Good Grief

These were not the words I planned to write. This was not the blog I was going to post. This was not the story I intended to tell. But I believe that writing is often a process of co-creating. We must be present and at the same time let something else flow through us. When we put pen to paper, we may be surprised at what comes out.

Over the last few weeks, I have noticed one sentence pulsing in the background of my life. Those words are, “no one is at their best right now.”

Two weeks ago, while using the self-checkout area at a local store an employee accused me of not paying for the products I was putting in my bag. She wasn’t wearing a mask, had me cornered against the machine, and was yelling, “it wouldn’t be difficult to prove your innocence if you had actually paid for your items.” She was drawing a lot of attention from other customers, and it took everything in me to simply say, “I want to speak to a manager.”

As I walked out of the store with my hands still shaking and my heart quickly pounding, I heard those words ringing in my ears, “no one is at their best right now.”

A few nights later while watching an elite award show, a man got out of his seat, walked down the aisle, and punched the host in the face. He returned to his seat, the show went on, and later that evening he was honored with an award. Again, I heard, “no one is at their best right now.”

Over the last month, I have received a growing number of phone calls from clients who start the conversation saying – often on the verge of tears – “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” People are on empty. There it is, “no one is at their best right now.”

And last Tuesday morning I received word that someone I knew had died by suicide. We were friends in our 20s and while we hadn’t been in touch for many years, I can say she was a light in this world. I felt sorrow for the pain she must have been experiencing, I thought of her young children, and my heart went out to those who loved her and knew her more deeply than I did. So many people are hurting. Once again, “no one is at their best right now.”

This season of life has reminded me that I spent the summer of 2005 in The Republic of Georgia. Upon arriving I immediately noticed the overwhelming number of women who were dressed only in black. At every market, tourist site, on busy city streets and in small rural towns, women were dressed in black. I soon learned that Georgian women who have lost a husband or a son – often to war – may choose to wear black as a symbol of mourning. Many women will wear all black for the rest of their lives. Everywhere I looked there were women in mourning.

I found this fascinating. Publicly mourning for a lifetime was not something I could wrap my head around. I live in a culture that puts an unspoken time limit on the mourning process. We expect people to get better, we expect them to get back to normal, and we expect that process to happen sooner than later. We are forced to navigate a world that promotes the idea that pain is wrong and should be avoided at all costs. I do believe in transformation, but what if we are missing the healing by rushing the process? What if mourning and healing hold hands? What if a prolonged state of public mourning leads to deeper public healing?

At this stage in our collective humanity, I believe there would be value in an outward symbol, a way to signify, to tell others the story of our inward pain. It is as if the Georgian women are saying to those around them, “you need to know that there are some holes in my heart, I have pain I am wrestling with, tread lightly, please be kind.”

We are at a tipping point.

With every 1:1 call, group coaching, team facilitation, and presentation I am trying to remind myself that no one is at their best right now. I am embracing patience over progress. I am holding on to the belief that I simply don’t know what everyone else is going through. I am removing all the unspoken time limits and expectations for growth and change.

I am imagining that every person I encounter is dressed in black.

As leaders, teammates, and humans we are all better when we allow people the opportunity to mourn, and more and more I think this act needs to happen publicly. There is something transformative about public grief. If we fail to allow people the public space to express that they are not at their best, then their pain may come out in really hurtful ways.

Anyone with influence needs to recognize the opportunity we have to hold space for others to process their pain. In doing so we allow people to bring their whole selves to their work and to the world. When we invite people to share their current grief, we are also inviting them to share their future healing.

Maybe the phrase “good grief” is way more literal than we have realized.