I am... a career coach

Sometimes, a mentor's role can also be the same as a career coach. Sometimes, of course, it is not. The way I see it, if the mentee or coachee comes and leaves within a few months after starting a new job, that's career coaching.

It is especially exciting to work with someone searching for a new career path; finding a new job that aligns with their internal motivations and value system. A career coach helps them overcome their fear of change or pushes them out of the black hole they are stuck in. 

After being a career coach of countless people, my best strategy is to tell and show the coachee they are not alone. Any significant career change is best done together with someone who is not directly affected by your choices but, nevertheless, with someone who can emotionally support you. 

I am... a collector of stories

Some people can remember names or faces. I can do neither. I even switch people's names of those I hold dear (sorry, Daniel... err... Julien). There is no excuse or explanation to brush this inadequacy aside. Still, there is one thing that I'm good at and this is collecting and remembering stories.

I'm sitting at a community table in a lovely café. The two women sitting next to me seem to have only met by chance. Even though they don't know each other well, they enter into an intensely deep conversation after the first 15 minutes.

There is very little chance I will see either woman again, but if I do, I will definitely remember how the one fell in love with her partner (she just met his parents!") and how the other had a terrible father and has always been disappointed by her lovers, so is only focusing on being a good mother. By the end of the conversation the two women get up and hug before going their separate ways. An afternoon well spent.

Of course, most of the stories I collect are not found by listening into private conversations (I swear they were talking loud enough it was impossible not to overhear). I particularly like stories told by relative strangers (e.g. taxi drivers, storekeepers, or museum security guards) or those strangers who become briefly instant friends because of certain circumstances (e.g. long-haul airplane trip or in a crowded doctor's waiting room.) But, like drinking instant coffee, such encounters can leave a bitter after taste once you say goodbye. You have to make sure to wrap up such conversations with consideration and thankfulness. If not, it can be really awkward. 

Then there are the stories told over and over again when friends and family meet. You have to be careful of not repeating them too often. Especially, as one gets older, this is such an embarrassing thing to do. You might catch some people in the room roll their eyes. How mortifying.

It's those stories told in secret that sometimes tear my heart apart. I have yet to find a method to remove the burden of these stories from my soul. I'd love to be able to set them free.

Stories, whether gifts of reminiscing or burden of confessions, are always precious. I try and hold on to the dearly.

#booksIlove: The Classic Fairy Tales

Title: The Classic Fairy Tales, but Iona and Peter Opie
When I read it first: Christmas of 1974

In my teens and early 20s, I became quite obsessed with fairy tales and folk stories. Pat gave me this book for Christmas, and I remember gulping it down so quickly I could barely come up for breaths.   

#booksIlove: Zen Mind, Beginners Mind and Everyday Zen(Love & Work)

Title: Zen Mind, Begginers Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki

When I read it for the first time: late 70s or early 80s and many times afterwards
Title: Everyday Zen (Love & Work), by Charlotte Joko Beck
When I read it for the first time: 1989

I followed Zen Buddhist practices for a decade in my 20s. I went on regular retreats and practiced daily. These two books were lifelines to hold onto during this spiritual journey. Admittedly, holding on to their words was not very Zen, but they comforted me.

Scary man wearing "Gorilla Biker" t-shirt

He empties his nose
On sidewalk while walking dog
Quickly close my eyes.

I am... a dancer

I love to dance. My parents loved to dance, and my (adult) children love to dance. Even though I do not dance around the apartment like I used to, I wonder if old age might be best experienced through dance. Perhaps I should occasionally allow myself the freedom of abandonment through motion.

Nerida and I were reminiscing early this morning about the years we were ballet dancers. There have been years when I do not look back at those times. It is as if it was another life.
Another reincarnation.

I have been talking about that time in my life with friends. It is hard to imagine how much dedication and discipline it took to become a professional dancer. Certainly, watching athletes perform during last month's Paris Olympics, triggered memories. 

The hardest thing to grasp is doing something with such
passion during my late childhood, throughout all my teen years, and then stopping suddenly in my early twenties, at my peak, as it were. 

I know why I chose to quit, which I won't go into here, but part of me regrets not continuing to dance for another few years. Had I done that, I probably would not have gone into engineering, and where would I be today without that?

So, back to the conversation with Nerida. She mentioned how good I was and how when we finished the bar exercises and came into the center exercises, I would smile and shine with such joy. I'd forgotten that feeling and was teary at the reminder of what drove my passion—why dance was/is what I love best.

(P.S. Julien, Nicola (a friend from Thailand), and I went to see an Ezra Collective concert in Hamburg. Definitely a highlight of this year.) 

#booksIlove: Turn

Title: Turn (the journal of an artist), by Anne Truitt
When I read it first: when it was first published 1986

One of Pat's great gifts was "discovering" writers whose lives were as fascinating as their writing. Anne Truitt was one of those discoveries. She was a sculpturer who wrote beautiful journals.

Browsing through the book this morning made me wonder whether I was the only person Pat knew to who she could send the book. I shared her obsession with such relatively obscure writers or artists. Truitt's meanderings or reflections drew me into her world and left me with wonder.

To my dear friend in need

In the cathedral 
Or a long walk in nature 
My thoughts are with you.

In the midst of my garden

A butterfly bush
With royal purple blossoms 
Nector of the gods.

#booksIlove: Good on the Rocks

Title: God on the Rocks, by Jane Gardam
When I read it: early mid 80s

Jane Gardam was a prolific writer. At 96, she still seems to be alive. She wrote until her mid-80s. Good for her!

Pat loved all of her work. She was an Anglophile, and writers such as Gardam were the clotted cream to her scones.