Meeting Amber

It did not start out as an odd request.

One of the women I work with asked me to meet with one of her potential clients/teammates/business partners (named Amber). As I said, this is not an odd request; this is part of what I do. Actually, THIS one of my favorite PARTS of what I do -- meeting new people who are typically forward thinking and positive. I have the honor and pleasure of connecting with them and acting as a resource as they begin their rise to greatness.

More or less.

So, the request did not come as a surprise. What came next however, did.

Before I went, the woman who was asking for my help wanted to tell me a little about this Amber. Amber, apparently, was quiet and soft-spoken. She didn't respond well to a lot of energy, and preferred to communicate with people who are more subdued and speak in calm, soft, even tones. She is often off-put by boisterous laughter, and prefers a serious conversation to light-hearted-humor/sarcasm/or anything more colorful than matter of fact sentences. Gestures are best kept to a minimum and to not extend beyond the immediate frame of the body. Oh, and she wasn't particularly fond of blonde women. (Ok, I made that last line up). The woman I work with knew this was a lot to take in, but she wanted to be sure my conversation with Amber was pleasant and effective...

There was a pause.

In that pause, two important thoughts went through my head in very rapid succession.

1. I am the WRONG person for this.
2. I don't know if I am good enough at "faking-it" to be the RIGHT person for this.

But I didn't have much choice, it was only 15 minutes until I would be pulling into the local new-age breakfast establishment where I would soon be meeting the anti-Kindra. I was just going to have to try.

I opened the heavy door to this, my favorite, breakfast place and took a few deep breaths chanting quietly to myself: "I am as soothing as a summer day, as calming as a trickling stream, as soft as a bunny, as light as a feather, as stiff as a board. Repeat." I nodded serenely at the hostess who recognized me from the many UNserene visits of my past. But TODAY, today I was a different person. Today I was (inhale)KIN (exhale)DRAAAAAAH.

As I walked into the main dining area I saw her, Amber. I tip-toed up to her in my silver ballerina slipper shoes (the quietest shoes I own). I nodded at Amber to calmly show my appreciation for our meeting. I slowly slid into my chair, trying not to make a sound. Unfortunately, the chair squealed on the stained concrete floors as it pushed back from the table. That startled me so much I grabbed the edge of the table with a lurch and thrust enough uneven weight to the back two legs of the chair, that the front legs came up. Balancing the chair on two back legs caused them to slide quickly beneath the seat of the chair nearly propelling me, back-of-skull-first onto the concrete floor. The entire restaurant turned to stare at the ruckus.

Though I avoided full-on floor contact, I knew it was over ... the clock struck twelve, my serenity carriage turned back into a unbridled energy machine... and there was no glass slipper in sight.

I blushed... I decided it was probably better to just be plain old Kindra and so I was.

What happened NEXT reminded me of a Japanese proverb/story that, since reading it, has become one of my favorites. I can't remember it word for word, so here instead is my version:

There once was a large hill that stood tall and proud and at the top of the hill was rumored to be a small house nestled deep in the woods. The house was not easy to find, but the rare traveler who dared to seek it and succeeded, HE would be rewarded with a rare gift: the complete understanding of the kind of world he lived in. Many a story had been told about this place known as The House of 1,000 Mirrors. Many a man had traveled, many had discovered the truth of his world and the stories were as varied as the men who sought them. Word of this house traveled to the two towns that rested on either side of this great hill. The tales traveled into the homes of the people who lived there, who told the stories sitting around the fireplaces with their families and pets at their feet.

One evening a grouchy, scowling, skulking pup in one of the towns decided he would go seek his reward at The House of 1,000 Mirrors. He wanted complete understanding of the world he lived in. So slowly, grouchily, scowling and skulking the whole walk up the hill, he made his way to The House of 1,000 Mirrors. He did not wag his tail, he did not pant with glee. He merely put one paw in front of the other saying, "The weather sure is miserable today. Then again, the weather is always miserable. The birds sure are annoying today. Then again, they're always annoying" and so on the conversation went until the grouchy, scowling, skulking pup finally found his way to The House of 1,000 Mirrors.

Slowly, slowly he climbed the old creeky stairs. Slowly, slowly he pushed open the old creeky door. Finally he was there, standing inside The House of 1,000 Mirrors.

It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. "I shoulda known," he moaned, "all this time, all this traveling for nothing."

Just then, the room was filled with three bursts of light and sound (that was far too electronically advanced for this ancient little hut, but so the story goes). The room was illuminated. 1,000 mirrors came to life, all at once.

But the grouchy, scowling, skulking pup did not notice the mirrors... All he saw were the faces of 1,000 pups staring back at him as skulky, as scowly, as grouchy as he had ever been and 1,000 times worse. He growled at them, they growled back. He bared his teeth, they bared back. He started to lunge at them, and 1,000 pups lunged back with evil in their eyes.

The pup let out a yelp and raced to get out of the little house. As he reached the old creeky door, the lights went dark, the dogs disappeared, and the grouchy, scowling, skulking pup started the long walk home alone.

"That is a miserable place. I will never return. Filled with miserable mangy pups. I will never return."

A few evenings later a perky, playful, friendly pup who lived in the village on the other side of the hill decided he would go seek his reward at The House of 1,000 Mirrors. He wanted complete understanding of the world he lived in. So excitedly, perkily, and playfully he bounded the whole walk up the hill as he made his way to The House of 1,000 Mirrors. He wagged his tail furiously, he panted with glee and anticipation. He danced one paw in front of the other saying, "What a beautiful day, EVERY DAY is a beautiful day. The sun is out, the birds are singing a beautiful song and I am on an adventure to find The House of 1,000 Mirrors. What more could a pup ask for?"

Finally, he reached the House he had been seeking. He quickly climbed the old creeky stairs. With nervous excitement he pushed open the old creeky door with his little wet nose. Finally he was there, standing inside The House of 1,000 Mirrors.

It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. "Oh boy Oh boy," he whispered, "I just can't wait. Oh boy, oh boy, this is just too exciting."

Just then, the room was filled with three bursts of light and sound (that was far too electronically advanced for this ancient little hut, but so the story goes). The room was illuminated. 1,000 mirrors came to life, all at once.

But the perky, playful, friendly pup did not notice the mirrors... All he saw were the faces of 1,000 pups staring back at him as perky, as playful, as friendly as he had ever been and 1,000 times more so. He barked at them, they barked back. He wagged his tail, they wagged back. He started to hop about in circles, yipping yapping as playful dogs do, and 1,000 pups hopped about in circles, excited to have a new playmate.

This went on for sometime; the yipping, the yapping the hopping about. Eventually, the excitement was all too much and he was starting to get hungry. He bid farewell to his 1,000 friends and as he reached the old creeky door, the lights went dark, the dogs disappeared, and the perky, playful, friendly pup started the long walk home alone.

"That is a WONDERFUL place. I will return soon. Filled with so many wonderful pups. I will return soon."

As our story comes to an end, we learn that indeed both pups received their reward for finding The House with 1,000 Mirrors: complete understanding of the kind of world they each live in... as their worlds are nothing more than reflections of themselves.

-----

As I sat there with Amber that afternoon, after deciding (or rather having no other choice but) to be myself, I noticed a very distinct difference between the Amber I thought I was meeting and the Amber sitting in front of me. Amber was vivacious and quick witted. She met every ounce of energy I had and raised me a couple watts. She spoke quickly and passionately, loudly and freely. Her excitement for life oozed out of every exaggerated gesture (one resulted in a spilled Diet Coke). She laughed boisterously, frequently, and was a huge fan of the many jokes she herself cracked. She was nothing like I thought she'd be ...

She wasn't the anti-Kindra. In fact, it was almost as if she was ... a reflection.

As I left that afternoon, pleased with the way the meeting had gone, I felt as if I were on the verge of uncovering a lifelong mystery. Amber was not at all who I thought she'd be. How could the woman who wanted me to meet with Amber been so wrong ...? And then I realized, the woman herself was fairly quiet and soft-spoken. She didn't respond well to a lot of energy, and preferred to communicate with people who are more subdued and speak in calm, soft, even tones... the Amber SHE knew was merely a reflection of herself.

Just as the Amber I knew, was a reflection of ME.

----

The lesson to be learned here is simple and profound. So much of the world we live in, so much of how we understand our world, how we know our world to be, is simply a reflection of who WE are. Therefore, be careful the face, be aware the attitude, be mindful the disposition you take with you as you go about your days because, for better or worse, it will be reflected back to you... 1,000 times or more.

Kindra Hall LIVE

This week instead of posting a new story that I have written, I decided to post a presentation I gave this past weekend. In total, this presentation is 48 minutes long and is entitled "Leadership by Story." This presentation was customized for the particular event, however, the concepts discussed can be useful in any profession and everyday living.

If you would like to listen to the whole training, by all means, enjoy. It is broken into 5 videos that play right after one another.

If you JUST want to hear the stories, then here is a little guide:

2:00 minute mark, Video One: The story of how I found Storytelling
20 second mark, Video Two: The story of my first spin class
9:30 mark, Video Two: My first Triathlon (watching, not competing)
3:55 mark, Video Three: "The Woman Behind the Counter"
2:55 mark, Video Four: The story of my father and the 75 yard dash

The Day My Day Was Almost Ruined

I think some of my favorite moments in life are the ones you don't intend to be profound. But, after time and life experience has passed, you understand that in THAT moment, something profound happened.

For me one of those moments came about a week after I moved into Michael's condo. We were trying to figure out how to "combine lives." His condo was a loft where the only separation between rooms was half walls, and the only room with a door was the bathroom. Not easy to combine lives in those conditions.

We were also trying to figure out the boundaries and patterns of our relationship. My motto was "Oprah says the kitchen closes at seven." His motto was, "9 o'clock, 10 o'clock 11 o'clock EAT." He liked to stay up late, I liked to go to bed early. I was a "what's mine is mine" kinda girl and he was a "what's mine is yours and I assume you feel the same way" kinda guy. It was a little messy to say the least.

I don't know what it was that made me regress back to my childhood (the only other time I lived with a boy -- my brother), but one morning I woke up with the overwhelming urge to eat a bowl of TRIX cereal. It had never happened before, it may never happen again, but that morning I bolted out of bed, went to the grocery store in my PJs, and picked up the red box with a floppy eared rabbit on it. I came home, poured a bowl, and was content -- all while Michael was still asleep. That evening I went to bed early as usual, Michael stayed up as usual, and I fell asleep dreaming of the bowl of TRIX I would enjoy in the morning....

Or so I thought ...

The next morning, while Michael was in the shower, I went to the fridge but noticed there was no milk. I then went to the pantry but noticed there was no TRIX. I then went to the garbage where both containers waited. Empty. Used. Depleted.

I was FURIOUS. I had enjoyed ONE BOWL of my favorite childhood treat and then, WHILE I SLEPT, like a thief in the night, my so-called-loving fiance devoured the ENTIRE rest of the box. I ran to the bathroom door and began pounding on it with both fists and yelling things like "TRIX ARE FOR KINDRAS!!" and "I'M GOING TO EAT ALL OF THE SIRLOINS IN FREEZER WHILE YOU SLEEP!!" and "I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME." I then collapsed on the bed and waited for him to emerge.

Shortly after, Michael walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and I was waiting, glaring with eyes of death.

"What?" he asked.

"YOU ATE MY TRIX."

"What? Are you going to let it ruin your whole day?"

There it was. THAT was a profound moment. Now, at the time, I didn't KNOW it was a moment, or that there was a lesson to learn. I was MAD. Mad that he ate my TRIX, but even more mad that he was right.

-----

In my profession, I spend a lot of time with entrepreneurs who are working their way to success. All of them are responsible for managing their time, their motivations, and sometimes the most challenging, their moods. Attitude management can be a difficult endeavor when there are so many things that can throw people off track. I believe it is how people handle these potential day-ruiners, that separate the mediocre from the champions. In my experience, two stories stand out.

The first was a woman with a goal to spread the message about her new business to 100 people a day. Everyday, she would set out in her 15 year old little truck to find 100 people who might be interested in the products and the business she had to offer. On one day a blizzard moved through the mountain town where she lived. She had to spend an unexpected hour shoveling herself out. But then it was business as usual as she hopped into the 15 year old truck and started off down the road. She got about 25 miles from home when she heard (and felt) a large thud. Her truck immediately sputtered and stopped. The woman stepped out of the truck, looked on the road behind her, and though she wasn't an expert, was pretty sure she saw her motor laying on the side of the snowy mountain freeway. She was also pretty sure that wasn't a good thing. She called me about two hours later from the car shop. She explained what had happened so far that day, that she was probably going to have to find a car to borrow until she could find a car to buy, and that she MAY not be able to talk to all 100 people today ... but probably 75.

...

The second story is of young man I was working with. He was also starting a home based business. He knew that it was important that he start spreading the message of his business to as many people as possible so he committed to talking to 5 new people everyday. One day he and I were scheduled to speak at 1:00pm and when I hadn't heard from him by 1:30, I gave him a call. He answered, sorry that he had missed our appointment but there had been an emergency. I thought maybe HIS motor had fallen out on the freeway but no, it was a slightly different situation. This man had a cat (which was unexpected), and earlier that morning the cat had hunted a small, unsuspecting, defenseless bird.

It was a marshmallow PEEP bird.

Apparently his cat did not LIKE marshmallow PEEPS (I can't blame the feline), and promptly spit it out on the kitchen tile. Instead of getting a paper towel and taking care of the mess, this man had spent the past 4 hours pacing, fretting, and googling. I asked him if the cat appeared to be suffering, "Oh no, the cat is fine but I just don't know how I'll be able to talk to five people -- it's ruined my whole day."

----

Obviously there is a pretty stark difference between these two stories and the attitude of these two people. One will be thrown off track by anything, while the other will be stopped at nothing.

Before you laugh, before you judge, think for a moment of the things that have ruined your day in the past. What unexpected situations have stolen hours from your days, time from your dreams? What is the magnitude of the situation you can handle with grace? Where does your "day-ruining threshold" lie?

Once you answer that question, here is what I would recommend; enlist a friend, a sister, a coach, a mentor, anyone who you feel comfortable granting permission to say to you "Really? Are you going to let it ruin your whole day?" in those moments when you need to snap out of it. We all have those days, but if you yourself don't have the strength to pull out of the nose-dive, then get someone who does, and can help you do it.

--------

Fortunately for Michael, he has me.

It was just last week and I could hear him huffing and puffing and stomping about the office (oh, we work together). He was furious, had been all afternoon. When I asked (so sensitively) "what's your deal?", he responded that he had to try three times to go to the bank. Hmmm. That sentence alone didn't make sense to me so he explained further:

The first time he went to his car but forgot the check he wanted to deposit inside, so he had to walk back.

The second time he had gotten in the car and started down the road, but then his car broke down (right across the street from the shop we go to -- so NOT a big deal, he just pushed it across the intersection and it would be fixed in no time).

The third time, he took my car and made it to the bank.

He was crabby and was determined to stay that way. I paused. I knew exactly what to say in that situation .... I had been waiting to say it for a year and two months.

"Really? Are you going to let it ruin your whole day?"

---

THAT was a profound moment.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

My hair has always been my thing.

I mean, I can't say I always KNEW it was my thing... but it definitely always has been.

As a child my hair hung in heavy, thick, golden brown sheets halfway down my back. It was more or less straight, but there was a natural curl, so that if it rained, I would get a curly halo around my face. I remember endless mornings sitting on the kitchen/living room/bedroom floor with my mother sitting on a chair right behind me, my head held tightly (mercilessly) between her knees. She would have a comb and an assortment of rubber bands and bows: her tools of torture. She would yank and part and pull. My head would fight, my neck would strain .... I think my spine and my skull actually separated from each other.

I was the first official bobblehead.

I would scream and cry and BEG that she just cut it all off. PLEASE, put me out of my misery. And every time she would say, "Kindra, someday you are going to LOVE this hair," or "Kindra, for the rest of your life you are going to hear, 'I wish I had your hair.'"

She was basically saying, "your hair is your thing." She was right.

I KNEW she was right the day in fourth grade when I had it all chopped off, started being mistaken for a boy, and my (fourth grade) boyfriend broke up with me saying "that's the worst haircut I've ever seen"... After that I started to wonder, is my hair ALL that I have..

Sadly, as is too often the case with young girls, I began taking inventory on everything that was wrong with me; my teeth were prisoners behind a steal bar, my legs weren't as skinny as the other girls, my clothes were hand me downs and not new and shiny. I was awkward, I was nerdy, I was loud even when I didn't want to be. I didn't wear jeans. In high school I wasn't cool, or savvy and my jeans were skinny at the ankle when they should have been wide enough for a boot. In college I wasn't coy or mysterious. I didn't know that the food in the cafeteria wasn't "good for you" and I put on the freshman 15 faster than I moved into the dorm. And in Scottsdale, I didn't have enough tone, my chest was too small, my bottom was too big, my lips too thin and my forehead too expressive...

However, through it all, I had my hair.

--------------
Now I am a grown woman. Yes, I love my hair, but I know that it doesn't define me. I know that there are many things about me that are fabulous, and I remind myself of those things everyday... The insecurities of my past, of my foolish girlhood, are gone.
--------------

It was two days before the 4th of July and I was in sunny Coronado, California sitting outside Cafe 1134 on Orange Avenue with my dreamy husband and my laptop. We had been sitting outside this cafe for three hours; watching the people, saying hello to friends as they passed. One of Michael's friends pulled up a chair, introduced herself to me, and joined us for a bit. We were casually visiting and at one point she asked me, "Does your hair naturally curl that way?"

"Oh, no, I use a curling iron. I've gotten pretty good at it over the years."

"It looks really nice."

...

Now, because I am a grown woman... Because I know my hair doesn't define me. Because I have left behind the foolish insecurities of my past... my natural response SHOULD have been: "Thank you." And STOP.

But instead, INSTEAD I started talking about DJ Tanner.

...

DJ Tanner. Does the name sound vaguely familiar? DJ Tanner, the eldest daughter on my favorite childhood sitcom Full House. Sitting there, on this beautiful California afternoon, with a virtual stranger, I went on to talk about the episode where DJ Tanner wanted to lose weight for Kimmy's pool party.

"In an effort to look like the models in the magazine, she stopped eating and went to the gym until she fell off the treadmill. Fortunately, Uncle Jesse had an intervention where he asked DJ (with cheesy music playing in the background) to share all of the things she had going for her. The only thing I remember DJ saying was, 'I have GREAT hair.' And I totally knew how DJ felt, that's how I feel -- I mean I may not have EVERYTHING going for me -- I may not have the best legs, or chest, or bottom, but I have GREAT hair..."

My voice trailed off. The kind friend of Michael's looked at me, her eyes wide. Michael stared at me, his jaw dropped. Eventually the two of them picked up conversation on a different topic that had nothing to do with bad television or crazy wives, but I didn't recover as quickly... I was asking myself "where did THAT come from?"
------------

I would guess it is safe to say you have never responded to a compliment by reciting an episode of an 80's sitcom -- no, that is definitely something reserved for only a "special few." However, I WOULD venture to guess that you HAVE accepted a compliment with a litany of reasons of why the compliment giver was mistaken. Regardless of which tactic you use, the end result is the same: in a moment where someone is offering their respect, awe, or even adoration -- you shower upon them all of the insecurities that have been holding you back.

Why? WHY would you want THEM to see you the way YOU see you? Don't try to change their minds -- try to change yours.

Just say Thank You. (and stop)

This is true for any type of compliment -- whether it be a compliment on your home, your work, your car, your children -- Thank You (and stop) is the best way to go.
------------

The conversation is still one of those that makes me physically cringe when I think of it -- I hope that means I will learn from it -- but more than anything I hope I don't see that girl again until she has long forgotten about it.

The next day I purchased a hat, and for the rest of the weekend festivities I was known as the Girl in the Fabulous Hat.

The Star Spangled Banner

We listen to the oldies station at work.

I am not a fan.

Unfortunately, there is no way to escape. There is a radio in some secret back room, to which I do not apparently have a key, that is connected to speakers in the ceilings of the hallways so no matter where you go, the oldies can find you. All day long I hear about a run around Sue, the Beach Boys, and various others singing with unnaturally high voices. The oldies were fine in high school when I was working as a Car Hop at a Drive-In restaurant. The whining and crooning was well suited to cheese curds and a secret homemade root beer recipe. But now, as a young professional, it makes my head hurt a little.

Although, there is one thing that almost makes it worth it. One moment everyday that, to be quite honest, I really look forward to --- Noon. I look forward to Noon all day. Not just because I'm halfway there, not just because it means I can eat whatever assorted microwave goods I may have stored in the community freezer, but because at Noon the Oldies station --comes through--. Every day at Noon the Oldies station takes a break from the annoying and moves to the inspiring...

When they play "The Star Spangled Banner."

I don't know what it is about that song, but it gets me every time. Every day I watch the clock on my iPhone, waiting for it to tick to 12:00. When the time turns I stop what I'm doing, put my hand to my heart, and enjoy a few moments of patriotism. I sometimes even get up from my desk and stand in the hallway just to hear it better.

I love Noon. It's my favorite part of my work day because of The Star Spangled Banner (and no oldies).

And then, on Friday June 26th, something went terribly awry. I had just come back from the office kitchen with a plate of brown rice and my new favorite "health food," the veggie burgers that come in the green box (Morning Glory? Morning Star?). I looked at the time on my computer screen and it said 12:00. NOON!!

Yes!! I was just in time. I sat up straight in my chair, placed my hand over my heart, and waited...

Though what I heard startled me ... it wasn't The Star Spangled Banner, it was... no...

... Thriller?

Are you kidding me?? The Star Spangled Banner had been replaced with THRILLER?! Ok, it's the day after Michael Jackson died. Ok, it's sad. But SERIOUSLY, sad enough to replace the NATIONAL ANTHEM with THRILLER?!

I was outraged. I was furious. I was... strangely, not surprised.

Think about it, with everything that is happening in our country and world right now; on the brink of unprecedented health care changes, Iraq taking responsibility for their own internal security for the first time in six years, Iran (need I say more), even in Arizona the budget still hangs in the balance... ALL of this, and if I turn on the television for ten minutes, at least 7 of the minutes are entirely dedicated to the endless list of details about the untimely (though not entirely unpredictable) death of Michael Jackson.

I'll be the first to say, he was a musical genius. I also believe he had an impossible life. I thank the music of Michael Jackson for my 20 pound weight loss in 2005 when I bought his Number Ones CD and kept on running and I didn't stop, didn't stop til I got enough. But really, regardless of your political or musical inclinations, is Michael Jackson more important than everything our world is up against? And even if you don't care about the world -- does he really deserve so much of YOUR attention. Honestly, what could you be doing for your LIFE in the time you spend sucked in to Michael Jackson's DEATH.

Finally, regardless of anything else ... replacing the National Anthem of our country (the anthem they play for olympic gold, the anthem they play when the troops return home) with Thriller? It just felt wrong.

I removed my hand from my heart. I took out my plastic utensils and began cutting my veggie burgers in disgust.

Just as I was planning to send a well-articulated letter to the local oldies station, I heard something that sounded strangely familiar... wait a minute, could it be? Sure enough it was -- The Star Spangled Banner. How could this be? I looked at the clock on my computer, 12:05pm. Five minutes late is better than never I suppose.

Then I looked at my cell phone.

12:00pm.

I looked to my computer.

12:05pm.

Oh .... that's right. My office computer clock has always been five minutes fast.

Well, the point still stands.