- How many of you have ever pressed
the elevator door-close button?
And how many of you press the door-close button
even though you realize it's de-activated?
So, building engineers actually have the buttons light up
because research shows this gives us a feeling of control.
But sometimes all of our actions
end up being door-close buttons,
ones we press even though it's false control.
See, my childhood fantasy was about control.
I grew up in two very different households.
One was loving and safe.
The other was chaotic.
A five year old watching her father pack boxes
from the stairwell, not knowing the meaning
of the word, divorce.
An eight year old visiting him at the psych ward.
A ten year old, begging him not to drink.
A fourteen year old grabbing the steering wheel
after he falls asleep after picking her up
from the eighth grade dance.
This made me obsessed with problem solving.
I kept thinking that if I could just solve the chaos,
then I'd be okay.
You can tell when something bad is about to happen, right?
If I paused even once, I might have asked myself,
are my actions lining up with my values?
But I didn't pause,
I just kept pressing the door-close button.
One Sunday morning, I'm riding my bike to work.
I'm about to clear an intersection when an SUV
runs a red light and hits me at full, straight on, boom.
The ambulance brings me to hospital.
There I am, surrounded by people I know, coworkers,
like Dorothy waking up in Kansas.
The concussion has left me unable to think,
I can't solve anything.
So, at home on medical leave.
It's just me and my fear hanging out.
There's my fear of failure sprawled out on the couch
like a terrible roommate.
And so I turned to my fear and I say,
why won't you just leave me alone?
My fear shows me this vision.
I see my body on the road the day I was hit.
And I look at this body and this life,
and I realize that if I had died that day,
I would've been ashamed of how I was living,
completely defined by fear,
one, fill in the blank, after the next door close.
So then I look at my fear sitting beside me
and I don't see a roommate.
I see a scared little girl trying to figure things out.
This terrified girl trying to protect me, an adult,
and all I've done is beaten her down, ignored her.
And that's when I decided to listen to her story.
Me.
The adult me had created a life of chaos
for that little girl.
I was her worst oppressor,
far worse than the memories she had survived.
So then I imagined turning to this girl and embracing her,
acknowledging her strengths.
For the first time, I see her, I appreciate her,
and I hold her close, this fear.
I want you to listen to your story.
Identify your fear.
It starts with the words I am.
I am a fraud, a failure, not good enough, unworthy.
Face your fear and say thank you for trying to protect me.
Fear can be like a blizzard, blinding.
But when we face our fear with self-compassion,
we contain it like a snow globe,
something you can pick up, examine and set down
whenever you wish.
That's radical control.
Each of you have amazing gifts waiting to be shared.
Our world needs your love,
your creations,
your gifts.
Imagine who you can become if you love your fear.
(dramatic music)