Whether I’m coaching someone through a difficult math problem or a new approach to their business, I can quickly see what the problem is when they react negatively to my praise.
“Great progress!” I’ll say, pointing out something specific that they’re doing well.
“Ugh, I was supposed to have done this two years ago,” they might say. Or they’ll roll their eyes and say, “we’ll see.”
Read MoreThe other day, I didn’t leave the house.
This happened for a mix of reasons: Covid. A high of 19 degrees Fahrenheit with 20 mph winds. A busy schedule of Zoom meetings. And then, the coup de grâce: I didn’t feel like it.
Listen, I know that sitting is as bad for you as smoking, or whatever they’re saying to try to scare us these days. And exercise and fresh air is important to me. But sometimes, I don’t do what’s best for me. I don’t have the energy or the gumption or the desire. So I do…other things. Or nothing at all.
Read MoreOn my to-do list today is a particularly dreaded item that I’ve been putting off for eighteen months.
It actually only recently made it onto my to-do list in the first place, having previously been banished to the netherworld of stuff I need to do but can’t even deal with acknowledging.
All it is, is a form I need to fill out and mail to the company that monitored the security system at a house I sold back in 2019, canceling the service.
Read MoreMy husband, unlike me, is a lifelong athlete whose muscles have developed with the aid of testosterone.
In the moment, however, when he’s on the other side of the net, I have a hard time remembering that. The ball comes at me too fast on the eighth shot of the rally, and I whack it into the net or over to the adjacent tennis court with an involuntary cry of frustration.
What happens next is critical. It makes all the difference as to whether we have fun playing tennis together…or ride home in silence wishing we had skipped it.
I have to carefully consider what I will say to myself.
Read MoreI’ll never forget a concert I went to years ago at Variety Playhouse.
I do forget the headliner. But the opener was a kiwi singer-songwriter named Carla Werner.
She stepped up to the mic, barefoot and holding a guitar. “Hello, Atlanta…” she intoned. A hush fell over the crowd.
She wasn’t forceful or loud. She didn’t need to be. The concertgoers found themselves completely transfixed by her very presence. And she was the opening act.
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