29 January 2012

The power and rewards of assuming goodwill

Each year I make two New Year’s resolutions—one personal and one professional. This year, I have thought deeply and purposefully about the resolutions that will frame my thinking and behaviors over the next 12 months. I try to keep my resolutions simple and clear so that I don’t lose focus. They become, in effect, my annual vision statements—a one- or two-sentence “elevator speech” that I can easily recite in a short phrase. For example, this year, my personal resolution is to “assume goodwill.” This is not a new resolution for me; in fact, it is the No. 1 working norm for our school of nursing. This norm or “principle” has served me well over the years, and I know it will help me bring my “A game” to 2012 as well.

I’d like to share a story about the power and rewards of assuming goodwill. A couple of semesters ago, in one of my nursing courses, I had a student who routinely arrived late for class. This behavior was not only mildly annoying and a bit disruptive, but his late arrival was a violation of the classroom norms we had established and agreed upon the first day of class. When the student’s tardiness started to become a pattern, I decided to address the behavior. During a break, I asked him to join me for a private conversation, and he agreed.

When we were alone, I said, “I’ve noticed that you are having difficulty getting to class on timeand I’m wondering why. What’s up?” The student paused for a moment, looked at the floor, then slowly lifted his gaze to look me in the eye.

“Yes, I know. I have been making every effort to arrive on time but, you see, I am a single parent and the sole provider for my three small children. I do not have family around or anyone else to rely on for help. So, I get the children up, make breakfast, get them off to school and race to get to class on time. Please forgive me, but their mother left us a year ago, and I am still trying to get on top of things.”

You can imagine how this disclosure affected me. I was touched by the story, concluded that the student was doing his best and expressed my appreciation to him for doing so.

I started that conversation with an assumption of goodwill, and I’m glad I did, given the student’s family situation. It reinforced for me the power of giving people the benefit of the doubt and believing that each of us tries very hard to do our best under challenging circumstances. Of course, I realize that this is not always the case, but I learned long ago that assuming the best of others goes further and takes less energy than assuming the worst.

This guiding principle of assuming goodwill is a positive way of living life. Earlier this month, I presented a civility workshop to a large group of faculty members representing a variety of academic disciplines. During the workshop, I suggested that assuming goodwill is a powerful way to allay stress and to build and sustain relationships. As I was leaving, I was approached by a faculty member who teaches diesel mechanics.

“Dr. Clark, today was the second time I’ve heard you speak on civility and the power of assuming goodwill,” he said. “I have been married for 30 years and, after your first workshop, I decided to assume goodwill with my wife. I used to think she had a hidden agenda, but once I assumed goodwill, I realized she really doesn’t have a hidden agenda—just a different point of view. And sometimes, her point of view makes a heck of a lot of sense.”

Ah, so there it is again—the strength and force of assuming goodwill! So energizing, empowering, and liberating. It’s not always easy to do but, when we assume the best of others, it reframes our cognitive focus and presents an opportunity for enlightenment. Wish me well as I make a concerted effort to assume goodwill in 2012—and I wish you the same!

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

03 January 2012

Mothers, memories and matters of the heart

Christmas 2011 is in the books, and a new year awaits us, full of promise and possibilities. The season of celebration brings joy and merriment, as well as the comfort and companionship of family and friends although, for many of us, there are people whose absence is keenly felt.

My mother died 14 years ago, and 15 holiday seasons have come and gone since her unexpected passing. A victim of a tragic accident, she left us far too soon. Suddenly, my five siblings and I were motherless, our worlds whirling with so many emotions and wondering how to navigate them without her.

When I learned of my mother’s accident, I was living in Boise, and I immediately booked a flight to Chicago to be with her and the rest of my family. After packing for the trip and making travel arrangements, I decided to go for a run, as exercise has always been my primary coping strategy. I was wracked with grief, and waiting for my flight was making me crazy, so I dealt with my mounting anxiety in the best way I knew how—to run. After strapping on my running shoes, I grabbed my headphones and charged out the door with my running companion, our beloved yellow Lab, Mack. But something strange happened very quickly.

Mack and I were only a block or two from home when I found myself unable to breathe. My chest felt tight, and I couldn’t get a deep breath, much less run for miles. My profound worry and sadness were manifested in my respiratory system, so I walked home to begin my life as a member of a sisterhood to which none of us wish to belong—children of lost parents. Later that day, when I arrived at Mother’s bedside, she was clinging to life, attached to life-support and surrounded by people who loved her. Her death was imminent. The stunning and breath-taking pain of losing her would become a familiar companion for all who loved this dear woman.

My mother taught me many important life lessons, chief among them the power and generosity of extending unconditional love. She loved all of us—and everybody—seeing and extolling the goodness in each person. She taught us loyalty, to love deeply and to share whatever we had with others.

We grew up in a middle-class home, a large Irish Catholic family where Dad’s paycheck needed to stretch pretty far. Yet, we always made room at the table for anyone who happened to be in our home at mealtime. My mother was a pro at stretching a dollar as well as a meal. At Christmastime, our home was decorated in colorful and festive ways, but the centerpiece of her skillful adornment was her reverence for the “true meaning of Christmas”—to love and to serve, to live to leave the world a better place than we found it.

She instilled in us an appreciation for standing for what’s good and right. She loved children and volunteered at a children’s crisis center, where she worked in the nursery and cared for abused and neglected infants. My mother also loved animals, and her passion for furry creatures was passed on to us. But, most importantly, my mother lived what she believed—that we must consider the legacy by which we hope to be remembered. What difference will we make in the world? What ignites our passion, and how is that passion sustained? I am convinced that we each make a difference by doing, on a daily basis, the small or simple things in life that add value and improve the lives of the people around us.

As we embark on the new year and consider our resolutions, let’s keep in mind the power of the simple things in life that bring joy to others. Smile more, love deeper and pass it on. Find your passion, use it to enrich the world around you and make a promise to inspire others to do the same.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.