In astrology, there’s a momentous occasion called “Saturn’s return,” a short period of time where the ringed planet returns to the place it was when you were born. This full orbit takes approximately 27 years and symbolizes a time of great trials, significant milestones, deep reflection, and spiritual transformation.
I was halfway through 27 when my heart was shattered into a bazillion itty bitty pieces. It was that dramatic. I’m talking sitting-on-the-beach-at-four-in-the-morning-sobbing-with-another-poor-soul-sobbing-a-few-feet-away-until-a-garbage-truck-shined-a-light-on-us-and-awkwardly, dutifully-collected-trash dramatic.
Working in the games industry at the time, I naturally wanted to make a video game about heartbreak and what I learned from the experience. The only problem was that I had zero game making experience. I could write and was just starting to lead creative teams on the marketing side of things, but I would need help with the whole art and programming thing.
Determined to turn my sorrow into art, I hired a coach to help push me to the finish line. Janet got me clear on my commitments. Janet taught me to ask for what I want, without shame. Janet gave me books. Janet challenged the self-defeating parts of my mind (she once quietly listened to me wail about how I had nothing to offer when it came to making a video game and why would anyone give me their time and skills, smiled when I was done, and said, “That’s such a lovely plate of bullshit you got there.”)
Janet was not just here to help me check off a to-do list, either. There was the work, and there was the work. She recommended that I attend a leadership workshop called Awaken, which helped people get clear on their purpose and ultimately how they carry themselves in life. The workshop was led by a pastor, and while I wasn’t Christian, I considered myself quite open to spiritual growth. I signed up for the four-day training.
On Thursday morning, I arrived for Awaken. When I’m the new kid in a room, I tend to exude confidence and befriend people quickly. It’s an even playing field. I don’t know who I “should” be intimidated by yet. So that’s the Mai everyone met. There were about 20 people in the small room. We started off by listening to some encouraging songs, and the pastor Nathan gave a speech about promises and what they meant. Then we each stood up one by one and explained what we were committed to doing here.
I had arrived with a clear intention: I wanted to figure out how to harness creative confidence consistently (say that three times fast). I’d experienced the highs and lows of creativity, that flow state and the days (and even weeks—okay, okay, months, years…) of blockage. And while it’s all necessary to the creative process, I had yet to master trusting that things would work out as they should. My thinking was if I could master that, then I would be well set-up to recruit and lead a team to make this video game.
So that’s exactly what I said when my turn came. I looked each person in the eye and TED Talked about my goal to create a video game and master creative confidence. Other people talked about much more personal things: improving their family relationships, their generally low self-esteem, or even their relationships with people they had come with.
After we’d all gone, we sat in a circle and the room became quiet. Nathan stood off to the side, expressionless. Minutes dragged on. We stared at the pastor, at each other, at the walls, at the door. People chuckled to fill the silence. Finally, a woman looked at the pastor and asked, “Are we supposed to be doing something?”
Nathan looked at her almost coldly and shrugged. “I don’t know, what do you think?” The woman darted her eyes around the circle as if seeking a backup. When she found none, she met Nathan’s eyes, a little frustrated. “I mean, aren’t you supposed to lead us?”
“Why are you here?” he fired back.
“Well, I said I wanted to inspire more passion in my team…”
“Great. Does this room look inspired?”
Oh snap. Like the woman, all of us were stunned by his blunt accusation. The woman stood up, determined, and began to ask the people around her what they found joy in. And thus began the first day of the workshop. Person after person would awkwardly make some attempt when they were challenged to live up to their declarations. And every time, I witnessed their unraveling from within as Nathan challenged their behavior (“The way you show up in this room is the way you show up in life.”) and pierced through their walls with his cool gaze (“Why does that matter so much to you?”). I was mesmerized and unsettled, both wanting and praying not to be chosen for this spiritual roasting.
There was a method to the pastor’s maddeningly relentless questions. With enough pressure came an opening up, a reveal of a story buried deep… an unexpected, close-up look at what I can only call the soul of the person on trial. A hidden truth that needed to be acknowledged. What they were really here to work on.
For the woman, it wasn’t really about inspiring passion in others. At her core was a need to be needed, fueled by her fear of being unworthy. Like a lightning bolt, Nathan cracked down on each person who dared to stand in the center of the circle. People who began determined, nervous, or angry eventually cried. Those who started with loud jokes and dismissive attitudes quieted down and sobered up. Everyone who stood had their shadows laid bare with nowhere to hide.
During lunch break, people were a mixture of shaken, quiet, and reflective. We’d all signed up for A FuN niCe TiMe LeaDerShiP cOurSe, but our teacher was M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN and we were all poorly prepared for the shocking twist. I chatted with an older man and a girl just in the dawn of her 20s about what we’d experienced and witnessed. We mutually agreed this shit was intense, that things got ugly, but people were opening up, sharing their stories, and confronting their self-doubts. That part was beautiful.
The rest of the day involved a different, gentler exercise. I was both immensely relieved and a pinch regretful that I didn’t get to confront my own uncomfortable, hidden truths. Could Nathan not smell my fear?
Silly little me almost forgot this was just day one.
—Mai
Surprise cliffhanger! This came out much longer than I expected, so I’ve decided to make this story two parts. I felt like this was important to share before we get to the whole imaginary lifeboat part.
That also means this story will be the last for January’s theme (surprise twist!). Don’t worry, I’m sure the other two will have their time in the sun. Thank you for indulging me with your votes this month.
If you’re interested in getting your ass kicked in a helpful way (aka coaching), I highly recommend working with the brilliant Janet Wood! Tell her Mai sent you. (I don’t get anything for plugging her; I just love her and appreciate the value she added to my life.)
Thank you, thank you for reading! See you next week.