002 • Unseen
Through a mirror.
For the second time this year, a new first in our calendar. The month we just said goodbye to felt — .
Just felt. Maybe long, fast, heavy, gloomy, confusing, ordinary, special. Somehow January stirs something for many.
Is that the fatigue of the previous 12 months slowly releasing? Or perhaps the confrontation with New Year’s resolutions, plans, and projects, and their expected fresh energy? Or is it just another transition because, let’s be honest, is NYE long enough to fulfill that purpose?
Not sure. Each experience is singular in its individuality.
In my case, January hasn’t been so easy. At the beginning of the month, my tank was close to empty, and the clearest feedback came through my body, once more. My movement practice started slow and heavy. Nonetheless, I found myself patient and confident. I’ve come to truly trust the process by now, and I was learning anyway, like always, if we allow ourselves to. Plus, introducing Contact Improvisation into my weekly schedule gave me a boost of joy.
And my mind was settling again, with some challenges. It wasn’t about ruminating or not being present. It felt more like clutter, like a hazy sky. I simply knew my energy was off and I couldn’t pinpoint the reason. It’s a feeling that comes with a level of awareness and familiarity with myself that is hard to put into words. It’s a state that holds the power to demand immediate resolution, yet it can be so abstract that no direct remedy presents itself as ideal or certain.
The risk in these moments is to jump into the future and doubt all the most courageous choices taken in the recent past. It’s inevitable to let that shadow knock at the door of my mind once in a while. What’s more interesting is how I chose to respond to it.
This time, what was available to me? Openness, trust, curiosity.
On Wednesday, January 28th, I coached a lovely lady. She came into the session apologizing for bringing a topic with quite a pessimistic tone. She’s another Millennial who chose to leave her full-time, safe job in exchange for a journey of learning and entrepreneurship. I believe she knew there was a possibility for her story to resonate with mine. Doubts about that choice, and the uncertainty it brings, felt overwhelming for her that Wednesday — mentally and emotionally. Her experience was pulling her into the future, with the risk of losing touch with the present and with the very first reason why she chose this path.
From my seat, the chances of diving head first into that story were high, given my own personal history; at the same time, a beautiful opportunity to be a good coach was offered on a silver plate.
I listened, attuned, stayed neutral — and facilitated a new perspective. The session helped her, and it filled me with joy to witness that.
What came as a surprise was what that session meant to me. I wanted to do a good job out of professionalism and care. That required me to step back: to avoid listening only to the story and instead attune to the narrative her mind was imposing as “winning,” and to the feelings and sensations showing up as clear signals of a state that was everything but beneficial to her “now”.
I had to intentionally step back to do a good job, and by doing so I also managed to take a few steps back from myself. Listening to her made me see what had felt so off about me in the past month. That conversation was a mirror. Genuinely, it felt like a gift. Not a free one, but one I didn’t want to return.
Illustration for Alberta University on the mysterious world of quantum.I’ve been experiencing a lot of newness quite consistently lately, and some of the most recent changes pulled me too far from my center.
Something that, on paper, looked like a new addition rich in enthusiasm and with a strong sense of collaboration hit me, and I couldn’t see its impact. To my logical mind, I was making a drama out of nothing. That was inaccurate.
I don’t think my words do justice to the rewiring that happened in that coaching session. Nonetheless I find it fascinating.
Things* started to fall into place again. A good reflective chat the following day, and a couple of hours of quality time with some of “my” people that same night, helped me land.
That conversation was truly a mirror.
We can dive into what we see at first glance and even amplify it. Or we can take a few steps back, perhaps breathe, and notice the other details that make the full picture more bearable, maybe complex, certainly beautiful.
Four words stayed with me as an additional reminder of the only formula that has always ensured a certain degree of growth.
Look inward, move forward.
I wrote them down on a red Post-it and pinned it on sticky cork tile next to my fridge. A special corner to go to when I’m hungry: whether for food or wise reminders.
I look in the mirror, and it’s me again.
Take care.
About Seeing or Unseeing
February usually brings us closer to the theme of love. Whether you have a romantic soul or you identify more with a passive receiver of what this buzz creates, I guess we’ll all be exposed to some Saint Valentine’s red hearts and chocolate vibes.
In the spirit of that, I take the chance to share something wonderful I read not long ago in one of my favorite newsletters called “About Art”.
The below it’s an invitation I personally welcomed. I hope it stirs something for you, too.
“There is a difference between being invisible and being unseen. For me, the latter involves choice on the part of the person choosing not to see the other. People often unsee those they most love because they mistakenly think they can. Being taken for granted gets old. And while all things can be forgiven, some cannot be forgotten. Be conscious of what you are choosing not to see. We can all do better at being more thoughtful, present, available, generous, and aware. It’s a long list, but what matters more than showing people you love that you can see them? All the time. Not just when you have time.”
