The words..like yes and courage

Yes” extends boundaries, establishes new playing fields, moves possibility from ideas to actuality. Actress and improve artist Tina Fey points to the opportunity yes affords us when she says, “the first rule of improve is agree—agree with whatever your partner has created.

 The second rule is yes, and—agree and then add something of your own. If I start a scene with ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you just say, ‘Yeah…’ we’re kind of at a standstill. But if I say, ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you say, ‘Yes, it can’t be good for the wax figures,’ now we’re getting somewhere.”

In our recurring dialogues, patterns of conversation, the habitual ways that we listen and speak, our first response often defaults around a “no” or a “but.” Toss in a few intricately constructed reasons justifying that response, and we find ourselves limiting the future in front of us.

For anything creative to show up in life—not accidental, not manipulated, not figured out—it shows up in our stand for possibility, in the “yes.” Standing for possibility comes from nothing and creates a generative field; “yes and” extends that field and broadens the game.

Nothing is the foundation for possibility—from nothing we are able to create with a freedom that’s not available when we create from something. In creating possibility, we get to know what’s available to us in being human.

 

Choice. It’s the word that allows yes and the word that makes no possible. It’s the word that puts the free in freedom and takes obligation out of the mix. It’s the word upon which adventure, exhilaration, and authenticity depend.

 

It’s the word that the cocoon whispers to the caterpillar. We tell ourselves, sometimes, that living a transformed life isn’t  that important, that it’s enough just to get by. We get wrapped up in our own concerns, particular points of view, or positions, and the idea of getting ourselves to a place where things can be great seems too big an undertaking.

 

If somebody had a magic powder to come and sprinkle on us and just through that we’d  be transformed, we might say, “No, thanks—I don’t want any!  Let me stay just as I am.” It takes courage to live in a transformed way—to wrestle with our resistances, to give up mediocrity, to live consistent with what we know is possible in being human. It’s always and only a matter of our choosing.

 

Communication, conversation, language are predominately thought of, anchored in our minds, as an expressing, a speaking, a vocalizing. That outward expression goes far beyond talking, far beyond describing or representing reality—it is in fact what allows for “who” and “how” we are in the world.

 

It’s what allows for the futures we create, where we evoke experience in others, where our ideas become clear and possible, where we share ourselves, and where others are expanded by our participation with them. Though speaking is not where things get handled—it’s not powerful enough. The possibility that there’s an edge, the possibility of impact, lies in our listening.

 

 Listening, we often think of as more passive—important, but somehow lesser or secondary. But listening is the clearing in which speaking can occur—without it, there isn’t any speaking. Listening is an action. Listening doesn’t receive speaking, it isn’t a receptacle for speaking—it gives speaking. Listening is the possibility for meaning, for understanding.

 

The possibility for being loved lives in one’s listening; the possibility for learning lives in one’s listening. Listening is what allows others to be—it’s where both the speaker and what is spoken come alive, exist, and flourish.

 

How we describe, label, hold things, think things—it’s within those frameworks that our lives unfold. There are no “facts” that limit possibility, there are only “conversations” that limit and constrain, or those that create and forward, what’s possible.

 

The “glass-half-empty” folks lean toward the idea that something’s wrong, something’s not there, something’s missing-as in problematic. The “half-full” folks are attending to what’s actually in the glass-as in what could be brought to the party-as in “missing as a possibility.”

If we’re going to create a possibility, it’s a matter of choosing, a matter of saying, and that’s the whole deal. It’s about discovering what’s possible in being human beyond the places where, unknowingly or knowingly, we might restrict or limit ourselves.

 

When we create “something missing as a possibility,” we set a point of choice, a point of commitment-things show up as openings for action.

 

For most of us, “I” is positional (“you” are there and “I” am here), a location in time and space, a point of view that accumulates all previous experiences and points of view. Does this “I” presume a substantial entity located inside our bodies, or is it located in our minds, our families, job titles, Facebook profiles, bank accounts—those trappings that help us maintain the meanings and understandings that we have up ’til now considered ourselves to be?

 

How we “arrive” at this identity is mostly inadvertent. Essentially it is built from a series of decisions we made in response to what we felt or saw (consciously or not) as failures to do or be something. When these “apparent” failures arose, we made decisions about how to compensate for, respond to, and accommodate ourselves to them. The degree to which who we are today is filtered by those early decisions goes unrecognized.

 

Whether it is one or 10 or even 40 years later, we still hold on to that with which we’ve identified—obscuring access to ourselves and leaving us no powerful way to be with whatever is going on. But stepping outside of our identity isn’t so easy—it’s achieved a certain density throughout our lives, and it is all we know of ourselves.

 

The idea that another whole idea of self is available can be disconcerting, invalidating. In setting aside those things that gave us an “identity” we “become aware that this so-called self is as arbitrary as our name. It’s like standing over an abyss, recognizing that ‘I,’ as we know it is not an absolute.”* 

 

It is here, with this recognition, where transformation occurs—where we can invent ourselves as we go along. This revealing of our selves to ourselves occurs in a profound way that can alter the very possibility of what it means to be human.

 

The Harvard Business Review might not be where you’d expect to read about fear’s pervasive presence, but an article there referred to a great passage from a Joseph Heller novel. The novel’s hero and narrator, Bob Slocum, a middling executive at an unnamed company, is driven nearly mad thinking that decisions might be made behind his back that could ruin his career and his life. He’s not alone in these thoughts. Slocum says, “In the office in which I work there are five people of whom I am afraid.

 

Each of these five people is afraid of four people (excluding overlaps), for a total of twenty, and each of these twenty people is afraid of six people, making a total of one hundred and twenty people who are feared by at least one person.” The company, in other words, is a pyramid of potential panic, ready to topple when someone whispers, “Jig’s up.” *

 

Perhaps even more than sadness, anger, or disappointment, we find it difficult to deal with fear. Fear often keeps us from participating, from doing what we’re capable of—from experiencing and expressing the full range of possibility available in being human. This is not so much a function of the fear being operative, but rather of decisions made unwittingly long ago, and the automatic way we pull in our past experience. Old circumstances have the power, not us.

 

We don’t have to push down, work on top of, accommodate, or adapt to these old fears. We survived the first time, the second, third, and so on…. Completing a past fear includes recognizing that we would survive if the past repeated itself.

There’s a big difference between being realistic about what happened once, and being resigned or stuck that things have to continue to be some way now, or that they just are some way, or they’ll be that way again.

We have the freedom to choose our relationship to whatever it was back then, and that’s the beginning of building power. It takes enormous courage to try out new ways of being in the space where fear used to be.

 

There was a forest at the beginning of fiction too. Its canopy of branches covered the land. Up in its living roof birds flitted through greenness and bright air, but down between the trunks of the many trees there were shadows, there was dark. When you walked this forest your feet made rustling sounds, but the noises you made were not the only noises, oh no. Twigs snapped; breezes brought snatches of what might be voices.

 

Lumpings and crashes in the undergrowth marked the passages of heavy things far off, or suddenly nearby. This was a populated wood. All wild creatures lived here, dangerous or benign according to their natures. And all the other travellers you had heard of were in the wood too: kings and knights, youngest sons and third daughters, simpletons and outlaws; a small girl whose bright hood flickered between the pine trees like a scarlet beacon, and a wolf moving on a different vector to intercept her at the cottage.

 

Each travelled separately, because it was the nature of the forest that you were alone in it. It was the place in which by definition you had no companions, and no resources except your own uncertain self.¹

 

When we’re young, things can get out of control pretty quickly. We experience danger as a distinct possibility that’s “out there somewhere,” and it becomes a notion that stays with us, at some level or another, throughout time. So from a very early age, we’re kind of on alert. The idea that life can be dangerous doesn’t go away just because we become (more rational) adults. And when we carry around the idea that life could be dangerous for many years, even the notion of possibility can seem, well…threatening.
 

When we give our fears rein, even the smallest moments can be daunting. Fears arise when we look back, and they arise when we look ahead. Fears arise about ourselves, and about our reception from others. Whatever their origins, they prevent us from living fully. Whether a threat is real (a situation where our survival is at stake—our security, our health, keeping our families safe) or imagined (a situation that might await us, something that might happen—or where we might be made to look foolish, for example), it is all about survival.

Those moments of fear and anxiety—with the constriction in our chest, the fluttering of our hearts, the feelings of imminent danger or potential embarrassment—can be overwhelming, because we think some aspect of our survival is at stake.
 

Perhaps even more than sadness, anger, or disappointment, we find it difficult to deal with fear. Fear can keep us from participating, from doing what we’re capable of—from experiencing and expressing the full range of possibility that’s available to us in being human.

The disempowerment, constraints, and stops, however, are not a function of the experience of fear but rather a function of the meaning we’ve added, and the decisions we made, at a particular time in the past. Another way of saying it is that it’s not the fear that is operative, but the automatic way we collapse something that happened with what we say it signifies. It’s that automaticity that keeps us stuck in place, and what has us lose our power. Old circumstances now have the power, not us.

When we stop going for it—when we step back, play it safe, or say we can’t do something—we might avoid the experience of fear for the moment, but at the same time we are reinforcing where we’re stuck. We’re limiting our freedom, and cutting off possibility.

Being alive includes risks, threats, and danger—the possibility of “bad” things happening is always there. In planning our life to avoid those things, we’re essentially avoiding life—obviously not the wisest way to be alive.

The Harvard Business Review might not be where you’d expect to read about fear’s pervasive presence, but the following appeared in a recent issue and I thought it apropos: “I get the willies when I see closed doors.” That is the first line of Joseph Heller’s Something Happened, one of the handful of superb novels about business. Heller’s hero and narrator, Bob Slocum, a middling executive at an unnamed company, is driven nearly mad thinking that decisions might be made behind his back that could ruin his career and his life, or might merely change things that are, while odious to him, at least bearable. Without transparency, Slocum is a quivering wreck. He’s not alone.

 As the second chapter begins, Slocum says, “In the office in which I work there are five people of whom I am afraid. Each of these five people is afraid of four people (excluding overlaps), for a total of twenty, and each of these twenty people is afraid of six people, making a total of one hundred and twenty people who are feared by at least one person.” The company, in other words, is a pyramid of potential panic, ready to topple when someone whispers, “Jig’s up.” ²

There’s a big difference between being realistic about what happened once, and being resigned or stuck that things have to continue to be some way now or that they just are some way or they’ll be that way again. Instead of wishing we could change our past experience—a futile exercise—we have the freedom to choose our relationship to whatever it was, and that’s the beginning of building power.

That’s the beginning of creating possibility. Possibility invites us into areas of creativity, of side or another, unsettle old realities. Our own identity, say, or the certainty of some fact, the behaviour of others, or even the meaning of words can come to be seen and understood in new ways.

It takes enormous courage to try out new ways of being in the space where fear used to be, and by choosing to do so, we come to be authors of our own experience. Choosing requires courage—and courage leads to the ontological question of being. Courage is rooted in the whole breadth of human existence, and ultimately in the structure of being itself.³

Courage can show us what being is, and being can show us what courage is, uncertainty, of paradox and surprise. It invites us to bring things into existence that haven’t existed, take a step to one

* Thomas A. Stewart, “Seeing Things,” Harvard Business Review, February 2008

1 Francis Spufford, The Child That Books Built, pp. 24-25
2 Thomas A. Stewart, “Seeing Things,” Harvard Business Review,
February 2008, p. 10.
3 Paul Tillich, The Courage To Be.

glasses as a metafore

Some of us think happiness is dependent on things outside of ourselves—we’ll be happy when…or happy because…or happy if… Others think of happiness as a rare and fleeting thing, or are dubious from the start that it’s even possible, kind of like there’s an underlying position or commitment of “I’m not happy.” If that’s true about you, it is a pretty useful thing to know.

Being happy can’t have some “thing” in mind because it is not some “thing” in the foreground; it’s a background stand that creates the possibility of what’s in the foreground. “I am happy,” is a matter of saying—a sacred saying, a saying that has no ground underneath it, but becomes the ground. No rationale, no evidence. Being happy exists only as a possibility—it’s an inside job. If we can say, “I am happy,” and it’s true because we said so, that’s power, instantaneous, and timeless. And that’s the ultimate act of creativity.

Glasses saw better or only different worlds…Whatever reality may be, it will be shaped by the lens through which we see it. When we are born we are handed multiple lenses: genetic inheritance, gender, a specific culture and the variables of our family environment, all of which constitute our sense of reality. Looking back later, we see that we have perhaps lived less from our true nature than from the vision of reality ordained by the lenses we used.^*

The good news is that our actions are not correlated to some reality ordained by those lenses, but rather to how the world “occurs” to us. With the unsettling of old realities, stepping to one side and another, we become interested in what might be, what we can imagine. “Reality” is a phenomenon that arises in language. Language is both the ultimate reality and the medium through which reality is brought forth—there is no reality “per se,” no fixed reality. There’s only how we see it, how we say it is—it’s interpretation all the way down.

It’s language—what we say (with and about others, ourselves, and the world at large) that constitutes who we are. Getting that at the most fundamental level alters the very nature of what’s possible—not merely in the way we think about ourselves, but in the actual experience and expression of who we are. Language is inseparable from who we are, and what gives us access to our true nature—to the full panoply of being human.

^*James Hollis, The Middle Passage

Reach your highest potential! Your altitude is the highest potential that you want to reach although is easier said than done it can be done. It can be a daunting task and these tips will assist you.

1. Envision Your Future Self

Picturing yourself in the future can be challenging – look in the mirror and really ask yourself what is my altitude, what is my highest potential and do I want to achieve that? Some people are able to do this quite comfortably and others find asking trusted friend or engaging a coach to be helpful.
If your altitude or highest potential relates to your career and it is to become a Vice President – envision yourself in this position. What will your office look like, how will you treat your team and peers, what will you wear to work, what will create a great day, what will create a bad day? Really spend some time envisioning yourself in your new role.

2. Become Comfortable with Failure

This is a tough one. The concept of failing is hard to accept and even harder to become comfortable with. Many people are raised to succeed, to ‘win’ and be competitive. There are high expectations to meet, failing is often not an option. One of my best lessons learned in recent years is that one cannot truly succeed and enjoy success until you have taken a risk, tried and failed.
The feeling of defeat can be overwhelming and filled with regret – we tend to ask ourselves “why did I do that, why did I say that, I should have done, I wish I did…, etc.” It is these questions that encourage us to reflect on our decision making process and to learn.
Failure is a very powerful change agent – failing allows us to move forward and improve. We do not want to fail because we do not want to disappoint our colleagues or loved ones and we do not want be vulnerable.
J.K. Rowling (author of the Harry Potter series) presents the benefits of failure during her 2008 TED talk on "The Fringe Benefits of Failure". There are many benefits of failure and sharing these and the relevant learning is important for success.
The amazing thing is that when you fail and you are comfortable with it, others are rarely disappointed – they admire your vulnerability, how well you bounced back and how resilient you are. Not only will you appear stronger, you will be stronger. Being vulnerable is a great strength that will make you stronger and push you closer to your altitude.

3. Have Self-Awareness

To reach your altitude you need to have a great sense of self-awareness – ask yourself these questions (and answer them)

• What impact do I have on others?
• How do others perceive me? Is this the same as I perceive myself?
• What are my strengths? What would others say my strengths are?
• What are my weaknesses? What would others say my weaknesses are?

There is often a disconnect between how we see ourselves and how others see us – these are often called blind spots.
Speak with a friend or engage a coach to work with you to improve your self-awareness and work to work on your blind spots. Once you have a great sense of self-awareness including your strengths and weaknesses you will be well on your way to reaching your altitude.

4. Ask for Help

Once you answer the questions about self-awareness it is time to ask for help. Being comfortable with asking for help is another strength – it is not a sign of weakness to ask for help. It is a sign of being smart, being able to understand yourself and knowing who you have in your network who may be able to help you.
No one has ever reached their true potential and become successful all on their own, with no help.
Most people have a wide network of contacts – some you know well and others not so well (think about your LinkedIn network!). Become comfortable asking for help from others, take a chance and call them or e-mail them. Most people are willing to help and if they are not that is OK, thank them and move on.
Reach out and ask for support or advice if you need help going around, over or through any challenges – having support to improve is a critical to reaching your altitude.

5. Be Humble and Show Gratitude

Humility and showing gratitude are two of the most important character traits that are an absolute must for reaching your potential. Very few great leaders or successful people have reached their potential without being humble or thanking people along the way.
One can be confident and humble. Finding the right balance of these is challenging but important – it can be part of self-awareness building.
Humility shows through as one becomes more comfortable with failure, being vulnerable and asking for help. And of course when one asks for help or anyone provides support directly or indirectly this is a great opportunity to say Thank You! Be gracious and let them know their support is appreciated and how the help has contributed to you reaching your potential!

file sharing and labels faltering

You've heard all of the panic over file sharing and labels faltering, but what are the REAL issues in the music industry? Consider these four problems that don't get much attention in the music media but that have a huge impact on the industry.

1. Royalty Collection Companies Antics

Of course you should get paid when your music is used, but royalty collection companies are crossing the line of idiocy in your name. From trying to collect additional royalties on music usages you are already compensated for (ringtones) to demanding music fans pay for a public performance license for listening to the radio in their stable with their horses, the actions of these companies seem to have more to do with making up for their own financial problems than making sure you get your due.

The problem - aside from the fact that you pay a fee for this service - is that your fans don't know that you have little control over what your royalty collection company does in your name. To them, you're the greedy one. Great impression.

2. Internet Copyright and Royalty Issues

Sure the internet offers lots of options for music promotion, but what licensing regulations should be in place? Who gets to decide what is fair usage? Should labels be able to pull their artists' music off of sites like YouTube against the artists' wishes? Speaking of YouTube, what is a fair royalty for video plays on such a site? How do you balance the need of musicians to be paid for their work with the realistic earning potential (and ability to pay) of sites that host music?

Focusing on fan file sharing turns attention away from the real problem: the inability for music rights holders to hammer out a realistic game plan for licensing and compensation with websites that host and promote music.

3. The RIAA/File Sharing Lawsuits

Much like the first item on our list, we have a group that is damaging the relationship between musicians and fans, all in the supposed name of their music industry members. Many musicians and labels have spoken out against file sharing lawsuits, but for the RIAA, debate is out of the question. The average music fan doesn't really know enough about the industry to understand that their favorite musician isn't the one going to around suing fans for hundreds of thousands of dollars for sharing music. Their actions don't do much to stop downloading, and they create a bad impression of the music industry with fans.

Also, we don't have any good answer about how these judgements that the RIAA have won will be distributed to musicians. Interesting.

4. Radio Royalties

The US is one of the only countries in the world that does not require terrestrial radio stations to pay royalties to performers. A proposal is in place that would change that. The plan includes a sliding scale so that small stations would pay as little as $1,000 per year. Community stations would almost always be exempt.

Unfortunately, the debate over the issue has been controlled by Clear Channel - the Wal-Mart of radio stations - and people who make a lot of money for hosting shows and making radio appearances. They don't want these royalties to be paid because they would lose a lot of money, and they've managed to frame the debate so that they seem to be championing for the little guys. Don't you believe it. Musicians deserve to be paid.

 

Making money in the music industry isn't always as simple negotiating a salary and waiting for your paycheck to come in. The pay structure of many music industry jobs is based on percentages for one-off deals and freelance style work, but different music industry careers are paid in different ways. For this reason, the music career you choose will have a big impact on how you make money in the music business. Here, you'll find a look at how several common music industry jobs are paid, but remember, as always, that this information is general, and the deal you agree to will dictate your circumstances.

Managers:

Managers receive a pre-agreed percentage of the income from the artists they work with. Sometimes, musicians may pay managers a salary as well - this often works like a retainer, ensuring the manager doesn't work with any other bands. However, it should be noted that this latter scenario really only comes into play when the artists are making a sufficient enough income to support themselves comfortably and legitimately have a need to make sure their manager focuses only on them. Find out more about music managers

 

 

Music Promoters:

Promoters make money on ticket sales for the gigs they promote. There are two ways this can happen:

The promoter takes a percentage of the proceeds from the show after recouping their costs, giving the remaining money to the artists - this is known as a door split deal

The promoter may agree a fixed payment with the musicians for their performance and then any money left after costs is theirs to keep

Music Agents:

Agents take a pre-agreed percentage of the fees for the shows they arrange for musicians. In other words, if an agent negotiates a fee with a promoter for a band they represent to be paid $500 for playing a show, the agent takes a cut of that $500. Learn more about agents:

 

Record Labels:

At a very basic level, record labels make money by selling records. Your job at the record label and what type of label you work for will determine what this means for you. If you have your own record label, then you make money by selling enough records to cover your costs and make a profit. If you work for someone else's record label, you will likely get a salary or hourly wage. The size of the label and your role there determines how big that salary/wage will be. Learn more about record labels:

 

Music PR:

Whether radio plugging or conducting press campaigns, music PR companies get paid on a campaign basis. They will negotiate a flat fee for working a release or tour, and that fee will usually cover a set amount of time for the company to promote the product/tour. Music PR companies may also get bonuses for successful campaigns and reaching certain thresholds - for instance, a bonus if the album sells a certain number of copies. These agreements will be made before the campaign begins. Learn more about PR:

 

Music Journalists:

If music journalists work freelance, they will be paid on a per project or contract basis. If they work for a specific publication, they will likely receive a salary or hourly wage. Find out more about music journalists:

Music Producers:

Record producers may receive a salary if they are tied to a specific studio or be paid on a per project basis if they freelance. Another important part of music producer pay can be points, which allow producers to share in the royalties from music they producer. It should be noted that not all producers get points on every project. Learn more about producers:

Sound Engineers:

Sound engineers who work independently get paid on a per project basis - this can be a one night deal, or they may go on the road and do sound for a whole tour, in which case they will be paid for the tour and may also receive P.D.s. Engineers who work with a particular venue exclusively are likely to receive an hourly wage. Learn more about engineers:

Musicians:

What about the musicians themselves? Musicians make money from royalties, advances, playing live, selling merchandise, and licensing fees for their music. Sounds like a lot of revenue streams, but don't forget they often have to share the money with the people listed above. Learn more about making money as a musician:

Obviously, there are lots of different way to make money in the music business, and many of them come down to percentages and contracts. For this reason, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about the hows, whens, and how muchs of the pay up front - and you should always get it in writing.

Language

The inner voice doesn’t so much conjure up the consolation of inner riches as it does a chattering internal radio. Although our inner voice is at least faithful to us—it is reassuringly or irritatingly there on tap. It offers us the unfailing if ambiguous company of a guest who does not plan to leave. It can be companionable or frightening, may range from fascinated eavesdropping of oneself to a brooding censor within—an internal dialogue that occupies both sides.

There is a voice— questioned as to its origin, we have no doubt that it’s ours, but its habitual presence resembles a rapid low-grade commentary without authorship, rather in the manner of Samuel Beckett’s assessment: “whose voice, no one’s.”¹

We are essentially in conversations with ourselves most all the time— conversations about what’s going well and what’s not, what others think, what we think, how we feel, the invariable what ifs, how about, are you kidding?, etc.

That voiceover, that running stream of thinking and history and rumination, is not necessarily bad—it’s just, we never really get to hear another or they us. We pretty much listen only through the filter of what’s in our heads. What we’re saying to others, or they to us, might seep in from time to time, but it isn’t in what we or they are saying—it’s what we’re saying plus what they are saying about what we’re saying, which isn’t what we’re saying, etc., and vice versa.

That inner voice is a subtle and pervasive presence, and unfortunately has us miss out on the full possibility of communication and the infinite worlds it makes available. The business of living—our work, our mores, our relationships with friends, associates, and loved ones—is accomplished through speaking and listening.

 It is through language, through those acts of speaking and listening, that life really happens—in the side rooms, the hallways, the relaxed spaces of being human. Communication is how lives are started, money made, wars begun and ended, freedom realized.

So, back to the “listening” part. Bottom line, how we listen is essentially determined by our concerns—being successful, being liked, wanting to know what’s in it for us, how things will turn out. We can’t really listen to another when we’re preoccupied with our concerns. Listening without those predispositions, preoccupations, and filters has enormous power.

Listening doesn’t receive speaking, it isn’t a receptacle for speaking—it gives speaking. It’s the clearing in which speaking can occur. Listening is the possibility for understanding, for meaning, for being known and loved—it’s the backbone of international relationships, of businesses, of family members and friends. It’s long been a staple of corporate success—in the new media, listening is probably the most important factor in the toolbox. Listening is what allows others to be—it’s where both the speaker and what is spoken come alive, exist, and flourish.

Tina Fey, comedian, author, captures the creative power of listening from an improvisation perspective: The first rule of improvisation, she says, is “agree—agree with whatever your partner has created. So if I say, ‘Freeze, I have a gun,’ and you say, ‘That’s not a gun. It’s your finger. You’re pointing your finger at me,’ our improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, ‘Freeze, I have a gun!’ and you say, ‘The gun I gave you for Christmas! You jerk!’ then we have started a scene.

Obviously in real life you’re not always going to agree with everything everyone says. But the idea is to ‘respect and listen to what the other person has created’ and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a ‘yes’ and see where that takes you. As an improviser, I always find it jarring when I meet someone in real life whose first answer is no. ‘No, we can’t do that.’ ‘No, that’s not in the budget.’ What kind of way is that to live? The second rule of improvisation is not only to say ‘yes,’ but ‘yes, and’—agree and then add something of your own. If I start a scene with ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you just say, ‘Yeah…’ we’re kind of at a standstill. But if I say, ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you say, ‘Yes, it can’t be good for the wax figures,’ now we’re getting somewhere.”²

Now to the “speaking” part. Speaking is more than just talking, more than the exchange of symbols or information, more than persuasion or saying what we really think, more than just a vehicle for describing or representing reality. Speaking is that which allows for “who” and “how” we “are” in the world. It’s what allows for the futures we create, where we evoke experience in others, where our ideas become clear and possible, where we share ourselves, and where others are expanded by our participation with them.

When we come together to talk, to act in common and listen to what is said, we can create something new between us. Major advances happen as a result of speaking—democracy, relativity, human rights are just a few. People see a possibility, and in the act of speaking can reshape the course of events.
Speaking and listening are not just something we do in response to a world that exists outside of us—they’re what brings that very world into being.

Language is an ontological phenomenon, a being phenomenon, not an auditory one. It’s the bridge between the uncreated and created worlds—it’s both the ultimate reality and the instrument through which reality is brought forth. When we see language this way—as that which gives rise to the world and that which gives access to what is in that world—it alters the very nature of what’s possible. Our conversations constitute who we are, and when we know that, it shifts our relationship to the world, the way we define ourselves—not merely in the way we think about ourselves, but in the actual experience of who we are.

Language is inseparable from who we are, and what gives us access to the full panoply of being human—of creativity, of love, of resolution, of achievement, of contribution. It’s the home, the only home, of possibility.

1Adapted from “The Inner Voice,” by Denise Riley, Harper’s Magazine, June 2005.
2 Adapted from Tina Fey, Bossypants.

possibilities are there when you bypass walls which you place up

Nothing is so reckless as waiting for certainty—that’s a game we are sure to lose. Anyone who runs a business, chooses a mate, or just drives down the street knows there’s a risk. When the possibility of power, effectiveness, and freedom arises, we often find ourselves asking “what if the ball actually goes over the fence…. What if it doesn’t?” The question of whether something will happen or not is irrelevant to the phenomenon of possibility. There is no certainty as an inevitability, or predictability of the outcome—we are the ones saying something is possible. Real power occurs when we know we have something to say about the way things are—that we have access to the state of affairs beyond just reporting.
Creating possibility is risky business. Creation is a great risk, a kind of ultimate risk—the willingness to take a stand with no evidence. It’s hard to provide evidence, or make any real argument for a place where life can show up as a creation, but it is in, although within that that domain that the full world available to us in being human can be explored and lived. We cheat ourselves when we try to reduce the risk. What’s critical, what makes a difference, is to be left with a choice. And to be left with a choice means to be left fully at risk. Stimulating those risks is inseparable from living.

In virtually every human society, ‘he hit me first’ or ‘he started it’ provides an acceptable rationale for what comes next. It’s thought that a punch thrown second is legally and morally different than a punch thrown first. The problem with the principle of even-numb redness is that people count differently. People think of their own actions as the consequences of what came before, they think of other people’s actions as the causes of what came later, and that their reasons and pains are more palpable, more obvious and real, than that of others.

These are positions and ideas we all “wind up” playing out. When we “are” right, embedded in that truth is an equal truth that someone else is wrong—it’s not a matter of accuracy, it’s a matter of being. We can’t be happy, vital, and loving while we’re being right, making someone wrong, or justifying our positions—one displaces the other. The “rightness” of our positions also precludes us from being open to seeing other points of view.

We have a choice about what’s at play. When we elect to transform ways we wound up being, we move to a place of freedom, a place of possibility. Our points of view and positions can then move from fixed to malleable, from closed to open—where each person has an honoured place in the dialogue.

The stuff of wars, soap operas, divorce courts, Hamlet, and more all borrow on that equation, as do we. While we might wish we’d left that even-numberedness to our childhood and adolescence, it’s not to be. The dynamic of dealing with issues that are unwanted, yet persist continues to play out in board rooms, neighborhoods, marriages, and between nations—we justify, we blame, we complain.

Issues that are unwanted, yet persist can be a powerful impetus for change, as evidenced by the progress of human rights, for example. But there’s another world of things that are unwanted, yet persist—things that we complain about over and over, like some aspect of our relationships or jobs that is not working, and yet we find ourselves keeping around.

If we put what’s “unwanted, yet persists” together with “fixed ways of being,” we get what we call a “racket.” It’s a “mash up” of sorts (a web buzzword). In a mash up, one web application is combined with another, making both applications more productive and robust—you get something greater than the sum of the parts. If you mash up what’s unwanted, yet persists (which is most likely occurring as a complaint) and a fixed way of being, you also get something greater than the sum of its parts, but in this case, the yield heads in the wrong direction—the combination is unproductive or more accurately, counterproductive.

A complaint is some kind of opinion or judgment of the way things “should” or “shouldn’t be.” The evaluative component isn’t a commentary on facts that are true or false, accurate or not, but again how we think things should be. By fixed way of being we mean acting in a predictable and repetitive manner (like always frustrated, always upset, always angry, always nice, always annoyed, always suspicious, always confused, etc.). Whatever our fixed way of being is, it’s not something we have a choice over. It’s just there—it shows up automatically when the complaint shows up. It’s also worth noting that a recurring complaint doesn’t cause the way of being, nor does the way of being cause the recurring complaint—they simply come together in one package. The whole point here, though, is that it’s a fixed way of being, not a possible way of being.

The term “racket” comes from the days of big-city gangsters and street-level criminals who conducted questionable activities—loan-sharking, bribery, larceny—usually set up to get some kind of payoff, camouflaged by an acceptable cover above suspicion. In a “racketeering” operation, the efforts at concealing what’s going on behind the scenes can become quite elaborate so as to protect and ensure the success of the operation. We borrow the term racket as it’s applicable to our contemporary lives and because it carries with it many of the same properties—deception, smoke screens, payoffs, etc.

Sometimes persistent complaints originate with us, other times they come at us from someone else. It’s harder to see that we’re in “racket mode” with complaints that come at us, because it looks like somebody else is the persistent complainer, and we’re just an innocent bystander.

But under closer scrutiny, it turns out we too have complaints—complaints about their complaints. Our matching complaint might show up like, “don’t they understand, don’t they know how it is for me, why are they nagging, don’t they see everything I’m doing for them?” When we complain, we feel quite justified that our response is appropriate to the situation.

We explain the rationale behind our complaints to interested (and uninterested) parties, and point out how pleased we are with ourselves for taking the necessary steps to sort things out—we have a certain fondness for our attempts, for “trying.” We might get our friends, family, or co-workers to agree that we’re dealing with our complaints the best we can.

If they point out that perhaps we’re the one perpetuating the problem, we could feel misunderstood, put out, even busted. Seen from a distance, there can be something almost endearing about how we go about all this—as if it’s part of our authentic and sincere spirit—but actually, our rationale for doing what we do is another thing entirely. This is the camouflage or cover-up part. The deceptive nature of a racket and the allure of the payoff keep us from realizing the full impact rackets have in our lives.

The payoffs for keeping rackets around usually show up in several ways: being right and making others wrong (not the factual kind of right, but thinking that we are right and the other person is wrong), being dominating or avoiding domination, justifying ourselves and invalidating others (attributing cause to some thing or person other than ourselves), engaging in the win/lose dynamic (not “winning” like a celebration with trophies, applause, or congratulations to the opponent, but winning such that someone else is the loser or is lessened in some way).

 These payoffs are like facets of a diamond—although one facet might be more dominant than another (and we might deny or not be aware that some aspect of a payoff is active in our case), they’re really all at play.

The pull of these payoffs is often compelling enough to get us to give up love, vitality, self-expression, health, and happiness. That’s a ridiculously strong force. Those costs are the standard fare of a racket.  It’s pretty obvious that we can’t be happy, vital, and loving while we’re making someone wrong, dominating someone, being right, or justifying ourselves—one displaces the other. This is where choice comes into the picture.

Rackets, although one thing, have two forms of existence (somewhat like ice and steam are two forms of H2O). One form of a racket shows up as “I am X, Y, or Z.” The second shows up as “ahhh, I have a racket that is X, Y, or Z.” When we are the racket, it shapes and determines our way of being. But when we have a racket, it has very little power over our way of being. We have a choice about what’s at play—about giving up our rackets, our positions, our unproductive ways of being. When we elect to transform our default ways of being—being right, coming out on top (the even-numb redness, so to speak)—we move to a place of freedom, a place of possibility.

The question then becomes: How do I express my life? What would be, for me, the most extraordinary, created, invented life?  It becomes a matter of art, of design. How extraordinary are the everyday aspects of our lives; how rich our lives are, how full of opportunity, when we act on the possibility of living life fully.


Hundreds of flavours of ice cream, countless selections of movie channels, an infinite choice of mates, our daily round of work and play, our incessant getting and spending—the world of “more, better, different” is the air we breathe and its pull is ubiquitous.
It looks a lot like this: we search around and move around and do things and act and keep expanding and going for more or better and sometimes we get kind of stuck. But then we break out and we find a new place in life and we are off again expanding and growing and we keep on doing things and often get more from or better at doing that. And that’s what life’s like. Growing and expanding and learning and getting more, experimenting, trying things out differently. We might avoid the question “is this it” or “is this all there is” for a while, especially when we don’t have enough of what we’re after—like money, status, or comfort. But after we’ve got “enough,” the odds are we’ll visit those questions yet again.

More, better, different is the language of change—it’s comparative, defined and understood in light of the past. It’s about becoming. The language of possibility doesn’t necessitate changing anything. Possibility originates in the future, not the past. It’s about being, not becoming. Creating possibility is a stand, a declaration of who we are and what we’re out to create. It’s not taking what is and changing it—it’s taking what isn’t, and having it be. It’s about creating an extraordinary life as a place from which to come rather than a place to get—it’s about living life as a creative act.