visits from a younger scared version of myself, or increased visibility doesn’t matter. It’s okay. I accept it and then…I get to choose.

I choose peace and trust. Fear has worn me out anyway. Maxed itself out like a Kardashian credit card. I choose deep breaths and a shvitz.

I went to a saunagus yesterday, a guided sauna experience I discovered in Copenhagen.

Our ‘saunagus master’, Oskar, with his red Daft Punk tattoo and beige terry cloth bucket hat, curated meditative house tracks and different scented oils as he swung an oversized bamboo fan around to spread the heat.

As the tips of my ears burned and the bass kicked, I released low vibe energy and salt water. Soaking in the cold water bath for two minutes, I showed myself I can do hard things. I reminded myself that I am directing this show. I get to choose to switch it up, sweat, shake, and give myself goosebumps.

I wrote in my journal this morning, sipping on Shiitake-infused tea, and told myself that I could choose to take things off my calendar and not give so many fucks about everything. It’s really not that serious. An old black notebook I bought in Chelsea Market with Oscar Wilde’s quote, “Life is too important to be taken seriously” on its cover seared this into my memory.

When I’m presented with the choice, I see that I wouldn’t change a thing, the podcasts, the work, the visibility, except the energy and belief I’ve been moving with. From life is happening to me to I’m happening to life.

I slide out of the passenger seat, slamming the door to the cream-colored vintage Mercedes (it’s my metaphor, why not?), and slip into the driver’s seat, brown leather squeaking as I tap my Liked Songs playlist, Weeknd coming through the speakers. A Hawaiian figurine moves her hips on the dashboard. My hair ripples out of the open window. Coconut and lemongrass circulate in the air (we do high-end car scents).

My shoulders drop. The weight lifts. Clouds part, curtains opening to the sun’s rays.

When I’m running around like the Tasmanian Devil after some version of the roadrunner, I forget I can stop chasing. I get to choose to run, take a nap, sweat, or sit on a rock and look at the expanse of the desert.

So, dear Reader, this is a reminder: You’re always at choice.

You get to choose how you respond. We may not be able to control what comes at us, but we can play with it, let it fly over our heads, catch it, push against it, laugh at it, let it go - whatever you imagine, you can create.

I am choosing a dose of levity. Dropping the overweight baggage filled with anxiety about the future and the heaviness of taking it too seriously. As Ram Dass said, “You can do it like it's a great weight on you, or you can do it like a dance.” (I don’t need that one on a notebook to remember it).

I am choosing to flirt with the here and now.

I’m listening to my playlist and spending time with you.

I don’t know what will happen, but I know I can trust myself to respond in a way that reverberates high frequency vibes inside and out (if I choose).

And suddenly, just like that, I’ve realigned.

Sometimes, life feels like a series of alignments and realignments. An opportunity to choose everyday. A chance to design our experience.

It’s so easy to forget.

I hope this helps you remember.

Keep creating,