If you are running, leading, investing in, managing, or somehow otherwise involved in the oversight of an international business, team, or organization, someone in your group is shoveling money out the window.
You should do something about that.
Transitory teams are built on the principle of the revolving door. People come in, people go out.
It’s understood
It’s inevitable.
So we adjust. We crunch the numbers. We calculate the extra costs. We stamp a sticker price on every measurable, objective expenditure that fits neatly onto a spreadsheet.
Recruiting.
Marketing.
Processing.
Vetting.
Plane tickets.
Shipping.
Visas.
Training.
All obvious, ADDITIONAL costs that come with doing business abroad. Every line item adds up to equal the price tag which gets smacked on the forehead of every person who walks through the revolving door.
Oh, if it were just that simple.
Write this down, it’s important.
That price tag is a lie.
That number gives a false sense of security to decision-makers and spreadsheet owners. The door may be the only way in BUT the windows are wide open . . . and someone has a shovel.
Here’s what is happening in the background.
At any given time a third of your people are likely adjusting to a whole new world.
A third are considering leaving it.
And all of them are wrestling with ongoing changes.
The NEWBIES
Live in a world of “NOTHING is NOT new.”
They operate on a learning curve where even the simplest tasks (personal and professional) take more time, energy, and support (all requiring resources).
They often feel like dependent rookies even when they were seasoned superstars in the last place.
They are forced into vulnerability, constantly asking for help or worse, pretending they don’t need it.
They often translate constant (necessary) change as unprofessional or worse, unethical.
They get excited because they can clearly see EVERYTHING that is wrong and set about fixing it … with ZERO relational capital.
Then they get frustrated when no one likes their ideas. They feel unheard, dismissed, or disrespected.
They retreat, withdraw, cut loose, blow up, disconnect, dominate, or find some other way to medicate with what FEELS good instead of what IS good.
They feel pressure and guilt from “back home” to “get this ‘adventure phase’ out of their system.”
They question their decision.
They question your competence.
They show up to work and do their job.
The STAYERS
Mourn the loss of last years leavers.
They often resent the arrival of this year’s Newbies.
They miss innovative ideas because Newbies are annoying.
They adjust and readjust to a community that is “not like it used to be”.
They begin to wonder if investing in new relationships is even worth it.
They navigate the MASSIVE challenge of unsatisfied families who DO NOT “love it here.”
OR the equally MASSIVE challenges of singleness abroad.
They may feel pressure and guilt from “back home” to stop missing every wedding, every funeral, and every niece’s birthday.
They begin to question whether the investment is worth the return.
They sporadically, routinely, or constantly question whether this is the year they should leave.
They show up to work and do their job.
The LOCALS
Get utilized at a fraction of their potential because they are viewed as less valuable than foreign workers.
They contribute sparingly because “what’s the point? You’re not listening and you’ll leave anyway.”
They often form grudges because they caught a glimpse of the foreigner pay package.
They may grow bitter because their perceived intelligence (and value) is unjustly attached to the accent of their 2nd or 3rd language by people who live in THEIR country and can’t say three words.
They feel marginalized by systems designed to favor foreign staff while they do the heavy lifting in the background.
They feel bound by cultural mandates on hospitality and conflict, leaving them no healthy outlet for grievance.
OR they get tagged as aggressive and hostile because they handle it the “wrong” way.
They do endless, thankless, grunt work for helpless people in exchange for a pat on the back and a Starbucks gift card.
They begin to question the integrity or intelligence of the organization.
They question their career choice.
They show up to work and do their job.
The LEAVERS
Start checking out as soon as the decision is made.
They drop the big vision project that they couldn’t wait to champion last year.
They daydream about next.
They stress about next.
They spend company time googling job offers and used cars.
They stop offering input into a place they won’t be.
OR frantically try to “fortify” so it won’t fall apart when they’re gone.
They disconnect from relationships to brace for departure (sometimes even subconsciously sabotaging to make it easier to leave).
They miss the chance to resolve conflict because leaving will “fix it.”
They often question whether they’ve had the impact that they once dreamed of.
They question their remaining contribution.
They show up to work and do their job.
The BIG PICTURE
When the measure is, “are people showing up and doing their job?” then all is well.
It looks like this.
Peel back the top layer, however, and you’ll discover something much different. Even a cursory peek into the hearts and minds your people will paint a vivid picture of very costly realities.
Your real org chart looks something like this
YES they are showing up. YES they are getting the job done.
But look around.
There are people in the margins.
There are people on their way out.
There are strugglers.
There are strainers.
There are toxic pockets of people who are scrambling to find a place where their frustrations can be vented.
More often than not, that gets aimed at leadership.
Those things don’t have a budget line item — BUT THEY ABSOLUTELY SHOW UP AT THE BOTTOM.
The unseen impact takes a heavy toll on:
Satisfaction
Productivity
Longevity
The GOOD NEWS
The realities of transition are incredibly costly but they do not (necessarily) equal dysfunction. Cross-cultural organizations, by nature, are forced to adapt or fail.
It’s what we do.
Unfortunately, we often adapt to the wrong things.
We treat the symptoms instead of the disease.
We put out the fires instead of fixing the faulty wiring.
We keep playing the game but we learn to play with a limp.
It’s just the cost of business abroad,
Right?
So, so wrong.
There are, without a doubt, unavoidable challenges beneath the surface — things that you can never change, eliminate, or outsmart.
BUT
If YOU don’t know what they are … specifically … in detail … by name …
then the shovel is in your hand.
When you discover what is beneath the surface, you can ask the RIGHT questions to the RIGHT people instead of the same questions to every person.
When you IDENTIFY where your people are on their journey and what is really going on for them, you can start taking steps toward DRAMATICALLY lowering the HIGH HIDDEN COST OF TRANSITION.
I know because that’s what is on my business cards — which are outdated — and in a suitcase — on a ship — somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.
Feels like a metaphor for my life right now.
My role is to know things.
Important things like how to move from one country to another without finding yourself curled up in the fetal position, sucking your thumb on your bedroom floor six months in.
I’ve got a whole seminar for that.
Just kidding. That’s not a real seminar.
Yet.
But let’s just call it professional development that in the middle of a global pandemic I chose to uproot my family from a 14-year life in China to a European island . . . somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.
Here’s the thing . . . Transition strips you bare.
It leaves you raw.
It exposes your deepest insecurities.
Exploits your weakest vulnerabilities.
Challenges your firmest principles.
Mocks your best ideas.
And it pokes your confidence right on the forehead with two fingers and says, “Alright tough guy. What do ya’ got now?”
I know. Because I’m a Transition Specialist . . . in transition.
I’m feeling it . . . in my core.
And yet, in all of the chaos, confusion, and mayhem of rearranging your entire, cushy system for getting life accomplished while upending your sense of community and knee-capping your structures of support — in all of the isolation, and frustration, and irritation, and second-guessing . . .
IF YOU ARE WILLING TO PAY ATTENTION . . .
There is NO BETTER PLACE to learn . . . and if you’re not careful, you might just learn something about yourself.
Here’s what I’m learning this time around
Knowing is ONLY half the battle
Sorry, G.I. Joe. I know you meant well but winning half a battle is kind of like jumping halfway over a pit of crocodiles.
Knowing about transition is critical. So important. It helps and it’s why I do what I do.
It’s reassuring to know I’m not going crazy.
It’s comforting to know I’m not alone.
It’s important to be equipped with strategies and tools.
But it’s not a free pass. Regardless of who you are or how much you know about the impact of transition, you don’t get to escape the pile of turds that comes with it.
Pardon my language. I’m a little raw.
Smooth does not mean easy
Full disclosure — I didn’t learn this one this time around. This transition has not been smooth. This transition started with canceled flights and snippy, Chinese airport personnel telling me I couldn’t use the flights that hadn’t been canceled. It was marked by delays and restrictions and days on hold with customer support and fantasizing that I could turn into the Incredible Hulk and throw buses at people.
That was just getting here.
But every transition is different.
I’ve had others that have gone off without a hitch — smooth rides from take-off to landing and instant, supportive community.
And it was still hard.
Go figure.
Rough does not mean bad
This transition has been the roughest — not unlike what I would imagine it might feel like to be strapped to a professional wrestler . . . and then rolled down a mountain . . . during an earthquake . . . while waiting for customer service to take me off of hold.
And still . . . we found golden minutes along the way. People bent over backwards to help us. We had extra outings and sweet moments of connection even in the middle of the ugliest melt-downs
And this one I love the most — I got to see the resilience and flexibility, that has been packed into my kids through all of the crazy changes they’ve been through, shine like diamonds.
None of this has been smooth — but some of it has been really, really good.
Pandemics are stupid
Anyone want to argue? Anyone?
I dare you.
How about you, key stockholders of the surgical mask or hand sanitizer companies?
I didn’t think so.
This is a mess. So if you’re brave (or crazy) enough to be taking on a global move right now (and I know I’m not the only one), just know that transition is hard on a good day. This one is compounded . . . complex . . . and NOT how it is supposed to go.
Be nice to yourself.
Talk shows aren’t funny without an audience
Am I right?
I mean, if Jimmy Kimmel tells a joke in the woods and no one laughs . . . is it still funny?
Turns out it’s not.
Here’s my point — when EVERYTHING around you changes in an instant you can’t pretend like it hasn’t and expect the same results — something has to give.
Figuring that out is called TRANSITION . . . and I’ve got a seminar for that.
For real. I’ll do that one if I get one taker.
But it won’t be free.
Loving something doesn’t always feel good
I love transition. I really do.
Still.
I love day one in a new country.
I love getting lost and finding my way back.
I love figuring out how the jumbled mess of puzzle pieces lock together, one by one, to reveal an incredible landscape that makes you want to frame it and hang it on the wall . . .
and start on the next puzzle.
Even more than that, I love walking with other people who are doing the same thing.
And sometimes . . . it hurts.
And it’s hard.
And it’s confusing.
And it’s lonely.
And you wonder if it was all just a big mistake.
So tell me one thing you’ve ever loved that hasn’t felt the same.
If you’re in the middle of global transition right now let me encourage you with these words:
ARE YOU INSANE?!! Don’t you know it’s 2020?!! What were you thinking?!!
Now soak it up. Don’t miss the good bits. Hang on tight and let’s get through this together.
You’re so much better at goodbyes than I am but let’s try to get through this ok?
When we first met I was so intimidated by you. You were bigger than life, older than Moses, and more confusing than puberty.
But you were so welcoming.
I can’t say I felt at home right away because there was NOTHING about you that felt like home. I couldn’t even do the simplest, every day things like buy cucumbers, or watch TV, or say words.
But you were so patient.
Before we met I was pretty sure I had you pegged. In fact, I was kind of an expert where I came from. I read the books, watched the movies, saw you on the news. I came in cocky and if we’re being honest . . . I was pretty sure I could fix you.
I just made myself snort-laugh.
I was SO off about you. So were the books, and the movies, and wow . . . the news. To be fair they were all telling the truth but to try to sum you up is kind of like saying I know Mexico because I ate Taco Bell.
There was so much more.
Thank you, China. You have blasted every stereotype, filled up the pigeonhole, and proven me wrong over and over and over.
And over.
You were scenery to me back then. Not just your amazing architecture, your rich culture, your breathtaking landscapes, your mind-blowing urban sprawl, and your incredible, anicient landmarks . . . your people.
They were scenery too.
Until they spoke. And smiled. And laughed. And cried. And shared their wisdom. And showed me where to buy cucumbers. And taught me to say words. And loved on my children. And showed me what real Chinese food was.
They became my friends — some of them like family.
They taught me about you. Showed me things that you can’t learn in a book or glean from a 3 minute news story between sports and weather. I got to see you through their lenses. I got to feel their anguish when the earthquake hit. I got to feel their pride as they welcomed the world to the Olympic Games. But it wasn’t just you that they showed me.
I got to see me.
They graciously loaned me their lenses again to let me see myself from a different perspective. They showed me my culture, my history, my country, my traditions, my values, my faith, my politics, my people, my family, my friends, my bias, my bigotry, my arrogance and my pride from another angle.
And I’ll never be the same.
You have changed me China. Deeply. Profoundly. Beautifully. You have put things in me that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. You have challenged me in ways that have made me stronger. You have stretched me further than I ever imagined possible.
This has been so good. And so hard.
I still don’t get you. I don’t understand you. You confuse me more than ever. You frustrate me. Some days you make me downright angry. I don’t always agree with you and after all these years I STILL can’t say most of your words. In some strange way, I feel like I know less about you than the day we first met because through all of this I have gotten a glimpse of your vastness, your complexity, your diversity, your ugliness, and your beauty and it has proven that in a million lifetimes I could never grasp it all.
What I do know is, my life is better because of you.
And even though I have spent every second of my time with you as a total, bumbling foreigner, this is a feeling I’ve felt before — the last time I left home.
So let’s do this your way ok? “Goodbye” doesn’t cut it. “Farewell” sounds fancier but kind of feels like “good luck on that thing you’re doing . . . with the thing . . . and the stuff.” And “so long?” What does that even mean?
I like your way better because even if it never comes true it is so much closer to expressing what I am hoping with all of my heart.
COVID 19 is a dirty, rotten criminal. Ironically, not even a smooth one.
It snuck in and no one saw it coming, but it made a bunch of noise and stayed way too long. Got greedy. Got cocky. Thought it could take everything.
Got news for you COVID … you don’t get everything. Not even close.
And you’re a jerk. Nobody likes you.
Full disclosure: This post comes on the heels of weeks of self-pity and sorrow over the loss and confusion that this thief has created — head spinning and scrambling, trying to figure out what comes next. Days of feeling like all is lost.
Maybe you’re in the same boat. Like you’ve just walked in your front door and realized that your home has been ransacked.
You feel violated, vulnerable, angry, terrified.
Here are seven thoughts to help you get back what this no good, sneaky, spineless thief has taken.
ONE: Less than equals more than nothing
It has been a painful realization but I have to settle for less this year. Less connection. Less engagement. Less quality. Less certainty. Less of the people I love and want to be spending time with.
You do too.
The world does.
But less is NOT nothing.
Don’t settle for the lie of “all is lost.”
Unanticipated, unchosen, undefined, homeschool is less. But it’s not nothing.
A zoom call is less. But it’s not nothing.
Social distancing, self-isolation, and even quarantine are much, much less that what I want right now. So much less than what I am used to.
But they are not nothing.
TWO: List your losses
Something magic happens when you get specific.
The pain gets real but so does the beauty of what’s left.
It’s natural when you’ve been violated to focus entirely on the violation.
It demands your attention.
But taking the space to list the actual losses gives you the space to set those things aside and deal with them as they need to be dealt with.
What has actually been taken?
Connection with your people? Your job? Your graduation? Your retirement plan? Your dream wedding? An important funeral? Your summer plans? Your routine? Your plan? Your sanity?
Whatever it is. Call it out. Tag it. Set it apart from what hasn’t been taken.
Don’t give COVID credit for what it hasn’t accomplished.
THREE: Don’t play the victim
Thieves love a victim. That’s the whole point.
Power preys on the powerless.
The victim waits helplessly for the hero to come and rescue them.
Newsflash — this thing has impacted EVERYONE. That means that everyone needs help and everyone has the potential to help someone else.
If your ONLY focus is on seeking help then you are draining the shallow pool of resources that other people need more desperately than you.
Look around. Find a need. Meet it.
FOUR: Find your thankfuls
Time for a full life inventory. What do you have to be thankful for? Focus your attention on that.
To be clear — finding thankuls is NOT the same as ignoring loss. It’s not looking on the bright side. It’s not simply happy stamping this mess and pretending like nothing bad has happened.
But a thief would love nothing more than to steal your joy — and joy is all around you.
Pick three. What are you most thankful for, even in this mess. Start your days there and see what happens.
FIVE: Box out
Sorry. Basketball reference.
Boxing out is what happens when the shot goes up and you are close to the basket. You anticipate the miss even though you have no clue what is about to happen, and you prepare yourself to grab the ball and run with it. You do everything you can to get in position for the next play.
COVID isn’t going to last forever. How are you preparing yourself for what comes next?
SIX: Stop with the superlatives
“COVID has changed EVERYTHING!”
“NOTHING will EVER be the same!”
Stop it. Just stop it.
Focus your attention on what hasn’t changed.
Your family. Your friendships. Your people. Your places. Your values. Your routines. Your pets. The pictures on your wall. The things that make you snortlaugh. Your addiction to Netflix.
Full disclosure: I caught myself on this one. COVID for me means a whole new chapter. New country, new work, new home, new school for my kids, new community, new friends and a LOT of hard goodbyes. It was easy to say, “this changes everything.
But that’s a lie.
A lot has changed — But not EVERYTHING.
SEVEN: Find the gold
It may not feel like it at the moment but there is very likely some beautiful bit that never would have been possible apart from this jacked-up tragedy.
Time with your family? When are you EVER going to get it like this again?
Life has come to a halt? Remember when your biggest frustration was “I’m too busy?”
Don’t minimize the loss — but don’t miss the gold nuggets.
There is no doubt that this virus has taken a lot from us. It has thrown the world into shock and the losses are huge.
But pause.
Just for a moment.
Gather your bearings. Take a realistic inventory. Find the help that you need. Help someone who needs you.
“The problem isn’t fear. It’s being stopped by fear.”
– Caleb Meakins
One year ago my stomach was in my throat and my heart was about to beat out of my chest.
I was weighing out a decision that was wrenching my guts. It was one of those “this could be beautiful, amazing, and so good for so many people” AND “if you do this you’re going to get blasted, ripped apart and your life will change forever” kind of choices.
Kind of like asking a girl to dance in middle school. Same emotions.
It was in between sessions at the Families in Global Transition Conference in Bangkok so the huge room was filled wit empty chairs and just a handful of people. I sat in the back with two friends chatting but honestly, I had faded out. I was mentally and emotionally weighing how good this could be against the worst-case scenario.
Then this guy stepped onto the stage at the front. He was clearly going to be the keynote speaker because he was way better looking than the rest of us. He had come to walk through his speech. Just to practice. Get the feel of the stage. Run through his slides.
I couldn’t hear him from the back. But I saw from his PowerPoint that he was going to talk about “changing the world”.
For real?
Again?
Another one?
I’ve grown cynical of “you can change the world” speeches and sentiments. I blame Facebook and youth pastors.
But still, I spied on him as he flipped through his slides and I continued to ponder my paralyzing dilemma.
And then he got to the slide that said
Lessons Learnt:
“3 seconds of insane courage”
It was like a lightning bolt hit me in the head, heart and gut simultaneously. Exactly what I needed at at exactly the right moment.
I took a huge breath. Counted to three. And made the right decision.
Before I ever heard him say a word, Caleb Meakins inspired me.
He sparked courage in me. He challenged me to swallow my foolish pride AND my justified fears to pursue what I knew was the right thing.
Then I got to listen to him.
I got to hear about this young man who lived life with insane courage but did it with beautiful humility.
I got to hear what he had learned by putting himself out there with his pride on the line just so he could learn to live with more courage. Like how it feels to ask McDonalds to cook your raw chicken or what goes through your guts when you dress like an Arab Sheik and try to test drive a Lamborghini.
I got to listen as he described how learning about courage sparked a passion for Ethopia and how that changed his trajectory.
And then I got to meet him.
Just briefly. For a few minutes.
We talked about pride and humility and fear and courage. We talked about TCK’s and the amazing potential they have. We talked about creativity and impact. We talked about our shared faith and how good it can be when we love people well.
It was a rich encounter.
He had thousands of those.
People walked away better when they met Caleb.
And I’ve just got to guess that . . . THAT is exactly how you change the world.
Thank you Caleb, for a life lived completely filled up and completely poured out.
In June I quit my job to pursue my passion — something I’ve been dreaming about for a long time.
So (as one does), I laid out a plan for a transition that would be as smooth and seamless as possible. Not bragging — but it was perfect.
I can hear you snort laughing. That’s rude.
This was my plan: Five weeks in the U.S., quality time with quality people and a new work visa that would allow me to do the new thing.
Oh . . . and selfies with 500 people. I was feeling optimistic.
Then — back to China and dive in.
So simple. What could go wrong?
Seriously? Again with the snort laughing?
I took a deep breath . . . and jumped.
Here’s what I didn’t plan on.
My father died — two weeks into my perfect plan.
My visa was delayed — turning 5 weeks into 14.
My kids needed to get back for school — separating me from my family for 6 weeks.
I missed the first jobs that I had lined up for the grand new thing.
Finally back in China and struggling to regain stability — my father’s wife died — sending us back to the States for an unanticipated, unbudgeted week.
And then, just in case there was anything left in my perfect plan that had not been disrupted … Cornonavirus.
Plans are awesome. Until they’re not. Am I right?
The great Scottish poet, Robert Burns said it best:
The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
Ironically — China just celebrated the Lunar New Year … of the mouse.
Coincidence?
Disruptions are an inevitable reality and for anyone who has chosen a global life. That’s part is not up to you. What is up to you is how you respond.
Here are five ways to stay on track when your best-laid plans go awry
ONE: STOP PLAYING THE VICTIM ROLE
Sorry. We have to start here. Everything else hangs on it.
I’ve often said that expats are bold adventurers. The uncertainty is part of the deal and we know that going in. By nature, we are not intimidated by ambiguous challenges on the front end.
Political unrest? Not a problem.
Riots in the streets? Sounds exciting.
Ebola virus? Bring it on!!
However, we are also the first to fall apart in the airport when our plane is delayed
Stories have characters and the role of victim is the easiest part to play because it is 100% passive. Just lay there. Look sad. Put it on Instagram and wait for the sympathetic comments to roll in.
But “woe is me” thinking hands the victory to anything blocking your path. Time wasted on soliciting sympathy creates a second great wave of disruption.
And frankly, sympathy is intoxicating. It feels good — so it’s easy to get stuck there. In the big picture though, you’re not moving forward while you’re waiting for the hero to rescue you.
You are not the victim. Choose a different role.
One short disclaimer: Some stories have legitimate victims — but this is not a post about trauma or tragedy — just disruption.
TWO: PRACTICE FIRM FLEXIBILITY
There are two distinct characteristics that draw the line between expats who crush it and expats who end up in the fetal position. They seem contradictory but they are absolutely not.
Flexibility gets the air time. It’s what we put on the application for the expat assignment. It’s what shows up as a red flag on your psych evaluation when you don’t have it.
However — flexibility without firmness is all but a guarantee for failure. Your overseas assignment may be enjoyable if your greatest strength is flexibility but unless your only goal was a good time, you’re unlikely to achieve anything else.
Assignments that succeed have decision-makers. Decisive ones (which sounds redundant but is not a given). People who are willing to chart the course and say “this is absolutely the best direction and this is how we get it done.”
And THEN
When that falls apart (and there’s a good chance it will) flexibility becomes essential.
Solely flexible people get pulled in every direction.
Solely firm people snap when their plan is disrupted.
It is vital to have a plan and equally vital to have the courage to change that plan when the circumstances demand it.
Practice firm flexibility.
THREE: PULL IT OUT OF THE SWIRL
Disruptions may be expected but they are never planned.
“Sorry Coronavirus, this week really isn’t good for me, could we shoot for next Thursday … or … I don’t know, maybe never?”
It doesn’t work like that.
So the instant response is real-time adjustment in your brain — minor and major audibles called while you’re in motion. Sometimes there is a “wait and see” period with the hopes that the setback won’t even be felt or that the challenges will blow over.
Those adjustments build up quickly but until they are clearly identified and laid on top of your plan they will remain in the swirl of things that you are being forced to deal with but not really paying attention to.
So pull it out of the swirl.
Pause for a moment — even when it feels like you can’t. A critical moment to reflect on the impact of disruption could save you weeks of recovering from it later. Do it early, often, and to the best of your ability.
Ask yourself (and your team or family if applicable) some hard questions and be prepared to be brutally honest.
What is the unavoidable impact of this disruption?
What is the potential impact?
What are my actual losses?
What are my perceived losses?
Is there a potential gain in all of this?
What am I telling myself that is NOT true?
What adjustments need to be made?
Once you’ve gotten clear about the reality of this disruption you can stop pretending like nothing has changed. Then you can plug those realities into the plan and stay on track.
Adjust the plan, not the goal.
FOUR: FIND THE RHYTHM IN THE CHAOS
There’s a difference between someone who can dance and a dancer.
Full disclosure: If we’re speaking literally here — I am neitherbut follow my metaphor.
To dance, you have to learn the steps. Study hard and wrestle through every movement until you get it just right. Practice until the entire routine is flawless.
But a dancer feels it. They still work hard but the movement is more than rote memorization.
For the dancing person, one misstep or unexpected slip throws the whole thing off. It gets in their head and derails their trajectory. The next steps are a scramble as they try to find their spot and get back on point. They overthink the disruption and it impacts the entire dance.
The dancer though, moves through it. The disruption was just that — a blip in the bigger picture. Their body instinctively finds the rhythm and sets them back on track.
Chaos is often overvalued.
The impact of a disruption is real but that impact gets inflated in your head and consequently destroys things it didn’t need to.
You missed a step. You tripped and fell. Maybe the song stopped and restarted right in the middle.
Find the rhythm and keep dancing.
FIVE: DON’T MISS THE JOY
My plan didn’t work.
I didn’t plan to lose my father.
I never wrote the words, “get separated from my family for six weeks.”
I was not expecting to lose my step-mother.
No one thought Coronavirus would be a good idea.
Those things are hard. Frustrating. Horrible even. Major disruptions to my best-laid plan. They have thrown me off.
AND
BECAUSE of my disruptions …
I have had more beautiful, heartfelt, deep and meaningful moments with people I love this year than any year I can remember.
I got to go home in the middle of the winter which hasn’t happened since the last time someone died.
I road tripped around my home country and caught up with people I haven’t even seen for two decades.
I got to talk about life and death and love and legacy with my kids.
And I got selfies with 500 people which took me exactly 14 weeks … not 5.
I’m an expat.
I planned it that way and one of the realities that comes with that choice is disruption … lots of it.
That doesn’t seem likes it’s going to change anytime soon.
So to miss the joy that comes with it — would be a tragedy.
Find the joy in your disruption … and keep moving forward.
Got a story of disruption? How did you deal with it? Share below.
