I’ve been paying attention to how frequently the notifications on my phone go off. I’m addicted to the dopamine hits and I know I’m not alone in this. We’re trained to be responsive, and my phone and its algorithms keep me going in a Pavlov’s dog-type way of being – always curious, lurking, waiting for the next notification to roll in. I’m guilty of checking in at stop lights and being distracted while my toddler pulls on my legs asking to be lifted up. And this week, after very full days with many meetings, and many other forces metaphorically asking to be cared for while I was also distracted, I wonder, who is training who?

The world asks us to move at an incredible pace. And the speed is making me grumpy, feeling like I’m less than, and that if I could type just a little bit faster on my phone then all of my dreams could come true. I made a shift at work recently, attempting to go down in hours. The demands stayed. I haven’t been very successful with my boundaries. The hours still fill. And I’m still split in the disappointing of family, my employer, or myself. Again, this juggling is not a unique problem, but I ask myself, who is leading whom?

This week, we partnered with a client on a one-day workshop to build team trust and improve how they work together. Part of the work requires participants to share their backstories. We sat together in a worn room, with posters teenagers created on the walls. Their hand done drawings of wildflowers drew me in as I listened to tender stories of pain, resilience, coping, and recovery. Gut wrenching examples of what being human calls us to go through. And then, we put the lid back on, and went about our agenda. I think the exercise was successful, revealing new truths about each of the team members in the room. And I find myself wondering, do the humans lead the work, or do the organizations dictate, leaving all the pieces we are often told to keep to ourselves in the dark?

There was one drawing in particular, done in colored pencil shades of yellow and white, of a coned daisy at the end of the season. The petals dipped down, angled away from a source of light. As I sat and listened, I thought, we all contain multitudes. Flowers do too. I tend to think in black and white, in binaries, and make choices on either a or b. And kind coaches remind me, usually, some third option exists. Perhaps this is where the yellow pencil comes in.

I contain multitudes. And perhaps these big questions I’m asking in this season of life will also reveal multiple options. Not just A or B, but some combo in between. And if you can help me put my phone down and choose to exercise instead, maybe i’ll have another epiphany while I let the emails roll in unnoticed. Big questions. Unclear answers. Beautiful things.