Amy Robinson is a certified life coach, and founder of Triune Consulting.
Certified by The Life Coach Institute, Amy also holds a Certificate In Foundations of Leadership from Rice University’s Professional Development Program.
Amy can be contacted at info@triune-consulting.com.
Triune’s website is www.triune-consulting.com.
Life Coaching is designed to help clients move from where they are today (Point A), to where they want to be (Point B). Sometimes, just identifying that destination point is challenging. Some clients know specifically what they are after as far as goals and objectives, some are in the inquiry of “what’s next?” All know they want more fulfillment, happiness, balance and inner peace in their lives. And they are open and willing to generate it.
It is my job to assist, help, guide and support my clients in reaching their next level. I do this by coaching on specific modalities, or linear processes, that act as the necessary success mechanisms and concepts to drive personal and professional success. My training and certification was completed with The Life Coach Institute. In addition I hold a certifcate in Foundations of Leadership from Rice University.
My personal philosophy is demonstrated in My Articles. Please enjoy my own experiences and insights. To summarize, I champion the success of each individual in authoring her own life.
This morning in my car, I witnessed a strange scene in the Galleria. Strange scenes rarely happen in the Galleria; I don’t think they are allowed per the deed restrictions. I like the Galleria, as it has been my home for the last 12 years, and it is very homogeneous. Whereas The Heights is eclectic, The Galleria is bright, shiny and clean, like a well-oiled machine. Things out of the planned ordinary just don’t happen here. Until this morning.
A business man was walking his dog when they stopped as the dog took care of its morning constitution. As soon as the dog assumed its proper position to carry out such an act, the gentleman stooped strategically holding an object directly under the dog’s behind. No doubt this object’s purpose was to “catch” what Spot was releasing, before it hit the fan, I mean the ground.
Three immediate questions came to mind, and in this exact order: How strange? What’s next in this world? and Is this man working smarter versus harder?
As a small business owner I am always in the inquiry of the latter. Working smarter than harder will probably be etched on my tombstone (along with “Dunkin Donuts Rule!”). But I had to wonder is the owner working harder by 1) stooping down in a waiting position, 2) keeping strict vigilance between hand-eye-poop coordination, and 3) discarding the matter. Since I was driving by, I couldn’t stay around to observe what he was going to do with the satchel of plenty, but I presume there was a next step involved. I wandered if his back ached from crouching down, and just how worried he was that his tie was going to get caught in the action. By the way he was holding it with the other hand against his chest, I assumed it was his concern. But primarily I wandered how Spot felt. As I drove past the scene, I swear the dog looked embarrassed. I don’t blame Spot at all. Some natural acts should just remain, well, natural.
It was a life coach’s fantasy-turned-reality. I was to present on stress management and work life balance to AIG’s employees the week the company was featured dismally in the global news. The timing could not have been better as far as the relevancy of the topic and the readiness of the audience. 24/7 I worked to produce an air-tight, solid presentation. Actively ignoring the boyfriend’s advice to slow down and pace myself, I was hell-bent on shepherding these employees to The Promised Land.
Then, just two days prior to the talk, I hit the couch, and couldn’t leave. I was about as balanced as a two-legged stool. An acne outbreak, the size of Rhode Island, had left its mark. No amount of make-up concealer was going to hide the fact that I was an impostor in the area of managing my own stress. Tearing up my presentation notes, knowing it was time to start over, I pulled from my bookcase Webster’s New World Dictionary and searched for “Balance.” And there it was, patiently waiting for me, under the third definition down: The power to decide. At first confused, I began tracing my finger up and down the page, making sure I hadn’t been reading a different word’s definition. After all, at first, second and fifteenth glance, exactly how did balance relate to the power to decide?
And then I got it: How could it possibly not.
When it comes to the area of self-management, especially around stress and balance, I willingly admit I need to keep self-vigilance. I am naturally enthused and influenced by wanting to do much. Passionate and creative, I have declared myself a builder in this lifetime. Being the architect of my own life, I have to really understand what is important to me, what I truly value-what I want this life experience to be for me. I am learning if I want to build anything on the outside real and lasting, I first have to discover my blueprints on the inside.
Here is what I am continuously learning around balance; balance is not a 50-50 split. Balance is not an equal ration of my energy, time, and attention to all my various activities, pursuits, relationships and responsibilities in life. Balance is not found someday in the near (the weekend) or far future (my yearly two-week vacation). Balance is not sourced anywhere, any person, anyplace, or anything OUTSIDE of me. Balance is about my power to decide what is most important to me on a daily (sometimes minute-to-minute) basis. Then align my choices, habits and activities based on those values.
The power to decide requires one to know her self from the inside-out. Some of us know the inside of our purse better. Seriously, only when we know ourselves can we manage what is most important to us.
If you are wandering how the presentation at AIG went, I showed up empty handed. Well, not exactly. I had my dictionary with me, which technically meant I did bring Balance that day. I introduced balance the only way I know how to do anything, by sharing my story, myself –blemishes and all. I had decided that was most important to me.
I admit I gave up wearing bras about four years ago, when I began teaching 23 yoga classes a week after quitting my corporate position. You’d think just the decision to give up bras is true liberation. But no, actually NOT wearing a bra is the ultimate liberator.
Here was my reasoning behind giving up bras (the job is a different article-stay tuned). Since teaching yoga is not a high intensity aerobic exercise, I wouldn’t have to keep the girls bound. Also, since I spun a 180 going from a corporate manager’s salary to teaching yoga, I was doing my part in the downsizing department by not having to pay for bras any longer. Yes, there were so many good reasons to give bras up for good.
Until I went home this summer, and lived with my mom for a few weeks. Ram Dass nails it when he says, “If you think you’re enlightened, go spend a week with your parents.” As I was fixing lunch one day, my head in the refrigerator asking mom where the mustard was, I heard her say,
“Amy, I think you are sagging.”
At first, I thought she meant my backside. Spinning around I was prepared to defend my glutes by showing her just how committed I was to the Pilates “buns burner” routine right there and then. She beat me to the punch,
“I mean your chest. I think you need to start wearing bras again.”
I could have dealt with the butt, but not The Bobbsey Twins. Not wearing a bra felt so good – body, mind and spirit. Just the thought of returning to them felt like I was facing incarceration. But my mom has never led me astray in her advice.
So this past weekend, I cajoled my boyfriend to tag along while I went bra shopping at Victoria’s Secret. As you can imagine, it didn’t take much persuasion. I raised my eyebrow to him, and said, “Don’t get too excited buddy; we’ll be in and out in a New York minute. There’s not much to buying a bra.”
Famous last words.
Three quarters of an hour later, I was staring with a glazed look at 15 bras in my dressing room. Feeling like the saleswoman and I had just downed a round of tequila shots, I was the one failing fast in a sea of confusion, and she was clearly winning the contest. “There’s push up, full coverage, demi cup, multi-cup, strapless, racerback, wireless, t-shirt, lace, minimizers, subtle lift, moderate lift, dramatic lift, extreme lift, ultimate lift.”
Sweat collected on my upper lip, and for a second I thought I was taking the LSAT again. Which was the right multiple choice answer?
Resigned, defeated, I pleaded, “I just want comfortable.”
She looked at me like I had two-heads, “Why didn’t you just say that?” And disappeared.
Sagging (excuse the pun) onto the dressing room’s bench, I felt like the world had changed and grown bigger. I was a strange mutant; some sort of bra-less Rip Van Winkle.
Returning to the dressing room, the saleswoman handed me yet another bra. “This is our comfortable prototype. It’s like you are not wearing one.”
She had me at hello.
It felt so right, like “optional.” I asked her if I could wear it home. She nodded her head, and gave me a bored look. Obviously, I wasn’t the first who had such a request.
No boyfriend to be found as I paid for my purchase, there he was outside, waiting for me.
He smelled a lot like a Victoria’s Secret Angel, taking on the odor of the store. I laughed over the thought of such a tough-looking guy smelling like a powder-puff and sprouting wings.
He smiled at me, happy that I was happy. “Found a good bra, eh?”
When I get out of my own way, I find more inner peace, balance and centeredness; it’s like I just did a straight marathon of yoga classes, but without having to lift one leg in Tree, or Standing Bow, or any posture for that matter. After all these years, I am beginning to experience the same effects from doing yoga, off the yoga mat.
I can tell you how I got out of my own way, and got on with my life. I learned self-compassion. But not the way you may think; it was a process of “reversal of direction.” I wasn’t born knowing how to apply compassion to myself. I had to learn it like a skill, much like changing a flat tire. I had to learn it experientially, since the only manual I could find was coffee-stained, and written in Russian.
I began by testing compassion out on others first. This somehow felt more natural. Like many women’s, the primary direction of my life has been externally driven. I came into this world with heavy reinforcement, “to do for others first.” If “reading-others-emotional-barometers-reacting-mine-off-theirs” was an event in the Olympics, I would be a 366th time gold medalist; all the while, finishing last with myself.
Then one day, a wise woman whose dogs I was house-sitting (all wise women have dogs) said to me, “Amy, be kind to your self. Make life simple and beautiful.” I was so stunned by her statement, and stalled by my internal self-talk – why, she makes it sound like a choice in life. Years later, I recall that my self doubting belief did what it still does best when left on automatic: it totally blocked me, totally blind spotted me, from asking her the obvious “How?”
There is a really good ending to this story. What was born from that experience was I knew it was more important that I own the result. Looking back now, it was being in the inquiry of such a possibility, while not knowing the how-to that actually began the process of breakthrough. Said plainly: make self-compassion a commitment first by declaring its existence in your thoughts, attitudes, beliefs, language and choices. The how-to will happen naturally, kindly, simply and beautifully.
This past Friday night, I hung out at Exxon’s convenient store, corner of Westheimer and Chimney Rock for about 40 minutes. Before you get a totally distorted picture of what I do with my weekends, allow me to explain. The Mega Millions lottery’s deadline was 10 p.m. that evening, and around 9 p.m., my beau and I decided to risk it all (cap of $5.00), and buy tickets. And we weren’t the only ones with this idea.
I admit I don’t have much experience buying lotto tickets. The whole process and culture feels alien to me. But that night, that convenient store, and that occurrence of buying last minute lotto tickets for one of the largest jack pots in history, fused an experience that I can only relate to what it must feel like to be an audience member of a Tony Robbins’ seminar. There was magic and transformation galore. People were buzzing, wearing hope-faith-possibility like an accessory. And if that wasn’t magical enough- they were giving it back to each other. Strangers were smiling at one another, exchanging more than just good luck. We were supporting one another with hope and possibility. It was as palpable as grass, and omnipresent as air. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to make that atmosphere my permanent residence. That evening, I found Inspiration at the Exxon Station.
After note: The next day’s local paper reported there were no winners from that night’s drawing for Mega Millions. I tend to disagree.
I just returned from a month of delivering workshops on life coaching in the North East. It was an amazing journey, and one that started long before I left Texas. My commitment to design my own life had begun with the decision I would expand my physical boundaries and alter my work schedule to accommodate coaching nationally. Notice I did not commit first to “how to.” It would have stopped my intention in its track. Instead, I got real clear on my objective/goal, and from there, allowed the obstacles and limitations to write the small, manageable action steps. In life coaching, I educate my clients on this success mechanism. Get clear about the what. Not the how to. Shift your paradigm of how things occur to you up until now; spin your own 180.
Recently, I experienced severe discomfort in my heels and arches after years of living hard. You see, I have always been a heel-walker, the brunt of my weight and direction in life taken on this vulnerable area. I share this distinction with my father, and can still hear the heaviness and arrival of his approach in my life. He and I share the same determination and command in moving in life, that heel-walkers often do. We are driven folks, and would never be considered light travelers or light treading in our approach of people, places and things in life.
Now in my forties, I feel the effect in my physical form and reached for a pair of heel and arch supports in CVS last week upon the urging of my light-treading and compassionate boyfriend. Putting my ego aside, and accepting a new phase where support is now needed, I eagerly grabbed two pair.
It has made all the difference, and I highly recommend not only pursuing the physical support for your particular wear-and-tear, but in addition, ask yourself, where have I placed the burden of my existence internally? What would support in this area look like?
If it is time for you to build self-awareness and create an action plan to move forward in life, treading with lightness, joy and compassion in reaching where you want to go, both internally and externally, reach for the support of life coaching.
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