You’re rewriting your homepage and can’t decide between ‘has been’ or ‘was’.
You’re drafting an email and keep switching between ‘Hi Tim!’ and ‘Dear Mr. Swanken.’ (And you don’t even know how to move on from there.)
You’re standing in front of the mirror practicing your speech for the 93rd time.
You’re overthinking.
Overpreparing.
Overdoing.
You know.
You know!
But you can’t stop.
Your homepage needs to be perfect—gotta make the most of that first impression!
You can’t alienate Tim before he even read your proposal.
Your speech needs to be outstanding.
Can’t blunder in front of the whole world.
(Well, 25 people total, including the caterers. But it feels like all of humanity.)
I get it.
I invented overthinking and overpreparing.
Recently I spoke with the surgeon about my upcoming surgery.
It was an intake.
He was ready to take me through every detail.
“I’ve come prepared,” I said.
“I only have one question.”
He nodded politely.
Of course.
He was not about to argue with me and also didn’t believe me.
Until it turned out I knew what operating technique he would use.
And why.
I knew the possible complications.
I knew how long it would take to fully heal, how long to rest, what not to do and avoid at all cost.
“Ah. You are prepared,” he said, amused and surprised.
He hadn’t seen this level of preparation before.
I know.
That’s how I roll.
(Well, I’m either over prepared or totally unprepared.
There’s no middle ground here.)
But here’s the difference between my preparation now, and a couple of years ago.
Before, preparation came with panic.
Fear.
Stress.
I woke up filled with questions and worries.
Fell asleep with them, too.
(If I slept.)
It was so exhausting.
And never necessary.
Now, I prepare.
(And granted, still overprepare sometimes.)
But it comes from a different place.
It comes from calm.
Mainly.
Sometimes, the fear of having no control comes up.
And the old pattern of fending it off with more knowledge and more lists follows suit.
But instead of running with it, I look at it.
I breathe.
I feel the tension in my neck, my shoulders, my jaws.
I don’t try to soothe or smooth it out.
I feel it.
Fully.
Don’t run from it as if I’ve just robbed a liquor store and need to outrun the overweight neighborhood cop.
I stay.
And, ever quicker, tension drops.
Neck relaxes, shoulders too.
Jaws stop clenching.
Butt, too.
And I remember:
There’s nothing to fix.
There’s nothing to control.
There’s nothing wrong.
There’s fear, or not.
There’s making lists and googling information, or not.
There’s butt clenching or not.
The surgery happens early in May.
I can’t control it.
And I’m totally relaxed.
Love,
P.S. This same shift can happen for you.
It’s what private coaching is for.
P.P.S. Liked this blog?
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