Running Home

Me and the girls pre-race in the Windy City last October.

It’s been months since I had that nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. At least since last spring when I fell in love with another, one with more lightness and speed. The new Specialized carbon 12-speed bike easily took the place of my worn out Brooks running shoes, now crammed in the shadows of my closet. Those old shoes had seen some action, but frustrated by too many years of low-back pain, I’d traded them in. And in the process, started learning about cycling, a sport I’d always enjoyed – in a brand new way.

As spring turned to fall and the leaves became too much of a slipping hazard on my bike, I wondered “what I was going to do to stay strong?” For the past few winters, I had trained my body (and brain) to run outside. Something that I never felt was possible given that the harsh winters of Northern Michigan had always triggered my asthma. Over time, I found that combining my practice of hot yoga with intermittent winter runs was the perfect blend to keep my mind-body-spirit fit.

So, I (subconsciously) took a couple of months off of exercising. And started reading. Everything I could get my hands on. Books that had been loaned to me months ago. Magazines I don’t subscribe to. And newspapers and online forums that filled me with information about both local and international affairs.

And then, it got cold. And I got cold. That’s when I realized it was time to get back into hot yoga. For the more than 12 years I’ve been practicing, this year is the first that I’ve actually fallen asleep (in a 110-degree heated room) prior to class. It’s also the first year that I’ve disappeared into my practice. If you’ve heard runners talk about the “high” and how you can run through anything, it’s a similar experience in yoga. Only difference is, for me, it’s as if I just disappeared for 90-minutes, in a 110-degree room, with 30 of my closest friends. And when the final shavasana takes place, I reappear sweaty and exhausted.

Slowly, I eased myself back into a yoga practice that felt comfortable. But something was still missing. And I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, until I picked up a book titled “Born to Run” under the auspices that it was a gift for my husband, whose early-morning runs with our German shepherd puppy were the justification I needed. “It’s not for me” the voice in my head pounded. “After all, I’m not running anymore.”

Finishing “Born to Run” yesterday morning I was left with a deep sense of longing. Even though I’d previously signed up for New Year’s Day hot yoga (one of my favorite classes of the year) I just couldn’t shake the desire to pull out the old Brooks and hit the trail.

“Why fight it?"

The first step out and I am a bundle of nerves. I flashback to a blind date that a friend of mine set me up for when I was in 8^th grade. I wasn’t allowed to date (or drive) so the whole thing was a covert operation. My Mom thought I was going to the movies with an older friend (which I was). What she didn’t know was that my friend Anne was bringing her boyfriend and a Senior-guy from another school. Leaving the house that night to rendezvous I had that same nervy, woozy, adrenaline-stoked feeling. But this time, my approach was completely different. After all, I’ve been running, on-and-off for more than three decades. I made quick work of my reintroduction and the anxious-wooziness in my belly faded into an easy stride. With a little rock-and-roll music, I was back on track.

Three miles flew by in a blink. Before I knew it, I was rounding the trail, heading back to the “finish line” the spot where I’d dropped my fleece vest and promised myself that once I arrived there, I’d walk the last half mile home. I stopped. Pulled on my vest, walked a few steps and still felt the desire to run. So I did.

I jogged home smiling and feeling like I was glowing from the inside out.

“Ahhhh, I remember this, I thought. It’s what I’ve been missing. The afterglow. And what I’ve also come to recognize is the cozy feeling of “being home.” It’s not somewhere else. It’s right here inside me. And it’s been with me forever.” 

The Surfboard Whisperer

The beautiful board that caught my attention

Traveling is exhilarating. It's a lot like surfing. The feeling of freedom and the energy buzz that I get. They’re one in the same. So, during a recent trip to Hawaii, when we wound up island-hopping (Maui to Honolulu) to get to our final destination of Kauai, that was just fine with me.

It was after two days of traveling, sitting in airports, hailing shuttles and booking hotel rooms online that I wound up on a beautiful stretch of beach in Waikiki, Honolulu. My energy buzz was finally replaced by a familiar sense of Pacific peace. One that tastes like salty, tropical air served up with a Mai Tai on the side. It’s in this place, digging my feet into the coarse sand watching the sun fade, that I felt called to.

I was busy soaking up the warmth of Hawaii, storing away the sights, the smells and the sounds that I would surely retrieve much later – when I was wrapped in a cold gray, winter day that I felt a calling of sorts. Reflexively, I turned and looked over my shoulder and down the beach. About 25 yards away, half-under and half-out of a multi-colored umbrella, my eyes came to rest on an upside down surfboard with a surfer-boy lounging next to it.

At a glance, I could see the board was old. As I continued to gaze at it, something compelled me to get a closer look. “I’m gonna walk down and get a picture of that surfboard,” I mumbled to my husband before setting off toward the half-upright umbrella.

Oddly, the closer I got, the more beautiful that old board became. I was so completely focused on it that before I knew what I was doing, I was touching it momentarily, forgetting about surfer dude who sat watching me quizzically.

“W’sup,” he said sleepily.

“Oh, I um, wondered if I could take a picture of your board?” I said. I could see the question mark on his face. . . “W’sup with this lady who wants to take a picture of the board…”

“Sure thing, he said. It’s pretty special. Usually I get people who want to take a picture of me with the board,” he went on.

“Yeah, no offense," I said without thinking. "I’ve seen a lot of surfers, but I’ve never quite seen a board like this one. It’s beautiful.” Wow. That’s what I get for not thinking. Totally insulting surfer dude without even trying to.

The sun set as I started snapping shots with my small point-and-shoot digital camera. As I continued to search for the perfect angle, letting my eyes and heart lead the way, the surfer offered up the story of the board:

Another special board in Kaua'i
for the late Andy Irons

“lt’s pretty special," he said."My friend Alfred surfs on it. He got it from a friend of his who is a native Hawaiian. The Hawaiian’s brother used to ride it all the time. And he died surfing. So it hung in a garage for a long, long, time. And then the Hawaiian gave it to my friend Alfred. He’s just starting to surf. Pretty awesome, huh?” surfer guy said.

“Yeah, awe some,” I exhaled between shots, thinking about how ironic it was that the Hawaiian gave the board to a newbie surfer. Was this his way of perpetuating the memory of his late brother? A perfect representation of the circle of life. From the little I knew about the Hawaiian culture, it made sense.

The board glowed as the sun set. I kept snapping until the shadows got long – all the while thinking about the energy and memories that it held. The moment passed and I thanked my laid-back friend and headed back down the beach.

But the board stayed with me. All the way back to Michigan – where it was at least 30 degrees colder, with a north wind. “What was it exactly that made me want to photograph that surfboard?” I kept thinking.

Today, as I shared the story with a friend, I realized that there are surfboards all around us. The challenge is to hear them. I’m pretty sure that on daily basis I am surrounded by moments like the one I had on that beach half-a-world away. The challenge is: noticing and moving toward them. Not being afraid to listen. Even when it’s a surfboard on the other end of the line, calling.

The Passion Factor

After returning from a ten-day trip to Ecuador last month I have been filled with a new found sense of gratitude and happiness. For me, going away and coming back always sparks personal introspection. And in the weeks that have followed, I have found myself digging deep. Personally, professionally, and otherwise. In the midst of this thoughtfulness, one word keeps echoing in my head: Passion. And what better time to share a little of the good stuff – than on Valentine’s Day? 

Passion-fueled art in Minneapolis

The passion-echo started as a mere whisper of the word, and over the next several weeks, it grew into a full-on symphony. The spark ignited when I caught up with an old friend over tea. She’s naturally intuitive and being pregnant has amplified this gift. So, while she wanted to hear all about my recent excursion– she sensed that something was weighing on my heart. And she opened our conversation by asking me “what it was?”

She listened intently as I described my first week back - including a litany of unexpected professional and personal challenges, that when combined with my return, had left me feeling wounded and raw. My friend spoke gently: “Juliette, you always give more than 100 percent of yourself. Your passion is extraordinary. You need to focus on working with people who value that.”

There it was again. Passion. 

Fast forward from our tea-conversation two weeks and the passion-message had started to become overwhelming. Everywhere I looked, there were examples of people engaging their passion.

From the bike-store owner who ran his palm down the nicest cycle, touching it with the tenderness of a lover; to the client who asked me to help her prepare for a day-long strategic meeting – by surveying her team about their passions.

There’s the surprise gift I had received in the mail from a new friend titled “The Element: How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything.” And then, the conversation with my writer-friend whom when I shared with her how passion was swirling around me, perked up and said “that’s weird.” “Two weeks ago, my running blog was all about passion.” That’s when I decided it was time to write this post. I had titled The Passion Factor many months ago, but shelved it, as I was uncertain of the message.

I was beginning to feel like I was being stalked by a swarm of passion-crazed people. To say I was distracted is putting it mildly. In preparing for a business trip, my thoughts were literally floating away. I responded by upping my caffeine intake – coffee in the morning – coffee in the afternoon– thinking that perhaps the java jolt would provide me with the clarity and focus I desperately needed. No such luck. I was now more alert but still passion-pre-occupied.

The plane ride to Minneapolis provided some respite. Although I had packed The Element (which I was starting to privately refer to as The Passion), I poured over Forbes and Vanity Fair – thinking that perhaps some light reading would give me brief distraction from my passion-fueled frenzy.

The next afternoon, I met with a new friend and colleague. He’s in a business that’s environmentally conscious and during our first meeting I recall him describing himself as a “zealot.” I liked the guy. And I admired his openness and intelligence. I also found it curious that he would define himself in such a… how should I put it? Amorous way.

Our conversation quickly took a turn and before I knew it, my zealot-friend was passionately describing the feeling of joy he gets in helping humanity. “At the end of the day, it’s not about my retirement account,” he said. “I could care less about that. It’s about doing something meaningful for my fellow human beings.” His voice boomed with passion that was palpable. It was enough to make me sit back a bit. Here it was again. Live and in-person. Oozing out of him – a self-fueled fire.

Marshal Ferdinand Foch said, “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.” Years ago, I was compelled to print this quote on the back of my business card and for awhile I would present it to people back-side-first, so recipients had opportunity to read (and perhaps even feel) the words. As the years passed, I stopped doing this. And sitting with my friend, as he shared his passion, I was reminded of it.

Valentine’s Day comes once a year. But in my humble opinion, the passion that surrounds this day should be lived every single day. Thanks to my friends’ reminder, the next day when I introduced myself to a new colleague over coffee – I smiled and slid my card across the table – passion-side-first.

Is President Obama Available? Just Ask.

Helicopter ride in Kauai? Just ask.

For those of you who have ever doubted the power of just asking, I am dedicating this (true) story to you.

About a year ago, I attended a summit for Michigan’s Next Great Companies. I was there to support a colleague who was putting on one of the workshops, and I was looking forward to hearing the keynote speaker – Bo Burlingham, author of the book Small Giants.

Over 100 people were present – and my proofreader, Jerry, and I planted ourselves toward the back and center of the room. As people joined our table, we introduced ourselves and engaged in the usual “what do you do?” chatter. When a smiling, relaxed man in tweed sat next to me, I introduced myself, and we started the “what do you do” process all over again.

The man was co-owner of a well-established, family-owned roofing business in Michigan. Recently, he and his brother had designed (and were in the process of patenting) a solar-powered roofing technology that was easy to manufacture, install and distribute. He had also been the recipient of $500,000 in federal stimulus money that was awarded to businesses throughout Michigan to help reenergize our state’s lagging regional economy. And if that wasn’t interesting enough, his was the only solar-powered company in the United States to receive such an award.

Needless to say, I was pretty impressed. Through the course of the summit, we continued to chat, and a synergy developed. My new friend shared that he had a pitch project he had been working on that he could probably use my (and my colleague’s) help with, so we parted ways and agreed to circle back and continue the conversation.

In the meantime, we stayed in touch. And as is quite common when I meet a kindred spirit, I was compelled to send him a copy of my favorite book (at that moment) titled The Go-Giver, which is solely focused on the importance of giving to others – and what in turn can become a powerful force of positive karma.

For those of you who don’t already know: I am a compulsive giver. I’ve even been described as a “giver piggy.” I find great enjoyment in giving to others – and always have. Nothing about my giving is calculated. It’s just something that has always felt right. On the flip side: I’m not the greatest receiver. Over the years, those who have given to me have pointed out how frustrating this is. So, I’m working on that.

About a month later, Jerry and I paid our prospective client a visit. We spent a half-day learning about his operation, the manufacturing and installation process that he and his brother invented, and talking about his challenges related to marketing. At one point in our dialogue, he asked me exactly why “I thought he should work with us, instead of hiring a firm right down the street?” After an awkward pause, the words came right out of my heart: “Because I believe in giving.” My friend cocked his head … and smiled.

Our conversation took a turn toward his immediate need, which was help with a pitch to the National Science Foundation (NSF) in Washington, D.C. Turns out, he was comfortable selling, but knew nothing about pitching a story with the intent to receive national news coverage. Seizing the moment, I suggested he dial up his contact at the NSF so I could help guide him through the process and the questions that needed to be asked in order to formalize a pitch. Amazingly, we were connected, and I proceeded to ask the pertinent details (timing, word count, focus, etc.) related to crafting the pitch. As we wrapped up our conversation, my solar-powered friend had one final question:

“You know, I’ve always wondered how people get invited to the State of the Union address. It has been a dream of mine – I’m just curious as to how that might happen.” The NSF representative responded in all sincerity that he did, in fact, know the gentleman who makes these suggestions to the President of the United States, and that once we sent him our pitch, he would be happy to forward it along with this request.

We parted ways with me agreeing to help with the pitch – at no charge – with the intent that if he was pleased with the results, he would consider hiring my team to help provide the PR-power to launch his new energy-saving product.

I completed the pitch and was proud of it. The prospective client was also pleased, and I submitted it on his behalf to the NSF. Not long after, one of my colleagues (a PR expert) sent me an e-mail letting me know that he had heard that our prospective client had hired someone else to manage their rollout.

In the 11 years that I have owned my own business, I’ve come to realize that sometimes the reason a person enters our lives isn’t perfectly clear. I firmly believe that this way of thinking has helped propel me forward at times when I might otherwise be disappointed – it’s kind of a derivative of the “you win some, you lose some” attitude. So I moved on.

You can imagine my surprise, when two nights ago, on the eve of the State of the Union address, the same colleague that informed me that my prospective client had hired someone else – sent me an e-mail titled “HEY!” with a simple question: “Did you see who’s sitting next to Michelle Obama at tonight’s State of the Union address?”

If you guessed it was my ever-smiling solar-powered friend and his brother, you are right. Not only was he sitting with the First Lady, he and his brother were personally recognized by the President of the United States during his address. He did it. He realized a dream. And all he had to do was ask!

I immediately sent my friend a text congratulating him on realizing his dream – and letting him know I was honored to have witnessed it come full circle. And it was at that moment that I realized the reason we connected at that business luncheon that felt like eons ago: so I could support a person with the courage (to ask) with my talent (to give) and he could realize a dream. What a blessing.