No Map. No Guide. No Limits.

The picture that most easily comes to mind, in imagining what “The adventure of being yourself” means, is that of a young-ish person doing something bold, exciting, and adventurous. Rock or mountain-climbing, maybe, or pursuing a dream career. It almost certainly conjures up notions of activities and paths that benefit us, or are aligned strongly with our individual desires and priorities. And to a certain degree, that is true. Being ourselves means figuring out what matters most to us and making choices that help us create a life that nurtures and gives expression to those values, priorities, and dreams.

But here’s where it gets more complicated. As I note in the book manuscript I just finished (Speaking Up: The Hard-Won Power of a Woman’s Authentic Voice), one of the three essential elements researchers have concluded lead to long-term happiness is having a sense of meaning in our lives. And while we can feel fulfillment, exhilaration and joy from pursuing something that’s just about us, a sense of meaning generally comes from committing ourselves to something we believe matters beyond ourselves.  [click to continue…]

On Halloween this year, just as I was getting ready to hand out candy by myself, a neighbor called and said they were going to have a fire pit at the end of their driveway. She asked if I wanted to bring my candy over, so we could visit while we handed out candy together. It wasn’t a tough call. We lit the fire, set up some chairs around it, opened a bottle of wine, and caught up a bit on each other’s lives while trick-or-treaters started coming by.

Not surprisingly, it was far more fun than sitting alone at home waiting for the doorbell to ring. But here’s the really interesting part. There was something about our set-up—the fact that we were sitting outside, perhaps, or by a welcoming, warming fire, that drew others to our circle. Teenage trick-or treaters stopped to talk to us about where they lived, what school they went to, and what activities they were involved in. Parents of smaller children lingered a bit longer to talk than they normally did at my doorstep. And even other neighbors wandered over to join us. One woman had lived a few doors down from me for four years, but I’d never met her before. We got her a glass, she pulled up a chair, and before she left, we exchanged numbers so I could invite her and her husband over to dinner. I returned home warmed not just by the fire, but by the glow of fellowship that comes from feeling part of a community.

That is, of course, part of the reason people join churches, synagogues, mosques, Rotary Clubs, social clubs, neighborhood organizations, alumni organizations, fraternities, and a host of other organized communities. Human beings are herd animals, hard-wired for social connection. Very few of us feel happy if we live in isolation.

Being part of a community can also give us valuable types of strength and support. Beyond the basics of bringing food and comfort in times of hardship or loss, or lending assistance when we need it, it multiplies our ability to have impact in the world. There is strength in numbers, whether you’re arguing for a neighborhood issue in front of a city council or trying to raise money, mobilize volunteers, or effect pretty much any change in the world.  [click to continue…]

A few weeks ago, Outside magazine published a feature I wrote for them about a tragedy that occurred in the Swiss Alps last spring. A professionally guided group of ski tourers (a type of backcountry skiing that involves multi-day treks across mountain ranges, combining telemark and downhill skiing with crampon-aided uphill climbs) ended up being caught out overnight in a bad storm. Seven of the 10 skiers in the group, including the professional guide, died. And although it’s difficult to piece together complete answers with so few survivors, it appears that the guide, despite having an expert resume, made multiple errors in planning and judgment that led to that tragic outcome.

But what made the event even more tragic—and perplexing—was the fact that all 8 of the paying skiers in the group were expert skiers and ski tourers in their own right. If they’d so chosen, all of them probably could have navigated the trip without a professional guide. They hired a guide to relieve some of the workload of planning and navigating, and to make the logistics of hut reservations and arrangements easier. But in the hiring of a professional “expert” to guide them, the skiers also seem to have relinquished their own role in decision-making, trusting that the guide knew better than they did and was looking at all the variables correctly.  [click to continue…]

This website is focused on issues and questions related to the challenge and adventure of “being yourself.” Not just being ourselves somewhere deep inside, but being ourselves in the world. There are lots of choices and challenges that an aspiration like that entails. As I’ve written elsewhere on this site, it’s always easier to go along with the crowd than to try to be your own, unique self.

But I am becoming aware of a fundamental difference in what that challenge entails, depending on where a person happens to be in the power structure of society. And that difference matters a lot. I think it also helps explain at least part of the vast gulf in reactions observers have had to Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing testimony we’ve all been hearing the past week.

I’ve spent the past 3 years researching and writing a book on the importance of a woman’s voice (Speaking Up: The Hard-Won Power of a Woman’s Authentic Voice). And a fascinating phenomenon has emerged, as I’ve begun talking about and showing the manuscript to other writers, editors, and professionals. I didn’t expect men to fully “get” how a women’s struggle for voice feels, any more than I can fully “feel” or “get” the pressure men feel to be a provider or suppress vulnerable emotions. But I thought they’d at least be aware that the struggle existed.

I was wrong.  [click to continue…]

I am not a music critic, and I’m very far from informed enough about gospel, soul or R&B music to add anything meaningful to the appreciations that have piled up, since Aretha Franklin’s death on August 16th, about what she contributed to the world of music. But I do know something about a woman’s struggle to get her own, authentic voice heard in the world. And from that perspective, I would be remiss to let the death of such a vibrant role model pass without noting the particularly graceful and powerful example she gave us of how it can be done: a head-held-high demonstration of the lifelong journey every woman’s search for voice entails, and the power that comes from bringing that voice—with strength and persistence, and without apology—into the world.

There was, of course, Aretha’s literal voice; a soaring, powerful gift that could shake the rafters of any venue or church. But what made that voice so memorable was what she did with it; the way she used it as a conduit for all the truth in her heart, mind, body and soul. If she was able to blend gospel music almost seamlessly with songs of strength, love, passion and heartbreak, it’s because that’s how those elements existed within herself. She sang what she knew, felt, believed … and had learned, through a life that wasn’t always easy.  [click to continue…]

How hard can simply “being ourselves” really be? Plenty hard, as it turns out. That’s part of why it took me three years to research and write a book on the topic—even when I limited the subject matter to women.

For starters, we have to do some hard work to discover who our “self” even is. We have to develop the ability to look at ourselves honestly, and become self-aware enough to hear the sound of our authentic inner voice, and distinguish that from all the other voices in our heads—including the ones we get from cultural, societal, and media pressures of who we’re supposed to be. We also need to do a lot of exploring to discover what in the outside world resonates with that voice, and then figure out how to put all that together into some kind of cohesive but flexible vision of who that means we are.

But then the real complex stuff begins. If we all lived alone on isolated islands, being “ourselves” or being “authentic” would be fairly straightforward, because there would be no expectations or pressures for us to be anything other that what evolved naturally—even if our solitary, island opportunities and experiences limited what that “self” could consist of or become. But we don’t live on isolated islands. And that means we are constantly influenced—for better and for worse—by other people and pressures as we try to make our way in the world.

On the one hand, that means we have many more opportunities to develop and expand who we are. We encounter mentors, and work to effect change with other kindred spirits; we become parents and friends, and dive into personal and professional challenges and experiences—all of which expand both our world and our view of ourselves. On the other hand, interacting with the world means we often have to balance what might be the most “authentic” behavior for us, versus what we need to do in order to fit in, succeed, or be effective in a world where our view is not the only one, and how we act or dress can significantly influence how effective or successful we can be.

The challenge, then, becomes figuring out how to remain essentially “ourselves,” so we don’t get lost in pretenses, artifice, or other people’s visions of us, while not becoming so rigid that we limit either our ability to function effectively in the world around us, or limit what new aspects of “ourselves” we might otherwise discover.  [click to continue…]

A couple of weeks ago, a team of Yale and Stanford psychologists released a paper that caused a bit of a media flurry, with headlines like “Why Finding Your Passion is Terrible Advice.” The point the researchers were trying to prove was that if people believe that they have an already-formed passion inside themselves that they just have to “find,” and then all will be blissful and easy from then on, and working on it won’t feel like work … they’ll be less likely to explore new areas, where they might actually discover or develop an unexpected passion for something outside their initial comfort zones. They’ll also be less likely to stick with anything that becomes difficult, because they expect a “passion” to be easy.

One of the co-authors of the paper is Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck, who became famous for her best-selling book Mindset. In that book, she argued that people who have a “fixed” mindset; who believe they are unable to change who and what they are—either smart or dumb, shy or outgoing, competent or incompetent at something—are less willing to risk new things, and less resilient at persevering long enough to get mastery of anything, than those with a “growth” mindset. This latest paper attempts to expand those notions to the concept of passion.  [click to continue…]

So, I’m closing in on the last chapter of my book on voice. And yes, it feels like the last five miles of an ultra-marathon. But the March for Our Lives, this past weekend, in which hundreds of thousands of young people and adults gathered in some 800 events across the country to protest gun violence and demand better gun control laws, has too much to say about voice to let it pass without comment.

For starters, there’s nothing like half a million people raising their voices in solidarity, out loud and at the same time, to demonstrate the power of voice. Literally. But it also illustrates an important point about voice that doesn’t usually get as much attention.

When we talk about “Finding our authentic voices,” we often visualize it as an individual, and deeply personal, endeavor. Being “ourselves.” Answering to our own inner compass and guide. Some of the people who argue that authenticity is a bad thing, in fact (and yes, there are some who make that argument), generally say that it’s a selfish and narcissistic goal; contrary to values of community. But in truth, developing an authentic voice and getting it heard in the world is very much about community.

To be sure, there are elements in the process of developing an authentic voice that require solitude and reflection. We have to learn how to become more self-aware, so we can hear what our inner voices are telling us. We have to confront inner fears and demons, and question the assumptions we’ve made about ourselves and our lives. Our voices are also formed through our interactions with the world; events, experiences, or activities that affect us or resonate with us strongly. Often, in fact, we only learn what matters most to us when something happens to bring that value into sharp relief in our lives.

So where does community come into it? Well, sometimes, the communities we’re a part of–schools, churches, neighborhoods, families, and friends–help give us the opportunities or experiences that show us who we are, who we can be, and what we do and don’t care about. But beyond that, strengthening an authentic voice and getting it heard in the world depends greatly on having a supportive community to validate, amplify, and help us use that voice to have impact on the world. [click to continue…]

I‘m still on official book leave, working on my book about the power of authentic voice (hence the long spaces between posts on this site), but I’m expecting to have my manuscript done in the next 4-5 weeks, so posts should start coming more often soon!

But two things converged last week that seemed worth mentioning; two events that, even as they shared some characteristics, were also vastly different in tone and impact. And that’s what makes them interesting.

On one side of the world, the Winter Olympics were in full swing. Lindsey Vonn was fighting for last Olympic glory, the men’s curling team was hurtling toward unfathomable gold from hometowns in Minnesota and Wisconsin, and Jessie Diggins was defying a human’s need for oxygen on her gold-medal cross-country ski race. Not to mention the US Women’s hockey team, toughing it out through a sudden-death shoot-out round with Canada to eke out the team’s first first-place finish in 20 years.

There’s something remarkable about Olympic athletes, whom we all but forget about for the 3 years and 49 weeks in between Olympic competitions. Day after day, they get up, train, sacrifice, ache, hurt, and doggedly keep pushing themselves for a few seconds or minutes of glory, where they put it all on the line for the prize, with very little in between heady victory and crushing defeat.

In many ways, the Olympic athletes seem to personify the idea of passion; unimaginable sacrifice in pursuit of a dream from the heart that nothing can quench or stop. Their sport is their art; a real-world expression of an authentic passion, dream, and voice that demands to be heard in the world. Their determination and passion comes right through the television screen; breathtaking in its intensity, and almost envy-producing in its clarity. Who of us would be willing to make those sacrifices and bet so much on 90 seconds in a half-pipe or downhill racecourse? And yet, the end product is awe-inspiring not only in its audacity, but also in its beauty. This is passion draped in all the sparkle of sunlit snow, dazzling run times, and incredible aerobatics on thin blades of steel. No wonder we all dream of finding a passion that consuming!

Half a world away, there was also passion on display. But it wore a very different and grimmer face. One hundred high school students–survivors from the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting in Parkland, Florida, that left 17 people dead–were boarding buses and traveling 450 miles to the state capital in Tallahassee, to demand that legislators pass stricter gun control laws. While the legislators seemed less than receptive to the students’ demands, the protest sparked other demonstrations and dominated the news cycles in a way other reactions to shootings had not. Part of the reason for that may have been timing: the many shooting deaths that had gone before, changing public opinion, and better-organized infrastructure to help spread the students’ impact beyond the borders of Florida. But part of it, unquestionably, was the raw, undeniable, and breathtaking passion that emanated from the students’ faces, actions, and words. This was not an act. This was authentic; passion from the heart. [click to continue…]