style="font-size:15px;"> hab·ithab-it
noun: habit
1.an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary.
2.a particular practice, custom, or usage.
“This can develop into a good habit.”
Introduction
As I was making the thirty-minute drive to South Pasadena High School, site of my impending TEDx talk, I turned on the radio in search of some musical inspiration that would both pump me up and quell my nerves. I knew this day would come when I decided to share my story on the TEDx stage. But now that it was here, it felt surreal. Preparing for it had become part of my daily life—I carefully chose every word, rehearsed it alone in my apartment, in front of my acting class, while out hiking, and in front of any friend who would listen. And, more often than not, I danced in that confident space where I could deliver this speech just as I had been successfully practicing it countless times. I was excited and ready. Not just in an “I got this” way—but also in an “I have arrived, and no more playing small” kind of way.
Sure, I had my moments of doubt, but each time they crept in I gently pushed them away, finding that soulful center that had always created a safe haven and guided me intuitively forward. For me, that burning desire to follow my inner voice—and hunch—often turned out to be a beautiful and unexpected experience. So, when I turned on that radio, I was taken aback to hear these exact lyrics: “There’s no place to hide, but I don’t think I’m scared.”
Those words cut me to the core. That was going to be me in only an hour! I would be on the TEDx stage in front of a large, live audience with cameras rolling, and had no place to hide. But was I scared?
The lyrics hit me hard, and raw emotion came pouring through me. Instead of fear, I felt validation hitting me square between the eyes, saying, “You are ready, you are prepared, and you deserve this moment.” I recalled all the things I had worked so hard to do prior, just to be able to stand on that stage: speech classes, Toastmasters, co-hosting my own radio show, acting and improv work, creating my own workshop, and writing books. It had been a challenging march, fluctuating between courage and doubt, bordering on self-flagellation, to gain enough confidence to share my story in front of others.
Although each step strengthened my foundation, that foundation was about to be tested. Would I be rock steady as I let down my shields and insecurities in front of that packed theater? I thought so. My tears were a tangible reaction to the lyrics; my intuitive inner knowing supported the tears. I was ready. I wanted this test. I knew I could and would welcome the audience sharing in my vulnerability.
When we share our truths, pains, and imperfections, we shine light on our true essence. It brings us closer together as a community because that is what I believe we all truly desire in our lives: authenticity and sharing. Offering and receiving authenticity creates joy. When we reveal ourselves, we stand unencumbered in truth: there is no place to hide.
Living authentically and openly this way is freeing: I have never felt more free than when I walked off that TEDx talk stage after sharing my journey with (potentially) the world. I will continue to stand on that stage, albeit a figurative one, as I move forward with more adventure, learning, and sharing. I want you to stand up and shine on your own proverbial stage as well. There is quite a beautiful view to be had when we look out from our heart. And I know I’m not scared. And I don’t think you are either.
Chapter 1
My Journey
jour·ney
noun: journey
1.a traveling from one place to another, usually taking a rather long time; trip.
2.a distance, course, or area traveled.
“His journey was long, but was rewarded with learning and self-awareness.”
Ten years ago I was running my family business. I had been running this business, which was a successful golf center, for eleven years. We had a driving range, a nine-hole golf course, and a retail golf store in Salem, Oregon, called Cottonwood Lakes. But I was really unhappy.
I know a lot of people would give their “left arm” to have that job, but I didn’t feel like I was being my true authentic self and that bothered me. Up to that point in my life I had accomplished some really nice things. I rode my bicycle across the United States, finished over fifty triathlons (including four Ironman races), had a wonderful son, and was running a profitable business; so a part of me felt like I had a good understanding of personal success and what that meant and felt like. But I wasn’t feeling that way at my job or in my life anymore. I felt like I had this giant gift inside of me that wanted to come out, but I didn’t know what it was; I just knew that it needed to be released. So, with a slightly confused heart, I left the golf center and my family’s business. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life after leaving, but I trusted my decision.
Now, getting to the place of actually leaving the business was much harder than I just made it out to be. This was a job that had permeated through my being ever since I was a seventh-grader driving a little tractor with a makeshift wire cage on it to pick up the golf balls. I would effortlessly drive around lost in thought on warm summer evenings, smelling fresh-cut grass and listening to the “thwack” of club hitting ball, and compulsively picking up every single one of them come the end of the night so the customers could do it all over again the next day. I had grown up with that job; it taught me responsibility and gave me purpose. It provided me a consistent workplace throughout high school and during college while home on summer break. It also made me “cool” and gave me instant credibility amongst my peers, not to mention a handy place to take a date. But most importantly, I had grown up playing golf: it was a sport that provided many happy memories for me as a child and a vital tool that helped my father and I bond, and that made it one of the reasons why it was hard for me to tell him I didn’t want to do it anymore as an adult.
In my heart, I think I always knew that I wasn’t going to be working at the golf center for the rest of my life. I felt an intuitive tug pulling at me early on during my eleven-year tenure of running the facility. It was the same tug that I bravely followed into triathlon racing during college, but this tug wasn’t quite strong enough or, more likely, I didn’t have the courage to listen to it at that time to actually leave. But now it pulsed stronger than ever and wouldn’t allow me to stay complacent in something that wasn’t my true calling. That didn’t make the initial conversation about wanting to leave the business with my father any easier. At first I felt that I was letting him down. My thinking was that he had provided me with this great opportunity to run and co-own a business that most people would happily say yes to. And I knew that he had secretly hoped that I would make it my own someday.
When I finally did gather the courage to have the chat, the conversation went much better than I could have ever imagined. I think much of the anxiety stemmed from my own fears of letting him down. He told me that he sensed I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I had been at the start of my eleven-year run and that he certainly didn’t want me to do anything that my heart wasn’t into or be someone that I wasn’t. He also told me that he just wanted me to be happy. I felt very fortunate that my father understood my feelings and was able to let some of his own fears be tabled.
He also shared something with me that totally caught me off guard. He told me that if he could have done it all over he would have become a golf club professional instead of an independent insurance
