The courage to share your gifts

Belonging requires that we share our full selves... an act of radical vulnerability

beauty, persevering in the face of adversity (from last week’s late snowfall here in southern Oregon)

In last year's post on leadership, I quoted Robin Wall Kimmerer on offering gifts as an act of leadership:

Leaders are the first to offer their gifts.

I had an epiphany last month that makes me want to revisit this sentiment: I’ve come to believe that I drastically underestimated how much courage is required for that seemingly simple task… which seems to me absolutely fundamental to the type of leadership our world urgently needs in this moment.

My epiphany was this: it turns out that I don’t trust other people to see my deepest gifts, and to support me in bringing them to the world. And that lack of trust is getting in the way of what I most want: the kind of deep collaboration that is only possible inside of full belonging.

This mistrust is hard-earned: for most of my life I have felt unseen (the universal experience of non-belonging). In my case this is the paradox of being alone in a crowd: “seen” for those gifts that dominant culture values, and unseen for those gifts that felt most authentic and unique to me.

My epiphany was actually the positive framing of this sentiment: I am finally learning to trust. Letting go of my carefully-guarded gifts in order that I can share them; trusting others to steward them toward what the world most needs. And it feels utterly radical. So today I want to talk about gifts, and what is required to share them with the world.

Here’s my suspicion: the gifts the world needs most—the kind of world where everyone belongs—are also those dominant culture is most likely to try to destroy. I don’t think this is out of malice, or even full consciousness, but rather an intuitive sense that these gifts threaten the dominant paradigm (and they do!) Which means that to nurture our gifts and then offer them to the world is a deeply vulnerable, even dangerous, task. Here’s how I’m thinking about it:

1. All of us have gifts.

2. Our most profound gifts respond to a deep need in the world.

3. By definition, that need is a response to the limitations/failures of existing systems. The Earth, like the human body, is a self-healing system: it produces what it needs to return to equilibrium.

4. The existing system will perceive—correctly!—that these gifts are an attempt to change the system. The system will defend itself, and target these gifts—and those who offer them—for destruction (think the body rejecting the antidote).

5. It is an act of great courage to nurture our gifts in the face of this opposition… and an act of still greater courage to offer our gifts to the world.

6. And yet nurture our gifts we must, and find community to support us in offering them: the world depends on it.

If you’re a regular reader of this newsletter, if you find yourself sharing and reflecting on the ideas you encounter here—I invite you to consider practicing the gift economy with me. The next gathering for gift economy subscribers is Tuesday, April 2nd @9am PT.

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Context for the epiphany: follow the parts back to the whole

My partner Leela was trying to give me some feedback: specifically, she wanted me to be more open to influence. I had invited her into dialogue around an intellectual topic that I was wrestling with, and when she tried to contribute she felt like I hadn’t taken her offering seriously, or been genuinely open to looking at things differently.

I pride myself on being good at receiving feedback: I hold a deep value around centered accountability, and am earnest in my commitment to take on what is mine, and to change behavior where I find myself out of integrity. And yet there was something I wasn’t getting, something that wasn’t landing, and I was feeling frustrated with myself: there was a blockage that I couldn’t get past.

Finally she asked something to the effect of: why are you resisting? Why not just engage with my contribution? I took her question seriously: why not indeed? And then I felt an unexpected flood of emotion and knew that I had finally found the kernel that I’d been looking for.

Lately I’ve been appreciating in a deeper way the radical potential of “parts work,” popularized in recent years through Richard Schwartz’ groundbreaking work with Internal Family Systems. Basically it’s the idea that our “selves” are composed of many different “parts,” each of which advocates for something that is important to us (often born from wounding, to protect us from harm).

In this case the question “why am I resisting” allowed a neglected part of me to emerge to provide the answer: because in the past when I allowed myself to be influenced by others, they often didn’t share my vision or understand my gifts… so to be influenced I ultimately experienced as a form of self-abandonment, as betraying my gifts. So this “part” emerged to protect and defend my gifts from those who couldn’t see them and would—usually inadvertently—destroy them.

What do you do with an idea?

The first time I read this book to my children I choked up and couldn’t get through it; they kept looking at me wondering why I would stop reading. I resonated so deeply with the protagonist, doing their best to nurture their idea (their gift) in the face of a world that simply did not understand.

from Kobi Yamada’s brilliant What do you do with an Idea?

There is a tremendous loneliness in nurturing a gift that others don’t see. This is the first barrier, and one many of us never make it past: the deep courage to trust that our gift is real, even when others don’t see it. It is scary, and vulnerable: it leaves us open to being wounded. Even those who love us, fearing that we will be shamed, encourage us not to cultivate our gifts (this is the dynamic so searingly illustrated in the Pixar short Float).

We tell ourselves this seductive lie: if I don’t create, then my gift can’t be stolen or denied. Audre Lorde wrote brilliantly of this dilemma in her classic “The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action,” observing in dialogue with herself:

Of course I am afraid, because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation, and that always seems fraught with danger…

[But] my silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you…

In this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing, that is growth.

I’m not even sure I fully admitted to myself that I had a gift. I felt it, deeply, intuitively. But because that intuition was so rarely reflected back to me, it felt unreal. I chose a middle path, neither wholeheartedly embracing it nor denying it. Instead I chose to protect and nurture my gift in secret, keeping it safe even from my full consciousness.

The earth needs our gifts

If we are to contribute to life, eventually we must share our gifts with the world… for that is why we have them. I think of our gifts as endowed to us from Earth… with an attendant responsibility to share them back. Every being has its role in the ecosystem; to withhold our gifts is to rob the world of our presence: it is to be complicit in our own non-belonging.

I love this challenge from Xavier Dagba, pointing to the fear we must confront. This one stung: I see my fear as grounded in humility; he suggests that in fact it’s the opposite.

As James Clear said:

There is no substitute for courage. At some point, you have to make the choice.

And yet the first offerings almost never go well: systems repel change; the status quo has fierce defenders. Usually the gap between our gift and the world’s acceptance is too far: it can’t be bridged in the first effort. Which means that our first task of necessity is done alone: nurturing our gift in private. This is an act of great courage: the etymology reminding us that courage comes from the heart. I’m drawn to the metaphor of a secret garden: a place we nurture the seed of our gift, safe from a world that would deny its beauty.

Belonging requires us to share our gifts

There is a paradox at play here: it seems to me that a sense of belonging is required to fully unlock our gifts. And: to have our gifts acknowledged and received is to experience belonging. Pat McCabe (Woman Stands Shining) said something in Medellin last year that landed in me with a visceral oomph. She said:

A big part of belonging is having your expressed love received. I start feeling ill if I have no place to bring my love where it can be received.

Mmm I feel that in my body: a longing to express my love, to share my gifts with the world… AND for them to be received. Is there any pain more agonizing than unrequited love?

A gift properly understood requires two parties: the giver, and the receiver. For the gift to be honored, it must be received. So the second task is to find someone to receive the gift. I think of this as “finding the other others”: we are deeply relational beings, and cannot engage with the world alone. We have to find support, to resource ourselves for the long journey ahead. This too requires great persistence and courage: I think of all the writers whose work is finally accepted (their gifts recognized) after many rejections… or even posthumously.

This is inviting a select few into my secret garden, to behold the seed that has now begun to sprout. We must exercise great discernment with this invitation: those who cannot behold its beauty may destroy it… or undermine our fragile courage in continuing to nurture its growth. If they can appreciate its beauty, I relax; if not, I usher them out again. It’s that fine line: not seeking validation/affirmation outside myself… and yet being honest about the need to feel seen and appreciated.

Speaking for my own experience… I’m not sure it’s possible to share my gift with the world without first experiencing it being received by a few people who I trust, who can assure me that I’m not crazy. I have been deeply nourished in recent years by encountering people with whom I have finally felt safe enough to share my full gifts… and to have those gifts seen, held, and even celebrated. I experience it with an almost-giddiness: a palpable sense of relief in my body, of lightness, of letting go of the burden I have carried for so long.

This is the breathtaking—and essential—power of being seen. With that added encouragement (again I love the etymology, the idea of someone else supporting our heart), we are finally ready to answer the call: to share our gifts.

Gifts need to be channeled

A couple years ago friend and Building Belonging member JD Nasaw led a somatic coaching exercise that unlocked a metaphor in me: I felt my gift as a wall of water… of the Earth, and destined for the sea. For too long it’s been dammed up by dominant culture, held back… and I won’t be complicit in holding back my gifts any longer. But to just unleash the torrent is dangerous: I could wash away those downstream. I need to be channeled effectively, by those who can see and understand my gift and guide it toward its highest use (which I cannot see alone).

This is the most perilous point, because at the very moment when I feel most vulnerable—finally ready to face the world—I must ask others to co-hold my gifts. This too is Earth’s lesson: no being is an island, no gifts exist in isolation. To realize my potential is to accept the influence of others, to allow my gifts to be shaped in the offering: this is the dialogue between giver and receiver. To bridge that final gap to connect with the world I need help; I must rely on others to share my gifts.

Intellectually I know I can’t bring my gifts to fruition alone… I’m reminded of that proverb “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” I understand that I can’t get where I want to go alone… but to entrust others with my gifts is almost more than I can bear. I’m reminded of this stunning definition of “trust” from Charles Feltman (hat-tip to Beth Tener for pointing me to it):

Trust is defined as choosing to risk making something you value vulnerable to another person’s actions.

This for me has been the hardest part. My entire life experience has taught me to protect and defend my gifts, to not allow others access for fear they might kill the seed I have been so carefully nurturing. But now my work requires a fundamentally different energetic. I have received the gift of being seen: I now trust in a deeper way that my gift is meant for the world. My garden wasn’t meant to be walled off; nature’s beauty and bounty is intended to be shared. And honestly: I’m not that good of a gardener. I’m proud I kept this seed alive… but I know I need help.

Part of my wounding is a fear of being “too much”: too big, too fast-paced, too cerebral, too overwhelming. While I don’t believe that I am too much… I do recognize that others can experience me that way, and I feel it as a barrier to connection. And: I do fear that I can’t effectively channel my bigness.

For the last 15 years I’ve played elite co-ed Ultimate frisbee. As a 200-pound person, I have to be extra careful with my body—often running at full speed—not to inadvertently injure fellow players who might be half my weight. I feel confident doing that, with experience honed from a lifetime playing competitive sports in contact with a diverse spectrum of bodies.

But in my professional work, I don’t have that same confidence. I know I have a gift… but I don’t yet trust myself to wield it effectively: the degree of difficulty is simply too high. I’m ill-prepared; I don’t have the practice of entrusting my gift to others and having it well-held.

“The deepest form of human wisdom is mutual influencing”

I haven’t been able to get this line out of my head since I heard Miki Kashtan say it. It landed in me both with the ring of truth, and tapped into a deep longing: to share my gifts not as an end, but as a beginning. The type of mutual influencing I yearn for is the fullest expression of my gifts… interacting with the fullest expression of yours. To create something new that wasn’t possible in each of us alone. That form of generativity, that higher synthesis... is what the world needs.

I think this is what we’re all seeking… but so few of us have the felt experience. People collaborate all the time, but usually in structured hierarchical teams: with bosses and subordinates (ugh I wince at the language of domination). And usually the gifts we are paid to contribute aren’t actually our deepest gifts: what capitalism values and what the world needs are usually two very different things.

An increasing focus in my work of late is trying to create the conditions where that kind of mutual influencing is possible. While I have focused thus far on network weaving (trying to bring specific gifts into dialogue) and on creating the space for transformation (facilitated containers)… I now think I’ve under-invested in creating the conditions for individuals to really feel their gifts and to have those gifts be seen.

I fear we’re leaving potential on the table because we don’t have the individual practice of sharing our gifts from a place of trust and belonging… so we (I!) hold back.

The radical power of compersion

I want to bring one more concept in here: I think there’s something powerful about building the capacity for compersion: to celebrate others in the fullest expression of their gifts. [The term comes to us from the polyamorous community, who lamented the lack of a term for what is often called “the opposite of jealousy”].

Indeed, this is one of my gifts: ease and delight in compersion. I love experiencing other people’s gifts, and their power: I find it inspiring. When I witness others in their fullness, it evokes in me a longing to join them, to access my fullness. I experience envy: I want what they have. I have tended to underestimate that for most people compersion is incredibly difficult: we’ve been socialized into scarcity, hierarchy, and comparison. Too often my efforts to share my gifts have been seen not as an invitation but as a threat, or as judgement.

Friend and leadership coach Andrea Mignolo captured this phenomenon with touching vulnerability:

Whenever I met someone who lived on that frequency, connected to the flow of life in ways I longed for, I felt shame. Shame for having lost touch with this part of myself and shame that I didn’t know if I could connect with it again.

There is work here on both sides: the person shining their light (sharing their gifts) also has to resist internalizing the projected shame of those who haven’t yet given themselves permission to value and share their own gifts. As this random internet user put it:

(I would be a bit more generous: people who have learned that they have to be performative in order to feel safe)

Work in progress for me: to do my best to close the gap between my intent and my impact, to support people in feeling my invitation. Marie Thouin, a leading researcher on compersion, explains the promise:

The bottom line… is to try to cultivate our own garden, and remember that another person’s success is ultimately a win for the collective. Noticing the places where this is particularly difficult to do can help us identify the bottlenecks where there is room for us to grow, heal, connect, and love more.

Right: it’s recognizing that the world needs everyone to show up in their full authenticity, and to share their gifts. Kids do this effortlessly, if we can only help them properly label their emotions. A couple years ago when my kids were not yet 5 and 7, I explained how I understand and differentiate the concepts of envy, jealousy and compersion. I understand envy as “I want what you have.” I understand compersion as: “I’m happy for what you have.” And I understand jealousy in two different ways: invidious jealousy is “I want what you have, and I don’t want you to have it.” Or more commonly, jealousy is: “I’m afraid of losing something I have.”

It really bothers me that dominant culture tells us we’re feeling jealous when almost always we’re feeling envious… and usually also compersive. When I finished explaining the concepts, my 4.5 year-old said something to the effect of: “My friend has this beautiful dress from Encanto and I was happy for her but also I wanted it. I was feeling envy and compersion.” I laughed, and my 6.5 year-old chimed in to add: “There should be a word for envy plus compersion. Because I think we usually feel those together. How about compenvy?” And there it is! The wisdom of youth: we now use the term “compenvious” frequently in our household… and it helps us see how rare jealousy really is… until it’s socialized into us.

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I want to close with this line from Chris Corrigan, quoting and building on Thomas Arthur:

“If you have a gift, give it now.” This is not the time for any of us to hoard or hold on to things that can benefit all of us, so give your gifts with energy and unconditional love.

Easier said than done: bon courage!

I’ll leave it here for today. As with most of my writing, this is my own effort to integrate an epiphany that has been slowly moving into my body… I’m curious if it resonates, and how you are cultivating the courage to share your most profound gifts. I bounced back and forth between the universal “we” the more vulnerable “I”; thanks to my wife Jennifer for encouraging me to try to stay with my vulnerable self. Work in progress for me, alas. Learning to trust… to stretch into the tantalizing promise of mutual influencing.

I hope to see many of you on April 2nd in our next monthly subscribers’ gathering!