As I sat down to eat my breakfast, I kept my phone close, anticipating a text from my daughter who would be arriving at school any moment and heading straight to the gym doors to scan the taped-up list for her name.
It wasn't there.
She texted me right away, "I didn't make it." The ballroom team had been chosen and she wasn't a part of it.
This girl. She's smart, determined and capable. She's already on the basketball team, the Robotics team, and just made the volleyball team as well. I really needed her to NOT make the ballroom team.
She doesn't get overwhelmed easily...but I do. So the first emotion I felt when reading her text was relief. Yeah, that probably makes me a bad mom. But right away, that emotion shifted to sympathy. My little girl was disappointed. Poor thing. She really wanted this.
So I start texting and of course my instincts (why can't they always be right?) are to tell her what a blessing that is because now she can focus on giving her best to her other activities and not over-fill her plate. Again, I catch myself. Right now, she doesn't need a coach. I put the phone down.
When someone comes to you sad, it can be instinctive to jump into the coach role. To find the lesson and capitalize on it. But that's not what they need. They need only to be seen and accepted. They need a fan, and fans should never coach. I picked the phone back up.
There's an exercise I do when presenting to teams. I ask them to visualize a bad morning. Try it. We all have them so it's not much of a stretch - those days you wake up and can't find your inner-starter. Picture one of those days when life sucks and the sun don't shine and all you want is to crawl back into bed.
Next, imagine doing just that, but as you get to your bed, you find an envelope on the pillow. On the front is your first name, nothing else. You open it up and begin to read the hand written letter. It is affectionate and personal, as the writer begins listing all the incredible things about you. Obviously written by someone who knows you well, it details all your strengths and highlights the unique abilities that are yours. There's no advice, no "feedback." It simply goes on and on and on with compliments of all the good things you are.
How do you feel? Is your posture changing? Do you feel comfort? Approval? Confidence?
Who wrote the letter?
There's your fan.
Seldom do people aspire to be a fan, but it's a huge privilege. To be revered enough to make a difference in those bad days or to be trusted with someone's deepest vulnerability? That should be treated like royalty. So be a fan today. Cheer someone on. The amount you give will be dwarfed by the amount they gain. That's a good kind of magic.
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