I'm having a forced office day today. Hurricane Helene is on the way, but still churning in the Gulf of Mexico.  Here, thousands of miles away in Lake Lure, we are socked in with some of the worst flooding rains we've ever seen, and this storm is a tiny appetizer compared to the main course coming later tonight.

Is it wrong to trigger someone? The question came up for me recently when I realized that I had accidentally triggered someone in a big way. For the sake of privacy, I'm not going to tell that story, other than to say this: It was not fun being on the receiving end of the fall out.

There's a dilemma in being a coach. Or should I say in being a coach who offers true change. I define true change as being committed to setting the conditions for clients to help themselves to achieve the things they say they would like to achieve. The paradox is this: At every critical moment of truth, a true coach risks losing the client when asking the client to make the moves to help the client help themselves.

As I was sitting down to write this blog post, I had a golf tournament on in the background. Even though I don't play golf, the game fascinates me because of the mindset required to consistently be a good golfer. This day, it wasn't the golf match itself that was interesting. It was one of the advertisements. "This club is too wobbly." "Someone sneezed just as I started my shot." "The wind changed directions on me." "The grass is too wet." On and on the self-talk yammered, and I quickly identified the same kind of getting in my head that I have experienced in water skiing, business presentations, and other pressure-filled moments. For a fleeting moment, I though perhaps a famous sports psychologist had decided to advertise how to get out of your head to the national golf audience.

What have I invited into my life? That was the second question I had at the beginning of the initial ride on my trip to Oregon for Endurance Bootcamp with Stevie Delahunt. The FIRST question was "Am I ok? Anything broken?" "What now?" Ok, I realized that is a set of questions, but in moments of stress, the thoughts tend to come flooding in.

I used to think that we were either born a perfectionist or we were not. Since I WAS a perfectionist, I thought seeking a life of no mistakes was a much better way to live.  It worked pretty well for me for about 6 decades. I just had no idea how limiting it was. Falling off a horse in 2017 gave me the chance to live the cliché of getting back on the horse, which has given me a glimpse of a whole different way to experience "mistakes". You're not going to believe what I'm doing next.

It's natural for us humans to avoid discomfort. I've heard scientists say that most, if not all, of our actions are designed to move us away from pain and discomfort. Others argue that we also seek pleasure.

As far as I'm concerned, it's a moot point. We can all agree that we are just trying to feel better.

Scientists also agree that agitation is required for our brains to lay down the new neural pathways for learning.

When I drove out of Mystic Waters the day after Easter, I saw a blue plastic bag hanging from the tree above me. With a quick glance, I could see that it was full of something heavy. Seeing trash on the ground is not that unusual. Seeing it hanging from a tree full of something mysterious got my attention, especially given what I thought I saw. “Surely not,” I thought as I drove on to my next appointment.

So many of my life lessons come when traveling. The boy seemed fine but tell that to his traveling companion. Several times, I thought "Who's having a hard time here?" The scene I'm referring to played out on my flight last week. I was in my usual aisle seat, and to my right was his worried companion. (Not sure if she was the mom or grandmom, or maybe aunt? I'm going with mom, because I've been a champion worried mom myself.) The 10-year-old boy was sitting alone across the aisle to the left, one seat up. In other words, I was the pesky human between the mom and her child.

I went to a "galloping clinic" (yes, on horses!) this week with Stevie Delahunt, so I knew I would not have time to write a new blog. Instead, I scheduled a "rerun" of the blog below before I left. Little did I know that the clinic would show me both how far I've come - and how far I still have to go. More than once, I felt myself seeking perfect balance, instead of simply rebalancing. In the end, I DID gallop, and it was beyond exhilarating. Ultimately, I learned that balancing at the much less scary trot was both more challenging and more important. When I came back to reread this post before sending it to you, I realized that it's the most fitting post I could make today. I'm so grateful to have had an accomplished horsewoman like Stevie lead the retreat this weekend. She toggled back and forth between challenging us and supporting us so that we each pushed on the edges of our respective comfort zones.

This week I'm continuing the story started two weeks ago. If you haven't read it, you can find it here. Now, ReeRee was walking away from me and there was nothing -- outside of connection -- that I could do about it. He's faster than me and knows how to live free. In the moment, the pressure of the situation was greater than my mental tools. When I turned to catch ReeRee, he walked faster. So I walked faster. I felt as much as saw the moment when something inside him clicked, and he began trotting along the fence line. Soon he was out of sight, and I almost crumbled from fear and panic. I cried out to Bruce "I need a little help here!"

There's a story about the way elephants are tethered when in human captivity. A simple chain or rope around one leg is tied to something that does not match the strength of the adult elephant. If he chooses, he could easily break the tie and be free. However, when he was a young elephant, he learned that it was useless to fight such restraint. By the time he's grown up, he remembers not his strength, but the uselessness of the fight.

Imagine for a moment being composed and unflappable in the face of every behavior that might set you off. Getting fired. Being discriminated against. Told you are a failure. Not being allowed to speak. Expected to follow the pecking order. Expected to comply while your boss loses his composure in dramatic and threatening ways. Any one of these acts would interfere with most people's best version of themselves. Yet Elizabeth Zott keeps her composure as her boss's frustration escalates, offering a clear picture of what being unflappable really looks like.

We went snow skiing in Utah last week, just as the state was getting slammed by a major snowstorm. For most skiers, fresh snowfall implies a powder day, the dreamiest of ski conditions. For me, it caused me to reflect on my skills and willingness to brave the mountain as a skier who has had minimal opportunities to practice.

Over the last week, I've been doing my "prior year review", as I mentioned in my email on Friday. What a clarifying exercise it has been! In no particular order, I will start with some of the insights I've gleaned. Maybe the most important was this: My energizers far outweigh my de-energizers. Yes, I had moments in 2023 that were "downers". But there were many, many more moments that filled me up. And even the "bad" things that happened had poignant moments and opportunities for deeper connections.

Well, here we are again. It's the end of the year and everyone is talking about New Year's Resolutions. If deciding to do something different changed things, I would be all for it. But think about it. How well does the annual New Year resolution process work? If the empty gyms at the end of January are any indication, not that well.

We had a weather warn day here in the mountains of North Carolina this week. Actually, we had three of them. The weather forecasters at our local station started informing us that a massive storm was coming and that initially we would have rain and then we would have extreme wind, along with falling trees and power outages. All this talk took my mind into "don't-go-near-the-edge" land and I vowed to stay home.