Aboodi Shabi

One of the most surprising things to have happened to me over the last eighteen months or so has been my exploration of Judaism.
Although my father was Jewish, he wasn’t at all observant, and I was brought up in the Church of England, and then, as an adult, after an initial foray into Buddhism, landing up as a fairly consistent committed atheist, albeit with ‘mystic tendencies’.

And then, quite by chance, I found myself on a train back from a coaching course with a fellow student. We started talking and found an initial connection with his wife being the daughter of my father’s tailor. We then moved on to discuss Judaism, my new companion’s faith.

What he said then has stayed with me ever since, and has been one of the most important things I’d heard in a long time. “Judaism,” he said, “is, for me, not about the religion itself, but a series of practices that help create a sense of community”.

Although I have identified as an atheist for years, I do have a love of ritual, and believe strongly in the importance of ritual as a way to give both structure and meaning to life. But this was something stronger than that. Here was a part of my heritage that I had never integrated, nor even explored, suddenly making immediate sense to me.

The next months were a period of fascinating and very rich exploration – I went to synagogue a few times with a friend, began reading a few books on Judaism and its rituals, and went to Limmud (a Jewish philosophy retreat, which was amazing despite the fact that it involved camping in the rain!). I found much to love. And, the fact that Judaism has space for atheism has helped to make it attractive to me.

But, more important to me than that, has been the practice of observing some, but by no means all, of the rituals. And especially the weekly ritual of Shabbat – the seventh day.

In one of the books I read, there was a lovely explanation of the whole ritual of Shabbat – of preparing for the day of rest by making sure that all chores were done before the lighting of the candles on Friday night, so that one could enter the day of rest with everything done, and enjoy and celebrate the day of disengagement from one’s working routines.

And, each week, unless I am teaching a course, I now spend part of Friday making sure that my home is clean and tidy, and that all my shopping is done (I am not a fastidious observer of Shabbat, so I will cook and wash up etc), and that all my work is complete, so that I can be ready to relax into the evening ritual of lighting candles and switching off.

I am very lucky, too, in that I live next door to the oldest Victorian Turkish Baths in London, so that every Saturday morning I go for a session at the Baths – a weekly ritual that has become very important to me, and very much a part of my day of rest. I love the simplicity of the place – men from all walks of life come there to switch off from the week, to unwind and relax, to sit in companionable silence, or to argue about football, computers and politics. There are men who have been going there every week for fifty or more years, which definitely speaks to the importance of the ritual as a cornerstone of a full life.

And then, after the Bath, the day is mine to do what I like with – no more spending Saturdays catching up on e-mails, or planning a coaching programme, or feeling obligated in some way. The day is now one of withdrawal from the world of engagement. The more I practice this ritual the more important it becomes, and the more I travel and do the work I do, the more I realise how much I need this part of my life.

In an increasingly busy and full life, I think we have a greater need for some way to find peace in the busyness, to acknowledge the cycles and rhythms of life, to find ways to disengage from the everyday world, and take time to restore and feed the soul.

Reflections

How do you replenish your soul?

How might you build a practice to acknowledge the rhythms of life, to provide a “ground” for you to come back to yourself after the engagements and busyness of the week?

Quotation:

“Rest is not just a psychological convenience; it is a spiritual and biological necessity. Perhaps that is why, in most spiritual traditions, “Remember the Sabbath” is more than simply a lifestyle suggestion. It is a commandment…” – Wayne Muller

Like many of my friends, I have been watching Obama’s battle to introduce health care reforms into the US with some concerns – concerns about the issue itself, and about the heat of the issue on both sides.

And, all that said, it was still a relief for me to wake up this morning to the news that the bill has now been passed, in part because the cost of failure would have been huge for Obama.

However, I was also especially intrigued by this analysis from Michael Tomasky, who said: “at its heart the story is about the tension in American society between the individual and the community – whether we are just a loose confederation of individuals who should be left alone to pursue self interest, or something more than that, a community of citizens with mutual ties and obligations.“

That wider, more philosophical, perspective makes so much sense. It resonates a lot with the work I do around cultural discourses, and sheds light as to just why the issue was so important, and makes me even gladder that Obama was successful.

The piece below on “Lies to stop believing” has attracted a wide range of views, both complimentary and critical.

I’ve just been reading the Jewish philosophy magazine, Tikkun, and come across this piece on “Wanting Fully Without Attachment“, which contains the following excellent couple of paragraphs, which resonated with what I was trying to get across:

“If you are an activist or in some other way engaged with working to transform external reality, you may wonder whether this path would ultimately lead to apathy or lack of engagement with the world. What about children’s need for food or safety, for example? How can we not insist that these needs be met? Yet, even in this acute example, we can still see the difference between giving up and letting go of attachment. It is not about giving up on the hope for all the children in the world to be safe and have sufficient food. Nor is it about giving up on working to eliminate hunger and violence. Rather, it is about being able to tolerate internally the possibility — which is also the current reality! — that it just may not happen that all the children in the world will be safe and have sufficient food. If we cannot tolerate the possibility, then how can we have space inside to interact with life as it is? If our approach is based on what should happen, without this capacity to accept life, what would keep us from trying to force a solution? We have all seen so many historical examples of revolutions that turned into a new regime of horror. How will we ensure that we can sustain our vision and openness if we cannot tolerate what is happening and those who are supporting what is happening? To protect ourselves, we often turn away from the dual horror we need to experience to keep our hearts open. We protect ourselves from the horror of knowing that one child under five years old dies every six seconds, or almost 18,000 daily, from malnutrition and related causes (not to mention the effects of wars of all kinds). And we protect ourselves from the fear of succumbing to the anger and desperation that lead to re-creating domination and horror. Without the tools to keep our hearts open, many of us do, indeed, shut down and tune out the plight of the children so that we can even manage to continue with our own personal lives.

If, however, we remain open to the possibility that no solution will arise and at the same time continue to bring our heart and attention and action to working toward a solution, our work takes on an entirely different flavor. We work toward our dreams, we embrace the vision and our needs in full, and we remain open in the face of what is happening. In doing so, whether or not we have external success (and so far as I know, none of us knows how to move the world from here to where we want it to be), our work itself becomes a modeling of what the world could be.”

I wish I’d managed to put it so well!

After a difficult financial year last year, and knowing that the future looked uncertain, I decided to move into a smaller and cheaper flat, which I did towards the end of last year.

Although the flat is smaller, it is a much nicer space, or at least it has the potential to be, and it has a proper management company who actually care about the building and the residents.

One of the things that I liked most about the flat was the elegant parquet flooring through-out the apartment. Admittedly it was covered by a hideous carpet, and badly in need of sanding and re-varnishing, but I new that once Id decorated the flat, Id be able to get the floor restored and was looking forward to the beauty of a newly-polished old wooden floor.

But, it was not to be.

The management company, on finding out my plans, pointed out that one of the rules of the building is that all floors must be carpeted to minimise the noise disturbance to the other residents. Of course, I was disappointed, but the more I thought about it the more at peace I became with this. I had a long discussion with the Building Manager about it, and ended up telling him that I would rather live in a building where there were rules and a structure to take care of the residents than in a free-for-all like the last place I lived in, where the communal areas were shabby and neglected.

And, it made me think again about the idea that getting what we want is always a good thing, and that restrictions and limits are a bad thing. Actually, the benefit of community is one that I think its worth making personal sacrifices for.

As regular readers will be aware, one of my pet themes is the problem of entitlement. And in an apartment block, or neighbourhood, or country, or even a world, in which getting my own way, or doing what I want, is more important than following the rules of a community, or respecting limits, then, I think, things soon fall apart.

The dark shadow of the cult of individual freedom is that, ultimately, community becomes seen as restrictive or limiting, and we put our own personal satisfaction above the good of the whole. Werner Erhard used to talk of a world that works for everyone, which requires a very different way of being in the world than the pursuit of individualism and personal freedom at all cost.

From the perspective of a world that works for everyone, we have to navigate between my personal wants and freedoms and the good of the community, and there are some important things for us to reflect on:

What are the things that I want, and how do they impact on the community, and on the wider world?

What are the benefits to me of the community, or relationships, that becomes available to me when I let go of getting my own way, or of doing what I want?

What difference will it make to my community, or to the world at large, if I let go of some of my personal freedoms?

Quotes:

“We can choose to live in a ‘you or me’ world, or in a ‘you and me world”. – Werner Erhard.

“You see, the whole thing in marriage (for marriage, substitute, community/neighbourhood, etc) is the relationship and yielding – knowing the functions, knowing that each is playing a role in an organism… marriage is an ordeal; it means yielding, time and again. That’s why it’s a sacrament: you give up your personal simplicity to participate in a relationship. And when you’re giving, you’re not giving to the other person: you’re giving to the relationship. And if you realize that you are in the relationship just as the other person is, then it becomes life building, a life fostering and enriching experience, not an impoverishment because you’re giving to somebody else. This is the challenge of a marriage.”- Joseph Campbell

The personal development world, in particular, makes many claims about the kind of life that is possible for us, if we follow certain routes, or buy certain books/workshops/coaching, etc.. Some of these claims speak directly to beliefs that we hold about life, too.

There’s nothing wrong with aspirations, or wanting ‘a better life’, but I think we have come to hold these aspirations as expectations – the idea that we are somehow entitled to them, and that, if only we do the right thing, those expectations will come true.

I call these claims “lies to stop believing”, because I have found, both in my own life, and those of the people with whom I work, that there is a lot of suffering caused by the disappointment when these expectations aren’t met.

What are some of these “lies”?

Some day, my prince(ss) will come. Not necessarily – many people face a lifetime of not meeting their prince or princess. An increasing number of us might have to face a future of growing old alone, and accept that there isn’t “someone out there, just for me”.

You can make your dreams come true. You probably can’t. This is one of the ones I hear and read about most often, and perhaps one of the most insidious. Yes, we can aspire to fulfil our dreams, but we need to be grounded in the reality that most of us aren’t going to be able to have the ‘life we always dreamed of’.

Things will get better. No, they might not. This might be ‘as good as it gets’.

If you build it, they will come. Again, they might not.

I deserve better than this. Perhaps, most harshly of all, why? Deserving is absolutely tied up with entitlement, and it’s a myth that I deserve anything – it’s an act of sheer good fortune that I have the comfortable life I have, and am not living on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, or languishing in a prison-cell in Baghdad.

Sorry to be so blunt, but there it is – life is unfair. The good guy doesn’t always get the girl, and the bad guy sometimes wins. We can have our dreams, do our affirmations, practice chanting and meditating on our goals, do the work, network, go on plenty of dates, and still not get what we long for.

This might sound negative, defeatist even, especially from a coach, but I want to suggest that acceptance of the possibility that we might not get what we long for is also a route to peace.

When I accept that life isn’t necessarily going to bring me what I long for (of course it might, but it equally might not), then I have the possibility to ask different questions about life, and to navigate with what is, rather than the striving for, and pain of disappointment if I don’t get, what I yearn for.

What if I am single for the rest of my days? What if I never write that book I’ve been meaning to write? What if my life never gets any “better” than this? What then?

For me, this is deeply connected with the Buddhist ideals of non-attachment. Have goals, by all means. Apply yourself to them with passion and zeal. But the real practice is to accept that you might not live the life you expect to lead, or feel entitled to have. And, yes, there is a paradox there.

In addition, there are many other dimensions to this – the implications for others when we give up our entitlement, the cultural idea that we are somehow responsible or, worse, actually “to blame” if we don’t have a perfect life (unfortunately sometimes disseminated by parts of the personal development world), etc, and, as I said this is a theme I will be returning to frequently.

For now, though, some reflections:

What “lies” do you believe?
What has been the cost to you of those?
What happens when you accept that you might not get what you want (or what you think you deserve)?
What then?

Quotes

Sometimes what seems like surrender isn’t surrender at all. It’s about what’s going on in our hearts. About seeing clearly the way life is and accepting it and being true to it, whatever the pain, because the pain of not being true to it is far, far greater.

Nicholas Evans, The Horse Whisperer

You are not a precious and unique snowflake; you are the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

Tyler Durden in Fight Club

… I am in the middle of a house-move right now, with its accompanying challenges and stresses. Yesterday evening, I received some news that looks like delaying my move a couple of weeks, which is bad timing for me. I was immediately consumed with anger, and ranted at length about it.

Looking back on my rant yesterday, in the cold, fresh, light of a new day, I realise how much like a spoilt child I can still be sometimes, when I don’t get my own way.

There’s nothing inherently wrong about my having to wait an extra two weeks or so to do a move – it’s hardly the end of the world, and yet I was so angry about it for a couple of hours that I could barely think about anything else, even when in conversation with someone else about something quite different.

It made me think again, about how easy it is for me (and others) to act as if the world should go along with what we want, and how badly I can react to things not going my way.

It’s all part of the problem of entitlement, isn’t it?

I should be lucky to have a home to live in, and to have all the other things and people I have in my life, but instead of being grateful for that, I slip right back into spoilt child ranting because I can’t get my way.

Physician, heal thyself.

There’s a lot of talk about branding and personal branding these days, and many businesses (and freelancers) invest a lot of time and money in creating a strong brand.

But there’s also something much more personal that we are doing all the time, without even thinking about it, and that is creating a public identity. We literally build an identity with others by our actions, and by what we say. You can also think of your public identity as the “listening” other people have for you.

For example, I used to have a few of my friends complaining that I didn’t answer my mobile ‘phone (usually because I forget to take it off silent mode). I then found myself being described as someone who “never answers his ‘phone.” A public identity of me as a man who doesn’t answer his ‘phone had been built very quickly by a few simple occurrences.

This works both ways. For instance, I also am someone who generally responds very quickly to e-mails, and so in that domain, my public identity could be said to be that of someone who is reliable.

Or, if you consistently say no to offers, you may find that people start to see you as someone who doesn’t say yes. I had a friend years ago, and whenever we had a party and invited her, she would always decline – she always had some “good reason” not to attend, but she always declined. And, eventually, people stopped asking her to parties.

The thing about this is that other people base their relationships with us, and their future actions on that identity.

The old cliché of, “If you want something done, ask a busy person,” is a good example of this in everyday life. How long would you continue to call someone who “never answers his ‘phone”? How many times would you continue to invite someone to a social event if they always declined? Whom would you rather trust to get a quick answer from by email—someone who responds quickly, or someone who doesn’t? Whom would you be more likely to do business with?

Now this may or may not be “fair”—you might argue that these things are superficial, or that we shouldn’t make such assessments of people, but the thing is that we do. We are always making assessments, sometimes usefully (as in the case of an interview where I need to assess your capacity to do a specific job), and sometimes less usefully.

Public identity is closely connected with trust – we literally shape the reputation we have with others, and that builds, or diminishes, their trust in us. In their excellent book “Building Trust“, Fernando Flores and Robert Solomon identify three separate elements we consider when assessing whether or not to trust someone:

1) Sincerity – do I assess that you mean what you say?
2) Competence – do I assess that you can do what you say?
3) Reliability – given our history, do I assess you as reliable? Have you done what you will say do in our past transactions?

Public identity is based on reliability, or lack there of, in any given domain – if you always say ‘no’ to invitations, then I will eventually make the assessment that you cannot be relied upon to respond to invitations, and will stop asking you. Or, if you never return my calls, I will assess you as unreliable in communication, and that will weaken my trust in you (and therefore, for example, my willingness to do business with you).

Clearly, it is helpful to be aware that, to some extent, we create how others experience us, and that maybe we shouldn’t be surprised if opportunities don’t come our way if we keep saying no!

And of course, we can change our public identities—we are not “doomed” by them, they are not set in stone.

There are a number of ways to change this public identity—one is simply to develop new habits. For example, I can pay more attention to whether my ‘phone is in silent mode when it doesn’t need to be. I had to put up with some teasing from my friends when I first started answering it right away, but now the identity of me as “someone who never answers his ‘phone” is diminishing.

Another might be to make a public declaration of a new identity (maybe as someone who is available to go to parties, etc., to go back to the example of my friend above). Of course, you will need to follow up the declaration with actions to build a different identity and it might take time and application.

Or, you might need to do some work on yourself to change a way of being that you assess doesn’t bring you the identity you wish to create. In my case, I also have had a history of being seen as “difficult” (not without good reason unfortunately), and that required some work on myself, including some coaching and workshops. It’s starting to pay off, too—some of the people who’ve known me a long time have told me that I am a lot less “difficult” than I used to be.

Reflections:

• What public identity do you think you create in different domains of life?
• How are you seen by others?
• How does that impact on your success?
• On your effectiveness?
• On your connection to others?
• What aspects might you wish to change?
• What practices might you adopt to support building a different identity?

Coaching can help you build the public identity you want. To find out more, contact me.

The Drucker Foundation has this to say about leadership – “The only definition of leader I know is someone who has followers”.

In other words, as a leader, it is your capacity to engage with others in such a way that they are willing to follow you that marks you as a leader.

For all of us who work as leaders, or who take on a leadership role in life, or work with leaders, that capacity for engagement is an on-going process of learning.

At this level, we are talking about the ontology of a leader—what is it in our being that we can work on and develop to make us more available as a leader?

This goes beyond mere technical ability or capacity – leadership is very much an emotional and somatic competence – an inspiring leader brings people with her or him. During the Democratic nomination process, Hilary Clinton would speak about Obama’s ‘lack of experience’, but there was something Obama had that she lacked (or, at least, didn’t have sufficiently) – an inspiring presence that made people want to follow him and listen to his message.

One of the questions I ask leaders with whom I work is “How are you unavailable as a leader?”

In other words, what aspects of yourself stand in your way of being someone people will want to follow? For example, it might be that you find it hard to say ‘no’. Or it might be that you need to be liked, or that you are very results-focused, and don’t take time to really connect with others. Or you might find it hard to ask for help, or be uncomfortable with not knowing all the answers.

All of these are aspects of our being that require our attention in our own leadership development. Until we identify those areas where we are unavailable, then we can only produce more of the same, limited by our own ignorance of our learning edges. Once we have identified areas for learning, then we can begin to develop new practices to help strengthen us in those areas.

For example, someone who finds it hard to say ‘no’ might do some assertiveness training, or take on a physical training like Aikido to help build the body of someone who can set boundaries. Similarly, someone who is very task-focused might take on a sitting practice in order to develop the capacity for slowing down and reflection.

Reflections:

- In a spirit of curiosity, identify what are the aspects of yourself that tend to make you unavailable to leadership. You might ask for input from your colleagues, direct reports, or work with a leadership coach.

- Having identified a learning edge, what practices might help you develop and learn here? Who might help you? Often we have someone in our life who has those very qualities we seek to learn, and they can act as a great, if informal, teacher or coach for us.

- Remember that learning is a life-long process, so be patient. If you do discover a practice for yourself, then you have the rest of your life to integrate that practice and build your new capacity.

And, keep practising.

One of the things I sometimes notice in myself when I approach a meeting or conversation is the expectation or hope that the meeting will be concluded with any outstanding issues being resolved. There might be a few ongoing issues, and I go into the meeting wanting all of them to be complete by the end of the conversation.

If only! Real life, of course, is not like that, and, indeed it can be very frustrating sometimes to find that, far from resolving the issues, the conversation might open up further issues or concerns, and resolution can seem very far away.

Often, one of my coaching clients will talk to me about preparing for an important conversation—perhaps with a manager, a spouse, or an important new customer. In addition to any preparation we might do (e.g., looking at what needs to be said, presence in the conversation, etc), one of the questions I explore with my clients has to do with their expectations for the conversation being the “final” conversation and how that might shape their approach.

When I go into a conversation expecting it to produce a conclusive outcome, then that shapes how I approach it—I have a fixed goal in mind which can blind me to some of the nuances of the conversation or to some new possibilities, and, above all, make it harder for me to “dance” with the other person in the conversation.

It is important to have intention and focus when we go into meetings or important conversations, but when I go in with the sole intention of getting an outcome, that is a sure way to my not being fully present in the conversation and to my being disappointed by any lack of clear outcome. Much as I might prefer to get completion in a conversation, it often doesn’t happen—new possibilities might be opened up, other issues we hadn’t thought about might become evident, or the other person just isn’t ready to agree to a specific outcome. Sometimes, the only completion is that we agree to talk later or to do more research and meet again.

To make matters more complex, when a conversation or meeting does produce a clear resolution, circumstances may change and the conversation may have to be revisited regularly and parameters and agreements renegotiated. I often find myself, in either my personal or my professional life, thinking, “I thought we’d resolved that—why are we having to discuss it again?” Well, because life moves on, and any relationship, professional or personal, is a series of unfolding conversations rather than a finality.

There is a paradox here—holding the tension between wanting a clear outcome and “staying in the dance” of the conversation. But, ultimately, life is a series of conversations where we need to check in, take stock, and renegotiate. Relationships are the same—any long-term relationship will change, and things that we thought we’d agreed on in the past or issues that we thought we’d resolved ages ago may need to be discussed again. When I accept this, my conversations (and my relationships) are easier, more open, and much more creative.

Reflections

How do you approach important conversations?
How attached are you to getting a specific outcome? What is the cost to you, or the other person, of that?
How open are you to the “dance” of the conversation?

A few months ago, I was fortunate enough to spend another day of learning with Richard Strozzi-Heckler, the somatic coaching master, who was in the UK recently.

I found the whole experience of re-immersion in this learning very powerful, as ever—it’s always good to be reminded of how much of who we are lives in the body.

One of the exercises we did during the day was “the grab”—part of this is about how we “grab” someone else in order to make a request or get their attention to have a conversation with them. Of course, in this workshop, we did this physically, but in life we make all kinds of grabs in other ways; for example, by using our voice, through e-mails and gestures, etc. The key aspect of a grab is to make it powerful enough to get the other person’s attention, but not too strong that it overwhelms or alienates them.

The question we engaged with in this exercise was, “How little is too little and how much is too much?” Make the grab too little and the other person might not even notice that we are trying to communicate with them. Our requests go unnoticed; they don’t hear us; or, if they do hear us, they may not take us seriously. Make the grab too much, on the other hand, and we risk overwhelming or offending them or being dismissed as “too aggressive.”

We all have a default way of grabbing, if you will, and tend to use this in our approaches with others, but the thing is that this will only work in certain situations; there is no “one size fits all” about this. Each situation, each conversation, requires a different approach.

How, for example, do you get the attention of your colleague to ask for their help on a project, or of your teenage child who’s ignoring your requests for help in the house, or of your team to address a crisis at work, or of a woman you want to ask out on a date, or of a child who’s about to run in front of a car?

In each of those situations, it’s clear that there are different strengths of approaches needed. Not only that, but in any ongoing relationship, whether personal or professional, there is an ongoing need to calibrate, according to the situation, according to the context. What worked today with your boss might not work tomorrow, for example. You might greet a friend with enthusiasm, only to notice her crest-fallen face, and it’s time to re-calibrate.

A way to look at this is to see each step in each conversation as an opportunity to calibrate, to be present to the question, “How little is too little, and how much is too much?”—not in a mechanical way, but more in the sense of being so present to the conversation and to the other person that you are able to “dance” with them and “know” the right level of approach at an almost intuitive level. Like anything else, of course, at the beginning this may feel mechanical until we are more practiced in it.

One of the ways to support this practice is by centering. When I come from a centered place, it’s much easier for me to calibrate and know how little or how much is needed, rather than just operating from my default or my eagerness to get my point across or my concerns that I won’t be listened to.

You can also think of this in a sporting context. If you play squash or tennis, for instance, when you are centered, you are able to know just how hard to hit the ball and where to place it.

You can start by being curious in the following areas:

- are you successful in your communications?
- is the other person able to hear you?
- do you find people backing away from you when you try to grab their attention? Not hearing you? Responding?
- do you tend to lean in to the other person or hold yourself back?

There is nothing to “get right,” only consistent practice and learning about yourself and about how you show up in your business or personal relationships, consistently checking in whether you are being too little or too much in each interaction in the conversation.

Reflections

What conversations have you had recently where you might have been “too much” or “too little?” What was the cost to you or to the other person?

What conversations do you need to have this week? How can you make yourself more available for connection by centering and calibration?

What is your default tendency? Where does this work? Where is it too much or too little?