I tried to explain, “I don’t really study ‘how-to’ be joyful and have more meaning in our lives. I
know a lot about these topics because I study the things that get in the way of joy, meaning, and
connection.” Without even responding to me, she walked out of the room and left me standing there.
Oh, the irony of a shame researcher standing in a puddle of “I’m not good enough.”
She came back a few minutes later, looked right over the top of my head, and said, “Here’s how this
is going to go:
Number 1: You’re not going to talk about the things that get in the way. You’re going to talk about the how-to part. That’s what people want to hear. People want how-to.
Number 2: Do not mention the word shame. People will be eating.
Number 3: People want to be comfortable and joyful. That’s all. Keep it joyful and comfortable.”I just stood there in total shock. After a few quiet seconds, she asked, “Okay?” and before I could
say anything, she answered for me, “Sounds good.”
Then, just as she started walking away, she turned around and said, “Light and breezy. People like
light and breezy.” And, just in case I wasn’t clear, she spread her fingers far apart and made huge
sweeping gestures with her hands to illustrate “light” and “breezy” (picture Margaret Thatcher
imitating Bob Fosse).
For forty minutes I stood in front of this group, totally paralyzed and repeating different versions
of, “Joy is good. Happy is so, so good. We should all be joyful. And have meaning. Because they’re
just so darn good.”
The women in the audience just smiled, nodded, and ate their chicken. It was a train wreck.
By the time I ended the story, Steve’s face was all scrunched up and he was shaking his head. He’s
not a big fan of public speaking, so I think he was staving off his own anxiety as he listened to my
disaster story.
But, strangely enough, telling the story made me less anxious. In fact, the second that I finished
telling Steve the story, I felt different. I finally got it. My work—me—the decade I’ve spent doing
research—it’s all about “the things that get in the way.” I’m not about the “how-to” because in ten
years, I’ve never seen any evidence of “how-to” working without talking about the things that get in
the way.
In a very powerful way, owning this story allowed me to claim who I am as a researcher and to
establish my voice. I looked at Steve and smiled. “I don’t do how-to.”
For the first time in five years, I realized that the country club woman wasn’t out to get me and
sabotage my talk. If that were the case, her ridiculous parameters wouldn’t have been so devastating to
me. Her list was symptomatic of our cultural fears. We don’t want to be uncomfortable. We want a
quick and dirty “how-to” list for happiness.
I don’t fit that bill. Never have. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to skip over the hard stuff, but it just
doesn’t work. We don’t change, we don’t grow, and we don’t move forward without the work. If we
really want to live a joyful, connected, and meaningful life, we must talk about things that get in the
way.
Until I owned and spoke this story, I let my lack of “quick tips” and “five simple steps” get in the
way of my professional worthiness. Now that I’ve claimed that story, I see that my understanding of
the darkness gives my search for the light context and meaning.
I’m happy to report that The UP Experience went really well. I actually told this “Light and Breezy”
story as my talk. It was a risk, but I figured that even C-suites struggle with worthiness. A couple of
weeks after the event, I got a call from the organizer. She said, “Congratulations! The evaluations are