Lately I have been thinking about one of the gifts I receive both when I am coaching and when I am being coached. “Lightness” is the best way I have found so far to describe this feeling.
It comes in many forms and eludes an exact definition, yet lightness is impossible to mistake when I am in its presence. Lightness touches and illuminates. It lifts burdens. Lightness conveys in a few words or a heartfelt gesture what seriousness could not achieve in whole paragraphs or speeches. It packs a punch with no violence at all. Lightness is a way of connecting deeply and holding gently.
Lightness can feel out-of-reach at times in my life, particularly when I choose an appearance of professional, solid, and in control over a sense of exuberance, wonder, and awe. Lightness is letting go of a stranglehold on life and finding that in lieu of running away, falling apart, or going berserk, life flows. In my writing, lightness is allowing a piece to develop with effort but without strain by listening and following what the writing itself is wanting to explore. It is accepting that sometimes my best option is writing a love letter instead of an essay, and later finding that the two can merge seamlessly.
Lightness is embracing imperfect perfection. Lightness is conversational, not didactic. It is the opposite of the teacher voice, as my kids called it: “Mommy, we can’t even hear you when you get the teacher voice.” I am learning that a professorial tone is not the way to get my point across. Nor does adopting a psychoanalyst voice do the trick. In my case, these smack of judgment and of separation. I have found, though, that I can connect truly through a voice of love, curiosity, and listening – all key elements of lightness. Bighearted questions are a way into this space: enquiries that give pause to stop and consider; those that elicit discovery and new conversation; and those that show I am intently engaged and hearing what the other person has to say.
Lightness is not the smartest, most accomplished person in the room, but one who is approachable and attentive. Lightness is about lifting others into their own light, not through exhortation or cajoling or bribery or advice, but through acceptance and inclusion, truly seeing them so that they feel seen. As Gregory Boyle of Homeboy Industries puts it, “Once you truly see me, I will never forget what I look like.” A healthy and generative coaching relationship sees us and invites us to see ourselves.
Lightness is humor, not sarcasm or cynicism, those tools of bullies and beacons of insecurity. Lightness is laughing with myself and with others. It is not self-deprecation, that false show of humility that screams out, “Look at me! How I have suffered and borne my burden!” Lightness is humility that stems from a great sense of pride in who I am becoming, and how inextricably I am connected to everything.
Lightness points to the eternal
the beautiful
the tender
the ridiculous
the heartbreaking
the uplifting
the realness of our lives.
Lightness points to our common humanity. Lightness is a clear-eyed view of reality and a deep love for it all anyway.
There is a parallel quality of physical light, too, in lightness: noon sunlight softened by a gauzy window curtain; dapples that reach a forest floor through dancing leaves; a radiant smile on a withered face. Like light itself, lightness takes up space and – at the same time – creates more space. Lightness illuminates without blinding and connects without gripping. It is expansive and inclusive and welcoming. This evening, lightness stops me in my tracks. My hand flies up to shade my eyes as I step outside at almost sunset: dozens of winged insects float and zoom and dive and circle in the golden light: mini, zipping, angel orbs backlit by the slanting rays. I drop my hand and they disappear. I raise it again, and there they are in light-filled, sky-dance exuberance. Lightness.
Come explore your own lightness with us at SOL Coaching. Give yourself the gift of this generous way of seeing and holding yourself and the world.