The Obstacle Is The Way

Where have I been? In today's attention economy, did you even notice I was gone?

It's been a month since the last issue of this Substack. 😬 There are Reasons, which I’ll share in a moment, but before I do, I want to tell you a story.

Why you're getting this: You subscribed to an email list on my website or followed this Substack. You can unsubscribe at any time, and I won't be upset. I won't even know!

In this issue: I write about one of our team’s community agreements, “the obstacle is the way,” and share how, sometimes, the hardest stuff is also the best stuff. I also talk a lot about birthdays. 🎂

Special request: I am ➍ subscribers away from 🙌 500 🙌 which is exciting to me! Do you have a friend that you think might enjoy this newsletter? If so, would you forward it to them?

PICTURE IT, ALLENBROOK ELEMENTARY, 1988.

It was my 9th birthday and it featured the gift of gifts: a shopping spree. 🛒🛒🛒

That’s me in the middle.

I had a crisp $50 bill and the entirety of a Sears department store to spend it. I ended up buying a pair of neon bike shorts (which were very in at the time) and an orange skater boy-style t-shirt featuring leopard prints (which, tbh, may not have been as in).

But lest you think my fashion choices were the reason that I was mercilessly made fun of when I wore this outfit to school the next day, let me be clear. It was unseasonably cold that day. It was around 40 degrees and not exactly shorts and t-shirt weather.

The teasing began the moment I entered school and it grew throughout the morning, migrating beyond my class and even transcending grade levels. It felt like the entire school was making fun of me, and I can still feel echoes of how crushed I felt.

But there was a girl in my class who had also worn neon biking attire that day — bike pants, though, not bike shorts. When she saw me being made fun of, she decided to roll her bike pants up (so they’d be like bike shorts) as an act of solidarity. 😭 At nine or so years old, she’d dropped into a profound level of empathy and courage. All these years later, it still touches and inspires me.

Also, a little later that day, my mom took time off work to bring me a pair of emergency pants (purple cargo if you're tracking my fashion sensibilities). I hadn't hesitated to call her for help and she was able to help me, so she did. It wasn't like she cushioned me from all my struggles, but she never shied from accompanying me in them. I was an only child. She was a single mom. We were a team. Miraculously (?), the purple cargo pants neutralized the teasing, and the day was better after that.

WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS?

I’m telling you this because Monday was my 45th birthday. I’d asked for some fun shirts for my birthday, and my wife Marilyn delivered.

Birthday morning present opening, please excuse the bedhead.

I began the morning with some birthday journaling and realized I was feeling a little shy about wearing the orange shirt, which sparked the memory of the story above. I wrote:

I am remembering that sad day when I wore bike shorts and got made fun of. And that girl in my class who rolled her bike pants up to look like shorts. What an extremely kind gesture. And how my mom came to my rescue. It was such a gift—a day of some of the kindest memories of my life. It burns my nose to remember them. How incredibly beautiful. The hard stuff is the good stuff.

“The hard stuff is the good stuff.” I mean, not always, but a lot of times. And here’s something you may or may not realize: the Listening Tour is “hard stuff” for me.

And b-e-c-a-u-s-e the Listening Tour is hard stuff, I’m starting to self-sabotage, which is why it’s taken so long to get this newsletter to you.

I once had a manager (👋 Troy) who noticed this tendency in me when I would get quiet and go days without responding to an email he’d sent. We developed a practice that I would respond to his email with gobbledygook (e.g. “lsakdjfalk;sdjflkasdj;f”) to signal that I was overwhelmed, and he would adjust his approach.

That was a long time ago, and I’ve mostly gotten better about this, but not always (👋 Dale). I know I’m not alone in engaging in this behavior, but indulge me in enumerating some of the ways I’ve done so instead of writing this newsletter to you:

1. I rebuilt the Center’s website from the ground up, including creating a new WordPress theme from scratch, because I noticed some issues with its original setup.

2. I designed a beautiful PDF response to some questions a potential funder asked instead of just typing the responses into a plain text web form, as they requested.

3. I volunteered to lead the hiring of an administrative assistant for the Center.

4. I setup a Notion space for our team because a colleague was having trouble with sharing a single page.

5. I immediately jumped on every opportunity to give thorough and thoughtful feedback on things my colleagues were working on.

There are more, folks—lots more—but I think you get the drift. Basically, I donned a cape at the slightest notion that I was needed, busying myself with things that were helpful and appreciated but arguably unnecessary given the weightier, harder, and longer-term work of the Listening Tour.

THE OBSTACLE IS THE WAY

Our team has a set of community agreements. We call them Commi'grees, and you can view them here. We read these agreements out loud at the start of our weekly team meeting. These statements have become a touchstone when things get difficult—they are an antidote to the myriad ways any of us on the team might self-sabotage.

The fourth commi’gree, “The obstacle is the way,” serves me at times like this. It reminds me that the hard stuff is the good stuff. It helps me move toward the things I’m scared of, like scheduling listening sessions. (BTW, want to sign up for one?)

The best thing about it, though, is the mystery of where it leads. The obstacle is the way… to where? I don’t need to know. It simply shortens my field of vision to the obstacle itself, which today is sending this newsletter. And it says: Go there. Do that. See what happens next.

p.s. You didn’t think I’d miss the chance to send you a Lewis, did you?

He may not enjoy my kisses, but he does tolerate them… sort of.