by tashmcgill | Dec 17, 2014 | Love & Marriage, Relationships
I remember the instance so clearly; I think about it every time I take that same escalator. The escalator is at the airport, so I take it a lot. An acquaintance of mine (who I thought was quite mad at the time) was talking about a mutual male friend, only a couple of years married. She said, “Oh yeah, he’s great. Don’t worry I’m just waiting for the second time around. No point trying to catch a new one, just wait til they are done with the practice round.’
She was talking about what great relationship potential he was and joking about whether or not his relatively recent marriage would last. It was a serious viewpoint on her dating prospects.
Ten years on, I can’t help but wonder if she wasn’t quite as mad as we thought as I’ve watched relationship after relationship fall over, with women ready and waiting in the wings to snap up bachelors ‘recently returned’ to the market.
(Really, I mean any partnership between men and women, or same-sex relationships. However, I think there is a stronger mythology being spread around the difference between men and women.)
Don’t get me wrong, I have little respect for people who insert themselves into the midst of committed relationships and I find society’s tolerance for it to be distasteful. I’m not suggesting that I agree with her. In fact, this is the opposite of that. I’m hoping that women feeling fragmented, dissatisfied or even a little bored, might have a change of heart.
(more…)
by tashmcgill | Dec 16, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Spirituality, Strategy
I watched a crane put together a 10-metre tall Christmas Tree in the city a week or so ago. Piece by piece it was lifted into place while a group of 5 or 6 workmen in high visibility vests perfected the placement of shiny glass baubles. What a sight.
Bright neon vests screaming ‘pay attention’ to what is going on here, while traffic trundled past below and pedestrians marched quickly, bracing against the wind.
That’s the Advent season these days. A race against the clock, constructed by the most unlikely people while everyone else races around completing their business. But Advent, deconstructed or otherwise, still matters regardless of your religious beliefs. It screams out, ‘Notice me – I have something to remind you of.’
Advent is a story about leaning in, expecting and waiting. It’s a story about how we hope for better days, the kind of story our humanity needs to hear at least once a year.
You see, I’m beginning to think that a dream alone is not enough to keep us going. In fact, I have been convinced that a dream isn’t powerful at all. The only power a dream has is the focus and motivation it gives you to take the steps required to achieve it.
If you’ve ever tried to lose weight, save money, shake a habit or create a new one – then you’ve tasted a tiny piece of what it’s like. The dream requires lots of action, but they are mostly very human actions. They are based in the natural world.
I’ve become more convinced that dreams need action and longing. Longing and desire are what keeps a dream alive, when hope seems lost. Hope is a supernatural kind of thing. Action comes from within us, but hope is something external and internal that we hold on to. Longing taps into the spiritual within us and dreams need both. Without longing, the dream can become dry and our motivation can ebb away. We lose both our internal and external power.
I’ve got a dream that feels out of reach and almost impossible to realise. So over the last few years, I’ve stopped praying for it, hoping for it and believing in it. I’ve stopped letting the longing for it dwell anywhere but in my deepest secret heart. Slowly, I’ve been starving my dream so that it’s easier to live in the Not-Yet reality, but it’s having an impact on what actions I’m prepared to take to achieve the dream. I’ve leaned back out of my dream, I’ve stopped hoping and expecting.
I’ve got to long for it again, letting the longing bubble up into my conversations with others. I can’t hide it away and pretend like it has no hold on me. I’ve got to seek it, praying and asking others to believe alongside me is crucial to help me lean in and get stronger in pursuit of it. Sharing my longing so that the dream stays strong and alive within me is necessary.
Advent is a season of expectancy and waiting. We eagerly await holidays, Christmas parties, gift-giving, time with family and friends. We await the New Year with expectation of what will come and what we have the chance to leave behind. And in the ancient story the Advent comes from, there’s an extraordinary example of what it means to lean into a dream – something so out of the ordinary and hard to understand that Mary’s only option is to lean forward and say, ‘Ok, let it be with me as you have said’.
Regardless of whether you believe the story to be myth or truth, this story has had a remarkable impact on our human history. Nobody questions the courage of a young teenage Jewish girl under Roman rule to lean in and say ‘Ok, I’m in it for the ride’.
Look, sometimes I feel afraid to share that longing and pursue my dreams because I’m scared that I’m asking for the wrong things. But there is no Plan B – so by sharing my longing and seeking ways for my dream to become reality, I am inspired to steps I should be taking along the way or to realign my heart to alternate pathways. At the very least, by praying and meditating more regularly on my dreams – I am comforted in the Not-Yet season.
Pursuing a dream out of nothing but our own strength is sure to wear you down. No matter the dream, we are spiritual beings and we need to integrate that into every part of our lives. So a dream by itself is not powerful and human actions alone are also not enough. Deep resonant dream-pursuing requires our whole self… spirit, mind and body.
I’m re-aligning my dream-chasing muscles with longing, expectation and leaning in to hope. What are you dreaming for? How are you leaning into it? There are 15 days left until the New Year begins. What will you enter it dreaming of and longing for?
This post was originally written for World Vision USA and adapted here for tashmcgill.com.
by tashmcgill | Dec 15, 2014 | Friendship, Health, Love & Marriage, Relationships
I wish I could say that I wisely hold back in loving the people around me. But it’s not true – I’ve never once been a ‘hold back on love’ kind of girl. Which means I’ve loved deeply and truly a bunch of times, but I can honestly say I’ve never been in love, not really.
And now it might be too late, because I’m falling out of love with the idea of falling in love. At least, in the way we think about it. The way the movies tell it, or at least, the way most movies tell it.
Was there ever a more unlikely couple than Steve Carell and Keira Knightley, confessing their love to one another as the world ended in the film ‘Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World’? But by the time the story reached an inevitable conclusion, it was obvious that neither character could have found a partner better matched. It was not a long list of shared interests and mutual sexual attraction that made their love story so compelling or so real – and it was, despite contrived circumstances, honest and truthful about what love can be.
Instead, they found in one another an honest, endearing, truthful and compassionate friendship. Both characters were able to be themselves and grew to a more honest and engaged individual when supported and encouraged by the other. They gently inspired one another to a better self.
But I believe that this what we should all be looking for, a friend for the end of the world who loves us as ourselves, rather than an idea of us. The friend who brings us home to ourselves with humility and the one who helps us feel capable of climbing mountains. It’s idealistic but that’s kind of beautiful – for a girl as smart as I am to recognize the naïve innocence of that desire and desire it anyway.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to pretend that chemistry and attraction aren’t a really big deal in successful relationships. But I also know from experience that the deepest attraction grows from the heart and mind. From the soul, I guess you could say.
True passion requires a lot of fuel, on an ongoing basis. I’ve watched love fade from the eyes of people who once couldn’t keep their hands off each other. If the sparks are your only fuel, you might fast run out of matches. True love takes a long time to grow. We confuse the possibility of love for Love itself and where we ought to nurture true and deep companionship, we burn out in a flash of heat and sparks.
And here’s the truth hidden in the detail of a movie of a story we should pay more attention to: sometimes the best friend we’ve been looking for our whole life is just within reach, within eye contact or a phone call. We just don’t recognize it when we’re busy looking for something that feels like love (sparks) but isn’t friendship.
The older I get, the less I’m looking for lusty sparks, I’m looking for a different kind of chemistry. One that is no less exciting, but a little more substantial. Is there a chance we can share a common outlook? Is there a chance I could care about you more than myself? It is probably a terrible sign for my love life, but the truth is I’m no longer looking for a fairy-tale kind of love story. I’m seeking a friend for the end of the world and that makes dating even more of a challenge. The more experience you have of what true Love looks like, the more you are able to recognize what is good and what is not worth holding on to.
In the same way you might study Van Gogh originals to best recognize a forgery, once you’ve recognized the kind of life-changing love that can be experienced in the embrace of a true deep friend, everything else feels like a cheap knock-off. I have too much good love in my life already, so it feels intimidating and impossible to start from scratch.
I’m looking for someone who can follow the sub-text of a conversation, who shares the meta-narrative, the one I laugh with like no one else and who embraces my sentimental, romantic nature. While I don’t believe that any one love can meet all our needs, I’m looking for my best friend and the one who knows I’m theirs.
Here’s why: if anybody is going to stand a chance in making love work for longer than the sparks do, it will be those who are friends and continue to nurture that friendship and relationship above all things. That’s what I’ve learned watching my parents, my friends and dozens of disasters.
I’m talking about the kind of friendship where trials and triumph matter as much to you as to your friend and layers of sub-text and meta-narrative accompany every experience. Where trivial moments of laughter, bad humour and everyday experiences meld effortlessly into what matters and what does not. Sometimes the deepest friendships appear shallow because the foundation is so deep. A deep foundation that anchors people to a common outlook is the richest and best kind of love, no matter who it is shared between.
While I would gladly embrace the heat and spark of new love, I can’t wait for old love. I’d give anything to fall in love with someone who already knows my best stories, my deepest hopes and maddest dreams. I’d love to fall in love with a friend and skip ahead to holding hands.
by tashmcgill | Dec 14, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Family
This is the second in a series of reflecting on lessons learned. I’m sharing them because I think it’s really important to consider how we learn from those around us. It’s about actively engaging in the learning process, throughout our lifetimes.
I think it’s universal that the relationships between mothers and daughters are complex. I know mine is, but in a good way.
When two women which such high-powered EQ co-exist in a variety of roles over decades, there is simply so much to navigate. The roles of nurture within a home, parenting, then be-friending, supporting, challenging, disciplining and helping create self-awareness – all these roles have become shared in our relationship. I’m grateful for that. I’ve learned a lot about how to love and serve a wide range of women in my life from this relationship with my mother. I’m also lucky to share some aspects of that relationship with my sisters, although no child has the same parenting relationship there is certainly plenty to learn and observe from our shared experiences.
As with Lessons My Father Taught Me, these are my words to describe what I’ve learned from a woman who raised me, teaches me and inspires me still.
- Fix the problem that starts with you.
It used to drive me crazy as a teenager and young adult. Now I try to ask myself the question before I need Mum to – it’s a really powerful question. In any situation or conflict that didn’t go my way or I found myself in some sort of trouble, she would ask, ‘Well, what was your part in it? What did you do to get that reaction?’. It’s possibly the smartest way I started to learn the power of self-awareness, when to think before speaking and when to risk it regardless. It’s an incredibly powerful tool in forgiveness and reconciliation to be able to humbly own your own part in any conflict. There is rarely any shame in being responsible for your own actions, when it comes to making an apology.
- If there’s something you want, there’s always something you can do to get it.
As much as my dad has taught me to always believe and look for hope, it’s my mother that has taught me to always consider what actions you can take to pursue the result you want. She’s an expert problem solver because of that, always looking for action you can take to move you closer to the goal.
- Just tell the truth and then we’ll deal with it.
There’s not much to say about this. Other than, I’ve learned this is most valuable in relationships. Too often, it is in relationship with others that we struggle to be most truthful about what we think, what we feel and how that might affect each of us. So this, is possibly the singular most important thing, because it goes hand in hand with a promise. Just tell the truth (and I will be graceful enough to receive it well) and then we’ll deal with it.
- Let your brain rest on it, great solutions sometimes need time.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I have talked to my mother about a problem or challenge I’m facing, only to have her call me back the next morning or email with a solution I never would have considered. From time to time, she’ll even say – ok, let me think about it and I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ve learned that our capacity to come up with creative solutions is often most effective when we let our instinct and subconscious have a few hours to wrestle with the problem first. Often now, I’ll come back from a meeting with a client and just need to sit and think about the information. It’s digesting time. It’s time for the genius within to do work.
- Creativity, hospitality, traditions and atmosphere welcome people in.
I’m sitting at my mother’s house right now, surrounded with Christmas decorations. This is the first year in a long time we haven’t thrown a traditional Christmas decorating party with our extended family and friends. Mum has a knack for creating environments that people can enjoy, for hosting with enthusiasm and creating traditions that welcome other people into them. I realise that I carry many of these traits from her – annual parties, traditions and creating atmosphere for people to enjoy. I learned from her and I hope to teach my family the same.
- You make your family and then you choose it.
Maybe it’s because we have a small and geographically dispersed family, or growing up in the church but for whatever reason, our extended family counts more friends than blood relatives. But they are close as close can be. Mum has consistently welcomed people into our family life, including our friends as we’ve grown. From that I’ve learned the value of investing in the children of your friends and known the peace that comes from making a family of friends, even as a single person.
- Always look for opportunities to connect people.
Mention the word ‘networking’ and people sometimes visibly shudder. It conjures images of self-serving, rapid business card exchanges and a set of shallow, transactional relationships. I prefer the word ‘connecting’ because that’s what Mum does in her professional life and her work life. She is constantly connecting people to one another for no personal gain, but in a way that enriches others. I’ve learned from her that connecting other people is a rewarding process from which goodness comes.
- Be generous with your time, your love and your money.
There’s a fine line between living a life of true generosity and living a life of obligation. From my mother, I’ve learned to give what you can, when you can. To make choices about generosity wisely is something I’m still learning, however I think the more you connect with giving something away for the sake of someone else and less for yourself, it matters less.
- Be active in your creativity and in your rest, so that you add to the world.
My mum is a maker and a teacher. Of course, that’s not her job. But if you were to ask what my mother does, I would tell you she makes and she teaches. What makes her a good teacher? She offers what she knows without pretence. She shares her knowledge willingly. She makes constantly – whether it’s foodie treats (no one can beat her strawberry jam or tamarillo chutney), quilts, scrapbooks, room renovations – you name it, she is constantly making. She adds to the world. So I try to make, create and rest by adding something to the world.
There’s a way of living which is earnest, good and generous. It’s wholehearted and passionate, a force of nature and I aspire to live in that way too, in the steps of my mother.
by tashmcgill | Dec 13, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Family
Too often, we wait too long in life to realise the lessons we are learning from our parents and those around us. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned from my parents and decided to start sharing it with you. Maybe you’ll share with me what you’ve learned too.
When I was about 9 years old, a teacher came to me after an assembly and said, ‘Your dad is at the back of the room looking for you.’
I shot back quick smart, ‘Oh yeah? You’ve never met my dad, how do you know it’s him?’
Not to be outsmarted by a precocious 9-year-old, she replied, ‘It’s written all over your face, you look just like him.’
To be fair, no 9-year-old girl really wants to hear that she’s the spitting image of a 45-year-old man but I am the spitting image of my father; blue eyes, round cheeks and that same chin.
Although now I can see I have the Godfrey eyes and my mother’s hands, I have always been, in one way or another, ‘just like your dad’.
Recently I’ve got to thinking about the very tangible things that I’ve learned from him. Maybe it’s because my dad has regular health scares or I’ve simply been to a few too many funerals this year – but I’ve been wanting to tell people more and more, where I’ve learned some of the core aspects of who I am. Where I come from.
To be clear – these are my words for what I’ve learned from Dad, not his own. But when I think about everything he is (and isn’t) I stumble across these themes time and time again.
- Relentless optimism.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve observed my Dad pick himself back up and continue on. When health has failed or work has been a struggle, he continues on. He’s always finding new opportunities and things to push forward into. He’s taught me to look for opportunities at every turn. To believe that things can turn around on a dime or on a long slow bend – and that there is always hope.
- Believe in yourself, even when no one else does or should.
There are no shortage of people who believe that will believe in you to a degree, but there will be times when the amount of belief you need is beyond what anyone else can give you. Whether it’s been pushing a creative idea beyond the limits of approvals or being too broke for gas when trying to crack a new deal open, my dad has taught me the power of remembering just how good you can be. There is one incident I remember with such clarity it brings tears to my eyes even now – Dad’s words were simple and to the point. ‘Tash, look at your little finger. You’ve got more creativity in that little finger than the rest of us put together – now you just need to remember that, ok?’
- Whenever you can, make somebody laugh.
I used to groan when Dad would make jokes with the checkout lady at the supermarket, although secretly I’d always be impressed when he could make them smile. I’ve learned that it’s a gift to bring a little light into someone’s world whenever you can. Dad’s taught me that you can’t be too serious all the time or you’ll get out of balance. And that sometimes when things really are pretty serious, you need a good laugh more than you think. That humour can get pretty dark, but I got that from him too, I think. I’ll never forget the first time he talked seriously about getting a tattoo (after my sister and I both had them) – his suggestion was a zipper over his bypass scar, with a tag saying ‘in case of emergencies, open here’. I used to be too serious about everything and now I probably err on the other side, but I think Dad’s side is better in this instance. It’s better to laugh and carry on than to miss the chances to smile with people.
- Everybody is a potential friend.
To be fair, I learned from both my parents to welcome people with open arms, but hospitality is still a little different from making friends wherever you go. I’ve never seen Dad turn up his nose at. I think I become friends with bartenders because my dad has always been friends with the people who served him, from the local pizzeria to the mechanic or the wine merchant. He’s never polite for the sake of being polite or friendly, he’ll back it up almost every time. It’s genuine.
- Don’t blink in the face of the unexpected – don’t ever judge.
I only recently learned from Dad that he used to consider himself a bit of a homophobe. I’m sure he won’t mind me sharing that as he’s long since changed his mind – as usual, he met someone who he welcomed into his life and couldn’t help but learn to love a gay man as a dear friend. When Bruno eventually passed from illness, it was easy to see the impact it had on him. Here’s the thing: I never knew that. Dad doesn’t blink in the face of the unexpected, he just takes it in his stride. There’s not much that can faze me these days and I think I learned that from him too.
- Humiliation is disempowering to you and others.
There have been plenty of opportunities where my dad could have read the ‘I told you so’ script to me on repeat, throwing old and new failures in front of me. Not because he’s cruel but just because that’s how some people are. But Dad has never taken an opportunity to do that, even when I’m sure he’s wanted to. And when I’ve faced humiliating experiences, he’s never dwelt in them – rather he’s helped me pick up and carry on. He’s helped brush over those humiliations to preserve my dignity in front of others.
- If you have to do something tough and you feel bad, it’s probably the right thing for the right reasons.
This was a much more direct and recent lesson. I was sharing some struggles I was having in communicating some pretty serious implications to a colleague. I was feeling awful about the process although I knew I needed to follow it through. Dad said, ‘someone once told me that when you have to do something tough, or say something tough to another person and you feel bad about it – it’s probably the right thing. And it’s a good thing that you feel bad about it, because it means you do really care about the person.’ Changed my whole week and the course of my relationship with that colleague.
What’s important about these lessons? Well, they have become part of the fabric of how I do life. They are criteria for my humanity – my Dad is very human.
I’m not as good a daughter these days as I used to be. Still, I want people to know that when they see me at work or at life, my father and all I’ve learned from him is an integral part of me. It’s good to remember where I came from and to share what I’ve learned from him because I think they are good lessons for all of us.
There’s something redemptive about recognising the gifts our parents and mentors bring us from their own experience, good or bad.
