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New year, new resolutions

New Year’s Resolutions are the promises you set in motion immediately after the clock strikes midnight on December 31^st [ok, so maybe immediately after you kiss your honey and have a toast]. Work less, have more fun, travel, exercise, find love, spend less, eat well, eat more, eat less, lose weight, forgive and forget—all these resolutions are eagerly waiting. So many things to do… Whew, I am exhausted!

Who created this resolution idea anyway?

With the New Year bell we give ourselves a list of ‘new beginnings’ that is a mile long. Some of us write out our New Year’s resolutions with big bold colourful markers on huge flipchart paper and hang it in our office, living room or bathroom walls in an attempt to keep the ideas fresh in our minds. It can be so easy to forget what we have committed to [this is especially true of  me!]. Seriously, do I really need another reminder not to eat that lime cheesecake, which is full of 750 delicious calories? Yes, yes, I believe I do!

Meet the resolution setter

There are those who outline their laundry list of New Year’s resolutions in an electronic document with elaborate spreadsheets, graphs and tracking systems. These are what I call the ‘serious’ resolution setters. They want to see measurable outcomes in order to look back and see how far they have come, and where they still need to go. I confess I have pretended [many times over] to be this person. I start off with a bang, creating beautiful lists and spreadsheets with timelines and success factors only to stumble across them months later to find just one tracking entry. I then get surprised like this is the first time I have seen this gorgeous ‘to do’ list. For this purpose, it serves me well to have an out-of-sight, out-of-mind operating system!

After I am done patting myself on the back for having created such an amazing document [yes, this is a ritual—you would think I would eventually learn!] I then and only then, take time to read what I originally wrote. It goes something like this: Get in shape—lose 15 pounds [the same 15 pounds I have lost and found again several times in the past 15 years];  Eat healthy—no sugar, carbs and especially no beer [now, that is just self-punishment!].

So far, not looking good!

Soon, the impressed state with my own being starts to dwindle. The self-pity kicks in; the tears begin to well up in my eyes [no wonder my brothers used to call me faucet—let’s not go there].

This beautiful tracking tool that was meant to give me support, guidance and measurable outcomes has been reduced to a list of non-compliant, incomplete to-do’s, climbing on to my back like a very large, very heavy monkey who gets more enjoyment in weighing me down than playing in the jungle!

Dealing with my inner monkeys

Once we get in that spin of beating ourselves up, it gives free reign for the monkey to clamber away on our back. This can suck our energy and not leave any fuel in the tank [or the backup reserves] to deal with the unavoidable everyday stressors. Our bodies thrive on having some levels of stress; it is like a little power juice to keep us driven. It is when we let the stress grow into a full family of monkeys that it feels like an uphill battle to see any measure of success [even when we are having some].

If you have ever had such a creature on your back, then you know it can be very difficult once he or she, and their entire family has landed and grabbed a hold. And it can be very difficult to push, pull, shake or knock the critters off. Yes, I know they are cute, yet they sure are heavy buggers! My mama always said you get more bees with honey than vinegar; so I akin this to you get more monkeys with bananas than you do with turnips. It is about finding the sweet spot!

Out with the traditional New Year’s resolutions

In recent years, I have taken a step back from making traditional New Year’s resolutions, as they do not work for me. I may get some short-term satisfaction in setting the resolution and creating my beautiful flip-chart or Excel spreadsheet, yet it does not sustain itself or me. I have read that anywhere from 45 – 80 per cent of all New Year’s resolutions set at the strike of 12 will fail. This seems less about moving mountains and more about keeping the monkeys off our backs.

So now I have become an intention setter, using the late weeks in December and early January to reflect on the passing months—to fully acknowledge and honour the successes that I have had [yes the little ones count too]. This involves taking the time to sit in quiet; it does not need to be for hours on end in a locked away chamber; it is more about giving yourself ‘intentional’ time and space away from the daily hub-bub; taking a walk in the woods, journal writing, meditating or whatever method gives your mind some rest to hear ‘itself’ think. Yes, this can be scary!

How I make my resolutions work

I have found success in using a gratitude jar to ‘track’ activities, a-ha’s and all around grateful moments. I write them down on a little piece of paper, fold it up and put it in a jar; there it sits until December when I read them. It is a great reminder of my accomplishments, activities and human connections lived in the past entire year.

January gives way to taking what I have learned in the past year, and what I want to learn or do and that’s how I set intentions. It  is less about flicking the New Year’s switch, and more about a process; one that changes and morphs as the months ahead tick away. I can feel the monkeys beginning to start  their descent!

I revisit my intentions at the New Moon each month. What works, I continue, what does not—I let go of or modify. Easy peasy! No beating myself up, no crying, so stress. Ok, sometimes I have to breathe a little to let things go.

Success with intentions comes through building habits to support what we want to happen; the action to keep the energy moving. Our parents knew what they were doing when they taught us to brush our teeth at the same time each day; it became a habit—not something as adults we typically have to give much energy to.

My intentions in the New Year

This New Year an intention for me is: write every day for five minutes. I hear you saying, “What the heck are five minutes going to do for you?” Habit building, that is what! Baby steps, people, baby steps! This is the stuff that success is made of!

January is a rebirth; and you thought we only did the born thing once! It is not only the beginning of the calendar year but a time for feeling the excitement of what might be and finding your happy self by putting your intentions out there and creating action around them. What do you intend for the New Year, what do you dare to dream, and what actions are you willing to put into place? It is all up to you—it is your dreams, your goals and your life—no matter what those monkeys tell you!

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The reality: sometimes we need a little help from our friends—even in the professional world.

The interview call came in while I was in the waiting area of an emergency room awaiting test results of a family member. The question: to answer or not to answer? What was wrong with me; who thinks of such a thing at a time like this? I answered.

I had to contain my happy dance when I hung up the phone—it was just not appropriate at the entrance to an emergency room. So I danced in my mind; and it was a pretty good one!

I prepared well in the weeks ahead of the interview. I was like a kid in a candy store voraciously reading everything I could on employee wellness programmes and had, in my head and on paper, some killer answers to questions I thought they might ask. I documented my strengths and challenges and had a portfolio of successful projects that I thought would support my well-planned answers.

The day of the interview

My bedroom looked as though a bomb had gone off in it as I dressed that morning for my interview. I had planned the outfit ahead of time; yet last minute I switched gears and decided to go with less of a corporate look and more of a “I am smart and healthy, hire me” look.

I had an hour to prepare on my drive to the big interview. I used my mirror as a guide to help me not look grouchy, pompous or dumb as I responded to the questions I asked myself in my mind. I was feeling confident and ready when I stepped out of my car. I had this! The job was all but mine; they would be crazy not to hire me.

I was like a kid in a candy store voraciously reading everything I could on employee wellness programmes

I gave a firm handshake and an assured smile to the coordinator organising the big event. She handed me a stack of papers that included the job description and responsibilities. I was to review them before starting the interview. I scanned the five page document thinking how helpful this would have been had I received this while preparing for the interview. I imagined flipping through the document and aligning the expectations with my ‘prepped’ answers. Yes, that was what I would do—make the connection to the prep I had done. Got it!

My performance in the torture room

As I was escorted to the interview “torture” room as I now refer to it, we made small talk and I reassured myself that this was a good day, a new beginning, the next step. I could see myself working here, making a difference, finding my way to impactful leadership.

The interview room door opened, I took a deep breath, reassured myself and stepped into the room; eight serious faces [male and female] were staring at me as if I had five heads.

The questions started—and around the room we went like a merry-go-round. I was off and running, or so I thought until I realised my hands were sweating and the words coming out of my mouth sounded like someone who didn’t know how to talk and surely had no idea about wellness initiatives. What was happening?

I took a deep breath, imagined all the preparation… and then—the dreaded moment that I heard the interviewer ask me for clarification on an answer… twice. For a moment, I was gone, lost in the “Smith Stare” [what my family refers to when one simply looks ahead lost in thought in mid-conversation].

This was not happening. I was, for all intended purposes in my mind, rocking this interview. This was just a blip on the radar screen. I could pull this off! As the questions wrapped up, I blew off that one bad answer; I had done fairly well.

I could see myself working here, making a difference, finding my way to impactful leadership

I stood up confidently [in my mind at least], smiled and shook hands with all eight interviewers. When I came to person number four sitting on my left, he smiled brightly [I had won him over] and said, “Well you have a lot of energy, I will give you that!”  “Oh, thank you,” I said, in the moment, taking that statement as a vote of support.

I took one last look at them, and then it hit me… their faces looked like those of pity; not of cheering for the most awesome director candidate ever. I felt deflated. The air was feeling suffocatingly flat, like they were thinking: get this woman out of here.

Once out the door, I practically ran to my car. What had happened? I had prepared—I brought along a portfolio for goodness sake. Portfolio; what portfolio? I looked down and there it sat next to me on the passenger’s seat. Had I brought it in? Yes, yes I had. Yet, I set it on the floor next to my interview chair, and never once opened it.

Driving closer to home, the feeling of absolute panic began to set in. I had prepared so well. How could I face my colleague who had gone to bat for me? The torture artist interviewers were probably on the phone with him asking him what he possibly saw in the blubbering, sweating, fast talking, heavy breathing, and staring into nothingness candidate.

The air was feeling suffocatingly flat, like they were thinking: get this woman out of here

OK, take a deep breath, I told myself. Walk through the interview and analyse your answers. Perhaps, it wasn’t all that bad; and I really did kick some awesome interview butt. “Ms Covey, there are various budgets overseen in this role; tell me about your experience.” I rattled on about having experience with budgets, in various roles, doing various things and stuff. Then I rounded it out with a horrible career ending answer. “If you have seen one budget you have seen them all!” Yes, that would give them a fair idea of my eye for details, skill and ability.

Why didn’t I just stand up in the chair and tell them that I really didn’t want the job, that this was a joke by my colleague to see how much they could take? I had fallen out of my head, I was like a babbling monkey who could not seem to slow down her brain. I was wanting the job so much that it oozed out of my every pore. Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!

Why did I fare so miserably

Our inner adventurer, that voice that talks to us and tells us that we can do anything and be anything is our friend. It can be very useful and without it we may not take the necessary risk and steps to get to where we want to be. And sometimes, we get so hyped up on an idea or a thought that we find ourselves behaving in a way that is not how we would have envisioned.

I did not get that job; and have never looked back. I replayed the interview scene in my mind more times that I wish to ever recall and took away lessons that will be with me throughout my lifetime. My nerves got the best of me that day—I didn’t trust what I knew and I over-prepared, giving my mind way too much to think about.

I did eventually land a director level position, one that suits me and the organisation. I interviewed like a champ in that round because I brought my genuine self to the interview table. I was willing to admit that I did not have all the answers, and trusted that my inner adventurer would keep me on the same reality plane as those in the room with me. I did remember to put my portfolio on the table and actually referred to it.

This time I was not off in the clouds on some wild adventure of my imaginary self; I was there in the moment giving it all I had.

The post The disastrous job interview that changed my life appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Speaking of hair—I boycotted the whole facial waxing and plucking thing until I turned 40; I should have held out until I was 100. I gave in when a cosmetologist told me my eyebrows would look so lovely if they had been shaped. I should have known better when she just slipped in, “Let’s get rid of these little hairs by your lip as well.” Those words may seem so very innocent, yet I tell you they are NOT!! If you have never had the honour of having your face waxed, or any other part of your body, let me tell you about it.

Melted wax [a special kind that is quite sticky and stringy—not the soft kind like candle wax] is brushed onto the areas on your face that have the unwanted invaders [ugly dark hair]. The wax sits for a few minutes as it dries and is ready to be pulled. Yes, you read that correctly. Have you ever pulled an adhesive bandage off your bare skin? Well, if so, I tell you this wax thing is 10 times worse than that! In one big RIPPPPPP—off comes the wax; and with it all the invaders. Well, almost all. For the stubborn ones that do not want to leave the warmth of your face—the tweezers make an appearance.

After the first pull of the wax on eyebrow number one, I wanted to yell, but didn’t. I told myself to quit being a baby. And, honestly—I knew I had to endure it a second time because who wants mismatched eyebrows? Then came the second eyebrow—breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out… OUCH!  Whew! Made it through that one. I could feel the heat coming from above my eyes, and reassured myself that the pain would all be worth it. I was on the downhill slide, now to just have my upper lip touched up. What a silly thing to even think about.

As the wax came screaming off the skin above my top lip, [oh, maybe that was me screaming] I thought perhaps my face was going with it! There, I was done. It was time to look in the mirror and see a better looking version of my previously ‘hairy’ self. In reality, what I saw were two big red swollen eyes and a fat lip! What had I agreed to? Note to self: talking oneself out of the fact that pain is being inflicted on you does NOT make the issue go away. The evil wax puller was attempting to reassure me that this was part of the process to beauty and the redness would go away in no time.

Needless to say, the redness took hours to go away [and I think to this day, eight or so years later a trace of it still exists]. The result of my waxing expedition was the necessity to purchase tweezers, because what the cosmetologist forgot to tell me is—once you wax the little invaders they become stronger and come back again, and again… and again. I think all of this uninvited hair business on my face stems from the time when I was 16 and was being yelled at by my boss for some ridiculous little thing I had done [yes, that is the truth]. I remember how close she got to my face with all her anger—and all I could see was a big mole on her right cheek. Ok, so what is the big deal?  Well, this mole had two hairs sticking straight out of it—and they were BIG! I wanted to reach out and grab those hairs and show her who was boss, yet all I could do was stare [while I silently hoped that never happened to my face].

Somehow, I knew in that moment that my rotten thoughts would eventually come back to haunt me. Years later, I became so obsessed with the worry of being ‘that woman’ who has facial hairs where they do not belong that I bought a magnifying mirror. I am like a crazed human checking out every inch of my face up close and personal, pretty much daily. A tad scary, yet someone has to do it.

Well, I was in for quite a shock this past week. While attending my regular obsessive hair invader check-ups, for some reason I lifted my chin.  OH, MY WORD!  All those bad thoughts I ever had about facial hair, or hair in moles [which yes, I now have one of those too] has caught up with me. There, right in plain sight was a black hair [of more than an inch—like a lot more] protruding from under my chin. I screamed to my husband, “How could you let me run around like this?” Ha, ha, the poor guy didn’t know what to say, and chose to really not say anything at all. Good choice!

I was in shock, and within seconds the tweezers had done their job. Whew! Oh, not so quick—maybe I better check a bit more… this is not good! There, in full view of the magnified mirror and the naked eye was the black wispy partner-in-crime to invader number one standing at attention. It was just as if to say, “Ha, ha, I have been hiding here for months and you had no clue.” That is just wrong.

I better start praying a little harder for forgiveness; and hope the heck that someone cares enough about me in my old age to pluck those nasty little invaders for me. Then again, maybe it would be fun to win one of those moustaches or beard contests that seem so popular. I think NOT. Perhaps this is a message from the Universe for me to pay a little more attention to myself, and girly girl it up a little bit. Yes, I do believe that is the case! Tomorrow, I will order one of those big fancy hotel cosmetic mirrors with a light that are so up close and personal, they are scary. And it just cannot come soon enough.

This was first published in the February 2014 issue of Complete Wellbeing

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An opportunity for a chair massage [a quick 10 minute intervention] showed itself during an informational session for one of the programmes in the school I was working at. I took a deep breath and sat down—and although my body was seriously tense at the beginning, I felt the muscles give way and relax at the very skilled hands of the massage therapist. I was instantly hooked—this stuff was like magic!

Soon, full-body massages found their way into my calendar every month. My body was responding well and I was letting go of my stranger-danger thoughts. Oh, how accomplished in my mindset I had come… well, temporarily anyway.

I was so wrong

A couple of years later, I was at a conference with several of my colleagues/friends and we were talking about the pure joy and relaxation that comes with a massage. I was in full agreement, until the point when one friend [who we will call Beth to protect her innocence] said something around how freeing it was to be naked during a massage and to just let all inhibitions go. Ummm… really? Nakedness in front of a stranger? Not ME!

In that moment I felt like I had just stepped into a conversation that I might want to run from. I was having palpitations just thinking about this insane scenario. My friend [and friends at this point] were chuckling at my reserved behaviour, and asked why it was such a big deal, commenting, “You get naked in front of your doctor, don’t you?” In my mind that is completely different! My brain was doing some heavy rationalising here.

Now for the moment of truth

When the receptionist asked if we preferred a male or female therapist, Beth instantly answered that she did not have a preference. I had a preference; yet in that moment of pure perceived peer pressure, my mouth lost control and blurted out, “I do not have a preference either.” Oh my word, what had I just done? My mind kicked into its judgement stage and started beating up on my mouth for the moment of lost control. I opened my mouth to take the words back, yet my mind won and I stayed quiet.

I took some time to enjoy all that the spa had to offer, steam shower, mineral pool and sauna and wondered why on earth was this not part of my everyday living. This was truly the life—I was feeling relaxed and excited for my massage session. I sat in the comfy chair of the spa waiting room dressed in a fluffy white robe and white slippers, sipping on a glass of refreshing lemon water.

I was feeling awesome, truly awesome until the moment of truth… Mrs Covey, [in a deep-voiced tone]. I looked up to see a man searching for me, a tall, large man with black curly hair. My first thought was, where can I hide—why, oh why had I thought that being open-minded was a great thing to do?  My friend smiled at me, so I got up from my chair, mumbled something [likely inappropriate] under my breath, and went to greet my massage therapist. Believing in life lessons, I was already whirring about what I am meant to learn from this. Oh, I know… keep my mouth closed!

The unlikely ordeal

We exchanged polite conversation on our way to the massage room; and I am thinking, this guy could be the massage therapist world cup holder and I was going to miss out due to my ‘issues’. I was now alone in the room getting comfy—I go to pull my robe off and realised, “Oh my word! I have no clothes on.” I wondered to myself if I could take a quick run to the locker room to get my undergarments.

I panicked, and jumped under the sheets—I was now breathing loudly as I was in mid-swing of a mild panic attack. Mr Massage walked in, we decided on essential oils, type of massage [I chose the deep tissue as my shoulders were now up around my ears from the tension] and the music. And… off we went. I started to relax and told myself, “This is all a life lesson—quit being so controlling and open your heart and mind.” I was distracted, I began to do some yogic breathing and told myself I will not be putting my hard earned money to waste. I will enjoy this!!

Just as I began to fade into the world of total relaxation, I heard something… what on earth?  What I heard is the breathing of the massage therapist. The guy was a heavy breather! I tried to close my ears: impossible!  Have you ever heard a repetitive sound that drives you buggy? Well, this guy was a champion breather dude, oh my soul—how did he hear himself think?

I figured I had about 50 minutes left of my time alone in a tiny room with no clothes on, with a man I did not know. I felt like I was sinning! “Get a grip”, I told myself. I shut my eyes as tight as I could, focussing on the music in the background and imagined that I knew this person, that he was indeed the massage champion of the world and that I was going to relax if it was the last thing I did.

The ordeal was over

I finally heard Mr Massage say, “I will be right outside the door when you are ready.” Ah, I was done—I had lived to tell the tale! I do believe I beat record time getting my robe on and meeting him at the door. I actually felt a little bad for the guy as I am sure he was wondering why my muscles were so ridiculously tight and were just not giving to his skilled hands. Thank goodness, he could not read my mind!

As I made my way back to the spa waiting room I was contemplating my silly self and the choices that I had made earlier that day. My lessons learned—be true to myself, don’t cave in to peer pressure, keep my clothes on, and never, never say yes to the idea of a male massage therapist again. I may dream of being a totally free, open-thinking and loving human being; yet it is obvious, I am not quite there yet. And likely never will be!

This was first published in the November 2013 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

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The job trained me well to be prepared for whatever may be lurking within the mailboxes. Yes, that is right… lurking! I once opened a box to find a tiny black kitten meowing inside it. I thought for sure I was the victim of a witch’s spell, or that the animal rights activists were sending some kind of message to me; perhaps I had been inadvertently delivering inappropriate ‘animail.’ It was pretty routine to find bugs of many varieties waiting for me in the boxes; ants, spiders, earwigs [those little pincher bugs] and flying insects of many varieties [bees and wasps]; oh and sometimes even birds.

I learned to avoid getting stung or bitten, and was always pleasantly surprised when a raised red flag [the sign that there was outgoing mail to pick up] was really up because the customer has left me a candy bar, cookies or some other home-made yumminess. One might think that the skills I learned on the mail route—to be on the lookout for creepy crawlies in the mail box—would automatically stay with me for the rest of my life; umm—NO, not quite!

One morning when I was in a rush to get to work [this can be pretty typical] I swung up to our mailbox with my car to pick up the previous day’s mail. I reached in, not paying attention to the mail box’s surroundings, grabbed the mail, placed it on my lap, closed the mailbox door and drove away. I had planned to check out the mail when I got to a stop sign at the bottom of our road. Yes, I know—a really bad practice! Unfortunately, someone or something had other plans for me that morning. About one hundred feet down the road, something was amiss.

I looked down and saw a pile of black dots on my lap, and they were moving very quickly. On a closer look, it was quite obvious they were tiny black ants. I wanted to freak out, right there in the driver’s seat of my car. I started to swipe at the little critters as they were now on a mission, crawling every which way. I halted the car [pretty much in the middle of the dirt road] jumped out and stripped my long coat off as fast as I could.

I began the ‘ant dance’—flailing my arms about, shaking my head and every body part to be sure that each one of the crawling little pests had found its way to the ground. I took a peek in the car and was flabbergasted. There were ants everywhere; and I mean everywhere! They were crawling up the doors, across the seats, and up the dash board. It was like they were trying to find me!

As the hundreds of ants rushed towards their path of freedom, I went into tactical mode.  I removed all the floor mats from the car—taking with me a good bunch of the ants.  I can only imagine what the passing drivers thought as they caught sight of me. When I figured I had removed enough of the tiny invaders from the car to avoid being attacked, I drove the car home. Once back in the safety of my door yard, I began to remove everything from the car [now this was a sight, as my car always looks like I live out of it].

My next mission was to break out the bug spray—I would not be driving to work with ants crawling on me. I had truly turned into some crazed maniac who acted as if she had never seen an ant before. As I finished up the job of cleaning up my car, I felt pure relief that I had not driven off the road that morning. Yet, I also felt rather silly that the lessons learned during my years with the USPS had fallen out of my head. A true sign of middle age!

I made it to work that morning unscathed, and as I stood at the desk of a colleague telling her my drama-driven story, a little black ant ran across my shoulder. We screeched, laughed and squirmed and it was pretty clear that no matter how hard we humans try; sometimes nature has its own ideas of fun at our expense.

This was first published in the October 2013 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

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