Door Theory

Dear Lea,

Hey. It’s me, your future self. You may not recognize me yet because you’re still young, but I am the whispering voice in your head, that gut “pull” you sometimes feel when you’re contemplating what to do next. I am always here with you, nudging you to do the thing that lights you up, telling you Yes, you can. Don’t think too hard. You don’t always listen to me, but I whisper anyway.

After almost six decades walking this planet, doing the things and making the mistakes and experiencing so many joys and heartbreaks, I see things differently. I have made it through so many challenges. Honestly, you’d be proud. I’ve learned to trust myself more. Listen to my intuition. I have a ton of gray hair (don’t worry, I’m still coloring it). My body bears the scars, aches and pains that come with middle age following an exuberant, athletic youth.

I also have some perspective to share. So buckle up, sister.

You are at a point in your life when you don’t know what you don’t know. Don’t take offense! It’s totally normal — you’re just not aware yet of how much there is for you to learn… and how much fun you will have doing it, diving into that learning full-heartedly. You’ve had some early successes that make you both wildly, youthfully confident, bursting with energy and possibility — and also completely terrified about forging your adult path. Making mistakes or life-changing choices that limit your future possibilities. Also normal and natural.

If life is a series of doors in front of you, you’re afraid of choosing the wrong one. And this paralyzes you.

But Lea, I have good news: You can’t make a mistake. There is no “wrong door.”

I believe that when you pick a door — literally, any door — the magic is that you will always be met with more doors. Infinite possibilities. With each new life experience (choosing a school, applying for a job, making a friend, finding a partner, going through a breakup, whatever) comes learning, self-knowledge, accumulated wisdom. I believe that even if that experience brought you pain, you also gained something in the process. Something you’ll keep with you and use in your next round.

So when you’re wrestling with what feels like a scary, life-altering decision, remember my Door Theory. Go ahead and walk through the next door without fear, my dear. You’re going to be just fine.

More advice for you

What you need to know in this moment is that you can trust yourself. Heck, you can believe in yourself, too, despite all the conflicting, misogynistic, soul-wounding messages the world might be pelting you with.

Messages that you’re just not good enough, that you’re undeserving of the beautiful life you desire. That you shouldn’t rock the boat. Don’t be too audacious. Don’t dare to be bold, or heaven forbid, to let anyone know you actually like or believe in yourself. Be sure to make everyone else nice and comfortable by playing small, hiding your brilliance, shrugging off compliments or admiration. Just be nice, and work hard to make everyone like you.

Fuck that shit.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit strong (and I am sure my profanity would raise my grandparents’ eyebrows!). I think I will always be someone who wants to create harmony and help people shine and grow. But these days, I’m not interested if it means I can’t also be true to who I am, or if it prevents my learning and growth. I reject the aforementioned messages from society at large. Thanks but no thanks.

Leon Festinger wants you to believe in yourself.

Hey, have you learned about Cognitive Dissonance Theory (CDT) yet? Maybe you covered it in Psych 101 a few years back? I can’t be sure because my long-term memory is a bit dodgy. In any case, I studied it recently in my Masters program so I happen to know it was proposed by Leon Festinger in 1957, and that it describes the “mental discomfort experienced when holding conflicting beliefs or when actions contradict beliefs.” When we experience this discomfort, we want to reduce the tension, and we can do it in one of three ways: by changing our thoughts/beliefs, by changing our behaviors/actions, or by rationalizing.

So when things go sideways and we fail, we have a choice to make.

Let’s say you have an entry-level job in public relations for a highly respected firm. You are a complete peon, but you work hard and you’re learning like crazy. You stub your toe one day, delivering less-than-optimal results on a project. You think you know why it failed, and you’re aware of the role you played in the failure. After a difficult meeting with your boss and her boss, you have a sinking feeling in your gut. This doesn’t feel good. So what do you do?

You could rationalize the suboptimal results and say, “Not every project goes to plan, and we can’t always control every variable. I was young and inexperienced, with little oversight or direction on the project.”

You could change your beliefs about your own intellect and capabilities and say, “Well, this just proves I’m not smart enough to work here. I should have known better or asked for more guidance.”

Or… you could take action to help support your belief — that you are, indeed, smart enough to work there. So you take accountability for the failure, but then also dig in to better understand why it happened, and how to avoid it in the future. You emerge wiser and more seasoned, setting yourself up for learning, growth and continued success.

Yes, this is a real scenario you will soon face. It will be stabbingly painful in the moment. But if you take the lattermost path, I guarantee that someday you will look back and appreciate the learning.

So I guess my advice is, don’t compromise when it comes to believing in yourself.

Tap into your inner child. Remember what it was like to ride a bike for the first time by yourself. Feel the wind in your hair, your tiny self planted on that banana seat, gripping those high, chopper handlebars tightly and feeling so free.

You dared to believe you could do something that once looked so difficult, so out of reach. Don’t stop daring, dreaming and becoming exactly who you are meant to be.

And keep opening those doors. No fear.

Me at the lake, maybe 10 years old. Circa 1979.

Sonder.

Dear Lea,

I remember when you first discovered the word “sonder.” It happened a couple of years ago. You were meandering and window-shopping in a northern Wisconsin town one sunny summer day, when you noticed it on one of those folding sidewalk signs. It sat in front of a cute, new coffee shop that also bore the name: Sonder. But what stopped you in your tracks was the definition:

“The realization that everyone around you
is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.”

What in the holy pour-over is this, you thought. Which turned quickly to, hey, I KNOW this feeling! And you marveled that someone else knew it, too, and that there was even a word to describe it. And why hadn’t you heard it before?

This sonder thing, it stuck with you, and it made you think about your existence on this Earth, and that we’re all the stars of our own inner movies. Who’s to say that my movie is any more urgent, moving or compelling than someone else’s?

Sonder became a favorite theme as you grappled with your spiritual growth. It helped to ground you and remind you that, when it comes down to it, we’re all just human beings trying to live our best lives during the time we have left. Through the good times and bad, the triumphs and heartbreaks, the wins and great losses.

This is the human condition and we are in it together.

Sonder: The Realization that Everyone Has a Story. Video courtesy The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.

Fast-forward a bit and remember your delight more recently, when you spotted social psychologist Adam Grant’s Instagram post, and then his ReThinking podcast episode featuring none other than the person who’d coined this beautiful concept: John Koenig, the author of The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. And then your mind was really blown, because you learned that Mr. Koenig is a person who makes up words to name those feelings we can’t quite articulate. #DreamJob!

Me, fan-girling over Adam and John. I’m not embarrassed!

Remember this journal entry you wrote on Valentine’s Day? It’s basically talking about how you’ve integrated sonder into your everyday life:

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I know that I am changing as I age. Transforming. I can feel it. I can tell that my fuse has lengthened. I am not very quick to anger. I am catching myself sooner, so it’s easier to practice what I feel in my heart. Shift my energy. 

Driving my car offers the easiest example. Seeing other drivers around me, I imagine what is happening in their lives to make them drive the way they do. In a flash as I pass, I spot a woman in a hijab, creeping slowly out of a parking lot in her car, not knowing the danger she is creating with her caution on a fast and busy thoroughfare at rush hour. I imagine she is frightened, has perhaps not had enough practice or training behind the wheel and may be a brand-new driver, living in a brand-new country whose culture she is only beginning to understand. Laying on the horn is not going to make the situation better. The impact that angry honk makes on her could be more profound than I realize. The startle response, the slamming of the brakes, the pit in her stomach, the fear of crashing, getting hurt, steep repair and hospital bills, the fear of leaving her children behind without her love and care, the fear of what her husband will do when he finds out... there is just no need to make her day scarier than it already is.

I no longer feel that familiar rise of irritation or anger as I pass her. I see her for just an instant, but I REALLY see her, and even if my imagined reality is very far from the truth (she could be my next professor at the U, I have no idea), I know I have done something good. I have used my empathy, my imagination, my love for humankind and this precious opportunity we collectively share… to be kind, spread love and clear a path for others to make their way in the world.

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I have found that my gratitude has grown with me. Together, we notice beauty in the most mundane things, we are moved by the stunning simplicity of the acts of care we witness in the world. Even in this time of uncertainty and extreme tribalization, that beauty is all around us. My greatest joy is creating a moment of beauty for someone who’d never expect it. A kind word, a sincere compliment, a door held open. These simple things can go a long way.

Today I’m thanking my lucky stars, and maybe wishing on one of them… for more sonder in the world.

Things we can do ‘in the company of women’

It's halfway through Women's History Month in the United States, and people in my profession have been busy – arranging events, planning social posts, producing articles, videos and otherwise helping our employers celebrate the power of women in ways that are meaningful and authentic to our brands.

I figure it's time for a more personal reflection on what this month means to me.

Walking my dog in the woods early this morning, I thought of my family. I grew up just outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where my father and his brothers and a cousin ran an HVAC distribution business founded by their fathers in 1940, with nothing but a mission statement scratched onto a paper napkin and a passion for serving customers. I had the privilege of working with them early in my career, and I am still inspired and driven by the work ethic I observed – but also by the joy that my dad, in particular, brought to his work. His talents fell squarely in the people category, and he still has legions of fans and lifelong friends he made on the job. He's the first person I ever heard refer to employees as "internal customers," and I always say he was ahead of his time.

As kids, my sisters and I basked in the glow of his (and my mom's) belief in us. We learned to work hard, challenge ourselves, try new things, learn from failure and pick ourselves back up when we fell down.

Thanks to our parents, we all learned to believe in ourselves, too.

I see this in our newest family business, Cedarburg Threads, which my youngest sister, Rachel Arroyo, opened after years of dreaming about it. My dad, who is also a potter, contributes with beautiful, handmade pottery, loads of solid business advice and even works in the (super cute, must-visit!) store along with my mom. My middle sister, Sara Dawkins, is an extraordinarily talented physician assistant with the University of Wisconsin Health system, with a side hustle business crafting gorgeous pottery and handmade jewelry for Rachel's store and online business.

Seeing these labors of love come to fruition over the past several months has been a source of familial pride and so much inspiration for me. It's been an all-hands-in effort, complete with challenges and setbacks, but in the end it's another triumphant "bloom" made possible by the seeds sown way, way back by our entrepreneurial grandfather.

My Aunt Lynne, pictured above, didn't get the chance to work in the family business but still somehow emerged as a charismatic, creative force of nature and business co-owner in her own right. She and my Uncle Jonathan have raised their three daughters, our cousins, to be strong, fearless women working in business and the field of education and I love and admire them all.

After my morning walk, I came across a poem by January Gill O'Neil called "In the Company of Women." It reminded me of all that I love about working with, supporting and loving the women in my life. I hope you enjoy it as you celebrate and empower the women in your life!

Make me laugh over coffee,

make it a double, make it frothy

so it seethes in our delight.

Make my cup overflow

with your small happiness.

I want to hoot and snort and cackle and chuckle.

Let your laughter fill me like a bell.

Let me listen to your ringing and singing

as Billie Holiday croons above our heads.

Sorry, the blues are nowhere to be found.

Not tonight. Not here.

No makeup. No tears.

Only contours. Only curves.

Each sip takes back a pound,

each dry-roasted swirl takes our soul.

Can I have a refill, just one more?

Let the bitterness sink to the bottom of our lives.

Let us take this joy to go.

Learn more about January Gill O'Neill, a poet and professor: https://www.januarygilloneil.com/bio