When I joined Toastmasters 4 years ago and had to prepare for my very first speech, I would practice out loud while driving. I would record myself, listen, and improve until I had memorized the speech while perfecting the pitch and momentary pauses.

It must have stuck. And I’m glad.

On my half hour drive to work this morning, I engaged in a soliloquy to an audience of one. I spoke out every word, in between the ums and the ahs. Emracing the tears and discomfort that came with each painful memory.

Realizing that once again… everything requires time to practice, ponder, and let settle before repeating the spin cycle.

The sun is up, and the day begins anew.

I draw a smile on my face.

I step into the world. Lingering thoughts march themselves back into the box in an orderly fashion.

Is not love. Is not belief. Is not faith. Is not hope. It takes much more than sum of our positive emotions and best of intentions. It takes lots of caring and sharing.

It takes courage to leap and do the work. To leap, to fall, to fail, and do it all over again. To reach out blindly. To expose our deepest vulnerabilities. To try, even when we doubt and utter, this may not work. It takes courage to hold on to the things dearest to our hearts. It takes even more courage to let them go.

To be brave is not to be fearless. To be brave is to leap despite the fear. To be brave is to try and try again even it makes our hearts bleed and mend over and over again. To be brave is to accept ourselves for all the failings and all the peculiar and weird bits. To be brave is to open our truest and strangest selves to the other person and ask them to accept us for who we are, and be ready to accept any answer. Because everyone must be free to choose.

Friend at work says I look relaxed. As if I have no worry in the world. This is the hardest week of 2018, both emotionally and professionally but I look as if I am cruising. Amazing.

Four years ago, my boss told me to work on my poker face. People could tell when I was upset. And by wearing my emotions on my sleeve, I was perceived to be arrogant or too emotional. It didn’t help that I was annoyed when people didn’t grasp the concept as quickly as I wanted them to.

I used to be an open book. I used to pride myself with this fact, nor did I didn’t think it was necessary or possible to close my book of emotions.

Whatever we work on, we get better at.

I worked to disconnect emotions from my face. Because I was forced to. I had no choice. My health was failing. Past issues combined with international admin caused the negative emotions to color me red. I avoided people at work. People at work avoided me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. Before letting go, I mourned the familiar and painful memories of the past. Everything fell apart. I fell apart.

I hit rock bottom two years ago. And I realized the importance of the poker face. Because, as a leader, the shadow I cast can and will adversely impact my team and those around me. Bad things happen to people. Bad things usually come as a perfect storm.

And after withstanding the storm, I am standing strong on my two feet, and on my back, I carry two houses, a mortgage, some investments and responsibilities for two human beings. I carry in my heart the scars of past pains and sprouts of hope for the future. My mind is as sharp as ever and I know I can withstand any storm. It just takes time and a little bit of help from the world and its kind inhabitants.

She’s icy at first because she claims I’m in her seat… I check my stub. I know she’s wrong. It doesn’t matter, so I agree, apologize and smile. She returns the greeting, and we take off.

Tired of all the crying, I close my eyes and find myself in mid-flight.

We commence small talk.

Thembisa was in Johannesburg for government business. A mover and shaker, a mother of two. She’s in her mid-30s. Studying a three-year security degree through UNISA. Her red handbag is full of brochures, pens, books and a massive smart phone. She sells things on the side, Avon style; always ready to sport her catalogue of products wherever she goes.

She’s fierce.

I tell her my story. He broke up with me over a text message, on my birthday. Now that I’ve said it, I can’t help but chuckle. Did this really happen to me? Something straight out of FML website. I was pining away for someone who treated me worse than a stranger. No trace of kindness whatsoever. I scoff to myself.

Thembi wants men to treat her with respect, the same way she is with them.

“Tell me where you are going, the same way I tell you. Not that I don’t trust you, but I’m just being considerate. You know, this guy I am dating for three years, I told him… You’re like cancer. You’re all over my skin, my bones: you are everywhere. I told him the other day. One day, I will have the strength to get rid of this cancer. One day, you and I will be in our cars at a traffic light with our windows open. You will look over to me to say hi, and I will look at you and say, ‘you remind me of someone I used to know. Remind me who you are again?’ And he said I’m cruel. But whether I’m cruel or whatever, you love me for who I am.

But you know… when it’s over, I can’t help but wonder if I see a red Polo driving around… I wonder if it’s him in that Polo. And I see the license plate, and he’s not in the car, and I am always on the lookout for his red Polo.”

Then she slaps her lap and starts to laugh. She also tells me about an ex who messaged her recently, her name on the message. Her reply: “Sorry wrong number” He tried to call her and she doesn’t answer. She says men move on, date other girls, and realize how great she is and tries to get back with her. But she won’t entertain sloppy seconds.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re black or white. There is no gray. It’s black or white. Either you love and show me or you don’t. There is no in between. There is a commitment.”

The pilot tries to descend past the thick blanket of clouds, but after two failed attempts, nothing happens. Thembisa jokes that we’ll have to fly to East London, 3 hours away, and be shuttled to Mthatha.

The pilot announces matter of fact-like, “We are unable to land. We’re going back to Johannesburg.”

Is the pilot playing a practical joke? Funny how we make everything about ourselves, forgetting that it affects not only people on the plane, but also those who are waiting to take off, collect and drop off people, as well as the airline staff that must make alternate arrangements…

I laugh out loud to myself.

Is it possible to simply return to the place from which we departed from, without ever getting to the final destination? Never having touched ground… can we say we never left in the first place? A limbo…

The journey will have to continue the next day. Two young black boys are without chaperone. My friend offers them a place to stay. He lets them use his phone call their mom and cousin to come and get them. We wait until we believe they’ll be okay for the evening.

The next morning, as we descend through the clouds, we break into an applause. We have arrived.

I play DJ as he drives. We talk. Things are going well. We draw comfort in each other’s company. We don’t feel the need to fill the silence. It hangs and lingers like welcome mystery.

The beginning of every relationship is often hesitant. Am I offending? Am I too much? Am I too little? Am I boring? What should we do next?

What happens at Coffee Bay? Very little.

Nothing concrete comes to mind aside from delicious seafood buffet at the backpackers.

A wooden plank about 20cm wide and 60cm long sits atop a piece of plastic pipe. You must balance yourself without falling flat on your face. My snowboarding experience pays off. The audience applauds. I bow.

On our last day, my friend locks the rental car key in the trunk – I almost made the same mistake just the day before. We don’t stress but we are running out of time. After spending hours on the phone to get a locksmith to the middle of nowhere, my friend runs out of patience, smashes the small window on the backseat, and we’re off to Mthatha once again.

We embark yet again on the magical plane to return to the city of Gold.

Why do we drop the wrong balls?

A friend worked so hard and for so long, she ended up in the hospital. 12 months later, she continues to fight for her life. For what, exactly? Was it worth it? The company she used to work her is an ongoing business concern still, and her position has been backfilled.

Everyday, we have to juggle multiple responsibilities and commitments from work, family, and our significant others that compete for our time, resources and attention. Which ball can we drop? Which ones must we keep in the air? When we are young, we can easily recover from working too late and compromising our health. As we get older, the body can’t bounce back from the prolonged abuse and neglect. We don’t listen to our body, reciting over and over again: mind over body. No pain no gain. Sure, I understand. We must push boundaries and do better, but where do we draw the line? There has to be a limit. Why? Because we are humans. Because we are fallible. Because we deserve better.

Another friend fainted at work last week. She has been on 5th gear for the past 28 months. Body took control because the mind failed to do its part.

Let me get back to the ball analogy. Drop the ball representing work. Sure, life will be hard without a solid income but we can bounce back from a career setback. Drop the ball representing our physical health. What used to bounce back in our 20s have grown tired. It is now made of glass. If taken care of, it looks beautiful from the outside. If dropped, it will shatter into million pieces. It doesn’t bounce back.

If we must lighten the load, let’s drop the ball with the most bounce.

To change the world, we must change ourselves. This is a personal choice. We can’t be forced into it. To solicit a different reaction, we must shift our approach. To do so, we must know which gear we’re stuck on.

If we hold on to the title of “doer”, the other will default to the role of ‘avoider’. When people go on leave or are absent for unforseen life’s curveballs, the one left in charge stretches to grow into a doer.

When we always protect, the victim continues to claim helplessness. The victim has no need to take action.

Of course, life’s not binary and a silly wheel can’t give us all the answers. But isn’t it worthwhile to understand the other side of the coin? To celebrate diversity, we must first understand our fundamental differences.

This morning, Anele the DJ asked the city of Johannesburg whether they’ve ever spied on their significant others. One installed an app on her partner’s phone to track his location and listen in on his conversations. Another one shared her Apple ID with her boyfriend and he tracked her location. Another one installed an app on her partner’s phone to track his Whatsapp conversations. Another strung along her partner’s whereabouts based on his google search history. Another bought an old phone with a new sim card and put it in her boyfriend’s car to track his whereabouts.

Where do I even start? I am feeling a bit freaked out.

1. How disturbing is it that we can be tracked and monitored with our smart phones? Maybe it’s time to turn our phones off when not in use.
2. How sad is it that people have lost so much trust in their partner to resort to snooping their digital records?
3. How sad is it that people don’t engage each other face to face to deal with issues?
4. How sad is it that people stay in relationships that is so wrong for them?
5. How sad is it that people are in relationships when they can’t even believe where the other person is going?

What is it for? What is the purpose of our relationships? Isn’t it to get happier? Isn’t it to spend time with someone we like, trust, and respect? Do we not care about their set of values? Do we not care about the types of people we let into our lives?

Everyone will agree that lying is wrong. No ifs and buts. So why are we with people whose words carry no value? Worst yet, whatever the reason behind the snooping… spying is wrong. It’s an invasion of another human’s right to privacy. Snoops claim they did so with good intentions, but they’re no better than their partners suspected of lying and cheating.

Maybe we’re afraid. We run from fear. We don’t want to do the hard part. We procrastinate.
But isn’t it better to fix what’s broken now and fix it, let it be, or replace it? I hope more people decide to turn off their phones. I hope more people sum up the courage to face their fears. I hope more people run towards the truths.

Do the hard part first. Seek out emotional labor. Dance with fear.

Seth Godin’s blog is my go to place to catalyze my own thoughts.

Mistakes tend to happen. After all, it’s one of life’s best teachers. We often forget the importance of this lesson. How we recover from the struggle separate the best from the worst versions of ourselves. Seth’s thoughts on this concept can apply to any situation, any relationship.

After the hiccup

Most customer relationships don’t stumble because something went wrong. Your best customers know that mistakes happen.

It’s what happens next that can cripple the relationship.

How we recover from a miss is where the possibilities lie. If you’re open, engaged and focused on making things better, the door is open to build a resilient, ongoing partnership. Not just for customers, but for all the people we work with and count on.

Too often, we’re so focused on not hiccuping, or so filled with shame and blame when we do that we fail to allocate enough emotional labor to do the most important part–making things right. Not with a refund or a basket of fruit, but by truly seeing the other person, understanding what happened and doing the hard work to move forward.

Now, what?

Emotional labor means we must embrace discomfort, hold it close and deal with it before involving someone else.

With me, my cycle follows a familiar pattern after an argument.

I get angry. Then defensive. Then I offend. A momentary pause. Think about what just happened. Conduct Root Cause Analysis (how and why uncheked emotions took over the situation). Light bulb moment (epiphany). Panic. Regret. Plan next steps.

I wish I could get through it more quickly without negatively affecting others around me.

Everyday, I vow to do better today and improve upon past mistakes. I fail often but I always pick myself back up.

Does it help?

Okay, you know how you feel, what you need, what you want…

This next thing you’re going to do or say: Does it help you get closer to that?

I kneel down to look into her tearful eyes. The face, a permafrost of a scowl. Tense and tired from all the crying, her face is red. I relax and smile as gently as I know how. I hold her gaze until her face opens up like a tiny bud on the first day of spring. Her eyes soften. Her smile is sweet and pure. She is surprised at her own marvel. The look of a frightened animal is gone. I open my arms, and she crashes in like a tsunami. Her heartbeat slows and the indominable force of reckoning breaks into gentle waves before returning to welcome shore. I hold her tight and squeeze her small body. Her breath slows. She closes her eyes and falls asleep. In the morning, she rises with the early sun and floats away with the rolling clouds. Before disappearing into the horizon, she turns her small body and smiles. I stand up and wave a familiar goodbye .