I’m going to veer away from real estate pep talks this time and do a little dive into something that keeps coming up in conversations with the agents I’m coaching, with my fellow leaders in and out of the industry, and with my friends and family.
Despite the arrival of spring, many people are still weathering the burden of the winter blues. Situational or systemic, physiological or because of a certain event or circumstance, everybody is on their own journey.
As am I.
In BOLD we learn that it is virtually impossible to control our first thought, reaction, or instinct when faced with external stimulus. We also learn that we have full control over what we do with our second thought or action. If somebody drops a bomb on us, we can’t help how we initially feel about that information, however we can absolutely decide how we want to proceed.
Many of you know that I’ve been on my own journey caring for my parents. I soon have another adventure planned to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester with my father for more labs, images, exams, and consultations. I mentioned this to a couple of agents this week and I was met with grace and concern. It’s really kind and thoughtful and comforting, however I feel ill-equipped to receive that sort of sympathy because I’m still not in a place to feel sorry for myself yet. Maybe I’ll never be. Let me explain.
I now realize what I can control regarding my own mental health and well being. I’m choosing to set healthy boundaries and respond positively as much as I can to harmful or painful stimuli. I realize I get to choose how to proceed through this next season with my family and I’m choosing to forge ahead with gratitude and love. I realize that it might be raining, and I also realize that rain can be beautiful.
Listen. I get it.
I’ve come close to being absolutely consumed by anticipatory grief.
I’ve caught myself stacking the shit sandwiches and wondering how I could get to the other side of them.
I’ve found myself in the wallows and the doubt and the perpetual feeling of playing whack-a-mole with emergencies, bad news, and crap situations.
I’ve also stepped outside of myself to look to the universe and realize how profoundly small and miraculous every single thing that I am experiencing really is.
I don’t have to drive my dad to Rochester, lug him around to different appointments, fuss over a safe accessible hotel room and worry about him falling, having an accident, or choking on his dinner. I don’t have to take time away from my little family to make space for his needs. I don’t have to shut off my work email and phone to focus on his health and comfort.
I get to.
I get to go on a journey with my dad. Share stories with him in the car. Hear about his childhood, his work, his dreams, the love of his life, his pride, and his friends while he still has the verbal capabilities to tell me. I get to be the person who he looks to for guidance, support, and solutions to his obstacles when in the past he was that person to me. I get to help him plan his exit. Carry the torch and roasting his friends when he’s gone. Sharing his experiences and his message. Archiving his life story with my sister so that my children and my children’s children will always know what Chuck Frawley really was all about.
I get to do all of these things, and for that I am immensely grateful. So if you’re also faced with hard stuff, please know that you are not alone. If you are confronted with a plate full of shit sandwiches, know that you have a choice.
You get to decide right now if the world is happening to you, or if all of these things are actually happening for you.
Even if it’s raining, it can still be beautiful.
Onward,
Coach Lins
