Leading by Non-Example

I had a meeting tonight. I was completely unprepared for it, I did almost nothing while there, and I left with no action items. It was great. This was a group of eight WES members who have been working on gun safety, springboarding off the resolution WES passed in December. They've been going to summits, to congressional hearings, to coalition briefings. They've been reading (like, entire books) and thinking and, most of all, caring about this issue. They have a diversity of viewpoints on how to move forward, but they're all committed. The interesting thing for me about the meeting was that it was clear during the opening go-round that I wasn't the one bringing the most passion, or the most well-researched information, or the most helpful coalition connections. I wasn't the one bringing the most radical ideas, and I wasn't even the one bringing the most spiritual grounding. Of course I'm never the one at meetings that brings all of those things, but more often than not I bring at least ONE of those things. This time, I was an observer, a listener, a learner. And I loved the very different kind of leadership, the show up and get out of the way leadership, that it required. They're still finding their focus and they're not sure yet exactly what will emerge from their shared commitment (and WES people, if you care about this issue too I urge you to get on the bandwagon--details will be coming your way in the next couple days). I'm not sure I have a point here, except to say that it was an honor to spend time with these folks. And for this type-A, in-charge kind of person, a delight to spend my time as a Leader simply following.

I See You

I had an experience today at the doctor's (just a check up, no need to worry!) that made me realize, or rather, remember how important it is to be really seen. I love this doctor; I've been a patient of his for ten years and he's taken wonderful care of me, been there for the tricky time as we were figuring out my diagnosis (auto-immune, like so many women), and helped me with ongoing management so that really most of the time I feel just great. So I'm very fond of him, and for that reason I endure rather long wait times at his office--partly because in years past I've been the unexpectedly long appointment or the emergency overbook that causes the wait times. This morning was par for the course. I brought a book (which I read in its entirety). I played Words with Friends. I did my crossword app. All was well. When I was finally rescued from the waiting room and put into an actual exam room, I was perhaps ready to move along with the appointment, but not what I'd call impatient. Then the intern came in. There really was nothing terribly wrong with how she behaved. I'm sure she's a caring and competent doctor, who was in a rush because the appointments were backed up. She started talking to me before I could see her, as she was outside the exam room door, and then asked what the problem was, but kept starting the next question before I finished my answer. She asked the same question three times--as it turned out, because my response wasn't what she thought it should be. And her questions themselves made it clear that she hadn't read my chart, didn't know why I was regularly seen in this office or how I'd been treated in the past. Finally I told her that I was finding it hard to talk with her, because it appeared she didn't know who I was and wasn't listening well enough to find out. Before we were able to resolve much in our communication, my regular doctor came in and all was well. But the whole experience made me think how frequently we--certainly I--rush through things, don't bother to read up first, don't bother to read the face of the person in front of me, listen to the tone of voice. This doctor certainly meant no harm, but neither do I, neither, most of the time, do any of us as we hurry through. And how quickly we can feel that we simply don't matter, how quickly it can frustrate us and made us feel lonely and sad and invisible. I'm white and formally educated and financially comfortable, and so I only have to experience this once in a while...and I feel secure enough in the reality that I do matter that I speak up when it happens. How would I feel, how would I be, if I didn't have those identities as a shield from marginalization? And even with all the shields I have, how is it that I still feel such emotion when I am not fully seen? Today I'm thankful for a relatively painless reminder of the importance of noticing the people right in front of us.