Starfish

Imagine going to see the ocean for the very first time.  You’re a landlocked biologist and you’ve heard that there may be starfish in rock pools.  You’re beyond excited for this field trip but when you get there it’s foggy.  You can’t see more than a few paces ahead and the only evidence of ocean is the crashing surf and the smell of salt.  There’s no starfish.

That’s what happened to Robin Wall Kimmerer.  In her fascinating book, Gathering Moss, she describes the disappointment.  Wandering along the rocky beach picking up the odd mussel shell and strip of seaweed by way of compensation, she says, “suddenly – I saw one.  Bright orange and clinging to a rock right before my eyes.  And then it was as if a curtain had been pulled away and I saw them everywhere.  Like stars revealing themselves one by one in a darkening summer night.  Orange stars in the crevices of a black rock, speckled burgundy stars with outstretched arms, purple stars nestled together like a family huddled against the cold.  In a cascade of discovery, the invisible was suddenly made visible”.

How beautiful does that magical moment seem?  Don’t you just breathe a sigh of relief with her?  Haven’t we all had that curtain pulled away, when the light shifts and your eye adjusts and suddenly what was missing is in plain sight?  The earring back lost among fluff under the dressing table; or the tiny meadowlark fluttering above the lavender field, one, then another and now there are six or seven, rising and dropping; or when they laugh and you look into their eyes and realise, oh yes, it’s love.   At first there’s nothing and then there’s something.

There’s a logical explanation for this.  We’re taking in so much visual information that there’s a delay whilst our brains process. Only once we’ve spotted repeated patterns and made sense of them, does our conscious brain get the message.  From no starfish to orange stars everywhere, from one meadowlark to a whole chorus of them, from laughing to love, from no neural pathway to a fresh minted new one.

Learning’s like that too.  I often joke that in our choir, I must be the slowest learner. I listen to a voice recording of my alto part over and over, following the score with a finger, opening my mouth to sing with a loud and confident breath and miss my note.  I try again and get it.  I try once more, it’s forgotten again.  Like a failing electrical circuit one moment there’s flickering lamplight, next there’s darkness. Only finally, after a few more nexts, there’s light.  I get the musical phrasing.  It’s done.  Phew!

Have you ever felt frustrated about the path your career is taking?  That’s like that too.  What do I want?  I don’t know.  It’s foggy.  What do I want?  Not sure.  I know what I don’t want.  I don’t want the pressure, the unrealistic expectations, the boss who doesn’t listen, the long hours culture.  I don’t want empty rockpools.   What do I want?  I can’t ask for what I want.  Doesn’t everyone have to do work when they don’t really want to?  Isn’t it unrealistic to expect more?  I want more money but doesn’t everyone?  I should be happy with mussels and seaweed.  What do I want?  A boss who gets me.  Work that’s rewarding.  A team I love working with.  The autonomy to do what I love doing and do it well.  A culture that takes care of people.  A company that’s small enough that I get to see the whole picture.  Ah! and here come the starfish. 

As coach my job is often to help people see patterns. To explore that complex landscape of hopes, fears and half-baked ideas, sift, make sense of, discard and refine until a pattern with meaning emerges.  Until the shapes on the black rock take form like orange starfish. 

I like to walk when I coach.  The best ideas often emerge when we move, maybe because we’re not looking for the answers in the obvious places.  As Robin Wall Kimmerer remembers a Cheyenne elder telling her, “The best way to find something is not to go look for it”. Or maybe it’s because our moving body helps those new neural pathways form effortlessly, like a knife through butter rather than a chisel through stone. 

So, if you’d like to join me for space to breath and explore, away from the desk, let’s have a chat and make that happen. Give me a call on 07958 732803 or drop me an email and let’s start a conversation to find out more about how coaching might help you replenish, rejuvenate and re-balance.