A good conversation

Taking risks can be exciting.

Intro

Welcome back to The Ecstatic Review! Last week ended on a real cliffhanger of some mysterious thing happening in the middle of a pretty intense sketch comedy show with some other mysterious opportunity connected to it. (Last week, an Instagram stories poll revealed a shared love of mystery—and what can I say: I like to take a note.)

I’m excited to put the above mysteries to rest in order to make room for new ones, but before I do that I now feel compelled to share a poem that I love:

“Mysteries, Yes” by Mary Oliver

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

If there’s one thing I want to make clear in embarking on this adventure with you, it’s that I definitely don’t think I have the answers—especially when it comes to what’s right for you. I wholeheartedly believe that what is right is what is true for you, and the work I do at Ecstatic Voice is all about shining a light on what you already know, even if (especially if!) it currently feels mysterious.

On a related note, I’ve always thought that “Mysteries, yes” would be a fantastic response to the classic dinner party question: “So, what do you do?” If you ever try it out, please let me know and I will send you a collection of Mary Oliver poems.

Now that I’m thinking about mysteries, I also feel compelled to share the wonderful podcast Mystery Show, which came out in 2015 and only lasted one season. I recently re-listened to it in full and it was just as great as the first time I did eight years ago. Every episode is a distinct and delightful mystery, and “Belt Buckle” is my personal favorite.

Before I go down an entire mystery rabbit hole and take you with me, let’s get back on track with some music! Leading us in is the brilliant Emily King with her shimmering R&B anthem “Remind Me.” Why am I kicking off with this song that always puts me in a great mood? The mystery will be revealed shortly.

Let’s pick up right back where we left off, with a quick recap: Way back in my sketch comedy days, I was onstage at The Groundlings performing a sketch about a highly opinionated LA couple who can’t pick a grocery store. The stakes were high, the quick changes were aplenty, and I felt dizzy and alone. A mysterious sign backstage said “Here lies the opportunity,” whatever that meant.

And then, about 30 seconds into the sketch: something happened.

One

At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.
— Jean Houston, quoted by Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way

In the sketch, I’d written a specific joke about Trader Joe’s: one of those things that made me laugh as I was filling my basket with Soft and Juicy Mangos and Pita Bite Crackers, but might inspire a whole bunch of strange looks if I said it in mixed company. So why not say it in front of hundreds of people in a make-or-break show?

My partner pitched me the setup. “Let’s just go to Trader Joe’s,” he said.

“Oh yeah, sure,” I fired back. “The store of snacks.”

To my surprise and delight, apparently everyone in the theater that night also thought that Trader Joe’s is a glorified snack stand—or at least they were kind enough to heartily express that they found the idea amusing. The audience erupted.

(Note: To be clear, I’m a fan of Trader Joe’s. As any lifelong fan of snacks would be.)

Something about that laughter—the generosity of it, the recognition of it, the loudness of it—lifted me out of the dizzy and alone feeling. I still couldn’t see the audience, but suddenly I could feel them quite closely. As if that gap between the front of the stage and the front row was gone, and they were right onstage with me.

And for a half of a second, it was almost as though the stage wasn’t really even a stage anymore, but the floor of a living room or the corner of a coffee shop or a blanket in the backyard: any of those places that are made for having a really good conversation.

In that moment, I remembered something that I really needed to remember at that particular time in my life. And that was: I may have been standing on a stage under the glare of a bright spotlight, putting on a performance that was asking me to confront all kinds of metaphorical lions, but I wasn’t up there alone.

Two

You have gifts that you want to share, but they’ll come through the expression with others—they manifest in the expression of conversation. It’s always co-creation. It always co-emerges.
— Dr. Pippa Grange on the Dare to Lead podcast

Last week, I talked about how sharing your voice is to show yourself—to take what is inside of you and express it outwardly. In fact, one of the ways I describe voice is: you, in the world. And that can feel like a really big and scary thing, for good reason: the world can feel like a big and scary place. But it’s also a place where there are other people.

I know that sounds obvious, but I’m saying it because it’s easy to forget. In fact, one of the most common things that I see when working with clients—whether I’m shining up a resume, putting together a positioning strategy, advising MBA presentations, or coaching a salary negotiation—is a feeling of being alone. Of having to do it alone. The spotlight is on me, and I’ve got to put on a show all by myself. I’ve got to do the work of at least two people, and sometimes a lot more.

When we approach sharing our voice that way, a number of things might happen: we might experience a lot of performance anxiety, talk about more than we want to talk about, try to pile a bunch of information into a container too small to hold all of it (I’m looking at you, resume), or get really confused about what we even want to say.

Does any of that feel familiar to you? If you’re raising your hand, please know that I’m raising both of mine right along with you. (And somehow still typing: magic!) It’s not only normal to feel like you have to do it all when you’re sharing your voice—it’s built into and supported by an outdated approach to self-expression that I find completely limiting at best. And that’s putting it nicely.

Which is all to say: There is nothing wrong with you.

What I’m about to say next might feel like a plot twist in a newsletter that’s also a show (though maybe not if you read last week’s exploration of the many meanings of show), but I don’t consider voice to be a “stand and deliver” kind of thing.

I think of it as a conversation.

Sometimes the conversation is quite literal, like in a job interview or a pitch meeting. Sometimes it’s a conversation where you’re the one doing all the talking, like in a video or an actual talk. And sometimes it’s not yet a conversation but an invitation to have one, like the about page of your website or when you apply for a job. Or it’s a demand to have one, like writing an open letter or going on strike.

In each case, I find it can be quite helpful—and quite effective—to remember that there is someone on the other side. The word “conversation” comes from the Latin word conversari, which has three meanings: familiarity, intimacy, and living among.

That last one holds something that I think is key: as much as voice is about being in the world, it’s also about being in the company of others. It’s about saying “This is me,” and also: “Who are you?” Or: “This is something that I’m passionate about, or angry about, or mystified by, and this is why it’s important to me to share that with you.”

Or: “Hey, I think it’s wild that Trader Joe’s is 75% snacks. What about you?”

Three

From Personal Messages by Dumontier & Farber

On the website of artists Michael Dumontier and Neil Farber (who I really love following on Instagram), you can purchase a print that they’ll send you in the mail. The purchase comes with a gentle warning to the recipient:

“Be aware that the print is sent as a letter, and is at risk as any letter might be traveling through the post. Taking risks can be exciting.” 

I don’t think that sharing your voice (which might also be described as a form of travel) is ever without risk. But I do think that it’s a worthy risk, and just like the laughter in the theater that night, a generous one. A risk that is willing to bet on things like greater aliveness and genuine connection. So much opportunity lies within each of those. Even more when they’re happening at the same time.

What exactly is that opportunity, and is it worth the risk? I’ve hinted at a few of my answers to those questions, but like I said at the beginning of this act: I’d never try to guess yours.

If you have some answers, please share them in the comments if you feel inclined—as always, I’m eager to hear your side of this conversation.

And if you’re still exploring the mystery of it all? You’re definitely in the right place.

Intermission

That place is turning on the house lights, because it’s intermission! Whether you choose to stay in your seat or stake out your spot in the absurdly long bathroom line, I invite you to take this week’s audience poll:

U2 is carrying us out with “Mysterious Ways,” all about embracing the mystery of the things we can't explain. It’s impressive to me that a song that came out the same year I opened my first bank account (I was a responsible 9-year-old) still feels so fresh. Side note: I just discovered that the lyrics heavily reference St. Francis of Assisi’s poem “Canticle of the Sun,” which might be why it resonated with me at my all-girls’ Catholic school.

Wishing you lots of good conversation with a healthy dose intriguing mystery. See you after intermission (next week)!

P.S. If you need some support turning something like a resume into a good conversation, something exciting is coming to help you do that just in time for fall. Drop your email here and you’ll be the first to know.

P.P.S. As always, if you know someone who would enjoy The Ecstatic Review, please pass it along! All are welcome, and every voice makes this show that much fuller.