#H2H • Tenneson Woolf

June 2, 2016

Can You See the “Donald Trump” in Yourself?

A friend emailed me recently with a thoughtful couple of paragraphs about a shaman friend offering healing to Donald Trump, Bernie Sanders, and Hillary Clinton. I’m aware that in those paragraphs, the intent was just a healing of Trump, but then grew into one for all three of these potential public officials in the US’ highest office.

Her paragraphs stirred up something for me about an underlaying maturation process needed. I’ve included the bulk of my response to her below.

I believe there is a collective healing, or perhaps more accurately, an attention to healing the whole, that must continue to be in progress. It’s always been true. It’s just more blatantly visible in this political context.

It’s a bit of a triggering question, but I find myself asking (or thinking), “Can I recognize a Donald Trump in me? Can you recognize a Donald Trump in you?” The translation is, can I find those parts that I don’t like in him (bombastic, arrogant, ignorant, etc.) in me?

The answer is yes. Clearly yes. It doesn’t mean I endorse him. It doesn’t mean I’m always like that. But I can see some of it.

To me, this admission leads to a more compassionate and matured psyche. It may not change the political process or outcome — the system is screwed. But it could change the collective psyche, which is playing itself out in the arena that is the political process. I admit I have more interest in the matured psyche parts than I do in the political process parts.

Remember the phrase, “We don’t see the worlds as they are; we see the worlds as we are.” I don’t know who to attribute that to. But it rings true for me as fertile ground for curiosity and exploration.

A dominant theme in the US at this time is outrage. There is a place for uninhibited outrage and the activism that grows from it — that is the discourse possible in a democracy. Without question. However, outrage seems to grow more outrage, and, well, it’s hard to see how that ends well. It’s time for the collective psyche of us in North America (and I believe the western world as a whole) to show some leadership by maturing ourselves. I believe, in doing so, we create entry point into maturing and moving the whole, including the political process.

Thanks for stirring this. I’m glad that the journey has us in companionship.

This is a time of soul-searching. It should be. And, it’s not completely new. But it is being made more apparent through the triggers of the day (or the two years that lead up to the day, or the two decades that lead up to the two years). Pema Chodron’s words offer a helpful reminder to me, “This very moment is the perfect teacher.” It might just start with our willingness to look more deeply within.

May 31, 2016

Home

Bells Blooming

I just arrived to Utah, home, for a stretch of what will be 18 days. Greeted by these flowers growing in my garden, that had not blossomed when I last left, and tomato cages ready to be put to work. This period of time “at home” is noticeable to me for its duration. Eighteen days feels spacious and huge. Enough time to do laundry more than once! Enough time to spend an evening with friends.

I’m enough of a geek to want to remember the last time I was home for this kind of stretch. It was December 2015. I don’t know about the time before that. That was likely last summer.

I’ve written about home before. For example, in 2012, this reflection after being in my hometown of Edmonton, Alberta. And in 2015, this post on the geography of home. Today, however, my reflections are about this simple narrative.

For there to be home, there must be intimacy.
For there to be intimacy, there must be friendship.
For there to be friendship, there must be freedom.

I know, these are big categories of words — what does one mean by intimacy, friendship, and freedom, right?

The intimacy I’m speaking of here is a softness in the belly. To be willing or able to share with vulnerability. “I feel this way — wow, you feel that way; tell me more!” To feel a kind of trust that doesn’t arise from warnings or subtle fear-born threats. The intimacy here is a welcome to let go, and to be in quiet together.

For friendship, I’m talking about people that I laugh with. The friends I enjoy the most are the ones that I can be completely serious with, and, completely silly with. I enjoy them because there is a shared ability to turn quickly from one to the other, as needed. It’s as though somehow knowing that there is ability to be in the full range together makes enjoyment of one part that much more vibrant. Sometimes my friends and I are changing the world. Sometimes, we are just laughing at our follies.

The freedom that I’m speaking here is freedom to choose. Not into a manipulated or coerced choice that someone else is lobbying for (unless it is done with great silliness and humor of course). But real choice. Not demands that masquerade as choices. Real choices in which the the very act of choosing, the act of enacting a life through choices both explicitly and implicitly, are respected. Maybe not fully agreed to, but definitely respected.

I love the home that is a good bowl of a favorite soup. I love the home that is seeing the green beans that I planted ten days ago peaking through the ground. I love the home that is my dog laying in the doorway of whatever room I find myself sitting in. I love the home that knows me, welcomes me, that resonates with familiarity like the way my body fits in my bed.

And.

And maybe, just maybe, home is also the place where we are quite wholly and naturally friends, laughing and exploring and even crying a bit over the choices we make and how we are encountering our freedom to be.

May 30, 2016

Remember

Memorial Day Orem 2016

It’s Memorial Day in the United States. Many people will be celebrating with backyard picnics and barbecues. Many outdoor swimming pools and parks will open. It is a long weekend, that for many, marks the beginning of summer.

I remember the first Memorial Day I experienced in the United States, in 1987. I was driving past a large cemetery in Provo, Utah. Cut flowers, bright yellow “mums” in potted plants, and small flags dotted nearly every gravesite. It was impressive.

For many, Memorial Day is opportunity to pay tribute to people in military service, past and present. At the airport today, the gate agent invited 30 seconds of silence to honor the military personnel on board our flight. In the crowded and cacophonous terminal, I was drawn to this simple and kind pause.

Memorial day has also become a day to generally honor people who have passed. My former spouse’s family had a great tradition of cutting flowers from their gardens, peonies if the growing season permitted, to place at the grave site of grandparents and other family. Then her dad would tell a story or two. It was playful. Often with laughter. Sometimes with tears. It was an invocation to remember.

Remember.

For the last year when I’ve often been starting leadership events with an invocation to remember. Though many have come to learn what they think are new participative methodologies and frameworks, I often say, “I think we have come to learn and remember some things that we already know. We’ve come to remember some essential aspects of what it means to be in learning together, what it means to take journey together, and what it means to count on each other. Remember kindness. Remember curiosity. Remember the power of sharing a story as a way of learning together. Remember a quality of trust. Remember honesty together. Remember hope together.”

I don’t speak those words as a way to falsely motivate people, though I’m happy that they do settle participants into a simple narrative of what we are about to do for two to three days.

Remember.

Sometimes remembering, memorializing, is about invoking the past. Sometimes, perhaps, the remembering is to realize that there is much that we already know about bringing a future into the present.

May 26, 2016

The Big Short

Recently I watched the film, The Big Short. It was nominated for several awards for 2015 films.

At the core, this is a painful movie. In “shorting” the economy, betting on it’s failure, financial investors and bankers caused a loss of $5 trillion dollars, 8 million jobs, and 6 million homes. Yes, painful.

This movie is also thick. Thick enough that I feel that I need to watch it a few times with someone to help interpret it. There were a few times when I needed to stop to just think for a minute about the plot that was unfolding. How befuddling it was.

There were a couple of funny lines also that touch a truth about psyche and privilege, particularly in North America. One was on the “truth” of the market reality and what was happening and how people did not want to hear it. “The truth is like poetry. And most people hate fu*king poetry.” Ouch, right. To be clear, I’m a poetry lover, often for the truth it can tell.

The second line was about white privilege. As some of the characters arrived to an investment conference in Las Vegas, one notices that all of the room and all of the attendees are white. “This place looks like what spilled out of a piñata filled with white guys that suck at golf.”

I’m not sure how all of this leaves me feeling. Sort of sick. Sort of discouraged. Sort of entertained, but cracked open to some sorrowing / maddening / humbling reality.

It’s like this for many of us, isn’t it. Whether spurred on by movies, or the news, or life events. The story line that I most often carry in these realities is that the start is to turn to one another, to listen and to be curious together.