Welcome to the People Change People podcast. After much planning we are excited to launch this resource. Central to the PCP mission is the belief that who we are as unique individuals is the most influential element in our relationships. Our experience, training, and knowledge are all important, of course. But these offerings will find their place and be most helpful to others only when we are willing to bring our full selves to those we serve and care for. I hope you find this message helpful and encouraging in all your professional and personal relationships.

In this episode I talk through three basic principles of People Change People:

1. Authenticity

2. Simplicity

3. Curiosity

Over the course of this podcast series we will expand on each of these elements, and explore ways to integrate them into your key relationships.

Interact with this material and with us! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, send me an email at andrew@peoplechangepeople.com

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One of the cuter kids’ tee shirts I’ve seen reads, “I do all my own stunts.” I witness my own three children performing stunts every day. When I was in college I traveled to Glacier National Park in Montana with a group of friends. We spent three days exploring the park, climbing, and doing things I earnestly hope my own children never try. On one of our hikes we discovered a deep crack in the earth. At bottom ran a creek. Sizing up the span and depth of the chasm we decided to try and leap across, a distance of about six feet. A fall to the bottom would be catastrophic. One by one we made it to the other side. I recall landing and grasping a tree branch to keep from falling backward. I have a photo of this somewhere.

Childhood is characterized by doing remarkable, risky things. Somehow we learn to be less risky as we age. We wish for our children to be preserved from the perils and risks relationships can possess. But by the time we enter our adult years we’ve learned that relating with people can be hazardous and painful. Instead of doing our own stunts, we’re inclined to use stunt-doubles to prevent injuring ourselves. It’s so much easier and less threatening to go through the day on cruise control, disengaged from the people with whom we live and work. This is the equivalent of sending our stunt-double instead of bringing all of who we are and have to offer. The riskiest thing we can do is to bring ourselves fully to our professional and personal relationships. But when we summon the courage to try and be fully present and engaged, we’re more alive and available to others. However terrifying this can be, we can learn to do our own stunts.

I want to emphasize that there are times when healthy boundaries in relationships are necessary. It’s natural and healthy when first meeting someone to establish a healthy distance until you better know him or her to be a safe person. In cases where particular individuals have shown themselves to be hurtful, we’re wise to protect ourselves. But there is a difference between choosing safety consciously and wisely, and clinging to it habitually. Our boundaries should match the threat. Where there is no detectible threat, we can work toward full engagement. I say “work” because this is a process. It’s something we apply ourselves to, not something we are inclined toward naturally.

And so we’ve entered that time of year. If you’re near or north of the 45th parallel, your world looks like mine—a vast mosaic of fiery leaves tumbling from gray skies. Yards in my neck of the woods are thickly blanketed in red, orange, yellow and gold.

Last year at this time I helped a neighbor clear his yard of the leaves his three enormous maple trees had released. Equipped with leaf blowers and ear protection we were a couple leaf wranglers corralling the little doggies out to the street. The leaves were flying, but progress was slow. After half an hour we still had a fair amount of work to do. Frustrated, I considered alternatives to the leaf blower. I decided to trade my leaf blower for my rake and was stunned by what I discovered. It turned out that this age-old tool was far more effective and efficient than our leaf blowers. With one sweep I could clear a swath of leaves, revealing the damp, green grass beneath.

This is an interesting example for the blog thread I started two weeks ago about our relationship to the tools we use. I find myself thinking about this topic because our relationships to our tools have implications for how we live, and for our human relationships. Why at first did I not think of using the rake instead of the blower? Somehow I believed the blower was more advanced and suited to the task. Why else would everyone use them?

In this case the ubiquitous presence of leaf blowers (the tool) dictated how I thought about accomplishing a task. But I turned the tables when I began to consider other options that might be superior. In doing so I assumed a right relationship to the tool and subordinated the tool to its rightful place. Even if I had resolved to continue with the blower—if I didn’t own a rake, for example—I would have righted my relationship to the tool so it was advancing, not foiling, my intention.

There are examples like this all around us. We’re surrounded by tools, both rudimentary and sophisticated. I’ll admit that more than once I’ve gone to my computer to check the weather, only to remember I could go outside. Not long ago I went to use my Sawzall to prune a branch only to stop and realize that a little handsaw could do just as well, and was more accessible.

When the tools we rely on prove inadequate to the task—or disappear altogether—we’re forced to be creative. We tap into brilliance which otherwise remains latent. Then if we reintroduce the tool into our world, we can use it to serve our efforts.

Have a pleasant Autumn. Enjoy the leaves!