PARLAY

HOGGING THE GOOD NEWS

Posted on March 6, 2024 by Parlay House

March 2024

Last month Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow and forecasted that we can expect an early spring.

New York City’s Staten Island Chuck, Massachusetts’ Ms. G, and Wisconsin’s Jimmy the Groundhog concurred.

That must have brought a sigh of relief to my rain-soaked friends along the west coast, my goosebumped northeastern companions and my snow-dumped midwestern pals.

It certainly made me excited because regardless of where I am, spring is my favorite season.

I love watching the bulbs poke up through the soil and sprinkle the ground with bursts of yellow and purple. I feel real joy when my vegetable garden comes back to life. I’m boosted when the days get longer, and the weather warms my bones. Spring feels optimistic. An awakening.

Thanks Phil, Chuck, Ms. G and Jimmy!

Hold up, buttercup.

Are these vermin clairvoyant, or is their prophecy another form of fake news?

When comparing records kept by Phil’s sponsors (the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club) with the actual weather history (as recorded by the Stormfax Almanac), Phil’s accuracy is only 39%.

Since Phil (and his predecessors) have been prognosticating since the late 1880s, the law of averages suggests that the groundhogs should get it right about half the time.

But Phil’s family has been historically pest-a-mistic, forecasting 108 continued winters and only 22 early springs.

That’s defeatist thinking for you, even if it’s intended to be tongue in cheek.

Eighty percent of the time, these rodents have called for continued winter, and they’ve been wrong more often than not.

Their predictions have been delivered with a biased and negative mindset.

Don’t fall for their spin!

Spring always comes.

So many of us feel muddied by this dirty world. While the grime is visible and pervasive, not all of the news is horrific. It’s easy to lose perspective.

Find the light.

Instead of letting those hogging the low-ground set our expectations, I plan to use spring to take back control.

Fuck off, Phil

Chuck-it, Chuck

Let it be, Ms. G

I’m not getting caught in your trap.

Of course, I’m going to pay attention to everything that’s going on in the world, including the hard stuff. It’s only by knowing that we can find both empathy and the will to be part of the change.

But it’s time to celebrate and amplify the good news, see the positive opportunities and feel a sense of hopeful anticipation.

Whether it’s the emerging buds on the trees, the moments when we share common ground or opportunities to find the truth beyond the spin, we can set our sights on the future we want rather than the one we dread.

Those who live in the light know that by visualizing and articulating the future we want, we’re more likely to see it.

Look at the source. Hopefully, it’s more credible and less biased than Punxsutawney Phil.

Think about the message. Is it intended to build fear, and is there another side worth seeing? If there is potential, hope and meaning… don’t hog it!

Amplify the good news, the optimism and the upside. It’s up to us to spread our aspirations as quickly and passionately as we spread our fears.

Share it Small: If you’re part of conversations that seem to be cycling negativity, fueling fear and stuck in “what if” doom scenarios, flip the switch. Provide the counter perspective. Slip in some hope. Add some statistics that change the conversation.

Share it Big: Take a good, hard look at where you’re getting your news and information. If it’s fueling a negative fire, it may be time to find more balanced sources, thought leaders with ideas and change-makers carrying hope.

Share it with me: We all learn from each other. If you have had a revelation, a breakthrough, an insight, or a triumph, we can learn from you so please tell me about it here! I’m collecting stories of these cascades of good for ongoing community building and to track The Parlay Effect in action. I would love nothing better than to hear how you lifted, were lifted, or observed something in others that made you feel good and recognize your power.

WAIT, WEIGHT, DON’T TELL ME

Posted on February 7, 2024 by Parlay House

February 2024

In January, Parlay House events around the country were all about burning the trauma we wanted to get rid of from 2023 and writing love letters to ourselves for 2024.

Like everyone else, I had plenty of things to burn and set nearly all ablaze.

I lit on fire the memories of other people’s views of me, shaping my own self-perception. I used a flame-thrower to decimate the times that I carried other people’s trauma as my own. A little more gingerly, I singed (and then forgave) my mistakes, smoked out my perfectionistic tendencies, and, on a larger scale, I pictured my frustration with world leaders being tossed into a bonfire and tried to imagine a better world for us all in 2024.

But as I said, I let ALMOST everything go.

I can’t seem to let go of how hard I am on myself about my body.

It’s kind of crazy. I’m nearly 62 years old, and I still compare myself to how I used to be. I also compare myself to how other people are now. Fitter, thinner, stronger.

Rationally, I know this is ridiculous.

Emotionally, I can’t help myself.

I’m my own worst critic.

I’ve been in this loop for a long time.

During my freshman year of college, surrounded by 2,000 women who often seemed smarter, fitter or more centered than I felt, I battled bulimia in reaction to gaining my “Freshman 20.”

While I moved past that dangerous behavior by the time sophomore year rolled around, my early adult years were a mental battle not to let my weight define who I was or how I felt about myself.

I found freedom in my “mom years,” focusing much more on having babies, raising adolescents, and how my daughters felt about themselves. Like most parents, the presence of children necessitates a shift from “me” to “them.” In that period, I slipped into a positive cadence of thoughtful eating and religious exercise that meant I didn’t need to self-scrutinize or obsess.

But my girls grew up and moved into their own lives, and I was left with more time to think about… me.

My empty nest came with an open window to self-scrutiny.

From that view, I can see that over the years, my skin has lost its firmness, muscle tone is harder to build, my waist has become my “middle,” and the real aches and pains of disease and aging often feel daunting.

I can also see that the years that caused sagging have brought perspective I couldn’t have had until now. It’s time to tip the scale back in my favor.

Yep. It’s time to write that love letter, and I’m going to write it out loud here:

Dear me,

I want you to look at your glass rather than your “hourglass.” It is so much more than half-full.

Despite the things you can’t change (like the flow of time), you’re thriving. Most of your faculties are in place. Your body moves well, and in the rare times that it doesn’t cooperate, you’ve gotten great help and have found ways to manage the pain.

You get yourself to the gym and the pilates studio. You are thoughtful about what you put into it, both literally and figuratively. You are doing most of the things you can do within your control, and when you mess up or fall down, you get right back up.

What’s more, your body knows how to use itself for good. Whether it’s giving a big hug to someone who needs it, carrying your granddaughter in a way that brings you both joy, or walking arm in arm with a loved one to provide balance, you’re doing great work.

You’re not airbrushed, girdled or hiding in moo moos.

You’re real and you are mine.

So I will work on treasuring you, forgiving your lapses, and celebrating your accomplishments in the same way I celebrate those things for the others I love.

We’re in this together till the end, and I choose you.

Love, Anne

What do you want to burn, and more importantly, how can you find new love for any piece of yourself that you’ve been hard on?

Share it Small: Write that love letter to yourself. Address it, stamp it and give it to someone you trust to mail it to you in another month or two. It’ll show up as a reminder of how worthy you are of love and acceptance.

Share it Big: Many of you didn’t know that I’m struggling with ABI (aging body image) issues. But I know I’m not alone in this. Let’s put it out there, talk about it, share the realities, and reassure each other that we have each other’s backs as we face the inevitable and often beautiful chapters of evolving in this world.

THE YOLK’S ON ME

Posted on January 3, 2024 by Parlay House

January 2024

For the last 18 months, I’ve been raising chickens.

Keeping in theme with our dog, Mick Jagger, and our two feral barn cats, Jackson Browne and James Taylor, our chickens are named after musicians.

We have Lizzo and Miley. Stevie, Taylor, and Aretha. Britney and Dolly.

Cher and Tina are Tolbunt Polish Chickens with fancy headdresses a la Bob Mackie.

The most beautiful of all was Beyonce, but as she grew from chick to chicken, we realized that she was actually a rooster. So we re-named him Jay-Z and sent him to live on a friend’s farm because… fertilized eggs and early morning cock-a-doodle-doing.

Every day, I have a routine with my feathered female flock, bringing them pieces of fruit, sliced veggies and a handful of lettuce.

In exchange, they give me eggs.

The fancy girls lay delicate small cream eggs, and the regular chicks leave me a variety of larger brown and speckled ones. Two were supposed to lay colored eggs, but that never happened. I love them anyway.

Last week, while carrying the eggs to put into a crate, I dropped one. Watching the crumpled shell and the full moon yolk slowly seeping into the gravel, I cried.

It was a strange thing to cry about.

I’d broken thousands of eggs before, whether intentionally to put into food or through unintentional breakage because that’s the nature of eggs.

But this time, I knew the chicken and had received the eggs as a ritual of relating.

The broken egg felt different when I knew the layer.

I had felt a sense of gratitude and responsibility for using my chicken’s gift well, and with one of those gifts, I’d wasted it.

Making a frittata later that day, I started thinking about the difference between the eggs I know and the eggs that come from unknown chickens. I value the eggs that come from owners I have a relationship with, and I don’t give the anonymous eggs much thought, even when I accidentally break them.

Of course, that observation correlates directly to humans.

I obviously have a double standard, valuing my inner circle much more deeply and being quick to discount strangers and their gifts.

I also forgive those I know for their failure to deliver “colored eggs as promised,” yet I’m easily riled when strangers don’t keep their small commitments.

It seems like such a revelatory thing to learn from chickens, but I’m going to start being more thoughtful about how I hold all of the gifts I’m given.

While I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions because I’d rather make small but consistent, sustainable improvements all year round, I consider this a timely birth of a New Year’s Revelation:

If strangers hold each other’s eggs more gently, we might break fewer of them. We’ll cause fewer cracks, treasure the small gifts that are part of our sustenance, and end up with more nourishment of all sorts.

There is a second piece to that revelation, of course.

We all need a rooster like Jay-Z around to keep the cycle going. So, I’ll be way more selective about who I send out to the farm.

Cock-a-doodle… DO.

Where can being more gentle make a difference in your world?

Share them Small: Did someone give you a gift that you took for granted? It’s never too late to tell them that their small gift was appreciated and made a difference.

Share them Big: Can you forgive those who show you their cracks or disappoint you on a relatively small level? Since we’re all delicate and imperfect, forgiveness might be the protective shell that makes us all stronger.

Share it with Me: We all learn from each other. If you have had a revelation, a breakthrough, an insight, or a triumph, we can learn from you so please tell me about it here! I’m collecting stories of these cascades of good for ongoing community building and to track The Parlay Effect in action. I would love nothing better than to hear how you lifted, were lifted, or observed something in others that made you feel good and recognize your power.

IS WHAT YOU SEE, WHAT YOU GET?

Posted on December 21, 2023 by Parlay House

December 2023

I love being bi-coastal.

The intensity of New York City is the perfect place to live a fast-paced, culture-rich life, and the earthiness of Northern California gives me space to slow down, step back, observe and think.

In both of those places, I’ve built meaningful friendships that include people surprising me by dropping by to visit.

I make sure that I’m well-stocked to welcome them with tea and snacks, as well as an eager ear for listening and a loving hug ready to go to whoever needs it.

I also prepare physically, tidying up our apartment/house, not only because I like things to be neat but also because I worry what people will think about me if my home looks like a bomb went off.

Our homes are telltale signs of who we are.

My husband (who really doesn’t notice whether things are neat and tidy) is probably tired of the way I neaten his papers into piles and relocate his charging cords away from the kitchen counter.

But I can’t help myself: I notice every detail.

I’ve been a neatnik since early adulthood when I realized that people frequently judge each other by external factors before getting to know them on a deeper level. It might stem from some underlying insecurity: being well-dressed, highly organized and consistently clean is my signal to visitors that I have my act together, am in control of my days, and possess clarity about who I am.

The truth, though, is that some days I have my act together, and other days, despite the shining countertop, I’m barely treading water.

Recently, when San Francisco prepared to host the Asian Pacific Economic Conference (APEC) I realized that cities spend a lot of time and money to be perceived in the best possible light as well.

The conference brought big-time visitors to the Bay. President Biden and President Xi. Dignitaries, journalists and staff members came from around the world.

Leading up to the event, San Francisco scrambled to look its best.

Contractors hustled to clean up the streets. The city moved homeless people into shelters. A giant Ferris Wheel was relocated to the waterfront for an optimal view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Officials issued warnings about traffic, eased the gridlock, and increased police presence to provide enhanced service and protection.

The city transformed itself into the way it wanted to be seen.

But as soon as the dignitaries left, everything returned to its normal state.

Homeless and mentally ill people came back out, still needing services and support. The streets became littered again, not only with the garbage of day-to-day living but with the syringes that prove that what APEC saw was not the full story of who we are. Traffic snarled. The Ferris wheel remains in its new location, but otherwise, we were back where we started.

To be honest, I was judgmental and annoyed at the city.

I wondered how San Francisco could justify addressing its problems in the short term by hiding them and then abandon the improvements once the dignitaries had departed.

My “benefit of the doubt” analysis was that the city was doing its neatnik thing too, making the environment nice enough to welcome guests and create a safe space for deeper and meaningful connections.

But my “doubt the benefit” analysis wasn’t so kind. Cleaning up for guests but ignoring neighbors, taxpayers, community members and committed residents made us feel less important than the visitors. Less worthy. Less seen. Less important than the guests.

Shouldn’t our primary focus be to lift those we know the most deeply?

Let’s roll out the red carpet for those we know and love instead of rolling it out so that people will love us.

We’ll begin with our inner circles – the people who should matter most but are often taken for granted—family, friends and neighbors.

After they know how much we value them, we’ll extend our welcome to incorporate those we’re just beginning to know with the objective of creating lasting depth rather than temporary sparkle.

Let them see us in our proverbial underwear when we’re less coiffed, undusted or bare-faced.

The only way we come together to solve the big problems is by showing love and forming bonds in hundreds of small ways that make each of us feel connected to the larger whole for whom we all are responsible.

Share them Small: Take the time to do something special for someone you might have taken for granted. It might be pulling out the good china, sharing a secret recipe or sitting in the living room instead of in front of the TV. Anything that says, “I want you to feel special.”

Share them Big: Show your hot mess as well as your sparkle. All of us have imperfect and discombobulated days. Make yourself more relatable and make other people feel less alone in their imperfect moments by living yours out loud.

JELLYFISH PERSPECTIVE

Posted on November 16, 2023 by Parlay House

November 2023

A lot of what you know about my life comes from these monthly letters, social media posts, our circle of connection, or what you might remember from past times.

So you may not know that over the years, my spine has been in slow and painful decline: vertebrae condensing, discs rupturing, and nerves being crushed as the spaces between the bones narrow to nothingness. My 5’5” became a scant 5.4”.

I’ve tried nearly everything along the way, beginning with core strengthening through pilates and workouts and then slowly adding minimally invasive ablations, steroid injections, cyst drainage, and even a laminectomy.

But despite diligence and care, my physical prowess gave way to limited mobility, increasing pain and bubbling frustration.

My physical decline influenced my mental pattern, too. While I’m usually someone who looks on the bright side, I found myself feeling a sense of self-pity.

I was asking, “Why me?” at least once a day.

Chronic pain is something I couldn’t have understood until it became my story.

Some days, the pain made me feel discouraged or depressed. Other days, I felt less motivated to exercise because I couldn’t do some of the things I loved most, and I definitely couldn’t do what I used to.

I’m pretty sure that my chronic pain made me less fun to be with, and that made me worry that I’d scare away the people I love most.

Instead of managing my pain, my pain began managing me.

At the beginning of this past summer, in an effort not to let pain totally hamper my life, my husband and I headed off to Europe for a long-anticipated trip that included being the officiant at the wedding of our dear friends. We would start in Paris, our favorite city, and then make our way to the UK for the wedding the following week.

On the second day in Paris, I got Covid.

It cleared the day before the events began, which was a huge relief given the meaningful role I was supposed to play.

I told my back pain to take a back seat, focused on the joy of the moment, and managed to let the glory of the wedding wash over me.

From there, we headed to Denmark and Norway, where I hoped to continue to put my pain in its place. But record-breaking rain poured down so heavily that the streets became rivers. My pain flooded back.

Torrential rain continued heavily through the Norwegian fjords, and my physical state prevented me from making the most of it.

Returning home, I knew that a much-dreaded spinal fusion was the only solution left.

(A fusion is a major surgery that includes having a metal cage in your back and screwing it into the vertebrae above and below.)

After two nights in the hospital, the doctor mandated that I spend the next six weeks with no bending, lifting or twisting. Gone was my therapeutic stretching. Pilates was a no-go. My erg machine would remain covered by a tarp.

And the worst restriction? I wasn’t allowed to lift my granddaughter.

Overachiever that I am, I assumed that a six-week recovery was for “normal” people and I’d be raring to go in three weeks. So, I committed to join my sister Rachel in taking our mom on her dream trip to Sicily during that recovery period. I thought it would be another good distraction and an important life moment.

I gave it my all, but walking on cobblestone streets post-surgery felt as precarious as walking on slippery rocks, so instead of wandering freely, I tensed up with the worry of falling and jarring loose the screws.

A week into our trip, when I finally felt stable enough to move around at a reasonable pace, I found myself on a stroll a mile from our Airbnb. It felt so good to be moving again.

At that moment, I was stung by a bee.

I’m allergic to bees.

My ankle swelled to elephant-size and itched beyond comprehension. I would have headed to the pharmacist to buy a canine cone to prevent me from chewing off my own leg, but my stiff back prevented me from getting that part of my body close enough to my teeth. So I had to suffer and itch.

Rachel suggested that a swim in the Mediterranean might help both back and ankle, and I agreed. Fifteen minutes later, we were breast-stroking to explore a little grotto… when I felt a slash of pain on my arm.

I’d been stung by a jellyfish.

Luckily, I learned that I’m not allergic to jellyfish stings.

(Note: Rachel generously offered to pee on the sting, because that’s the kind of girl she is. I opted for dousing the wound with vinegar because that’s the kind of girl I am.)

It may sound crazy, but learning I’m not allergic to jellyfish was both a physical and a mental turning point.

I knew it could have been worse.

As has happened so many times in my life, I had gained perspective from my time of suffering.

I reached the magical moment of six weeks post-surgery, and, just as the surgeon had predicted, my pain dramatically lessened.

Not only did I begin to feel like myself again… I felt better than my old self.

Better because I had context for my wellness and an appreciation for living life without thinking about physical limitations.

Better because my mental cloudiness now had room for light.

Maybe most of all, better because I could shed my self-pitying mindset.

The “why me” suffering turned into an overwhelming sense of “why me”gratitude.

My new “why me” framework became the observation that despite my setbacks, I am so lucky.

I’m not allergic to jellyfish.
My surgery truly helped me.
I took two amazing trips in one summer.
I was loved even when I wasn’t my best self.
I found light after darkness.
I could lift my granddaughter again.

I realized that the core strength I had built was not just built through pilates but built from the context of living a full and imperfect life.

And that’s a whole lot to be grateful for.

Have you had small moments that provided big context?

Share them Small: Start by loving yourself. If you’re not being your best, accept that as one of life’s fluctuations. Sometimes, the best medicine is to go through the hard stuff so that the better times have context.

Share them Big: Because you never know who around you is suffering, sharing your own moments of feeling down and then gaining perspective out loud. It could be the catalyst that lifts someone else.

THE POWER OF “ER”

Posted on October 16, 2023October 16, 2023 by Parlay House

October 2023

If you read my message last month, you may remember that I was celebrating three women who had crossed my path. Each had achieved celebrated success but spoke with rare vulnerability and candor about their mistakes, failures, regrets, and the emotional impact life’s hard lessons had on them. I was inspired by their ability to accept their imperfections and failures, integrating them into their narrative and sharing that narrative with the world.

But after I published that blog, I realized that “baring it all” was a big ask, and I’m all about “The Parlay Effect” – small, iterative steps that lead us to become more connected with ourselves, with our communities, and with the greater world.

So while last time I sang the song of “Her” with a capital H, this time I’m itERating.

I’m focusing on the power of “er.”

The power of “er” means trying harder rather than doing it all. Being firmer about expectations and needs. Finding a bigger platform to share truths. Going farther in honest conversations than we’ve dared to go before.

Yep. Emotional evolution is tough.

It is similar to getting back into an exercise routine after months (or years) of being sedentary. Getting back into “it,” whether it’s openness or an elevated heart rate, has to be done in stages, because stretching is hard.

To keep from pulling a muscle (either physical or emotional), it’s good to warm up with small steps.

One block farther. One conversation truer.

Adding “er” at the end of certain words means doing more.

When I’m getting back into shape, I have to accept that the feeling of becoming winded or the soreness that comes from pushing muscles to a new level of strength or flexibility includes a little pain. The pain of growth.

Spoiler alert: there’s pain in the emotional stretching, too. Whether I’m offering an apology or worse for me, expressing a need (when I feel undeserving), I have to mentally rehearse so that I’m prepared for the tears that may come and the pain that so often throbs in my chest when facing these difficult but important conversations.

I visualize the opening, the first words, and the phrasing that will allow me to be heard. And I anticipate that if this is an honest and vulnerable conversation, I’ll need to be a better listener, receiver and owner of what comes back to me from the other person. What comes back might sting, but I will be better for it.

Once I start with the gentle pushing of self – to stretch, to share, to receive and process – another level of “er” emerges.

It’s the “er” of being deeply engaged in life.

Add “er” to play and you get player – someone who is actually in the game. Add “er” to open and you get an opener – someone who is willing to take the lead, begin, get started, be the first.

Adding “er” to verbs raises the stakes. It means participation. It means commitment.

So while my “baring it all” missive last month was about being open to the fullest, I think that fuller rather than fullest might be the right way to get there.

It’s the growth and development that lets skiers start on the green circles before progressing to the blue squares and finally to the black or double black diamonds. It’s why dancers need years in ballet shoes before getting ready for pointe, and why writers begin with essays (or even private journals) before expanding their work to a chapter or even a book. It’s why we have interns and residents and assistant coaches.

The “er” is how we gain momentum to get to the stage where bearing it all is the easy and logical step from tiny, life-long moments of becoming our fullest selves.

* * *

Is there an “er” that feels like a good step for you? Whether it’s a physical step, a moment of self-reflection or a chance to connect more deeply with another person, push for the “er” to get one step closer to where you are now. And if you are ready to step up to the plate, add the “er” to your verb and get truly into the game.

Share it Small: Use today to have one conversation that gently stretches you to a new place that feels like a safe stretch, and see how you feel about having a conversation, asking a question, or telling a truth that begins an important growth conversation for you.

Share it Big: Ready to get into the game? Take some action by raising the stakes and participating, committing, volunteering, experimenting or trying something that you’ve been thinking about but didn’t know how to start. Once you jump in, you’ll adjust to the water and wonder why you hadn’t gotten in earlier.

How Much Can You BARE?

Posted on September 8, 2023September 8, 2023 by Parlay House

September 2023

I’m not sure whether you’ve heard, but we’ve got a great podcast called Bring a Friend, which will soon release its seventh season. We created it to take the intimate and personal conversations we have as women in the Parlay House community and broaden our reach to include listeners beyond our female, western, adult audience.

Arielle and I have had some amazing conversations with people you’ve never heard of, as well as people who we thought you already knew but added a level of depth and intimacy in their willingness to share their larger stories.

Finding people who are willing to “bare all” isn’t easy.

We live in a society where so much of the way we put ourselves forward (at work, in communities, on social media) is crafted based on what is “expected,” “admired,” and “socially acceptable.”

Those crafted presentations of how we are “supposed to be” leave little room for talking about who we really are underneath the nice, neat wrapping.

What does it take to become someone with the confidence to remove the packaging and include mistakes, regrets, fears and failures in telling our personal stories?

Lately, I’ve started to see some patterns in people who are willing to be exceptionally open and vulnerable on a public stage.

The first person I noticed was Rosalie (Rosie) Silberman Abella.

I heard her speak a couple of weeks ago at the United Nations.

Rosie sits on the Canadian Supreme Court bench. Her speech intended to address the importance of social justice and fairness in our court systems, especially in how it impacts refugees. It was a long day with long speeches, so I expected another lengthy legal address when Rosie approached the podium.

But as esteemed as she is and in the sacred venue where we gathered, Rosie didn’t speak in platitudes. She took her moment in the spotlight to speak her truth as not only someone who has risen to the top of her profession but as the first Jewish woman and refugee to have that role and responsibility. In her speech, she told us about her father, a German lawyer who helped thousands of jews find safety as they were displaced by the Nazis. She cried on stage and had to pause her speech to regain her composure as she re-lived the memories of her own time in a refugee camp and mourned the fact that her dad had not lived to see her own meaningful achievements, which are working to extend his legacy. I had never imagined that a Supreme Court justice who speaks publicly and deals with serious and factual issues all the time would need to pause, wipe her tears, and gather herself so that she could finish. But she did… and had no hesitation to show the depth of her own feelings in front of a packed house that included the Prime Minister of Canada and the King of Spain.

The second person I met at the same event was Berit Reiss Anderson.

We stood next to each other in line at a cocktail party that evening, chit chatting and complaining about the superficiality of most business gatherings. But before I had a chance to learn about her, she showed interest in me and asked about my life. Instead of the standard “what I do for a living” response, I was open with her about the devastating end of my corporate career and how it made me long for deeper and more authentic relationships. I wanted to shift the usual conversations from “what I do” to “who I am, what I long for, and what I celebrate.”

She loved that shift.

In fact, my response lit a fire of connection for us. We bonded about shared experiences, personal insights, parenting challenges and future aspirations. She told me about her marriages that ended because her career took precedence, which led me to talk about my failings as well. We bonded as imperfect “older” women.

It wasn’t until much later that evening that I learned she’s not only a celebrated lawyer, she’s the President of the Nobel Peace Prize Committee. For her, the chance to bond and connect in a deep and mutual way was more important than having the opportunity to tell me about her impressive job.

I loved that shift, too.

The third wise woman who crossed my path that same day, albeit via Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s awesome Wiser Than Me Podcast, was Isabel Allende, author of The House of Spirits and numerous other best-selling novels. Eighty-year-old Allende was as open as I can imagine anyone being in a public forum, addressing everything from her mistakes and failures as a parent, the death of her daughter, her sex life at 80, blueberry gummies, and how she thinks about the final chapter of her life. Nothing seemed to be off-limits in what she would disclose or discuss.

What really hit home for me as I listened was that she said she had gotten to the point where she didn’t feel the need to please anyone unless it pleased her to do so… and that to get to this stage of living the life that is truest to herself, she had to prepare to get there by being really honest with herself, not only about her widely-known and highly celebrated successes but also by living openly about the hard truths. The fact that she was not an ideal parent. The fact that she lost a child. For her, being open about her regrets, addressing her mistakes, and thinking about how she shows love to those she cares about freed her to live a more open and authentic life in all of its imperfections.

Three wise women in one day made me stop and reflect.

What does it take to get to this point of seemingly complete comfort and clarity of self?

How does who I am, in all of its human complexity, supersede “what I do” and “what I have achieved that fits the publicly acceptable mold”?

The common thread seems to be having arrived at a place of self-knowledge, self-awareness, and, maybe most importantly, self-acceptance rather than looking for that validation externally.

By including our mistakes, fragility and bruises in our public narrative, each of us has nothing left to hide.

Baring it all allows us to share it all, too.

* * *

How can you practice sharing your whole self more openly to create deeper human connections?

Share it Small:

Start with a single conversation with someone you care about, and acknowledge something you might have done better. See if that opens the door for more understanding and connection.

Share it Big: Speak openly about your own regrets or mistakes in a larger forum, whether it’s at work, in a family dynamic, or on a public stage. Letting your humanity show will signal those around you that it’s safe for them to do the same thing, making space for connections at a deep and meaningful level.

WHAT DID YOU SAY?

Posted on August 10, 2023 by Parlay House

August 2023

When you were a kid, did you ever play the telephone game?

Everyone would sit in a circle, and the “caller” would whisper a word or phrase into the ear of the child sitting to the right of them. No repeats allowed… each listener would turn to the next kid and whisper what they had heard. The chain continued until the phrase passed around the circle to every child, and the final listener said the original phrase out loud.

The final phrases were almost never the same as where it started.

“My dog’s name is Stella” became “two frogs smelling.”
“I’m ready for recess” became “You’re a big mess.”
“Bread and Jam for Francis” turned into “I have to pee and dance.”

Funny changes in meaning, but very far from the original ideas.

Sometimes, it was an intentional whisper that left room for interpretation. Sometimes, it was a devilish prankster who intended to flip the phrase.

Oftentimes, tone and meaning were diluted or diverted in the retelling.

Whatever the reason, having as many as twenty different listeners, interpreters, and voices meant that the messengers altered the message over time.

We live in an age of important messages and an overabundance of messengers.

I’ve thought about “telephone” a lot lately because I’ve noticed how people who are just one or steps removed from an original conversation can get both the message and the intent completely wrong.

Even one extra person passing on a message means there’s the likelihood of a gap between what is said and what is heard.

When we speak for someone else, often, we can’t help but insert our own interpretation, preference, or need into the exchange, thereby bending the original meaning.

Being one step removed from the conversation as a listener opens the door to misunderstanding, hurt feelings, disappointment, judgment, isolation, and more.

This problem is real – in families, among friends, and within communities. And this problem is multiplied for people in power and as well as for people in the spotlight.

Leaders surround themselves with staff to be kept on time, adhere to schedules, sift through requests, and be protected from assaults and distractions.
Corporate executives speak with their senior teams, and that next tier is empowered to pass along portions of the information (or none at all). Every sifting, reframing and retelling opens the possibility for the message to be conveyed and received differently.
Physicians want to heal patients but are often prevented from discussing optimal solutions because insurance companies insert themselves into the treatment guidelines and change/limit the course of care.
Politicians shielded by staff miss moments to hear the feelings, needs and reactions of the people they intend to serve.

In all of these cases, games of telephone (as experienced through intermediaries, assistants and staff) push us further and further apart from each other.

Further from love, understanding, empathy and care.

This month’s missive is to think about the conversations you are having directly and those you aren’t.

Where is there room for misunderstanding? Where is there room for connection? When might you have opportunities to speak directly, listen intently and get to a deeper level of communication?

There are so many ways to connect. Pass it on.

* * *

Have you been part of a crazy chain of misunderstanding?

Share it Small: Own the fact that you heard it wrong, received it wrong, or should have spoken directly to the people you were trying to reach. Chances are, they’ll have a more direct conversation as the result of the example you’re setting!

Share it Big: Make direct conversation an integral part of your day-to-day life, and tell people around you that you’re doing it. Who knows what you’ll learn when you speak one-on-one and listen intently?

SO FAR BUT YET SO CLOSE

Posted on July 19, 2023 by Parlay House

July 2023

Eight years ago, a young woman from Cambodia came into my life through a program that brings female high school graduates from post-genocide countries to the US for their college education. The objective is not only to help them learn, grow, and thrive in the United States during their education but also to become the next generation of leaders in their home countries at the end of their experience abroad.

For Sreileak and me, what began as a mentor-mentee relationship blossomed into so much more.

It started small.

As I did with my own daughters, I met her at the airport and helped her shop for dorm supplies. Together we picked her classes. We commiserated over acne, challenging social relationships, and the price of Starbucks.

Over the holiday breaks, she joined us at the Thanksgiving table, on the family ski trip, and during a summer hiatus. During her junior year abroad, I visited her in London, and together we had high tea, went to museums, and took her friends to dinner, just as I had with Lauren and Ciara.

Before we knew it, I referred to her as my third daughter and she called me her “other mom.”

But as she prepared to return to Cambodia to start her next life chapter, we began to talk about the differences she’d face on her return. One of the big ones was the more traditional family and Cambodian cultural norms that were far removed from the Western life she had been living. That would be a big adjustment.

Her mom wanted her to marry the young man she had approved of before she left for school and to abide by her parents’ decisions about how her life would unfold. Stuck in the intersection of an American coming-of-age and a Cambodian desire-to-please created deep angst for her.

It created angst for me as well.

From my American perspective, I struggled with the realization that she wouldn’t be the boss of her life in the way I am accustomed to.

In the coming years, when she told me her love story – how someone she met through work had completely swept her off her feet but that her mother was unwilling to accept him – I felt protective of her… and angry at her first mother. How could this woman who had traveled halfway around the world, excelled at school, thrived in multiple foreign countries, built friendships and developed big dreams not have the autonomy to pursue them in every possible way, including having a life with the person she loved?

If it were me, I would have lost my shit.

But Sreileak was more measured and well-rounded than I was and spent two patient years and countless hours of skillful negotiation to wear down her family’s resistance and help them build a meaningful connection with her beloved.

Finally, their desired marriage was approved.

A wedding invitation arrived for David and me with basic translation from Kmer to English, and we began our own adventure to witness this special moment.

Cultural differences beyond language were evident early.

I picked a traditional Cambodian dress to be made for me, choosing a navy velvet from the photos of options that were sent. Why didn’t I realize that the humidity would be at 100% and temperatures would be nearly 100 degrees as well? Bad choice, that velvet.

Then I saw that the ceremony began at 6:30 am, with music, a parade and the presentation of offerings from the Groom’s family to the Bride’s. The morning would last through lunch, with an afternoon outfit change and then a resumption of festivities. Wrist tying, ceremonial hair cutting by the elders, blessings by monks and so many more rich traditions were on the program.

Just as Sreileak had never seen snow before she arrived in the US, these would be very unfamiliar experiences for us.

Like her, I didn’t have trepidation about the new experiences. I was excited.

But I did have concerns about how Sreileak’s real mom and first family would receive me.

Would they feel I had corrupted their daughter with Western values?

Would they be threatened by our intimate mother-daughter relationship?

I threw a small engagement party for Sreileak the day before her wedding, and her mother, as well as her sisters, declined to come.

I saw this as a bad sign.

***

Imagine my surprise on the morning of the wedding when not only were we gleefully greeted at 6:30 am by the bride, groom, and wedding party but were welcomed with literal open arms by her parents.

Sreileak’s mom and I didn’t have one shared word of common language between us, but just standing together on that auspicious day and looking each other in the (teary) eyes made us see all of the commonalities we had… and how much greater they were than the differences.

Most of all, we both loved Sreileak.

Through their gestures and smiles, authentic hugs and knowing nods, we were immediately welcomed into their world as more than guests. We said so much to each other without needing to say a single word.

We were welcomed as an extension of their family, just as we had welcomed Sreileak into ours.

Instead of sitting in the audience, we were given our place of honor on the stage along with the other sets of parents and relatives for the entire morning service. We learned about Kmer traditions by watching and mimicking how to tie the traditional ribbons on their wrists, and how to circle our hands in the correct rotation around a candle passed from one family member to the next. We participated in the hair-cutting ritual and the blessings. We all watched the monks bless the couple while sipping bubble tea.

In one day, we went from worlds apart to being part of a family bound by love for their shared daughter.

It started small but ended up bigger than we could have ever imagined.

* * *

When have you found common ground on foreign soil? This trip felt like such a perfect metaphor for our ability to come together even if we start far apart.

Share it Small: If you can think of a time when you found common ground, celebrate it and tell others about your misperceptions and surprising resolution. You might play a role in helping others learn how to do it too.

Share it Big: Say it out loud. If you were judging someone different than you or had negative expectations that were proven wrong, own your mistake and celebrate your learning! Each step of evolution shows a healthy growth mindset!

I CAN’T GET NO…

Posted on June 22, 2023June 20, 2023 by Parlay House

June 2023

My mom recently told me that when I was five years old and constantly on the move, she and my dad took me to the doctor to make sure nothing was wrong with me. So much energy. So many words.

The pediatrician tested me and reassured my parents that I was fine: I was just an energetic and intelligent kid who would need constant challenge and stimulation.

It was no surprise to them when I grew from a super-active young girl into a woman who still needed to be on the move. Up the corporate ladder. Fast-paced at the gym. Traveling by plane. Out at dinner, theater, sporting events, and with friends. I couldn’t possibly wind down without a hot bath and a glass of scotch.

Even at night, Restless Leg Syndrome kept me moving when my eyes were closed.

After years of being in constant motion, something in me has recently flipped.

I’m not spiraling late into the night with energy as I have for the past sixty years. In fact, I now fall asleep while watching TV.

My eyes sometimes close during the day, too. I never understood nappers until now.

Unlike any past phase in my life, I can go to sleep without taking a bath to wind me down. I still do daily workouts, but I’m not chomping at the bit to get to the gym. If my only exercise is a long walk with the dog, I’m OK with it. Recent thoughts of more travel have yielded sighs of resignation rather than enthusiastic pre-packing.

I’ve gone to my primary care physician multiple times in the past year, concerned about fatigue, lack of energy, and not feeling like myself.

* * *

What is happening to me?

Am I depressed?

Did I burn out early?

Did I live most of my life in the first half and run out of fuel before my finish line?

Am I sick? Old? Worn?

Part of me is mourning the loss of my high-energy self.
But part of me is celebrating Anne 2.0.

I didn’t initiate this hard reset. I didn’t see it coming. In fact, I think it’s emerging from somewhere deep.

Inner-peace deep.

I’ve reached a point in my life where “being” often feels better to me than “doing.”

I know I’ve talked about this before, but I’m realizing that I no longer need to suck the marrow out of life. Instead, I can let the moments of life wash over me, sometimes conscious of the wave and sometimes abstractly touched as though the moment was a vague but sweet dream.

I don’t think I’ve ever known (until now) what it feels like to be satisfied.

Even as I struggle at this moment to put feelings to paper (these monthly missives don’t always roll off the keyboard), I can accept that the rise and fall of my breath is very different from the deep inhales and exhales that used to accompany me through the course of my high-energy life.

While I’ve long-ditched my Apple Watch because it was making me too step-obsessive, I’ll bet that if I could track my breathing over these past few years, I would note that my inhales are getting deeper, my exhales are extending longer, and the pattern is slower and more consistent than in the past.

While the health checks will continue, I’m currently chalking it up to:

Liking who I am.

Liking where I am.

Liking what I am.

Liking that I…. am.

I wish I’d seen this coming, but maybe inner peace could only arrive when I was ready to let it catch me.

* * *

Have you entered a new life chapter?

Share it Small: The more we talk about these transformations, the less unfamiliar they will be for others when they enter them too. Share where you are with those you love. It’ll let them know what might be coming for them and provide space for them to share their transformations as well.

Share it Big: Does your “new state of you” open up possibilities for you to become more deeply aware of the small things around you that you might have missed? Enjoy those moments of seeing, feeling, and being… and bring those you love along for the ride.

Hi there!