We all play multiple roles in life, and sometimes it is easier, or feels more natural for certain particular roles to be played out than for others, and, conversely, it is also easy to not play certain roles.

Sometimes those roles are best described by their titles: father, mother, brother, son, friend, colleague, boss, ditch digger, etc.  Other times they are described by their qualities, and often these are assigned some sort of name as a way to differentiate them, either in a classical way, like the King, the Fool, the Wise One, etc., or perhaps following some system, like the Myers Briggs Personality labels, (INFP, for example).

Classic literature is yet another way to define roles, to use characters to describe and define a role or a part of life that we each will play out at some point in life. There are many great examples for this, and today I’m choosing those characters that reside in the 100 Acre Wood: Winnie-the-Pooh and friends.

In particular, I want to point out the character of Roo, Kanga’s young joey. He is playful and full of spirit. As the youngest character he also is able to get away with doing and saying things that the older ones can’t – or at least the older ones don’t give themselves permission to do or say. And that’s what I want to point out: giving ourselves permission to say or do something that our older self wouldn’t. A psychologist may describe this role as our “young-one” versus our “adult-one”. When was the last time you allowed your young self to be expressed, to say or do something that you otherwise wouldn’t?

This role of Roo should be embraced by everyone at least once per day. It doesn’t have to be a beg thing that will define your life. It can be small and unobtrusive. In my experience, the more you do it, the easier it will be to do.

One example that came to my mind this morning is to ask a question of someone about something you don’t know. As the young one, it’s easy to “allow” Roo to ask a question because he’s young – how could he possibly know? As an adult, perhaps we think we should already know the answer, and to ask is admitting that I don’t know, and I might then appear to be foolish or unintelligent, or any number of other roles. But, those other roles don’t apply to Roo – he’s simply young and asking a question: “where does honey come from?”, or “what makes the kite fly?”.

As an adult, we perhaps think that we should know these things already, so we won’t ask the questions. If we instead embrace our own inner Roo and allow ourselves to ask a question, at least once each day, then in the end we will have more answers to things then when we started. We will be role-modeling to others how to get answers, and break down barriers to allow all of us to let out our Roo.

Once he’s out, then it becomes easier and easier to do other Roo-like things, like play games and have fun (like Pooh sticks!). And don’t we all want to have more fun?

Blessings,
Jim

As some of you know, I have a fondness for baseball and for the San Francisco Giants in particular; I’m a fan. As a small boy, I grew up with the likes of the Willie’s (Mays and McCovey), and every kid in the neighborhood tried to emulate the high leg kick of Juan Marichal, often with amusing results. But, in all those years, for 62 of them in fact, not one championship was won. There had been four appearances in the World Series, all of them heartbreaking losses. Then, coming out of nowhere, in the face of past Hall of Famers and other superstars, this band of misfits and castoffs came together, and came away with the trophy of 30 flags immobilized in metal (the World Series trophy looks like this).

A big part of the journey this team took was to play the role of underdog for the last few months of the season and especially during the playoffs. In late July they were in fourth place and not considered serious contenders. They were the last team to clinch the division, on the last day of the regular season no less. They were expected to loose to the Atlanta Braves in the division series. They were expected to curl up and lay down to the Philadelphia Phillies in the championship series. They were supposed to yield to the Texas Rangers in the World Series.

All of these “supposed-to’s” were proclaimed by the national writers and commentators (which often as not are comprised of former players and managers). They touted all of the statistics that showed the Giants were only mediocre. Sure, they have good pitchers, but their defense was lacking, staffed by older and unheralded bit players. They espoused the superstars of the other teams, especially the unhittable pitchers of the Braves, Phillies, and Rangers. They ogled at the feats of offense that the opposing batters have, their apparent hitting prowess unequaled and as yet unquenched. The Giants might as well have taken up the call of Rodney Dangerfield: “I get no respect”.

So, if all of these experts were to be believed, the Giants had no business winning. They had no business being anywhere near the playoffs. Why? My theory is that it all can be attributed to the fascination and popularity of the fantasy leagues, the games that people play whereby statistics determine and define who is good and who is not. Consequently, the more good players (as defined by the rules of fantasy baseball) that a particular team has, the better the team, and the Braves, Phillies, and Rangers had lots of “good” players, and the Giants had few if any. Ah, but things are not always what they appear to be.

The Giants finished the season with the second best record in the National League. Their starting pitchers, as a group, had nearly the best (depending on how one defines “best”, it could be argued they had the best) year of any group in many years. Their relief pitchers had been lights-out the best in their field (pun intended?) for the past two months of the season. The defense made the plays when it needed to, and the offense came through when it mattered, if not a bit inconsistently.

Most importantly of all, this group of players and coaches had belief in themselves. They took each moment for what it was: a moment. Each game was just one game, not a season-defining game. They knew that each loss could be recouped with a win tomorrow. Each win was one step closer, and that a team could only get closer by going one step at a time. That is, you don’t win a championship by winning one game, nor do you lose it with just one game. They faced adversity time and time again, and more often than not (in fact, much more often than not), they finished those tortuous moments with a happy ending.

All of those things, those beliefs, emanated from experience, from leaders who spoke, from each individual who knew their role and played it to the best of their ability without any excuses. Individually, they each knew what to do and successfully did it; collectively, what they did lead to what only a few knew was inevitable: ultimate success.  This is the perfect example of synergy: where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts; where the lack of superstars and super statistics don’t mean anything. So, they hit and scored runs against the opposing pitchers were supposed to unhittable, and they stopped cold the opposing batters who were supposedly unstoppable, and they won and won and won.

And, all of this makes for a perfect life lesson, a perfect example for any life coach to use for a client lacking in belief and certitude. Learn to trust in your ability, believe in your ability, create a plan for success, and then go out and do it.

Enjoy your day, and remember that today does not define your life, tomorrow is not yet here, and yesterday has already occurred.

Blessings,
Jim