Years ago I had a house cleaning and organizing business. I was good at organizing; I've always been good at organizing. But I was young--maybe less seasoned is a better way to look at it--and when someone wanted a closet organized there was only one way to do that: my way. The closet looked great when I finished (if I do say so myself) and they were happy and off I'd go, proud and satisfied. But nine times out of ten when I returned the next week it had already begun to fall apart. This regression back to chaos, even with my weekly intervention, was usually complete by the fourth week. They had asked me to clean and organize their closet and I did, so why the tailspin back to the mess that didn't work? They still desired a functioning closet and were utterly confused as to why it kept unraveling, as if gremlins had a nightly go at it. And I was frustrated that they couldn't keep my closet clean. Oops. Their closet.
It took a few years for me to understand that you cannot create systems for other people if you aren't going to take those people for whom the system is created into consideration; i.e. it's their closet, they have to own it. They bring the desire for something different, I bring some ideas to address it, but the work has to be done together. It was my job to ask them: what is the ultimate goal for this closet? Do you want this closet to look magazine photograph worthy or do you just want the coats hung up? Do you want all the boots and shoes lined up or do you want a great big basket to throw them all in? Are you open to going through the items in the closet and letting go of what you don't need or use, or would you just like a home for everything that's there?
It was my job to ask the questions. It was my job to put them at the center. Mostly, though, as time went on I realized that my main job was simply to not judge. It wasn't my closet, for god's sake, and I could go home and drill down organization in my own closets. My job wasn't to show anyone how well I can organize something, my job was to offer my skills and work to help them build the system that worked for them. My job was to be encouraging, because people get stuck and overwhelmed by their stuff and they hired me to help. My job was to push gently--do you use that? Do you need that? Because sometimes we need a little truth and a little push, and they hired me to do that too. My job was to come up with a game plan and then we could work together. If they asked my opinion I would give it honestly. If they didn't, I just ask the questions and accept the answers. In the end, everything was just where it should be, including their sense of ownership and me not taking their progress personally.
I didn't know it then, but I was honing my coaching skills. I was learning on the job, one junk drawer at a time, how to be an effective coach.
And now, here I am, on the cusp of a new business: running coach. I have so much confidence in my ability to organize and to work with a client to help them achieve their desired outcome. And I have so much imposter syndrome to coach a runner to help them achieve their desired outcome. Well, of course I do! I'm new at it. I'm new at this career, but I'm not new at every aspect of it. I'm seasoned at the relational part. And I've had every kind of hiccup you can have as someone who returns to running after a twenty year break, and that has value too. Most of all, I want to do this. My first foray into running as a junior in high school set a precedent for how to approach life--like, maybe dig a little deeper when things get hard, and maybe the successes are good but so are the failures, and maybe a good attitude and working hard at something makes for a good life. My return to running at forty nine years old saved my life--I mean, literally changed the trajectory of the second half of my life. Both of these eras have a common denominator: a coach. A really, really good coach; a decent person with compassion and integrity and depth and a true and genuine investment in me progressing, not just as an athlete, but as a person.
So, here I go, imposter syndrome be damned! I think I can help people find out what they're made of, just like I did, through the lens of running. Running itself is awesome, but the impacts of running on your broader life can be so far reaching. As Kurt Hahn, founder of Outward Bound, said, "There is more in us than we know. If we can be made to see it, then, perhaps, for the rest of our lives, we will be unwilling to settle for anything less." This is what I'm hoping to be a part of through the art of coaching.