Creating from Others: Infinite Possibility

I'm a lifelong loner, someone without a team, dressed in she's-got-her-shit-together clothing. That's the story that's been running beneath many of my other life stories. Until last week, I've only been half conscious of this "competent loner story". It's been more like an app running in the background, draining the operating system of its battery and full capacity to thrive.

I didn't realize how much that story was defining -- and limiting -- me until this part of a 10-month leadership program, whose focus was "creating from others". I was looking forward to this second of four in-person leadership retreats, because for me working with and relying on others has been the missing link. The first retreat focus was "self-compassion and self-authority," by the way. While I learned a lot about myself there, in some ways, it served to reinforced the belief that I can only truly rely on myself. It underscored the idea that "I better be fu#@in' strong." Strong I've been -- physically, emotionally and spiritually -- my whole life. I've had to be. Life circumstances, family dynamics and my true essence have called up this bravery over and over again.

While my bravery and strength were necessary and sometimes admired, they always came at a cost. The cost was being seen as "too much", "intense", "masculine", "bossy", "bitch" and "deep" (my mother called me “remote”, but that’s another story) -- to name a few. As with many women (and some men too), I was constantly trying to balance warmth with assertiveness. It was hit or miss when I found the balance. Most of the time I thought I had to choose one over the other. Though both are natural to me, I made the false assumption that if I wanted connection, I had to dim my assertiveness. If I wanted success, I believed I had to mute my warmth. The choice always seemed to be between connection/belonging and strength/courage. Not both.

It only took me 62 years -- and a high wire. The lifelong story of only being able to rely on myself started to fall apart some 30 feet above the ground as each of us in partnership had to make our way across. The fear called up my strength. But the partnership called up my fierce and warm connection. We were leaning into each other, calling each other forth. With one of my partners we were screaming, "HiYA" from my days as a martial artist. Each time we thought we were going to fall, we screamed HiYA back and forth until we made it across. There I was, my full heart shining, forgetting about my fear because I was in service of another person, helping them get across with me. It wasn't a race. We were doing it together. In three different climbing events with different partners each time, we did it! We got across. Each and every one of us. Together.

We "flew" from the wire, belayed to the ground by the others. The only female partner I had threw her arms around me, crying. For her the transformation was partly about conquering her fear of heights and making it across. For me, it was also that. But for me the true transformation was how powerful I am when I show up in service of another. This was one of the only times in my life when I did not have to choose between strength and warmth. They were one.

We are truly stronger together. As our leaders, Dori Ben-Chanoch and Özlem Kıyat Berber reminded us frequently, "One plus one does not equal two. One plus one equals infinity." The world is not asking us to choose between warmth and strength. It is calling forth both, together. What is possible when we shine our full light, not one part or the other, but both? What happens when we lean into each other, build connection and fly? I am beginning to taste the power, freedom — and hope — of co-creation, thanks to the Co-Active Leadership Program. Thank you to all 17 brave participants, our leaders and co-leaders, Sue Aspinall and John Sigmon for showing up with your whole hearts, minds and bodies. Infinity is the answer to the equation.