Beeswax, trip into Hades and a permission to feel
I was surprised how heavy an Olympic gold medal is.
THINK. I am a lucky person. Because of my job, I have occasional access to both many outstanding people and some unique experiences. This week, I met a British slalom canoeist Joe Clarke, to hear about his journey from Olympic champion in Rio 2016, through not being selected for Tokio games, up until competing in Paris in the new format of kayak cross race and winning silver medal for Team Great Britain. A second place that meant so much more than gold 8 years before.
What struck my sensitive chords was the humbleness Joe reflected on the commitment to a sustained training effort. Losing the spot on the team could have been a blow to knock him out, diminish the will to keep trying. Instead, he just said to himself 'I did not put the hours and commitment I needed so I did not deserve the outcome'. This is where the journey begun again.
A lifelong (wannabe) athlete myself, I often reflect on the aspects of athletic performance: incremental gains through insights, differentiated training schemes, as well as the role of mindset. To that end, the power of a team behind an individual has become a cliche statement, nearly used to dilute an apparent vanity of being at the top of the game without thinking. The opposite seemed true though. Elite performance is often accomplished by attention to miniscule details (bees wax layer at the bottom of a canoe?), accountability model that many corporates would love to see working so well in the boardrooms and amongst cross-functional teams, or execution of months, or even years-long conditioning plans. It takes more than one person to bring it to life.
When people play their positions and are content with their contribution as such, great things are suddenly within reach.
FEEL. Joe Clarke's motto 'Tough times don’t last, tough people do' became like a splinter in my palm. I could not have ignored it, but it made me uncomfortable. Why toughness? Why did I feel that the resilience & strive for elite performance described by an Olympic athlete were synonymous with the ability to endure pain, restlessness and unstoppable, almost hypnotic drive forward? What may we be losing when we become 'tough'?
Not a fan of destiny and interventions from a higher power, I got my answer the following morning. A conversation I was listening to while finding my way through runner's footpaths of London's Southbank revealed the missing element. Permission to feel.
Emotional intelligence has been on my mind for many years now. As opposed to IQ, emotional intelligence is fluid over time and can be radically enhanced. As a matter of fact, I must have been very low on EQ when I was graduating university in early 2000's. Rational, factual, trained to rather contain than express emotions, I was a perfect robotic achiever in my profession. Until I got to my early leadership roles and discovered that most of protocols that work on me, simply does not apply to others. Letting emotions in, stopping to reflect on what was happening to me and others, and why this might be the case, was the bees wax on the bottom of my boat. It helped me slide into the rapid water and find my rhythm.
Kudos to my wife who understood that far sooner than I ever could and encouraged me to seek some professional support!
DO. Walking the talk of bringing novel experiences to one's life, when one of the evenings suddenly freed up, I decided to see one of the West End musicals. As a parent of 'theatre kid', it felt both like paying tribute to her passions, and consuming an important element of contemporary culture. I chose to delve into a story of Orpheus and Eurydice in 'Hadestown'.
A tale of love and loss, the myth unveils the delicate balance between both. It speaks volumes about the power of commitment and sacrifice. Orpheus' walk into Hades is uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time, and as the emotional tension builds up during the play, at that moment I could not hold down tears. While we all know how it ends, I chose to believe otherwise, even just for a bit.
One of the reasons I started Caring Geek was the need to pay forward and share my own journey. I am still unsure where is this path taking me. Stepping into the stage is scary. I believe though, that if it is helping people slow down, reflect, and explore uncharted territories of their feelings, it was worth the time, effort and vulnerability.
