On May 5^th, 1970 classes were cancelled at Geneva College. On the previous day, protesting students at Kent State were killed by the national guard. I went to a meeting on campus and watched Mrs. Fox extend her hand to an angry colleague. I saw him recoil from her attempt to comfort him. I felt helpless as I witnessed this small reaction of human interaction. Somehow it captured the cultural moment. Disagreement over a policy led to violence and death. Now 40 years later, while I do not remember all the political arguments, I do recall vividly that attempt at connection rebuffed. How do we stay connected—no matter what? How do we communicate our sometimes extreme disagreements—yet remain in relationship? How do we reinvent rather than recoil?

In Emotional Freedom, Judith Orloff proclaims that creative change in our lives requires patience. We must expand our capacity to deal with frustration and disappointment if we want to create something new in our lives.

One of my high school teachers liked to tell us: “Life is like a big bowl of vegetable soup—with a hair in it.” I experienced this saying once again this week as two printing errors surfaced in a major publication. Here is what I noticed: First my whole body flooded with a physical response when I read the initial e-mail. Then my mind went crazy with thoughts: “Why didn’t I catch this? How could I have not seen this? Why am I alive?” Then I slipped into a coma of blame: “She should have caught this” and “I am such a lazy proof reader.” I recognized the old pattern and knew I was moving in the wrong direction. I stood up and stepped outside and started to walk towards the corner mailbox. I felt the spring air on my face and noticed the variety of bird songs. I kept my body in motion. I touched the mailbox, turned around and began the journey back. This is a hairpin turn. Within minutes of learning about “the hair in the vegetable soup” I was calm and considering possible creative alternatives. The three steps I know to take when mistakes happen (everyday in our lives): 1) Notice the physical sensation and pause to acknowledge; 2) become aware of polluting thoughts of self-blame and of recrimination towards others; and 3) move and become present to the body and shift to neutral. Wait just a few minutes. Turn around. Come home. Begin Again.

The strategic planning meeting was about to begin. As I was gathering materials to hand out, I heard others talking about “who is not here.” I noticed impatience in their voices as they shared what they knew (and guessed) about who was absent. When we began the whole day session, I said: “We know some folks are not present with us today. Yet we are here. How might we become present to each other, the mission of our organization and each other?” I knew that all of us (myself included) could be physically present but not fully engaged. This happens all the time. We are checked-out while pretending to follow the agenda. So we might ask ourselves: do we fully occupy the space we are in each moment? As facilitator for this group, the most important part of my role was to help all participants be present to our own unique intelligence, to the smart ideas from each other and to the collective wisdom of the community present. I can only do this when I am fully present. Before we start complaining about who is absent, maybe we need to ask ourselves: “Am I fully occupying this space right now?”

I guest lectured at the local University for a Wednesday 3:30pm class near the end of the term. The students’ portfolios were due in two weeks. I asked them to tell me about their internships and an important question they were holding about that experience. Flat voices. Blank faces. I tried telling a story about one of their nonprofits. Nothing. I asked how I might help them with their portfolio. Eyes down. One girl ate green grapes from a plastic cup and another shared ice cream with her friend. Total boredom. Finally I asked them what drew them to select their nonprofit in the first place and the answer explained everything. They did not choose the placement. They were assigned to their organizations. Now I understood more clearly. When we are “assigned” a task or a project—without our input—often we create resistance and resentment. “Do this because I said so and because it needs to be done.” Or  “Make your bed; create a budget with this amount of money; go work at this nonprofit.” Might these students (or our colleagues at work or our children at home) engage differently if we matched their competence, giftedness, interests and creativity with what needed to be accomplished? Making the hairpin turn for others and us involves observing the quality of interest and adjusting the system so that an individual’s gifts intersect with the world’s needs.

Alya, my four-year old friend at Partnership Village, told me that some boys got into trouble at preschool for “peeing on the ground.” She looked at me with her big eyes and explained: “ You are not supposed to do that.” Without prompting, she continued:  “Sometimes my little sister pee-pees in the bathtub. Then we have to get out and take a shower.” Without stopping she continued: “It is okay to let go in the shower—it goes down the drain.” She was proud of herself for knowing the rules and was clearly put off by those wayward boys. We, too, are put off by others who do not follow our rules (come to a meeting without reading the budget; take up both arm rests on the plane; do not explain their tardiness at lunch.) What happens inside us as we impose our rules on others? Does this connect us or shut us down? Create an indignant attitude or an open stance? What would happen if we allowed ourselves permission to break one of our own rules? Maybe some freedom to make a hairpin turn in our lives?

An old friend reconnected and told me about her new five-year exit strategy. She would tolerate 2,125 more days at work and then she would be free. I recognized the impulse to grit my teeth and plow through the stress and hope for a better future. However, I notice how many of my newly retried participants in the servant leadership classes talk longingly about past work lives—now that they have attained so-called freedom. This reminds me of how I used to dream about vacations—counting the days during the stressful week and then once on the vacation how I tended to think about the progress of projects back at work. Avoiding the present by dreaming about the future or reminiscing about the past. So I ask: Am I tolerating my current life? Am I convincing myself that with the next degree, job, house or relationship I will finally have a meaningful life? Do I live a life of perpetual exit strategies? Or do I stand still; fully engaged in the life given to me this day? Instead of an exit strategy, how about an entrance strategy into full-blown participation in this day?

I kept putting off going to the DMV because I knew the wait would be long and the test would need to be taken. I arrived twenty minutes before the doors opened and got ticket #104 at 8:03 AM. During my wait, I pretended to read a book but I was more fascinated by the humanity all around me. I decided to practice being patient and breathe through the irritation. I decided to enjoy the wait. A large woman in front of me turned to her neighbor and chatted about the morning traffic, her grandchild’s graduation and her hair appointment. Her neighbor was attentive and seemed appreciative of all this news. As I approached the attendant (40 minutes later) she raised her right hand and said “computer’s down.” I sat in front of her and marveled at her quick dexterity at the keyboard. She had on multi-colored readers with a matching rope. I complimented her on her typing competence. She brightened and opened up about her fingernail length (helps the speed). During my test, she coached me along. When I left at 9:15AM, I knew I had made a choice to be patient. The stress hormones had not kicked in. I enjoyed my 90 minutes at the DMV. Waiting in line is an excellent opportunity to practice patience. To strengthen this capacity—needed for our life as leaders, parents and citizens—stand in as many lines as possible and practice being present and patient.

I was stumped at the computer once again. The printer would not print—even after changing the main printer head. All of a sudden, every project I considered needed the printer. I was physically exhausted from the previous day’s “fullness” and gave myself hesitant permission to see who was on Oprah. I knew I was avoiding something or allowing myself to become distracted. I paused yet I still reached for the remote. Elton John and Russell Crowe were the guests and, naturally, there were all the commercials in between. My mind was “at rest” but not really engaged. Actually I do not even like Russell Crowe at all but I sat there in a kind of trance. Yogurt commercial reminded me of ice cream in the freezer. Oprah’s hair had me considering new hair products. I was in a haze. I knew I was allowing myself to be lulled into this distraction and simply rode it for most of the hour. I did marvel at Elton John’s piano playing ability and appreciated his hairpin turn story initiated by the death of Ryan White. At what point are distractions okay? Part of life? Even helpful? And at what edge are they avoidance and not very helpful at all? Letting go (even of my dislike for Crowe) and starting again is always a great option. What part of your life do you not even like—that you spend time on? What would it look like to let go of it? When you get frustrated (as I did on the computer) do you handle it with distractions? (as I did?)

The first Compassion Class of the term began with the usual announcements about upcoming events sponsored by our school. The future. We reviewed last term’s class content. The past. Then we focused on the heart of the class—the quality of the energy in our lives in this present moment. This brings us to right now. We introduced ourselves and named that which touches our hearts:  people (young children; elderly; family members);  animals (our dogs and cats; goats and horses); situations (children in poverty; hunger in our city; bus stops with no benches). After twenty minutes, we paused and I asked: “No need to raise hands or anything but notice—in the last  twenty minutes—how much of the time have you been totally present? Here? Open? Engaged by listening? Connected?” I confessed that I had flashed forward to the future (left-over quiche would be good for lunch) and spent a few minutes in the past (goats reminded me of my days at Carl’s farm in Oregon). How often do we checkout of right now? We convince ourselves that we need to be planning for the next segment of our day (or life) or regretting our previous morning or decade. Staying open, connected fully to the life before us generates brilliance within us and between us. Twenty minutes at a time– can we trust our heart’s intelligence for leadership and life? That is the point of this class, the focus of Hairpin Turn and perhaps the meaning for our lives. How do you stay in the present moment?