Bailey as we knew him, IO (pronounced E-O) who he became, left us December 16 at 4:45PM at Apline Vet Hospital.  That wasn’t suppose to happen.  He was only four years and 4 months old, and he had finally found his ‘forever home’ and totally perfect person, Rick.

The call came from Rick yesterday at 2PM that IO was very, very ill.  We jumped in our car and drove to the vet to have a few minutes with IO and with Rick. It was hard to see our super mighty, and previously healthy, dog so, so sick. He was in so much pain that he had been standing and not sleeping for at least 20 hours.

It was even harder for Rick who had just days before thought his buddy was fine. Now he’s gone. That is such a blow.  I could see the sadness in both of their eyes. IO working so hard to keep breathing and Rick wanting his buddy to pull through, as well as, wanting to do something to eliminate IO’s pain.

It is all so sad that he’s gone. Yet even such a short life did indeed leave many a paw print on so many people’s lives.  IO came to us as a rescue boxer in December 2009.  He was known as Moose at that point. We got him just after CrisMarie lost her brother to colon cancer. He filled a hole and pulled us through a hard stretch.  We named Bailey.  He was full of life and kept me company as I held a space for CrisMarie to deal with her loss. We both loved Bailey dearly and soon learned as he grew that he needed someone other than us. It wasn’t easy to consider letting him go, until we saw Bailey and Rick together. From their first visit, Bailey seemed at home, like he had found his best friend.

Rick named him IO and together they started off on many wild adventures.  Hiking, biking, rock climbing, rafting and IO was calm and settled. It was so cool to witness.

But it wasn’t just Rick.  IO had many friends: Tracy, Jodi, Cindy, Brooke – to name a few.  I love to discover the people who knew IO and their stories of how he touched their lives.

I honestly don’t know why he had such a short life. I do though believe that he had a rich, full adventure and that he was well loved and loved well.

Dogs are and have been so important in my life.  They are such wonderful teachers.  They live fully.  They are loyal.  They know how to play.  They are blindly forgiving and shake it off when life throws them rough stuff.  They will protect what matters to them. They love without hesitation!

Moose, Bailey, IO had all of these qualities.  And he offered all of those lessons to each of us who knew him.

As result his indelible paw print remains heavy on my heart today.

 

 

 

 

 

I have been giving lots of thought and effort to defining what is my skill set, my niche. Basically, I keep coming back to what may be my signature strength – dealing with Oh Sh*T! What now?

Let me start by saying, I wish there were softer more positive words that I could use. However, the truth is that’s what comes out of my mouth, or what I hear loudly in my head is. “Oh Sh*T! How did I get here and what do I do now?”

Let me take you back to one of my signature Oh Sh*t! Moments.

I was in my twenties. I was fighting cancer. I was fully engaged in being positive, fighting the good fight and doing whatever was needed to handle a fairly aggressive treatment protocol. At nine months in, I had just finished my cancer treatment scorecard of testing, and I felt confident that I was going to beat cancer and get on with my life.

So imagine my surprised when I walked into my doctor’s office and got my grade: F.

Now, of course, that is not how she delivered the news. Cancer report cards are not actually graded. But her words in some ways landed harder.

“The treatments aren’t working.”

“The Cancer is advancing.”

“We don’t have another option.”

“You probably have six months to live.”

Oh Sh*T! How did I get here, and what the hell do I do now!?!

I was stunned. I was silent.

I believe I mumbled something and left.

On my way out I saw a flyer: Life Death and Transitions with Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. Without really thinking too much about what I was doing, I took a copy and walked out.

That moment was a turning point in my life. Apparently, there was no Hail Mary play to call that was going to get me out of this game alive.

I looked at that flyer.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross – I had no idea who she was.
Life, Death & Transitions – these were not subject matters to which I had given much thought.

Still, I needed something. So I wrote.

“Apparently I’m dying and fairly soon. I don’t really know how to deal with that. I don’t have any money. I have no real clue who you are, but I picked up your flyer and wanted to see if there was any chance that I could come to your workshop.

Thanks for considering,
Susie”

I stuck that little note with my phone number in the mail. (Yes – well before email.)

That was my first conscious experience of what I call opting in, or facing an Oh Sh*T! moment and diving in head first.

Sure, I could have opted out. Gotten angry and blamed. Given up. Or simply walked on down that path of least resistance – doing my little life the same way until I died.

No, writing that letter was different.

My journey sped up after that.

She said, “Come.”

Kubler-Ross presented me with a challenge. She basically sat me down and said, “You and I are not really that different. Someone just told you when you were going to die. Now you are focusing on dying or not dying and that is not living!”

“Living is turning towards whatever life is presenting you and diving into it, being curious – not just fighting cancer – but living life. Face whatever there is to face, throw yourself in and swim.”

Okay, those last words are some of my own words added to her message over the years. But she launched me on a path, a path that has became my motto:

• Choose to be living
• Choose to be curious
• Fearlessly, or fearfully, face whatever is in right front of you
• Do not step away from chaos, conflict and uncertainty -step in – that mix brings magic and miracles.

So the journey didn’t end in six months. It wasn’t easy.

My doctors were not thrilled when I started talking to faith healers, alternative medicine folks and considering that maybe my tumors had stories that needed to be told.

No, my doctors thought I was crazy.

But I actually wanted them, as well as anyone else that had a potential game play, on my team.

So I faced the crazy, the questions, the chaos of doing a little bit of everything, throwing myself into that chaos and conflict while staying curious.

• What might this cancer be saying if it could talk?
• What might I not be saying? Feeling? Thinking? Wanting?

I’m not saying this path was, or is, always graceful. No, there were some very difficult periods. I discovered over and over just how stubborn, defended and resistant I can be.

But I kept coming back to that choice point – am I in? – Or am I out? Choose!

I learned to listen. I learned to speak up. I learned the incredible value in differences and the possibility that comes from making space for the new. Also the magic and miracles that happen when people work together on a common problem and care deeply about each other and the outcome.

Now many, many years later, I have taken that learning and applied it to challenges facing leaders everyday. My work, with my partner CrisMarie Campbell, evolves around helping leaders, teams and organizations face their “Oh Sh*T! How did we get here?” moments.

Our leaders need this today more than ever. We need this today. We are living in a huge, “Oh Sh*T! How did we get here?” moment. We need to step up our game and quit fighting and blaming.

Opt in – sure it may get ugly, but if we can stay curious and interested in all the possibilities, especially the ones far a field from our own, I do believe we might discover something totally new and magical.

Really, that’s the only viable option left if we are going to keep living – anything else is just dying. It’s time to turn towards “Oh Sh*T! What Now” and Opt In.

Had the wonderful experience today of catching up with a dear friend, Ernie McNally.  It all started when I was paying bills…

Indeed that is where the story begins.  I don’t enjoy bill paying so I put on my headphones and randomly picked a playlist.  The list I picked was one shared by my friend, Ernie.  As I listened and wrote the checks, I had this odd sense of gratitude and joy.  Not my usual feeling state while doing bills (even if that is recommended).  Though I admit it is a feeling state I often imagine my friend experiences on a regular basis.  So I chuckled.  I often wish I was a lighter, easier, less intense person. Lighter and easier, I think, fits Ernie, but not less intense.  No – that intensity just comes out very differently in us.

Oh, I digress – which is the nature of a narrative.  Though not the aspect I was planning to write about!

After bill paying, I noticed an ache in my chest.  I decided to explore and turn towards the feelings.  Soon, still with my headphones on, I was crying and very aware of the current shifts and changes in my relationship to Ernie.  I was missing him and decided to write him an email as I listened again to the playlist and cried.  It was a rambling email of how I missed him and knew our lives were presenting us very different playgrounds. Though I knew he needed to be doing what he was doing, I hadn’t figured out our new world together yet. His world had been quite like mine in recent years until his health took a odd, life-threatening turn and he went with it. The committees and circles we shared suddenly weren’t the same – he was gone and of course I didn’t want to bother him. It was his health and that was way more important than my wishes that he could still be a part of planning and leading at Haven. Mostly I just wanted to thank him for the tears, laughs and memories his music had offered to me and to say I was still connected. I just was not so sure of our new narrative – our worlds seemed so different.

I hit send.  I wondered if it was a good idea.  But I had felt so close and did want to reach out.

He called.  We had a wonderful time talking about curiosity and what that actually might mean.  We spoke about what it’s like to live with cancer or something shaking at the roots of your foundation and offering you a moment of ‘nothing to lose’.  We spoke about intensity – each of our ways with those strong feelings that wrestle inside us and how in some ways we can be like ducks – looking cool on the surface and kicking and paddling like mad beneath the surface.

I came away from the call thinking about my stories, my narrative.  My stories about myself, about him, about others.  I like my stories.  That’s how I create and paint my world.  However, I also came away thinking about the possible narrow -ness that might came with my narratives. Like my story of his health being more important than a rambling email from me, that he’s a lighter, easier and more grateful and I am not, that I am too intense. These little story-lines that continually slip in and narrow and define my narrative – of course that is until a song or something shakes me up and the narrative takes a turn.

I love the word narrative. It so obviously offers it’s own shadow-side so we have a  chance to notice we might be narrowing our world with our story. The odd paradox of being human, we are able to imagine, to write and rewrite the narrative of our lives. The challenge is to not let the narrative become too narrow. To not imagine we have the whole story or even the best part of it right. But isn’t that what good friends are for, to listen and share stories and to damn well not let either of us get to narrow and our narrative!