We manifest in the presence of others

A story of being, letting go, beginning, and persisting.

After weeks of designing, planning, and reconsidering, the night of our holiday party was here. Sixty-five of our closest friends and family were descending upon our home to celebrate one another and the holiday season. And by the end of the night, I’ll have broken many of the self-designed rituals and habits I had manufactured throughout my life to keep me safe from what might be.

Being

Growing up, I would have categorized myself as notably average.

I wasn’t the valedictorian, but a good student. Not the star athlete, but among the top second stringers. Not voted as Most likely to succeed or Most likely to…anything — but friendly with everyone who was nominated. An actual boy scout, for a time… though, eventually I dropped out — right about when the commitments became too much to bear.

Whether it was in school, at home, or on the field, I did the work that was asked of me; and often with tremendous pride and conviction. But rarely, if ever, did I effort to create opportunities that didn’t yet exist or that I hadn’t been offered.

My Mom and Dad are wonderful people who I love dearly. They were and are gentle in their parenting. Loving, supportive. Even if what I really needed from time to time was their more experienced perspective. Other times — a swift kick in the ass. Though, only now, years later, as a Dad myself, I realize how courageous-yet-difficult it is to deliver the hard lesson a child may need over the softer message.

And so, during the first half of my life, I developed a mental model that gave me ease in believing that average was appropriate. Average, I guessed, probably required less emotional exhaustion than vying for the few rooms with a view. Anyway, they were probably already booked long ago by others better than me, smarter than me.

Being even keeled was less scary. It was filled with familiar faces, and so it was less lonely. It’s where my family and friends consistently showed up to have my back. Average was safe. Average was home.

In time, these perspectives shaped my habits. These habits developed roots based on my intentional experiences of the world. And by my twenties, my habits had anchored themselves into how I self-identified. My biases, beliefs, and actions I had developed to keep me comfortably average, had become my values.

As I ventured out into the workforce, I landed good jobs — sometimes inside great companies. But I stagnated. I climbed the ladder at the minimum viable pace — enough to deliver with professional delight to the letter of my job description, but often not enough to blip on the radar, good or bad.

At my first big corporate job, I networked — but only with the people I had already been assigned to projects with. I attended the standard conferences that everyone else did. There, my routine was calculated: Check in, do a lap, chit chat with enough colleagues so that someone could vouch for my presence, and then promptly exit at first chance. Nobody would miss me, anyway.

With as much pride as I took in my work, it was always just a job. More important things await in the world beyond the office walls. Old friends to see. Old friends that stoked my snug, familiarly average habits.

Letting go

I suppose I always knew — even if a glimmer — that failing to fully participate would one day catch up with me. But since my days had always been charmed; entitled, even, I couldn’t rely on history to provide any clues.

But it finally happened. At the age of thirty-two, my habits caught up with me. Life inserted itself.

If I wasn’t willing to change the path I had routinely traveled, the ground all around me would fall out and force, not only new trails, but an entirely different way of walking.

Over the next ten years I would be fired from my job — twice in three years. From there, I’d spend nearly all of my savings building an online business that never got off the ground. Assuming I was unemployable by then, I’d co-launch a digital product studio. And in the process of pouring all of my attention into developing it, my wife at the time, tired of those habits of mine, left.

With my new surroundings almost unrecognizable from my childhood and twenties, I experienced depression for the first time. My company suffered. And just three years after a personal divorce, my business partner and I split.

Then, on the coldest night of that same winter, my house caught on fire. I remember standing at the edge of the driveway, sobbing in Laura’s arms. I looked on as smoke billowed out from the home’s windows and roofline, while a dozen or so firefighters went to work. In the most literal and figurative sense, I was forced to sit idle, waiting for the actions of others to decide the next course of my life.

This was my bottom. I knew it that night.

I also knew, somehow, that this was a most grand gesture from the universe — willing me to stand up, to let go, and to finally fight for what I really wanted.

“Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the only one you know you have for sure.”

— Oprah Winfrey

I take tremendous pride in arriving at that perspective, at that moment. I think it would have been much easier to fall victim and wallow in all of the changes engulfing me. But something, some strength I’d never called upon before, allowed me to frame it as a fresh start.

I was ready. No. I was committed to walking away from a past life where I’d made a few guest appearances, and now debut as the lead character of my own, new story.

Beginning

We start new exercise routines. We move to new cities. We eat new foods and try new diets. We learn new skills. We buy new things. We love new people.

Of all the remarkable privileges we’re imparted with, the most human of all, is our choice to set about pursuing anew — whether to mend a wound or feed our souls.

“I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

In the course of rediscovering myself, I would shed the adult facade I had been hiding behind. This left a raw, child-like version of myself exposed while trying to redefine new perspectives, habits, and values. Of course, the wonder of childhood is how open we are to new experiences.

And so for these past few years of recreating, I’ve been a student to countless books, mindsets, philosophies, spiritual beliefs, and leaders. Of all the people I’ve learned from, one man has had more of a direct and profound impact on my new narrative than all other sources combined…

Helge became my coach in August of 2018. Just last month we completed our 50th session together. The journaling I did during and between our sessions is filled with quotes, discoveries, affirmations, and stories that raise the hair on my neck every time I go back and re-read them.

The common thread that connects every last scribble in there, is the charge for me to stop retreating from the intimate moments of my life, and instead walk toward them — chest and arms open. Or as Pema Chödrön beckons us, to lean into the sharp point. And in doing so, to learn to be relational with everyone — most importantly, myself. You see, of all the lessons Helge inspired within me, the most fervent was that we manifest in the presence of others.

How we acknowledge them.
How we bear our fears to them.
How we share our hearts with them.

Through my coaching work, I’ve learned that when we learn to communicate these truths from a place of love, and not fear, two things happen. We develop truly meaningful relationships. And we exhibit to ourselves, to the child inside us, who we are becoming.

Who and how we manifest is comprised of a balance, or imbalance, of the archetypes inside all of us.

Our five archetypes

What I learned from Helge is that within each of us are five archetypes.

The lover is tender and attentive.
The warrior takes us into battle.
The fool invites laughter and light-heartedness.
The alchemist evokes curiosity and welcoming change.
The king or queen leads others to prosperity.

Depending on our goals, environment, and triggers, the balance of our archetypes will wax and wane. Likewise, aside from drifting between archetypes, we can also call on each from a place of love or fear. Said another way, we can summon each archetype based on their strengths or their weaknesses…

The lover goes so far that they lose their identity trying to please others.
The warrior arrogantly believes that winning another fight is the answer.
The fool loses the love of the crowd when they’re exposed for wasting time.
The alchemist moves from curiosity and change, to manipulation and chaos.
The king or queen, obsessed with power and control, is overthrown.

Up until now, I had primarily danced between fool and alchemist. Of course, the warrior and lover were always there at a moment’s notice, but most typically called on out of fear, not love. And the king? Someone that had spent most of his life remaining safe, surely doesn’t yet have a kingdom to share.

And so this is my work, my mission, my new north — to manifest a healthy and loving balance of these five archetypes in the intimate presence of others.

But it’s also the work I’ve neglected for the longest. My weakest muscle, and therefore my greatest fear. Change of this magnitude doesn’t come quickly or easily.

Persisting

Making such changes to the fabric of our lives is like walking across a rickety, old rope bridge — constantly teetering. With each step, only once our foot lands can we be certain the plank will support us.

And we feel the least sure of our next tread when we’re smack in the middle of that long, spanning bridge —now, too far to turn back but still so far to go. Taunting us, on both sides is land. From the side we came, once solid and sure-footed. Yet ever since we learned about the bridge and there being another side, it becomes impossibly irresponsible to remain.

This place is awareness — the first stage of happiness. As our awareness grows, so do our opportunities to make new choices. Choice, then, becomes the second stage of happiness.

From the side which we came, we were carelessly unaware. This new space between awareness and choice is wide — a slow and dismantling place to exist for too long. The first days and years are filled with hesitation, often turning back, stumbling, and falling down. The further along we are and aware we become, the more the fall hurts us. Getting back up is harder. With each choice to nudge forward, there’s an increasing unfamiliarity of what was, and yet a growing sense that what’s ahead is so much more.

“There is freedom waiting for you, on the breezes of the sky. And you ask, “What if I fall?” Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”

— Erin Hanson

With practice and persistence, our choice to manifest and honor ourselves lands us at stage three: freedom. And from the freedom to live the life of our dreams, comes the fourth and final stage: joy.

As for me

I’m still on that rope bridge.

More days than less, the headwinds push back against me. On some, I lose my footing completely, spilling over the edge and careening into the sea below. Sometimes the fall is so great that I wash back up on the shore from where I started. All this a reminder that redesigning the life we want doesn’t happen in one dash across.

But then there are days where I feel as if I’m racing forward — one hand out stretched for the post anchored to the side ahead. Deliverance and abundance in sight. Each step up and over — harder than the last, and that much more rewarding, like that night of our holiday party…

Where was I…

By 6:00pm our house had begun to swell with guests. Many had known me since childhood, which made knowing what I was about to do even more unnerving.

Overrun with anxiety at a point, I sought out the safety of an upstairs bathroom, away from the growing crowd downstairs. Locking the door behind me, I drew a deep inhale and stepped toward the mirror. Staring back, was the child inside, pleading not to go back out there. Bargaining with me to treat the night as any old gathering — have a few drinks, make everyone laugh, reminisce, and offer a passive plan to do it again real soon.

But I was already in the middle of the bridge. Retreating to safety surely meant a blunt and regrettable fall. This was also not just about me and my journey. The man I was becoming was the one I wanted my sons to remember. What would I be modeling for them if I chose comfort over courage?

Smiling back at myself, gulping two deep breaths, I walked downstairs.

I passed by Laura, squeezing her hand to signal it was time. The days leading up to the party had been filled with wincing; the nights with tossing and turning. Still, she remained fixed in my corner. Supporting me and championing this person I was becoming.

I took my place in the center of the room — a stance I rarely held. I lowered the music, clinked my glass, and cleared my throat. Then I began.

Around the room I went, acknowledging the roomful of loved ones surrounding me. Voice shaky, palms sweaty, I cited tender, vulnerable memories and the deeply personal impact they had on my life.

I saved Mom and Dad for last. Our eyes met. None were dry. I dropped my gaze to the floor for a moment to collect myself. At my feet was Brody, my younger son. His head resting in his hands, giggling up at me. In that moment, a wave of relief and pride. I realized that I had already done it, perfect or not — I was closer to the other side of the bridge than I’d ever been. I had manifested my most authentic and intimate self tonight… a gift of presence that everyone in that room deserved, especially me.

To those of you who I’ve had the honor to have in my life, thank you for being there with me. If I lost you along the way, know that I always meant the very best for you and us.

Special thanks to Helge

The title of this piece, the frameworks mentioned (e.g. archetypes), and the very inspiration that forced this story to exist, came about from my life-changing work with my coach, Helge Hellberg.

If you’re wondering about working with a coach, I’m happy to share my story and criteria for finding the right coach. It was actually quite simple!

Finally, printed next to my desk is my most favorite quote. I hope it fills you with love and gratitude, like it does for me.