Life coaching. Yeah, I know. It used to be true whenever I heard those words that I would inwardly scoff. Really? Life coaching? WhatEVAAAAR.
Mentally, I filed life coaches in the same category with yoga teachers and reiki healers: stuff rich white people waste time on for inexplicable reasons (and because, you know… disposable income) instead of like, actually donating it to poor people or using it for something patently unselfish. Yuck.
As usual, I have changed my mind, and come round to a sudden and beautiful appreciation of life coaches. Last time I checked, I am still not rich, or white, or flush with disposable income (my income is re-usable and recyclable, thank you very much!) But there a couple of coaches in specific that I would like to rave about and thank. Consider this my enthusiastic endorsement, not just of coaching, but of these two in particular: Byron Go, and Mike Hrostoski.
Byron Go
You have a choice—to accept the life dealt to you and happen to it— or
To have a life that happens to you.
I happen to know that you are great. That you are capable of the epic, and the sublime. That within your lifeblood is true purpose, a personal journey that is yours and yours alone. I happen to know that that purpose is beautiful, and makes real difference in the lives of others. I can’t wait to hear all about it.
Coaching with me is an accelerant. You are the spark. I am the match. Your life is the fuel. I also provide lighter fluid when necessary. Work with me only if you are ready to put yourself at stake, and to create results.
I specialize in people. Have a hard time coaching anyone that’s not a person. My experience specifically suits me when life integration and determining and pursuing your own journey are important.
Note: This is a trick statement. We are always pursuing our own journeys. We just may not know it.
Can’t wait to talk with you. And you. And you—yes, you.
The date is important, here. January of 2014 saw me in the midst of a deep, dark depression and spiritual crisis. I was in real pain. Smack in the middle of that crisis, I received an unsolicited offer of help from my friend Byron.
We spoke by phone. The conversation was rapid and sharp, and lasted perhaps just over an hour.
That hour may have saved my life. Byron gave free reign to his remarkable intelligence, and we did a DANCE of wit. For the first time in an unknown length of time, I fully unleashed my tongue and unchained my honesty. For the first time in an unknown length of time, I found a mind that could leap as fast as mine, a heart full of compassion, and a man equipped with a sword of truth that cut through the bullcrap like hot wire.
I can not remember all of it at this distance, but I clearly remember the pain I was in, and this metaphor:
I was given a Porsche, Byron told me. I was born with it. I did not necessarily deserve it or earn it, but that was irrelevant. Many people would kill to drive the car I was born with, but that was also irrelevant. The point was, I was behind the wheel. If what I wanted to do was drive the Porsche off of a cliff and explode in a fiery heap? That was MY CHOICE. But he pointed out to me the beautiful vehicle I was sitting in, and that the keys were in my hand. “Why not go?” He asked me. “Take the car and go on the road trip of your life.”
It took a while, but I eventually did exactly that. I stopped making excuses. I took the wheel. So I am grateful for mister Byron, and I no longer scoff at life coaches or coaching in general.
Mike Hrostoski
Mike has an extra special place in my heart right now, because he did not just help me, but also my daughter. Where Byron cut to the heart of things right through my pain and depression with a searing intelligence and a refusal to back down, Mike entered gently and respectfully, like a guest in a foreign monastery. He practically took his shoes off.
We sat together at a picnic gathering of friends, with my daughter Harmony curled on my lap. He asked how I was doing, and I found myself being unexpectedly and inexplicably frank. I was feeling exhausted, anxious, and rushed. I said, “Have you ever just felt like you are TOO busy?” I explained my frustration that I often have a boom and bust cycle, “boom” being where I am insanely frantic and feel like I am juggling everything, “bust” being where I drop everything and get nothing done at all.
Mike thought about this, then he suggested that it might be an issue of focus. He said that often when he works with clients, we have a tendency to spread ourselves across several areas, rather than choosing to be the best at one main thing. “For example,” he asked, “Would you rather go to someone who markets herself as the very BEST bodyworker on the planet, who can help heal any injury? or to someone who is a yoga teacher-surfer-bodyworker-astrologer?”
Within moments, my own dilemma was clear, and the fog began to lift. I had recently shifted the focus of my work from art and illustration toward web design and development. The problem was, my heart simply was not behind it fully. I knew, deep down, that what I loved was watercolor portraiture, and that web design did not give me the same joy. Consequently, I had hesitated mid-shift, trying to shift to making more money from web design while refusing to let go my grip on the painting.
For most of the previous year, my focus had been laser-tight: I was a portrait artist. Period. Of course, I was also in a play and a band and making murals and travelling and writing and building things and making books and collaborating and singing and dancing and so on, but each day I always knew what it meant to “sit in the chair.” That meant painting. Portraits. In watercolor. That is what I love.
Five minutes of talking to Mike, and I knew what I needed to do: re-commit to my art. Stop having doubts. I wanted to paint. I want to make websites, too, and code HTML and CSS, and keep learning. But that is basically like surfing for the bodyworker: something else I do and do well, but not my main thing.
The next morning, I woke up to the same workload as before, only this time, I knew where my priorities were. Before I started on anything else, I did this tiny (3"x 4") painting, to get my day started.
It was not done or intended for sale. It was a pure work of fun and silliness and inspiration, meant to be instagrammed and shared on facebook with my fellow attendees from World Domination Summit 2014, where we all recently heard Dee Williams speak. It was more or less an inside joke, and something simple that made me happy.
I posted in on facebook, and in less than 15 minutes, I had eight orders for prints. That was a little weird, because I did not actually say that it was for sale, and I had never made prints for sale, before. But the participants were adamant: I was selling these, and they wanted some, and they wanted to give me their money RIGHT NOW.
Suddenly, sticking with watercolor did not sound like such a crazy idea. Mike knew what he was talking about.
But Mike was not finished. As my daughter sat on my lap, feeling anxious and shy, he gently asked her, “Harmony, what makes you happiest?”
I answered for her, since at the moment she would not speak: I told him that she seems happiest to me when she is making her art. I talked of how she inspires and motivates me to keep going.
He tried again with Harmony. “What are some of your favorite things?”
We both sat in quiet for a space, but she only clung more tightly to my torso. Suddenly, inspiration struck. “Why don’t you draw your favorite things?” I asked her.
Soon, she was busy at work. Within minutes of making this drawing, Harmony was playing and talking with Mike, and enjoying the picnic.
Fast forward to this morning. Harmony asked me to play with her. She sat me down on the floor and handed me a blank-inside photo greeting card. “Wait here,” she told me, imperiously.
She returned with a large bucket of markers. I waited patiently for further instruction.
“OK,” she said. “Now. Draw your favorite things.”
I think my six year old daughter might have just become a life coach. Stranger things have happened!
So, thank you, Byron. Thank you, Mike. This is my love note to you both. Keep doing what you do, please.
