Skip to Chapter 5

 

Yesterday, I was listening to a really insightful teaching by bestselling author Wayne Dyer—he was the main attraction of the fund raiser for PBS and his topic was on what he calls Wishes Fulfilled.  By the way I highly recommend checking it out.  In his talk he shared a poem that really resonated with me. The author’s name is Portia Nelson.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE CHAPTERS

1) I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost...
I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

2) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in...it's a habit
My eyes are open; I know where I am;
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

4) I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

5) I walk down another street.

Wow. I’ve been this person. I am this person. It seems I too often only get to chapter 4. I repeat and repeat and then wonder why I’m getting nowhere except frustrated and exhausted. And, then it eventually dawns on me…”do it differently, Lori.” Quit just rearranging the furniture--my metaphor for avoiding necessary change. I tell myself if I just make things look prettier, fresher, my perspective will change and all will be well.

 That’s what I tried to do in my last job where I worked in an executive position at a major book publishing company. I was making myself crazy by trying to fix things that couldn’t be fixed—things that were beyond my control. I’d always been on the winning side of things in my long and successful career. I’d climbed the corporate ladder and done quite well, really well, but the company was changing due to new leadership and a changing economy. The position I’d held for almost five years and poured my heart and soul into was coming to an end, but I just couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, see it. Failure has never been a word I understood. 

It was only when a good work friend said to me “Lori, how long are you going to let yourself be tortured?” that things started to change. Those words really woke me up. My response was immediate and I walked down the hall to my boss’s office. Rather than extend my torture as my friend described it so aptly, I decided to “walk down a different street.” It was scary—stepping out often is, but I knew I was doing the right thing when I offered my resignation.

God knew how it would play out all the time but he was just waiting on me, patiently, to decide it for myself. He didn’t push, he didn’t prod. He simply saw beyond my seemingly insurmountable obstacle like always. The day I left my job was 8.8.08. It’s not by chance that 8 is my favorite number and it is a date that I will never forget. But not for the reasons one might think – for me it’s not the day my position ended, but rather the date my new chapter began—book people talk like that you know.

Lori