Tag: Father

6/20/11 “Fathers and Leaders”

Good day, team.

Today is Father’s Day, and although I’m not fond of how we’ve commercialized these “Hallmark holidays,” I do think that honoring our fathers is an important tradition in any culture.

This week, I’ve been thinking about fatherhood and leadership and the similarities between the two. A father is the male head of a family, and a leader is someone who is the oldest or most venerable of a group. Both roles require certain sacrifices that we often don’t acknowledge.

My father played both of these roles. He was head of household, authority figure, teacher and intellectual inspiration, moderator, and corporate executive — all rolled into one. I never understood how lonely he was in many of these roles until he was much older and finally told me. He said he often felt excluded from the rest of the family. He never had a son, and he was surrounded by a succession of wives and daughters, who saw him as essential in his role as provider but deficient in his ability to emotionally relate to us. He was the quintessential “Mad Men” character from the 1950s who followed all the rules that society defined for him. But he cheated where he had to in order to appease an inner life that was angry about his compliance and constant servitude. We, of course, just accepted him by thinking that this was the way dads were and often took him for granted.

As the chief executive in a company, he often experienced loneliness at the top. Final decisions were left to him, and he longed for greater support from others but was not always able to ask for it. I remember him saying once, “When you realize that all 520 employees rely on you everyday to ensure that they take home a paycheck to support their families, it weighs heavily on your conscience when you make a risky business decision. At the end of the day, there’s no one else to blame if it all goes wrong.”

I have a hard time relating to what it might feel like to have been raised to believe that I must provide for others. As a businesswoman, I’m always grateful that I’m not burdened by this notion. I’ve only had to provide for myself and anyone else I chose to support, but it’s never been a mandate. Even today, many men grew up with these patriarchal handcuffs and are severely judged when they don’t meet the standards our society has set up for them.

This week, let your father or a father in your life, know how much you appreciate him. Try pointing out the specific things he does that make a positive difference in your life. Spend some time with him doing what he loves. For example, my Dad was a great lover of jazz music. He had an extraordinary collection of old jazz albums that he would play for me when I visited him. We would sit in his den, listening to old jazz recordings, enduring the pops and cracks caused by the age of the album as it spun on the turntable. My Dad would smile from ear to ear with his eyes shut, just loving the music. I was able to show my appreciation for him by allowing him to share something he loved with me.

How about also showing appreciation for your boss? Whether your boss is a man or a woman, a little appreciation goes a long way for someone who often spends lots of solitary time worrying about your welfare and the success of your team.

William Shakespeare wrote, “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” This week, try easing that weary head and heart by showing your love and appreciation.

Have a good week!

Kathleen
Kathleen Doyle-White
Pathfinders Coaching
(503) 296-9249

© Copyright 2011 Pathfinders Coaching, Scout Search Inc., all rights reserved.

4/26/10 “Legacy”

Good day, team,

Last weekend my family celebrated my father’s life at a ceremony at the Exeter Chapel, in Exeter, New Hampshire, where my Dad attended prep school in the 1930s. There, in this sacred and beautiful space, friends and family gathered to honor him and say our final good-byes.

As part of this week’s challenge, I would like to share an excerpt from the speech I gave about my father and what he left me. I offer it in hope that it will encourage each of you this week to ponder your legacy.

“To me, my father’s legacy is more than what you read about in his obituary. It’s not just where he went to school or what job he had or which organizations he supported. You won’t hear about it in the stories we tell about him. He didn’t create a philanthropic foundation or leave us a fortune or even leave us with only happy memories. There were many times throughout my life when we fought bitterly, judged each other severely, and hurt each other painfully. But, in the end, the legacy my father left me was to never be afraid to search for the truth, to find that kernel of light and love that exists all around us. He would often remind me that ‘the unexamined life is not worth living.’ He knew that in our constant drive to understand the external world, we often missed what is our greatest birth right, our ability to know the truth that lies in our heart of hearts and in our souls.

“My father always encouraged and inspired me to continue to be the explorer I was born to be. Although this didn’t guarantee that I would always find the right path, or become a high achiever, or leave the world a better place, it did insure my ability to keep that inner fire alive—and stoked—to feed that insatiable desire to see what’s at the heart of it all, whether it be in the light or the dark, and to live the questions. Upon telling him about my discovery of the no-thing, he seemed quite content and genuinely happy for me.

“You see, he was always an explorer himself. This was the guy who subscribed to ‘Astounding’ magazine for as many years as it was published and kept every single issue. He wrote amazing science fiction stories long before ‘Star Trek’ was televised. He questioned what he read in the newspaper each day and never stopped being amazed by the phenomenon of life in its simplest and most complex forms.

“He was never afraid to question our position in the universe or talk about whether God exists. And, for all his political conservatism, I believe that within his internal life, he embraced a kind of liberal freedom that showed up in his ability to accept everything that came his way. Ironically, he was as adamant about sticking to his daily routine as he was about allowing his thoughts and emotions to fly free. More importantly, he was able to love life to the fullest, whether it was in the sip of a good scotch, the telling of a good story, watching a perfectly thrown baseball, playing golf with his buddies, or listening to a favorite piece of music with his beloved wife, Barbara.

“When I asked him once whether there was a heaven or hell, he replied, ‘I believe that we make our own heaven or hell on this earth.’ Those of us who knew him well know he had both of these experiences in his lifetime. But whatever the case, he was never afraid to question what it all meant. This is the legacy I hope to leave to my grandchildren: four beautiful boys who look to their Nana and G-Pops for inspiration and the courage and freedom to explore the mysteries of life. Four beautiful boys who, although you never met them, Dad, will have been touched by you, nonetheless.

“On the day before he died, Barbara called me to tell me he was dying. I remember her saying that for the past three days, every person who walked into his room received the same reception. Now no longer able to speak, and perhaps knowing the inevitable, my father would take the hand of each visitor and hold it up to his cheek. In a moment of true intimacy, I like to think that my father was able to experience the great mystery he encouraged me to seek no matter what—the light and the love which burn eternally bright.”

This week, ask yourself, “What will I leave for the people I’ve worked with, the people I’ve loved and the world at large?” Your challenge is to give some thought to your legacy and see if you’re living the life that you’d hoped would create.

Have a good week!

Kathleen

Kathleen Doyle-White
Pathfinders Coaching
(503) 296-9249

© Copyright 2010 Pathfinders Coaching, Scout Search, Inc., all rights reserved.

1/11/10

Good day, team,

I fully intended to write a challenge last weekend, but with the death of my father I found myself in a state of silence. Grief stopped me in my tracks, and I made every attempt to stay in the silence it rendered.

There is much to be said about my father. This past week I reviewed the coach’s challenges where I’ve referred to him, and there are many stories, lessons and pieces of wisdom that I attributed to him. But when I think of my father, I realize that he was above all else an exceptional storyteller. And so this challenge is dedicated to my dad and the power of story.

The Institute for Co-Intelligence defines the power of story as follows:

“Stories are more than dramas people tell or read. Story, as a pattern, is a powerful way of organizing and sharing individual experience and exploring and co-creating shared realities. It forms one of the underlying structures of reality, comprehensible and responsive to those who possess what we call narrative intelligence.”

When I was growing up, my father’s storytelling abilities really shined on Saturday afternoons where he told stories to me, my sister and our friends. Our home was the place all of our friends wanted to hang out. My sister and I felt lucky and proud to have parents who were not particularly strict, were open-minded, and seemed to have a great appreciation for what young people were interested in.

My father would sit around the dining room table and tell stories about battles fought during the Civil War (a subject that most teens in the 1960s and 70s would be totally bored by) to an audience who hung on his every word. It was as though we could hear the musket fire or see the sunset over the battlefield. Sometimes he would talk about Socrates, or Leonardo, or baseball, or music or poetry and how these people and things had taught him significant lessons about life. He was a great lover of science fiction, and so there were Saturday afternoons when he would set up a crude solar system—constructed of toothpicks and styrofoam balls—in the middle of the dining room table so we could explore ideas about our universe.

When we gathered with family and friends, my father would often entertain us with off-color limericks that he could recite with perfect accents and timing. We laughed so hard that tears streamed down our faces. On All Hallow’s Eve, he would tell scary stories by dim candlelight that sent my girlfriends and me jumping out of our seats and into each other’s arms for safety. A good Edgar Allen Poe story recited by my dad was not to be missed. Years later, when my dad and his wife, Barbara, ran a bed and breakfast in New Hampshire, many of the guests would remark that yes, the inn was very nice and Barbara’s breakfasts were to die for, but it was Ted’s stories they would go back for year after year. Whatever the subject, my dad had a way of bringing it to life.

I have learned in my personal and business life that storytelling is essential in communicating ideas. Often people don’t understand a concept unless you reframe it in a story they can relate to. Stories help us define our lives and make sense of complicated situations. They allow us to tell the truth about ourselves in such a way that we can be entertained by what might be too painful to admit outright. They give us a way to interpret our lives.

While storytelling serves many noble purposes, it also has a dark side. Stories can be used to mask the truth, to help rationalize destructive or careless actions, to make someone else the bad guy. Over the last decade, I’ve realized that many of the stories my father and I had been telling about each other were not true. These stories were made up from painful interactions, imagined malicious intentions, misunderstandings and inaccurate interpretations of events.

With the help of my stepmother and husband, my father and I set out over the past decade to rewrite some of these stories and reach a new understanding based on love and compassion. We were not always successful, but we did close the chapters on many stories that were never true, but had been given life by our retelling of them over the years.

As a coach, I see my clients tell stories about themselves that are not true and serve no positive purpose. Perhaps they were true at one point in their lives. But an obsolete story, retold to themselves and others, has outlived its usefulness. I often suggest that they change their story to one that serves them, rather than continuing to tell a story that diminishes them. By changing their story, they change their lives.

In his book “The Power of Story,” Dr. Jim Loehr shares this insight:

“Telling ourselves stories provides structure and direction as we navigate life’s challenges and opportunities, and helps us interpret our goals and skills. Stories make sense of chaos; they organize our many divergent experiences into a coherent thread; they shape our entire reality. [Yet] far too many of our stories are dysfunctional, in need of serious editing.”

Your challenge this week is to hear the stories you tell yourself about yourself and others and to stop telling the ones that no longer serve you. Perhaps you work with someone who irritates you: Do you tell stories about that person which put him or her in a negative light? Maybe you tell yourself you can’t do this or that: Is it true?

One of my clients just decided to take a drawing class because she’s been hearing a story in her head for 25 years about not being able to draw. Evidently, in high school, one of her art teachers told her she couldn’t draw well, and she’s been repeating that story to herself ever since.

You may be telling yourself a story that puts someone on a pedestal or portrays her or him as super-human. That perception is sure to fall apart eventually. No one can stay on a pedestal for long. Or maybe you’re just telling yourself stories about family members that are no longer true. Forgive or seek forgiveness. You might be able to finally release these myths.

Over the last year, as my father’s dementia increased, he lost his ability to speak. The great storyteller was finally silent. How much this pained him only he can know. But I understood that my father told stories to hold people’s attention. Perhaps he worried that people would stop loving him if he lost that ability. I like to think that one of the miracles of my father’s illness was he could finally see that people loved him when he told stories, and they continued to love him when he no longer could. It really wasn’t about the stories at all but the storyteller himself.

For me, part of the grace of my father’s death is that now all of the stories are just that: stories. It’s a great relief to release all the tales of shame and guilt, pain and suffering, just as much as it’s a delight to remember those of joy and sharing, love and compassion.

This week, choose the stories that serve you best. You do have a choice: It’s just a matter of seeing the story for what it is, just a story, and then deciding whether or not you want to keep telling it.

Have a good week!

Kathleen

Kathleen Doyle-White
Pathfinders Coaching
(503) 296-9249

© Copyright 2010 Pathfinders Coaching, Scout Search, Inc., all rights reserved.