Vulnerability

I saw the sign! How to ask for help about asking for help

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Two weeks before I "officially" "publicly" launched my company in Colorado in June of 2015 (even though I had started working with clients that February before I had a website or a name or anything - just details), I took this picture at the parking garage of a friend's apartment building and it's probably the most important picture I have ever taken.

You are thinking what I thought:

A) Kinda creepy.

B) Where was its author?

C) What did they need help with?

To this day, I hope that the person received the magnanimous assistance they required and the sign was placed by the dumpster because the person no longer needed to call out for help and wanted to make sure their artwork was recycled. The sign stuck with me not because of the concern for its origin but instead because its message is the driving force behind everything I've ever done in my career. 

Nothing I write in this or any future post will fully convey the significance that the theme of "asking for help" maintains in my soul. I ask for help all the time. I get a weird satisfaction out of asking question after question. If one person gets sick of answering them, I will move on to someone else. I don't care.

Of course I went through the perfectly human phase of discomfort asking for help: the pre-pubescent arrogance that I had everything under control and I knew everything...right up until I didn't know anything.

In every math class ever in my academic history, it took me all of five minutes to realize I had no idea what was going on. It took me longer than that, though, to feel unabashed about raising my hand and, when the teacher asked "Which part is confusing you?", saying "Umm...something about something...you said about that stuff" while beckoning to the chalkboard. See? I didn't know what the heck I needed help with, I just knew I needed a whole lot of help.

The one exception was one summer during college when I had two brilliant ideas:

1) go to med school

2) take Calculus 1 and Physics 1 summer courses as prerequisites for pre-med.

Starting a mere week after my sophomore year ended, the first session of Calculus 1 was pitched as the review day of Pre-Calculus material that we presumably "had learned in high school or college already".  NOPE. Not this guy. And that's not a slant at my high school Pre-Calc teacher; she was fantastic. It was all about that summer professor (it's fine, he doesn't remember me). My brain has been through just as much as the next hypersensitive emotional intellectual millennial, but what hewas throwing up on the whiteboard that morning looked more like intricate wallpaper with which I'd ignorantly plaster a future office wall than information that I would have already known for my brave pursuit of a career I didn't want.

I didn't raise my hand once that day. Other people did, to answer questions, not ask them, which only confirmed my suspicions. I withdrew the next morning and returned the textbook, swapping it for one on Neurobiology (#nerdstatus1000).

I digress. That's a lot about me. But bravery in the pursuit is important to bring up. I've worked with thousands of people so far in my career, children and adults, and I only got the opportunity to work with them because they accepted that they needed help and were somehow in some way comfortable asking for it. In the mental health treatment programs, residents were at the most extreme crisis moment of their young lives and chose to ask for help. It's still mind-boggling. They chose to be vulnerable, seek out the aid of strangers in a strange place, and battle the suffering to which they could have instead so easily succumbed on their own. It's similar with current clients. Whether charged with giving a speech or inspired to build a brand, everyone gets to a point where they gulp and ask "Crap, what do I do next...?"

I guarantee you have needed help before and I guarantee you've asked for it at least once in your life. You're not perfect. You may be arrogant but you're not perfect. And I'm here to remind you it's okay - just like the person who spray painted that sign at some point in the past. It's okay to not know everything and do something about it.  Even if you don't know what help you need, ask for help on that. Asking for help in order to learn what help you need to ask for is still asking for help. Following?

Sparknotes: ask. Just say "Help". We all need help. We all need our own form of support. Even if you don't need the kind of help that I offer through this company, you can still ask me for help. In fact, do it. I dare you. If I can't help you, I'll tell you. I still don't know everything, but I'm working on that... 

You'll never read this, will you?

Blog - one of the goofiest but most recognizable words in the world. Like a lovechild of "blah" and "fog". Both super exciting. The first recorded mention of the word was in 1997 as part of the word "Weblog" before its separation into the phrase "we blog" allowed it to become a verb in addition to a noun. The term "Weblog" makes a whole lot more sense, let's be real. Now blogs are as ubiquitous as thermostats: random instruments that are secretly necessary in daily life. Blogs often take the form of a lack of form, leaving it up to the writer to craft it the way they want and about whatever they want (SPOILER ALERT: we'll cover this a lot more in a later post).  

Whether you're a quintessential millennial (like me) or a well-informed baby boomer, you very well know how blogs are the rebellious middle child between a tweet and a novel. It has stuff to say and it's ready to argue, but it's going to argue it in 600-1200 words and then turn stubborn, holding fast behind the words once it's published. The younger sibling will comment on it, the older sibling will discuss it on their book tour, but the middle sibling will remain stoic. 

Like the events that punctuate a culture's history, blog posts are the stories that compose the blog's overall narrative. The first time I wrote a blog was in the summer of 2011 when my sister and I took an epic road trip around the west coast for two weeks, documenting how many pastries we ate and how many times her iPod Classic (yup, remember those? The iPods that could store a hundred thousand songs or something?) thought it was a good idea to play Christmas songs on shuffle. We published the blog because we knew the trip would be an adventure and our closest friends and family wanted to be included in that adventure (it was amazing. If you happen to find it in the internet-land, please enjoy).

That's what blogs do: they connect people. Even if you don't read this post - let's be honest, you likely won't; it's the first post - I now get to be stubborn about a topic. And you ought to pay attention, because everything I will talk about actually relates to your life. And yours. And yours. And mine. That's important to understand so I'm glad you read all the way to this point (you did read this, right?).