Mind Your Change

I suspect I’m not alone in feeling that the first hint of spring over the past few days sparked a joyful urge to get moving again.

Almost instantly, I wanted to get outside, go for a walk, swing a golf club, clean my bike, car or anything else that would require more physical effort than I had expended over the last few frigid months.

The next morning, however, my 58-year-old body reminded me that winter’s dormancy had quietly changed it in ways I hadn’t noticed.

That reminder was pain.

It seemed that in my puppy dog-like exuberance, I had forgotten the golden rule of any new burst of activity; when a long period of inactivity ends, there’s one important step before a new action begins.

Stretch. Stretch. Stretch.

Our bodies are often a great reminder that even when we leave things alone, change is always occurring.

It’s not so much that my muscles weren’t changing as it was how they were changing, and in what direction. They were shrinking, becoming stiffer and more rigid from the neglect of months of inactivity.

Our minds and hearts are really no different.

I was reminded of that toward the end of last year in my coaching practice.

Throughout much of 2025, I began noticing a pattern.

Clients were seeking new timelines and a different pace, with shorter sessions, more follow-up and support tailored to their evolving needs.

With what I believed was a 20-year track record of success, I found myself resisting. I clung to a comfortable mindset backed by results that had worked for a very long time.  

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” I kept telling myself.

Meanwhile, the data kept piling up, strongly suggesting that while it may not be broke, it’s definitely starting to crack.

The world was changing, and I was being asked to change with it.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that my mind and heart had slowly begun to atrophy.

Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species is often summarized this way: it is not the strongest species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most adaptable to change.

Resilience isn’t really about strength or intellect.

It’s about our ability to bend.

I could easily blame a cold, hard winter for my lack of exercise and the soreness that followed that first burst of activity.

But the truth is, winter didn’t simply happen to me; I was an active participant.

Or in this case, an inactive one.

I could have exercised; I just didn’t.

My struggles in coaching last year came from a similar place.

I resisted the clear signals that what once had worked no longer did. I was clinging to how I thought things should be rather than paying attention to how they actually were.

To move forward, I needed to see that, feel it, and accept it.

And that’s the stretch.

George Bernard Shaw once said, “Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

Staying the same is a myth. Our bodies, minds, and hearts are always changing. Even when we dig in and resist, we’re still changing; we’re just becoming more rigid.

Change is inevitable, but direction is optional.

We can dig in and grow brittle, or we can stretch and become more adaptable.

The choice is ours.

This newsletter is the result of one of those stretches, a stretch that I will admit was quite uncomfortable, but one that has renewed my connection to my clients and to my craft.

In this Year of the Horse, I feel revitalized and back in the saddle.

It’s exciting (and a little terrifying.)

Giddyup!

Subjects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

After reading my January newsletter, a friend of mine asked, “Why do you call it a ‘Subjective Perspective’ - isn’t your role as a coach to be objective?”

It’s a fair question, and one that I had pondered many times before deciding to go with subjective.

“I realized that claiming ‘complete objectivity’ is something that I could not in good conscience say,” I replied, adding, “Who could really?”

To be objective is to be a mirror, one with no past, no future, no emotion, and therefore no bias. Just the facts.

But can anyone honestly say they live that way?

When I return home from a relaxing mid-summer night’s ride on my motorcycle, I spend the next half hour cleaning the ‘facts’ of that ride off of my helmet.

Seen through the lens of the other bugs, I’m a “high-speed maniac who came out of nowhere and took out Johnny and half his crew!”

Same event, different lens with no objective truth to be found.

The word objective can also mean: something that you plan to do or achieve.

Ironically, the moment we have an objective, we lose all objectivity.

Our goal becomes its own lens or filter, as everything we encounter is now categorized: it’s either an asset or a liability, a shortcut or a hindrance to what we want to achieve.

We are no longer observing reality as it is; we are measuring it against what we desire.

I’m not convinced that any of us can be completely objective in life. I am certain, however, that complete subjectivity is more than doable.

Examples of this can usually be found in social gatherings, in those somewhat tedious and often one-sided conversations that usually end with, “I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?”

And in the spirit of objectivity, I have also been known to be the recipient of that awkward question a few times, as well.

French author Anais Nin once wrote, “We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

This is not only philosophy; it’s also physics.

One of the major tenets of quantum mechanics is that the act of observation actually changes the object being observed, meaning we don’t simply look at our lives; we interact with them.

This concept can also be found in many religions, too.

In Catholicism, Proverbs 23:7 states: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.”

In Buddhism: “The root of suffering is attachment,” (ie, the self or subjectivity.)

In short, we don’t find meaning in the world; we project meaning into it.

“Reality,” as Einstein once said, “is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one.”

So, is the deer crossing the road, or is the road crossing the forest?

It really depends on who you ask.

Our obstacles on the road of life often arise from being stuck in a particular point of view, from where we are to where we think we’re supposed to be.

Some would propose that the solution is to focus harder and create a stronger mindset.

But as I look back at some of our darker and more troubled times in history, much of the damage that ensued came from very set minds.

What unsticks us is remembering that the world we see is not viewed through a fixed aperture of facts, but rather a zoom lens of interpretation.

It is our ability to entertain in any situation that it is not always the result that needs to change, but our limited perception of it, and to see a bigger picture.

Paradoxically, what distorts that objectivity is our objective.

The solution is not to try to expand objectivity, but rather to temporarily suspend our own subjectivity long enough so that we are able to see a different landscape.

With less attachment comes less struggle.

We each decide if life is just something that is happening to us or if we are creating it.

Whichever lens we choose will ultimately determine the reality we experience.

Why Happiness Eludes Us

Many of us were raised with the belief that happiness is something to be found, a thing to chase, earn, or some sort of destination to finally arrive at.

Once that idea took root, the race began.

We ran toward careers, relationships, purchases, philosophies, and spiritual practices, listening to anyone or anything that promised to help us build that happy place.

And sometimes it worked, at least temporarily.

Sure, most of us can point to moments when happiness seemed to fall into our hands: a new adventure, a meaningful relationship, or a long-anticipated achievement. But just as quickly as it appeared, it then began to fade, and before long, we found ourselves chasing it once again.

The cycle repeats, and over time, this pursuit becomes less exciting and more exhausting. The carrot stays just out of reach, and the thought of starting again can feel overwhelming.

So how do we finally secure this elusive thing we call happiness and free ourselves from that endless frustration of carrot and stick? When does this vicious cycle end?

What if the problem isn’t so much that happiness keeps slipping away, but that the way we’re looking for it is what keeps pushing it out of reach?

We are often so eager to fix the troubles in our lives, and typically rush straight into solutions without taking the time to truly understand the problem. Like sitting in a sinking boat taking on water, frantically looking for bigger buckets without ever stopping to look for the leak.

Before trying to solve our happiness dilemma, do we actually understand what happiness is?

French philosopher and Nobel prize-winning novelist Albert Camus once wrote:

“In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.”

For me, Camus’ words quietly point to a radical notion, that the thing we’re searching for isn’t something to acquire, it’s a constant. It’s always there.

In other words, happiness doesn’t come and go; we do.

Just like the sun doesn’t vanish when clouds roll in. It’s still there, shining just as strongly as ever, but the clouds create the illusion that it’s gone.

When I look back on my own life, even during the chaos of recent years, I can see that moments of happiness were always present, scattered between all of the struggles.

At the time, I attached those moments to external things like:
This person makes me happy.
I’m happiest when I’m on my motorcycle.
I feel good when I take a walk in nature.

But when I look more closely, none of those things actually created happiness. They simply helped quiet my mind long enough for me to be fully present, and in that presence, something fundamental revealed itself.

The happiness was already there, and that’s the constant Camus was pointing to.

Those moments worked not because of where I was or who I was with, but because, for a brief moment, I was simply here, now, and unencumbered by thought.

Happiness, then, is not something we earn or achieve. It is our natural state of being.

When this becomes clear, the exhausting search finally subsides, and a new skill becomes essential going forward: awareness.

As we begin to notice how and why we leave this natural state, we then also learn how to return to it, without anything needing to change and without something new needing to happen.

With that awareness and understanding, the struggle softens, the frustration loosens its grip, and ironically, the things we once thought needed to change begin to change.

Maybe happiness was never what we were searching for; maybe it was peace.