When we were young, we possessed untold creativity and vitality. Yet sometimes teachers, friends and even family members convinced us of something else. In our servant leadership classes, we examine how our culture squeezes creativity right out of us. We unravel the many ways we have been brainwashed. Then we courageously, in the good company of one another, take a hairpin turn in the direction of the spontaneity and energy of our true identity. Three steps help us make this turn: 1) Notice all the outside pressures to be compliant (“Purchase the newest i-phone; Pursue that MBA; Get the rain barrel”). Simply pause and notice all the ways we are asked to submit to these external appeals. 2) Ask yourself: “Does this purchase or action move me toward my own originality?” and 3) Drop into the intelligence of your heart, breathe and wait. Follow what emerges from within you.

I was just getting out of the bathtub when the phone rang. A woman announced she was from the alarm system at work and asked how quickly I could get to the office building to meet the police. I asked my husband to come along. We met a young, pink-faced policeman who looked a bit scared. I told him that sometimes homeless folks liked our benches out back. He moved down the sidewalk while I walked into the back area. An elderly man with a Red Cross tee shirt sat on the bench eating a sandwich. He had a large plastic bag by his side. I asked if he had tried to open the doors. “No—not me!” he said clearly and loudly. My question and tone were accusatory. I could have asked him how he was and then inquired, with neutrality in my voice, if he noticed anyone trying to get into the building. I sat on the step, feeling the summer breeze on my face and wondered what I would do if I had no place to go for the night. The policeman and the man talked loudly at each other and then the man marched past me and said: “have a blessed evening.” The policeman countered: “Stay safe.” What would happen if alarms went off every time we spoke to one another in ways that did not express our authentic selves? How might we turn off that irritating sound today?

I read an ad for a conference that promised “workshops that help you make the most of every minute.” One workshop got us into physical shape, another showed us how to cook a complete meal and another guaranteed to make us beautiful…all in fifteen minutes! I imagine women rushing from workshop to workshop with a tote bag full of give away pens and bookmarks—with the hope of doing more and more in their already full lives. I wonder if anyone would come to a conference entitled “Slow Movement: Fifteen Minutes to Loaf.” The workshops might be titled: “Sit, Stare and Savor” or for cooking “Relish and Inhale” or for exercise “Move and Marvel.” Living deeply in each minute rather than efficiently rushing through time, allows for the kind of creative life we are seeking. Forget “fifteen minutes and you will be complete” and find fifteen minutes to be fully aware and engaged.

After a long meeting, I gathered up the pieces of newsprint which held an abundance of logistical details on upcoming programs. I noticed that a member of the team slowly packed up her belongings. I became aware of her lingering moves and sensed she wanted to say something. We walked down the long hall and as were about to split up, she turned to me and blurted out: “How did you decide to write a book?” Immediately I perceived that she had something she wanted to express to the world. I asked her if she ever thought about writing a book and she hesitantly communicated her idea. She talked with tenderness about the possibility and also talked about what stopped her. She was an English major in college and had learned many rules about writing and she was not sure she was “up” for such a task. She looked at me with hope brimming in her eyes. How do we encourage each other to become fully expressed? Can we take a few minutes—even today—and ask someone near to us what is within them that wants to be communicated? And then support them through their hesitation? We can watch for such moments in our relationships and then we can pause and help one another become fully expressed.

A local University hosted a breakfast to express appreciation to “community partners.” The Chancellor “could not make it” and the Provost was “delayed and could not come.” The first speaker sent a “right hand” as a substitute as there was a death in the family. I wondered if the appreciation was genuine. Two speakers read their remarks and my mind wandered. My eggs were cold, the coffee the color of tea and the speakers were not enthusiastic. I did not feel appreciated so I decided to leave. I did like the intention of this gathering.  Yet this “traditional” stab at expressing thank you to us community members was weaker than the coffee. How might a large institution communicate sincere appreciation for the good work of others? True appreciation is not secondhand, generalized or rote. Instead authentic appreciation is intimate, specific and emotional. A handwritten note from the Chancellor or Provost about my year-long service might be too much to expect. A handwritten note from the student that I mentored would have been unexpected, personal and meaningful. How do we express authentic appreciation for the contributions of others?

On Sundays, sometimes we invite people over for a leisurely lunch. We get out the “real” china, cloth napkins and sit at the dining room table. My husband has befriended a woman who is homeless and he invited her over one Sunday for grilled vegetables. She brought a Hershey bar for dessert. During our lunch, she had moments of brilliance and other stretches of confused rambling. At one point she stopped and said that on the previous night that she had a dream of a peeping tom. When we asked for additional details she said: “It was Thomas Jefferson.” Then she told us that he was looking at the pictures she keeps with her at all times and he saw the one of the Constitution in her stack. He told her that we need to amend the Constitution to include all people—not just wealthy white men. We all laughed at her peeping tom. However, later I reflected on her expansive imagination—one in which TJ visited her with some wise counsel. She possesses few things in life yet expressed an ability to imagine inclusiveness. As I listened to her, I wondered about my own capacity—if homeless—to embark on a conversation about the philosophy of our founding fathers and the need for an updated Constitution. Her creativity and heart touched me. When we are in need, can we imagine another way—even one that embraces a peeping tom?

We recently watched a documentary on the celebrated Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackelton and his astounding leadership when his crew encountered an extreme crisis in their 1914 quest to reach the South Pole. Even though his ship the Endurance was locked in ice, sub-zero temperatures and total darkness for many months, Shackleton always embodied a calm confidence in the face of horrendous challenges. The dire circumstances on the outside did not change his sense of ease and clarity about what to do next. His continuous alert presence communicated confidence. He never collapsed into hopelessness. He stayed present. He made life-saving decisions and exuded a grounded assurance to his crew that all would be well. Ultimately, they all returned safely to England. 

When mistakes happen or when life throws us challenges, do we get knocked off center? How do we remain at ease, confident and alert? Do we embody confidence that “all will be well” or “all is going to hell”? Bringing graceful strength into the moment “no matter what is happening” on the outside defines us as leaders. ..and this is an “inside” job.

The Board of Directors came to order and the agenda was outlined with updates. Every update seemed to be the same as in the previous meeting. No movement. Families are desperately looking for jobs and we still do not have a program in place to help. One man dominates each discussion about his main concern. Everyone looks at a spot in front of them when he begins to talk. He is a big donor. A member of the staff—who usually does not attend the meetings—gives a speech about “we are not a drug treatment center” and it seems somehow rehearsed and out of place. I want to ask: “What is our purpose? What is our mission?” but I do not because I am tired from a long day and I want to get home and eat dinner. I might resign and focus my energy elsewhere. I could write the Chair with my question. I might swear off Board activity—as this seems way too typical. Deciding where my life energy goes impacts not only my own life but the life around me. I will either lean into this role with my question and become more engaged or leave. Staying the same is not an option.

In the movie Spinal Tap, the lead guitarist turned the volume up to eleven. This is what I felt like when a woman interrupted the flow of a meeting with one of her incessant questions. She inserts her odd questions into the discussion and takes the conversation in a completely new direction. I was aware that another meeting was going to begin in thirty minutes in that very room and that pausing to answer her inquiry would lengthen the meeting. Also her question had little bearing on the issue at hand. I had no patience in the moment. The volume in my voice indicated irritation. Inside the volume was eleven. I am not sure what came out. I moved the meeting along. She tried to say something again. I ignored her and kept talking. I happen to know she has chronic interpersonal needs and often the group, while visibly irritated with her constant interruption, listens. I felt like I lost it (inside) and wondered if she and others noticed. Yet I felt responsible to use the allocated time wisely. Can we hold the quirks of others in a compassionate way—and move the agenda along—without turning the volume up to eleven?

Latisha, a bold eleven-year old child, carried a one-year old on her slender hip. She placed the wobbling baby at the edge of the table and walked away. Instinctively, I put up my arm and gently instructed Latisha to come back—as the baby might fall on her head. Latisha put her face a few inches from mine and said: “I came to play. I am only a child myself.” I asked about the whereabouts of the parent. Shoulders shrugged. I took the baby and watched Latisha skip over to the junior scrabble game in progress. I began to blame the mother and then the system and then the whole sorry mess. The baby, now on my hip, wanted attention. We looked at books. Another child, Anna, began to cry because she was left out again and stood at my other hip. The baby leaned down and patted Anna on her head. Anna looked up at the baby and laughed. We all did. We sat on the floor—the three of us and rolled a ball to one another laughing. For a few minutes, we all let go and put our problems aside and we just played with one another. When was the last time you put away all your thinking about what should or should not be happening and you were willing to be influenced by the moment? How might we pause and be influenced by the life within us and around us right now?