Behind the Scenes: In the Woods & In My Head

Two days ago, I recorded some audio into my phone while out on a walk. Later that day, I sat down and added a few reflections. I had planned to share it that evening—but then norovirus hit, hard. I've spent the past couple of days mostly in bed.

I rarely get sick, but when I do, I'm reminded how fragile life can be. How vulnerable our plans are to the unexpected. And how important it is to tend steadily to our body and being, despite pressure we often feel to focus on output and productivity.

The following offers a glimpse of my own inner world and how, as a leader, I navigate the ups and downs of turning ideas into real-world opportunities.

The Latest Stall

I went for a hike this morning after weeks of another muted climax that had me questioning everything about my ability to launch this project. I opened cohort enrollment and felt exhilarated that I could finally feel comfortable promoting this in the world. For the last few years, when I've talked at any length about this project, 9 times out of 10, I'm asked, "Great! How do I sign up?"

It felt validating each time, but frustrating that I wasn't able to provide a live link. After so many iterations and reboots, it felt like I'd finally done it. I scheduled several cohorts to begin in the coming weeks and breathed a sigh of satisfaction.

But then I stalled. Again. Something wasn't right and I couldn't explain to myself or anyone else exactly what.

So last week, I spent several days in a fragile state. Over the course of the week, I started to understand what was happening inside. What was off, what needed adjusting. How I needed to re-ground myself.

Some of the realizations were difficult in how obvious they were. I cycled through all kinds of big emotions.

The biggest conclusion was that I just needed to ground myself again and keep going. To come back to the concepts I teach and practice them carefully.

Heading into the woods this morning is part of that commitment. Both my body and being are tended to when I get amongst the trees.

It's easy to sit down at a computer and work for hours and hours, only to feel drained and scattered and unsure what I've accomplished despite my hyper focus.

Getting into the woods doesn't feel like working—and yet it tunes my instrument—body and being as one—for more precise achievement. Recently I heard the quote from Abraham Lincoln: "If you give me six hours to chop down a tree, I would spend the first four sharpening the axe." Time in the forest is one way I sharpen my axe for effectiveness.

On the Trail

About fifteen minutes in, I pulled out my phone and recorded this:

I'm walking on the Hard Times trail, near Lake Powhatan, about ten minutes from my home. Thinking about The WellBeing Project and where I'm at, and just all the things I've been wrestling with—well, a long time, but especially in the last week or two.

There are so many times where I had a goal in mind, and I thought, when I reach that goal, that'll be it. I'll be ready to go. That's the milestone. And I've taken way longer to reach those milestones, which was always sort of distressing when it took me longer than I estimated—especially when it was a lot longer.

But worse than that, almost, is the fact that I've hit those milestones and achieved those goals... writing a book, then turning it into a course, then turning it into a video series, then turning it into three video series... and each time just feeling like, I thought this was going to be it... but what's wrong? Why can't I move forward? What's missing? And it just not being what I thought it was going to be...

The latest one is feeling like being ready to host cohorts and making that live would be finally the finish line... or the finish line as in, what makes this idea real in the world. And it's so disturbing. Every time I achieve a goal I set out to achieve, and it doesn't accomplish what I thought it was going to accomplish.

But I could either keep stressing about that and finding myself confused, or I could just lean in. Figure out... Okay, what is this telling me? Why isn't this ready? What's holding you back? Unzipping it. Rolling up my sleeves...

One of the things I've been wrestling with is the fact that I think on a global scale. Like, I can only think big picture. I can only think about where, ultimately, we're headed. So I created this framework and this vision... conceived of this idea that can stretch around the world. It really can. It really can apply, ultimately, to all humans. I mean, I sure will iterate and tweak things as we go, but the basic framework and vision is something that can be used by all humans... and that's pretty wild and exciting.

But that's the vision. And that's where this is headed one day. But right now, it's still just me on a trail in the woods, recording on my phone... and processing how to take the next step, and why all the steps I've taken so far haven't brought me to where I thought they would.

I've been thinking about the first episode of the podcast Startup. If you haven't heard it, I totally recommend listening. In the very first episode, he's got his vision for a podcast production company—and obviously this is back, you know, 15 years ago or so, when podcasts weren't as big as they are now. He's walking on the street pitching a VC, and he just pretty much flops... and even though he's got a brilliant idea that ultimately is successful one day, at that point you have no idea what direction it's going to go.

But you know, from this point in time, you have the benefit of being able to listen to the entire series—several seasons—and just to participate in the evolution... and now know that they ultimately grew and grew, and then were acquired, and everything it took along the way.

There's a part of me that knows... that that's exactly where I'm at right now. In some ways, the future is unknown... but in other ways, I know exactly where I'm headed and what the future holds. And I just have to walk it out...

And I have to do it before this fire in my bones consumes me.

Several more minutes later, I found myself asking, "How am I going to plan my next steps? How am I going to walk this out?" I pulled out my phone and started recording again.

So I'm walking, and I'm just praying and trying to figure out... just... how am I supposed to do this? What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to go forward? And I realize that I'm back in a problem-solving state of mind, right? Like... trying to figure out... trying to select which course of action... which part of this massive mountain of to-do list items... and jumbled up projects and possibilities...

How am I supposed to organize it? And how am I supposed to proceed? And I'm just overwhelmed by my own brain and this capacity to just continually generate ideas... and to never be able to stop and just finish one. Always jumping to a new, fresh idea. And how discouraging it is... to have a brain that works this way...

And then... realizing, you know... like coming back to the principles of tending... that whenever I'm in a problem-solving mode, I'm in the wrong mode.

I don't have to figure out. I might have this package of seeds. And on the front, there's a picture that shows me what these full-grown seeds will look like. Now, they're not going to exactly be that, right? Those are different seeds that grew once upon a time. But that's the general idea.

So I have this idea of where these seeds are going. And instead of freaking out about the biologics of it all... it's like, just create the environment, right? Create the environment for them to grow.

A stressed-out mind is never going to be the environment. A quiet mind is a powerful mind. And all of it matters. My relationship with my kids... like, where did I think that I could yell at my kids, hurry up, and angrily get them off to school in the morning... and that somehow, in that context, life was going to blossom?

A WellBeing Project... it's always about creating the conditions for flourishing and letting things flourish. Whenever I feel the stress of trying to problem-solve, I need to come back to... what hasn't been watered? What hasn't been tended to? Where am I missing some gentle care... so that the right organic life can emerge from this situation?

It's not about problem-solving. It's about relaxing and allowing.

After that clip, I quit trying to be mentally productive and relaxed into the point of being in the woods—to quiet myself. I hiked for another hour on trails I'd never traveled before. I listened to music and enjoyed all of it—the trees all happy to have me there with them, the sun being courteously warm but not overbearing, the water shapeshifting between lake and creeks.

Coming Home

When I got home from the trail, I drank a large glass of water, made myself a plate of sausage and pasta, and took my supplements. Then I spent some time tending our home—the environment my family is growing in. I sorted, organized and repacked camping gear that had been piled in our living room. I gathered laundry and got a few loads under way. I peeled the bananas that were almost past ripe and put them in the freezer for future smoothies. I put away random kitchen clutter and wiped down the counters. I didn't go all in—I just made sure all the dirty dishes were inside the sink, ready for whichever kid has that chore after school.

I tackled a few more to-do items, added others to a list so I wouldn't forget, and then pulled out my laptop.

I listened to what I had recorded on the trail. And then I started writing.

The Context

To give a little more background: the last several months brought rising momentum for the project. Several incredibly talented individuals wanted to join as advisors with the idea of forming a team ultimately. With the content, I realized that rather than offer the three foundational courses individually online, learning in small groups made more sense. I came up with the eight-week cohort model and launched the first cohort with four individuals who were going to be instructors. A few weeks in, I realized the mistake of spending the two-hour session teaching content instead of letting it be about the group interaction. That led to the current cohort experience where the learning is asynchronous and offered on the podcast, and the live session is the group connecting and discussing.

I thought, alright! Let's go! And I scheduled a bunch of cohorts and finally opened enrollment.

But instead of feeling ready to launch, I felt stalled again. I couldn't jump into the marketing and start spreading the word.

I know it's not that I don't believe in the content—I do wholeheartedly! It's not that I'm afraid no one will want it—I know they do.

The Real Issues

One reason for my mild paralysis is that I think in big picture terms naturally. While that's the way visionaries tend to think—it's not how you achieve the vision. You conceive the vision that way. You achieve it by growing it one day at a time.

The tiny, practical, necessary steps, one after another, just don't come naturally to me. I see all the steps on all the staircases and all the floors along the way. I see all the floors in all the buildings. My brain just skips from one floor to another, one building to another. And then I feel ashamed and can't explain why I've climbed so many staircases but haven't gotten to the floor I want to be on yet.

So part of it is learning how to do what doesn't come naturally. Another part is finding the partners who complement my brain. I'm in the weird space of having enthusiastic supporters and advisors, but not yet complementary partners who can really take on the tasks that I'm not wired for.

It isn't that I'm a big talker and don't want to do the work. If I could, I'd work every day all day with great pleasure. But, as I often remind myself and teach in the seven concepts—working hard can be a form of laziness if it's distracting from asking important questions and confronting important issues. Like swinging an axe all day without sharpening it first.

Another reason for feeling stalled is just misunderstanding the process. What feels like lack of progress is sometimes just the progress taking its necessary time, and not caring what you optimistically predicted.

The Pregnancy Metaphor

This afternoon I found myself thinking about everything involved in conceiving, carrying, delivering, and raising a child to adulthood. If we think of the functions and dynamics involved, the way I think is like a guy who has a vision for his descendants. He wants to raise a family of leaders who raise families of leaders. He's not just toying with the idea of becoming a dad—he's seeding a people group.

The vision is absolutely doable. But to achieve it—it starts with one seed and a whole lot of time and attention and devotion. And then again. And again. And, speaking as a mother who has spent the last decade and a half devoted to the mundane realities of raising babies into adolescents, making that vision real involves a ton of boring behind-the-scenes details with very few experiences of truly satisfying accomplishment for a long time.

Sticking with this metaphor, there are some really good reminders to keep close at hand. The gestational period—in the grand scheme, it's short, but when you're the one making the baby inside you, it can feel torturously long. Some of the hardest parts of the pregnancy are right in the early days when no one else can appreciate what's happening inside. Even the mother carrying the growing baby can't fully appreciate all that's taking place. For months you just walk around knowing that you're growing a new life in you, but not a lot of reassuring proof.

Then, eventually it does become obvious. But still, who that life is going to be is a mystery. Your belly is showing, but not much else. The work is exhausting and you feel slower and slower as all your resources are tapped—you have less lung capacity, less mobility with this enormous addition to your shape. You're excited about the real things happening, but you're tired and drained and uncomfortable.

And then, one day, it's time. It's time to get this kid out of you and into the world.

I remember when my water broke with my first born. I was standing in the kitchen and suddenly it's streaming down my legs. I thought, "Oh my gosh! Finally!" It was a gorgeous spring day. My midwife advised us to go to the park and walk. The sun was out, the birds were chirping. I knew it was going to be sensational. We walked for ages. I felt no pain. I was convinced that I'd suffered enough already and this was just the last victory lap of pregnancy. My daughter was already a week overdue and I was beyond ready.

I had no idea how much more stretched ahead of me. All afternoon and into the evening the contractions came, but nothing else except pain. It increased until the earlier hours walking in the sunshine felt like a distant memory. All through the night I cried and groaned. By the wee hours of the morning I was in and out of consciousness—falling asleep for a minute or two, waking up to contractions that seized my body. Finally, the midwives decided I should transfer from our homebirth to a hospital. I wasn't dilating normally.

When we descended the stairs from our apartment and stepped outside, it was a freezing, rainy hellscape. I lay across the back seat of the car while my husband drove and my mom rode shotgun. I moaned and wailed intermittently. No one knew or explained that I was in back labor—my daughter's head was pressed against my spine and not budging. I'll spare the rest of the details, and skip to the delivery hours later. It was terrifying in ways I can't articulate. I never fully dilated. When I delivered I did it screaming and crying and certain I couldn't do what they were telling me to do. And then, when she finally emerged, she was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. Her enormous head squeezed through my not fully ripe cervix formed her head into a cucumber. Her black eyes were wide and alert, staring silently at all of us. My delirious first thought was, "How will I ever show my neighbors?"

We laugh at that story now—my daughter is a gorgeous human, inside and out, so the humor is easy to enjoy.

But the point of that whole tangent was how tiny pieces of the overall story can feel unimaginably long and difficult in the process of achieving a vision.

Conception is the easy part. Gestation intensifies the effort. Delivery can feel like the end, rather than the beginning. And even then, after all that time and effort, delivery is barely the start.

Once we had my daughter home and began our early parenting days, I remember wondering when the fun would start. It seemed like all she did was eat and sleep. No cute babbling. No looks of recognition and love. Of course, it doesn't take long for the first smiles and coos and meaningful engagement—but when you've been waiting since the moment you saw the positive pregnancy test, it feels like forever.

And then we did it again, a few months later.

Whether you are a parent or not, it doesn't take much imagination to recognize how, many years, the effort required seems wildly disproportionate to the outcome at hand. No other human or animal gets that much investment for so little return. But that's only if you're evaluating their current performance. The reality is, the more you invest now, when there is little to show for it, the more you see later when they grow into maturity.

The Comfort in All This

As I write these thoughts out, I'm comforted in ways I've hardly known was possible a few hours ago. There's nothing wrong with this timeline—it's just a big vision with a full gestation. I'm honestly in the middle of delivery right now. Like standing in the kitchen with my water streaming down my legs, thinking "This is it!" I had no idea what "this is it!" meant. Yes, it was the beginning of the delivery, but I had a lifetime to live in the following 26 hours.

There are times I wonder if people think I'm crazy when I say that The WellBeing Project will bring connection and support wherever technology can reach. When I imply that this is going to alter the trajectory of our collective future. I know it sounds grandiose, but only if you're half paying attention. If you look closely, it's obvious that humans are in need of something more than what we've got now—an approach to physical and psychological health that doesn't consider flourishing, just aims to avoid chronic illness. And it's obvious that what we need isn't found in future technology, but in ancient wisdom, current practice, and technology that serves us rather than substitutes for us.

Earlier, while I moved from room to room with tidying tasks, I thought about the project and how my life is bearing it. My entire context—my inner world, my physical world, my relationships, my commitments and activities—these are a collective womb for the vision that's been growing. While I am a devoted mother, I admit that even with my actual children I sometimes indulged in things I shouldn't have. I wasn't a perfect specimen of maternity. And I'm nowhere near a perfect parent now. I'm not always proud of how I parent, but I will say that I talk to them openly about how I screw up. And as this project is birthed, I admit the gestation hasn't been flawless. I'm down to let you in on how I fail and course correct and keep doing my best to invest in our collective future.

Moving Forward

From today, the project is proceeding on a simple, sustainable plan. I'm living what I teach, and I'll continue to tell you all about it on the podcast, blog, and Instagram.

• I've nixed the many cohorts I had scheduled and will now launch new ones progressively, as the waiting list fills.

• I'll keep publishing the cohort episodes and course content for free—and we'll just let this baby take its time becoming all it will one day be.

Thanks for reading today. Peace, everybody.