No Map. No Guide. No Limits.

I’ve always said that one of the gifts of physical adventure is that it can be so clarifying. Faced with an imminent or dangerous challenge, what’s most important to address first tends to become very clear, in very short order. A global pandemic like the coronavirus isn’t the kind of adventure anyone wants to encounter, of course. But sometimes, the uncertainty of an unwanted adventure gets thrown at us, and we’re left to react as best we can. And the lessons of adventure still apply. 

The first and foremost of those lessons—and the one most important to address first in any adventure emergency—is the importance of managing our fears. Fear, as I once wrote in an entire Flying magazine column devoted to the subject, is a demon that needs to be wrestled into a box and kept there, so we can think calmly enough to figure out how to make it through whatever we’re facing. 

Left unchecked, fear can paralyze us, impeding our capacity for clear thinking and creative problem-solving at the very times we need those abilities the most. It can also loom so large that the fear itself becomes a bigger threat than whatever actual challenge or danger is confronting us. We do not make our best decisions, or take the wisest courses of action, when we’re in the grip of fear. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to take a deep breath and consciously visualize grabbing my fear by the throat and stuffing it into a locked box or baggage compartment, to give myself the space to think clearly about how to solve or cope with whatever caused the fear in the first place. 

That’s not to say there aren’t circumstances where fear is warranted. And the idea that any of us can or should be “fearless” is a fantasy, unless our body chemistry includes a hormonal anomaly that suppresses the fight or flight response. But even when fear is justified, it’s not helpful in coping with the danger or risk facing us. That requires a clear head. So regardless of whether the fear at hand is a fear of loneliness, fear of an engine failure in flight, or fear of a global pandemic, it’s important to learn how to manage our fears.

So, here goes: a quick guide to managing the demon called fear. [click to continue…]

Happy New Year! Happy 2020! Can it be 2020 already? Eleven years have gone by since I started this website? How is that possible?

And yet, it is. Someone told me, when I was in my early 30s, that when you turn 35, someone hits the “fast-forward” button on your life speed timeline. The years start speeding by with increasing velocity; faster and faster, the older you get. Perhaps it’s just that each year, as you get older, represents a smaller percentage of your overall life. When you’re 4, a year represents a quarter of your life. At 40, a year is a mere 2.5%. 

But while I’ve certainly noticed the “fast forward” effect in my own life since I turned 35, I suspect more of the reason for the increasingly fast passage of time has to do with how busy we get; how many more responsibilities we have. When you never have quite enough time to get done what you want to in a day, the days fly by more quickly in a rush of continual catch-up. So New Year’s Day can spark feelings of not only a new beginning, but also a bit panic that another year has gone by and we haven’t gotten enough done, or that time is running out. 

Nevertheless, the beginning of a new year is still an opportunity to take a breath, take stock, and give some thought about what INTENTIONS we’d like to bring to how we go about living in the year that lies ahead. [click to continue…]

I hardly ever see movies in the theater, anymore. Part of the reason for that is because by the time I have an opportunity to think about going to the movies, whatever I wanted to see isn’t playing anymore. But in any event, I usually see movies later, on an airplane, or on TV. So I only recently got around to seeing the newest Toy Story movie—and discovered that one of its themes was surprisingly relevant to my work on authentic self and voice. 

Among the many laugh and story lines in Toy Story 4 is a witty bit of comedy that makes fun of the exhortation for people to turn to their “inner voice” for life guidance. Not understanding what his buddy Woody (a toy cowboy sheriff) means by listening to his “inner voice,” Buzz Lightyear (a toy flying spaceman) takes the instruction literally. The only inner voice he knows are the pre-programmed phrases that play from his mechanical “voicebox” when the button on the front of his spacesuit is pressed. In desperate search of guidance, Buzz keeps punching the button, saying, “Thanks, Inner Voice!” when the suit responds with inane recorded phrases like, “The slingshot maneuver is all we got! Full speed ahead!” and “There is a secret mission in uncharted space! Let’s go!” 

It’s funny because it lampoons a very real phenomenon: the oversimplification and overuse of the terms inner or authentic voice, especially in self-help circles. But even as I laughed, I felt a pang. Yes, “inner voice” and “authentic voice” have become overused cliché phrases. That’s why the movie joke is funny. But that overuse and “cliché” label may also make it harder to get people to think seriously about what a true “authentic” or inner voice means, what it takes to develop it, and why that struggle matters. [click to continue…]

There is a reason that magazines send professional photographers on stories … or at least used to send them, when there were still budgets for on-site reporting. It’s not because writers can’t take pictures. One of the trade-offs I made, when I was an editor at Flying magazine and lobbying for overseas assignments, was that I agreed to shoot my own photos on those trips to keep their cost low. But although I did it, I never liked it—mainly because I quickly learned that the mindsets of shooting and reporting weren’t very compatible.  

To write a worthwhile story, I had to focus on experiencing wherever I was: watching people, asking questions, listening, and being completely in each moment of life and action, whether I was in the air or on the ground. If I focused on really seeing what was around me, I picked up on little but really important details and insights that often changed or broadened my understanding about whatever I was writing about. It also enabled me to note details that allowed readers to get a better feel of what the experience was really like. As a bonus, I also quickly discovered that focusing intently on being in the moment is the secret to feeling really alive.  

When I also had to shoot photographs, however, I didn’t have the luxury of that kind of immersion. That’s because figuring out what to shoot, and how to frame those images, requires stepping back from the experience itself and viewing it as a spectator; focusing instead on what would be most interesting or impressive for someone else to see. As a result, whenever I was focused on recording an experience, I wasn’t really present in that experience. 

So every summer, when I see crowds of travelers walking around with cell phones always at the ready, intent on recording every meal, every landmark, and every possible photographic proof of being in a particular place (intensified if that place is distant or exotic in nature) … it makes me a little sad. Because I understand what they’re missing.  [click to continue…]

In my last piece about women leaders and authentic voice, I noted that even if most of us never end up leading major protest movements, we still often face difficult leadership moments where we can either act or speak up, or let problematic behavior or policy pass unchallenged. And that one of the reasons it’s worth doing the work of developing a strong, authentic voice is that it helps give us the inner strength to choose the former over the latter. 

Related to that thought about everyday leadership, however, is another fundamentally important, but often overlooked, point to think about, when we dream about changing the world.

When I was in my mid-20s, I remember complaining to my mother about having a job that, at least in my eyes, wasn’t allowing me to have meaningful, immediate, significant impact on the world. Important to note, here, is that the reason I had that job was that the job market in the early 1980s was pretty awful for recent college graduates. And I had not just rent, food, and personal expenses to cover—I also had college loans to pay. 

Year later, when I was struggling to survive as a freelance writer, I understood far better the value of a job that provided those basics. I even posted a sign above my computer that said, “Mr. Paycheck is our Friend,” that I’d glance at any time I was tempted to complain about a less-than-interesting writing assignment. 

But I also still remember my mom’s reply to my complaint. She told me that even though people often dream of changing the world in big, transformational ways, that wasn’t the only way to have meaningful impact. “If you want to change the world,” she said, “start where you are and do something, even if it’s something small.”  [click to continue…]

The image is arresting; compelling. A tall, slender woman, dressed in a flowing, white toob (the traditional long, wrap-around garment worn by women in Sudan) stands on top of a white car, speaking to a dense crowd of people looking up at her. We see her in profile, but she is elegant and composed, one arm resting against her abdomen as she gestures upward with the other. The white gown contrasts powerfully with both her own dark skin and hair and the multicolored skin and clothing of the people listening to her. The gold disc earring dangling from her left ear echoes the streetlights in the background so perfectly it appears she’s harnessed the power of light itself; drawing it into herself and radiating a more powerful version of it back to the crowd. 

The photo, taken during a protest aiming to oust Sudan’s strongman president Omar Al-Bashir (a feat accomplished this past week, when he resigned and was then arrested) went viral on the internet. It’s easy to see why. Some people likened woman, later identified as a 22-year-old student named Alaa Salah, to the Statue of Liberty, although the image reminds me more paintings depicting Jesus or Moses, preaching above the crowd, gold disc of holy light included.  

It also could be be a textbook illustration of the power of a woman speaking up with a deeply authentic voice. An article in The New York Times compared it to other iconic images of women at the front lines of protests, including a woman protesting the killing of Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and a woman enduring tear-gas attacks by police in Istanbul, Turkey. [click to continue…]

On the wall of my office, I have a framed copy of the cover for Flying magazine’s October 2000 issue. Unlike most of the magazine’s covers, which feature an airplane of some kind, this one featured … me. Granted, there is an airplane, or at least part of one, in the image. But I’m the main attraction. I’m sitting on the wing of a beautiful Staggerwing Beech biplane, in shorts and a blue, sleeveless, button-down shirt, gazing off into the sunset, under the headline “Oshkosh Dreams.” 

If that cover doesn’t sound familiar to anyone, it’s because it never ran. The art director always produced two cover layouts, one of which got chosen for the publication run. So I have the only copy of that cover. It’s part of why I like it, and why it’s up on my wall. I’m a cover girl, but only within the confines of my own home. 

More to the point, however, that image of my youthful, tanned self was taken more than 18 years ago. I still see myself, when I look at it. But I’m also not that particular woman anymore. So much has happened; so much has changed. That is, incidentally, as it should be. But it also emphasizes a really important point about being ourselves. [click to continue…]

What separates Tom Brady from Matt Biondi and Barry Sanders? And how does that difference relate to countering the stress of a workaholic culture, especially as it manifests in Millenials working for entrepreneurial or tech industries?

Tom Brady, for anyone who doesn’t track professional football, is the quarterback of the New England Patriots, in the news last week for leading his team to its 6th Super Bowl title at the sports-ancient age of 41, making him the oldest quarterback in NFL historyto manage that feat. But what makes him relevant here isn’t his talent or list of accomplishments. It’s the fact that despite having already endured 19 years of an ultra-demanding, 365-days-a-year training routine and punishing football hits, he’s made it clear that there is “zero” chance of him retiring yet. He aims to play, God and his body willing, until he’s 45.

Matt Biondi and Barry Sanders were also exceptional athletes in their sports. Biondi was the third-highest Olympic-medal-scoring swimmer in U.S. history (after Michael Phelps and Mark Spitz), winning a total of 11 medals, 8 of which were gold. Barry Sanders was one of the greatest running backs in NFL history, one of only 6 to accumulate more than 2,000 rushing yards in a single season, and the 3rd highest number of total yards in his career. Arguably, if he’d played more seasons, Sanders could have outstripped the two running backs ahead of him. But as I wrote in a piece for The Atlantic, both Sanders and Biondi walked away from their sports—Sanders at the very height of his career—saying, in essence, that it just wasn’t fun anymore.

How is that Tom Brady’s passion for playing football seems undimmed, while Matt Biondi and Barry Sanders’ enthusiasm for their chosen sports ran dry? The answer is complex and, on some level, unknowable to anyone outside of the athletes themselves. But a piece of it, according to Dr. Sean McCann, senior sport psychologist for the U.S. Olympic Committee, relates to how much an athlete is, or remains, motivated by internal, or “intrinsic” rewards. [click to continue…]

A lot of discussion, the past couple of weeks, has focused on the internal rifts of the Women’s March movement, or movements, in the run-up to the third annual Women’s March last Saturday. Charges of exclusion and anti-Semitism went back and forth between two of the big organizing groups (The New York-based Women’s March Alliance and the national Women’s March), adding fuel to the argument that women simply don’t support each other, or other’s success, the way men do. 

“My theory,” a woman with many years of corporate consulting under her belt told me in the course of my latest book research, “is that the reason men end up succeeding, aside from longevity, is that they don’t take each other out. And I think women generally do.”

“I think women are really supportive of each other when it comes to hard life events, like visiting in the hospital or being supportive of someone going through a hard time,” another woman observed. “But they’re not as supportive when it comes to men or power.” 

Are women constitutionally incapable of solidarity and sisterhood? I don’t think so, but we certainly struggle with it. The reasons are complex, and no one factor explains every woman’s position. But I have a theory, based on my book research, and it has to do with women’s struggle with getting their authentic selves and voices respected, seen and heard in the world.  [click to continue…]