By Sarah Caplan

This is a story about choice—a choice I make, sometimes daily, to take control of how I see the world. It took me a long time to realize I had, well, the choice to do this. And I’m so grateful that I did.

A few years ago, a friend of mine showed me, with glee, an Amazon.com product page for a badly translated book entitled “How To Goodbye Depression If You Constrict Anus 100 Times A Day: Malarky or Effective Method?” We laughed at this, and it became an inside joke. Rightly so, because, um…what does that even mean?

The thing is, depression and mental illness affect all of us. Everyone knows someone, if not themselves, who has been touched by depression. It’s real. It’s scary. It’s debilitating. But you can change it. I did. I’m here to tell you about my journey from darkness to light. It’s a mixture of really hard work and really good luck.

To start with, I was bullied, really badly, for any number of reasons. It was old-fashioned school terrorizing. I can’t tell you how often I’ve thanked my local gods that I went through my crucibles before the advent of Facebook. Tell ya what, if my schoolmates could have reached me at home? My story could have ended a lot differently. But suffice it to say, I was miserable and suicidal before I was 11 years old. I knew darker times than I’d ever hope any kid should know. I was a ridiculously easy target and made everything harder on myself. I take a lot of ownership of my misery. The kids were awful, some of the teachers no better, but I could have done a lot to minimize the torture.

So, first comes luck. When I was 17 years old I got the opportunity to move. I got to leave. I got to relocate all the way from Florida to Ohio. I got to start over and become whomever I wanted to be. Scary as it was to start a new school my senior year, it was the best thing ever to happen to me. Kids are primal. Kids are atavistic. And once the schoolyard lions have identified you as a slow, wounded gazelle that first day of first grade, it’s game over unless you change it. I never had the tools. But I got the chance to join a new social savannah. And it was great. I made friends. One I made that first day of senior year I’m still very close with. All these kids? They didn’t care where I’d come from or what I’d been through. They just thought I might be worth knowing. That was so different and so wonderful.

But I still wasn’t “better.” And that frustrated me to no end. I thought moving would be this magical panacea, and in some ways it was. Yet, I would go home and feel this howling wilderness inside my soul. I’d cry myself to sleep. Finally, it was too much. I knew I had to get better. And I knew no one and nothing could make me better but me.

Therapy is great, but I lied to all my therapists because I didn’t want to talk to them. I believed there was no way anyone could really understand me. A friend of mine tells me I suffer from “terminal uniqueness,” that is, assuming my pain and struggle are so apart from everyone else’s—which is probably not true. So therapy hadn’t worked for me, and I knew I had to “fix” myself myself.

The following might sound overly simplistic, and I am not necessarily advocating it as a path for anyone else to take. But I looked at myself in a mirror—literally. I stared at my reflection and said, “NO ONE CARES. GET OVER YOURSELF. GROW UP. FIX THIS.” And I said that to myself over and over and over again. I decided no one would have any patience for my issues, for my baggage. No one would want to deal with me. If I wanted to keep all of these new friends, for by now I was in college meeting some of the greatest people in my life, I was gonna have to be happy. I chose happiness. I made conscious and deliberate choices. When I felt myself take a negative view on something, I spoke out loud to myself about the bright side. I made myself see it differently.

And I still make these choices every day. When I’m upset about something I talk to myself until I feel better. My car and I have no secrets, since that’s where I do most of my self-talk. I look at it the way I think addicts must look at their recovery: There’s no “cured.” There’s no “all better.” There’s just every day. And every day you will have choices to make. In the case of the alcoholic, you have to choose over and over and over again not to take that drink. In my case, I have to choose to see things brightly. I have to choose not to let the monsters have power. They’re always there. I can feel them just behind my eyes, but I know how to keep them locked up. I know what to do when I feel them begin to slip free.

Because it happens, you know? I fall off the happiness wagon every once in awhile. Couple years back I got fired for the first time. From a job I’d had for seven years. I was terrified and broke and it was July and I didn’t have air conditioning and everything was horrible. I went from being understandably upset to beginning to slide down a really steep hill.

One night I knocked over a vase, and I sat on the floor looking at the glass shards, and I was so scared because the shards looked sharp and beautiful and so easy. Then I was scared because I could feel myself going someplace darker than I’d been in such a long time. So I called a friend. And I told him about the glass. He—he who also knows darkness, probably darker than mine—told me to sweep them up. So I did. I did, and I got off the phone, went into the bathroom, and talked to the mirror again. Then I went to bed. The next morning, the sun was shining and nothing terrible had happened. And I started over.

I want to reiterate: My “method,” if you can call it that, might not work for everyone. I think had I been honest with myself and my therapists when I was younger, I probably would have been a lot healthier, a lot sooner. But that was not to be my journey. This was my journey. This was my path.

I choose happiness every day. I choose the path less sad. And that has made all the difference.

By Torey Hollingsworth

Last week was hard.

I think I can pretty safely assume that I’m not alone in that feeling – there seemed to be a pretty general consensus that our country had enough bad news for one week. The popular list-generating web site Buzzfeed even went so far as to post “30 Things to Test If Your Smile Still Works.” (Even if you’re feeling pretty confident in your smiling abilities, it’s worth the test.  If you’re anything like me, your smile is in for a workout.)

In dramatic and destructive ways, last week reminded us that chaos always lurks around the corner from our comfortable, everyday lives. The violence of angry young men in Boston, the destruction caused by accident in a small Texas town, and the poisonous letters to lawmakers seemed to confirm what we all already suspected deep down: that violence and chaos are random. We can’t avoid death and destruction except by being – or not being – in the right place at the right time.

It seems that last week’s event revived feelings eerily similar to what we were feeling in the days and months following the September 11 terror attacks.

I was only in middle school in 2001, but I remember the discussions following the attacks about how Americans would have to shift their attitudes about what the world is like. As a nation, we would just have to face the reality that chaos is always just offstage. Last week, some pundits and thought leaders seemed to pick up that thread once again. The Onion, albeit in satire, captured a common feeling with one of its “headlines” over a gruesome photograph from the Boston bombing: “This What World Like Now.”

It’s easy for me to fall into the trap of worrying about a constant threat of violence and destruction. But I have to remind myself that that worrying itself may be even more destructive. The future may hold more violence, or it may hold peace, but in the end, I won’t know until it happens. Spending a lot of my time focusing on a few possible negative outcomes for the future means that I’m missing out on the present. And it doesn’t have to be that way – I can acknowledge my fear and the potential for violence without letting those things control me. I don’t even have to bury the feelings away and let them simmer in secret – I can take note of them and move on.

To make it through times like this, I have to focus on the present. And when that gets hard, like it did last week, when even the present seems like too much to handle, I try to be mindful and remember that every moment passes. Or I ditch the Washington Post for Buzzfeed to check out some fuzzy baby ducks.

So you probably know that the University of Virginia Board of Visitors recently reinstated its president, after firing her just weeks prior.

The apparent reason for the ouster was that President Teresa Sullivan and the board disagreed on the speed and process with which the college should be responding to “financial and technological pressures,” according to the New York Times. The Times states that Sullivan prefers “a collaborative, incremental” approach while the board wants “more aggressive, top-down” rapid change.

But after much protest from faculty and students—primarily over the perceived secrecy surrounding the decision—Sullivan got her job back.

Who knows if the stated differences are the whole story. Even as partial truth, though, they point out a classic human habit: Seeing the world in “either/or” terms. 

We may never learn how much discussion the two sides had (or didn’t have) about their distinct frames of reference. It does appear they dug in their heels and weren’t willing to integrate their perspectives—then.

But now they’ve got a second chance.

Put aside any alleged secrecy issues. That’s for another discussion. I’m more interested in the opportunity the board and the president have to think about their differences, well, differently.

Instead of polarizing their ideas, they could use a “both/and” approach.

First, they could take time to be curious about each other’s points of view. For example, the board could ask Sullivan to clarify what she means by “incremental” and Sullivan could confirm what the board means by “rapid.” They might discover that they’re not as far apart as they assumed.

Then they could look for the positives in each other’s ideas—like how incremental bottom-up change might generate broader support and buy-in from people who must implement and live with it. And sometimes, faster top-down change can sidestep the indecision that stems from the fear people can feel about doing things differently.

Once they’ve used their energy to investigate and compare ideas instead of going to battle, they can work on integrating their positions—being collaborative, incremental, and bottom-up AND to transform aggressively and rapidly.

I’m not talking about compromise. When you compromise, you often end up with a weakened outcome. Would you want to work in a “compromised” building? I’m talking about searching for the commonalities and positives, and the completely new ideas to which such thinking can lead.

It may sound funny to suggest that you can be incremental and rapid. Or aggressive and collaborative. Or bottom-up and top-down. That’s because our brains aren’t used to combining ideas that appear mutually exclusive.

This is where I would typically finish giving an example of how you can be both of the above-mentioned “opposites.” But I’d rather hear from you. Put your brain to the test—leave us your thoughts about how you can be aggressive and collaborative, bottom-up and top-down, etc. We’d love to get into a dialogue with you!

Why do some people bounce back from personal tragedy or stay glued during unthinkable chaos, while others feel crushed under the weight?  Where does resilience come from? Are some people blessed with it and others not? 

The truth is, as psychologist and concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankl wrote, we all have the capacity to find meaning in the most seemingly hopeless circumstances. Frankl witnessed fellow prisoners singing even as they were being led to their deaths, leading him to believe that all human beings have the nuts and bolts to engineer their own responses to pressure and extreme circumstances.

We have choice. Granted, sometimes due to injury or genetics, certain brain networks malfunction, locking such potential in a dark cellar. In general, once we become aware of and experience our ability to create a particular perspective, we can harness that power and form a kind of immunity to circumstances and experiences that might otherwise overwhelm us.

When have you experienced such resilience? Maybe you were teased as a kid on the playground and were able to let it roll off your back. Perhaps you’ve faced a serious medical problem and were able to accept it and not let it define you at the same time. Or maybe you are one of those people who just prefer to see the upside. That’s a form of resiliency.

One way to deliberately build your natural resilience is to practice finding positives—about anything, but especially events or ideas that you may initially find completely objectionable. Start by finding one or two, and more will follow. Try for at least four.

For example: Say you lose your job unexpectedly. Your first thought may not be, “Wow. This is fantastic!” That’s OK. Your second thought could be, “Well, this is an opportunity for something new.” That’s one. Maybe the second is, “And now I will have time to read the paper in the morning.” And so on.

Positives don’t have to be major. The energy from the most basic, positive thought is what is actually changing the chemistry in your brain. And that’s what you’re looking for. You want to alter your thought pattern, strengthening the structures that those positive notions are forming.

I’m not suggesting resilient people don’t drift toward the other end of the spectrum. We are human, and sometimes even the sunniest people end up in the shade for awhile. The sun doesn’t go away when the clouds come, though. It’s there. Waiting for a shift in the weather. Which is inevitable. We just have to choose to wait or go find the sun elsewhere.

Share your resilience stories with us!

Got a voice mail message recently from a potential client asking a question I knew I couldn’t answer.

My first thought was, “My boss has that answer; so it’s really not worth me calling her back because I can’t help her anyway.” My second thought was, “My boss may not be able to get to this for a couple of days. Meantime, this woman deserves to know that her message didn’t fall into the voice mail Bermuda Triangle.

So I called her back. I didn’t give her the information she was looking for, but I did keep the communication moving.

How often do the balls in our court gather dust because we think we can’t respond at all until we have complete information? Or we put off making the phone call or sending the “Thanks, but no thanks” letter because we don’t want to deliver the rejection?

Granted, sometimes we fully intend to get back to someone in a timely manner and we simply forget—and not everyone’s definition of “timely manner” is the same. And e-mails do get stuck in spam filters and Post-It messages do fall behind desks.

I’m talking about the times you know you’re procrastinating because you’re uncomfortable or because you’re assuming it can wait. Maybe you can wait. And it’s not just about you.

This is about integrity and something called “other awareness.”

Having integrity means that if you’ve promised Amy Applicant that you’re going to make a decision about the position by a certain date, you either meet your deadline or let her know that the timetable has changed.

Being “other aware” means that even if you can’t give Amy what she expects, you do your best to keep the communication moving. You acknowledge her inquiries and keep her informed about the process. And then as soon as you do have an answer, you are authentic with her about it as soon as it’s practical.

Silence not only stops the communication flow and puts your integrity and empathy into question, it allows the other person’s imagination to fill in the gaps, which often complicates later interactions.

Yes, you have a lot on your plate. Yes, sometimes those return calls and emails will fall through the cracks. But if you can catch yourself pushing them into the cracks, you can keep some of them from landing there.

I accidentally left my cell phone at home last Wednesday.

I was four minutes from the office when I reached for it—a practically Pavlovian response to a stop at a red light—and felt a disappointingly empty space in my purse. For the next two minutes, I actually considered turning around and driving all the way back home to get it.

All of a sudden, I felt out of sorts. Unreachable and unable to connect. And even though I’d be booting up the laptop and logging on in, like, seven blocks, it didn’t seem soon enough.

But I had just read a New York Times column on the psychological and spiritual benefits of unplugging—ironically, posted by several people the day before on Facebook—and so I kept driving.

Because really, now.

And it occurs to me it probably wasn’t an accident at all that I left the phone to beep and buzz at the empty kitchen and the cats, who were unlikely to leap from the sunny spot to see who might have Liked a status update.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the pace of and full plates in my life and if I want to sustain them. And so maybe my subconscious did a little beta test on me.

To be real, I had plenty of access from the office that day. By no means was I cloistered in some web-less tower. Yet, there were short stretches of time when I had no technology to interact with—unless talking back to the radio counts.

And the fact that I was so keenly aware of those brief detachments makes me wonder if I could adjust to a longer one.

Of course, I’d be fine.

According to the Times columnist, I’d probably be better than fine:

“A series of tests in recent years has shown . . . that after spending time in quiet rural settings, subjects ‘exhibit greater attentiveness, stronger memory and generally improved cognition. Their brains become both calmer and sharper.’ More than that, empathy, as well as deep thought, depends . . . on neural processes that are ‘inherently slow.’”

I think the key to purposely, easily unplugging is to recognize that our value as human beings doesn’t depend on how accessible and responsive we are to others or on how much information we try to consume or on consuming it at all.

That “out of sorts” sensation I had when I realized the phone wasn’t there was a little cosmic tap on the shoulder—letting me know that perhaps I’ve become overly reliant on external things, like technology, for feeling at ease.

So I’m adding a New Year’s resolution to the list. And it’s not about prescribing some definite amount of no-phone or no-computer time. It’s more of a thought resolution. If I can remind myself that my well-being is not about my doing anything, the next time I forget the phone, or the wireless is down, or the iPod isn’t charged, I will think less about what I’m missing and more about what I’m gaining.

In a recent New York Times op-ed columnist Ian Desai wrote about what Gandhi would make of the Occupy movement. Tweaking the group’s slogan about how “98 percent” of Americans are not wealthy, Desai says, “‘We are the 100 percent’ may not make for a dramatic slogan, but from Gandhi’s perspective, it is the only way to achieve true and lasting change in society.”

It’s a fresh take on that ubiquitous Gandhi quote “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Apparently, while some Occupy protestors have adopted Gandhi as their mascot, they may be missing a key part of his message: That after you call out a perceived injustice, you must get directly and collaboratively involved in fixing it. “Pointing fingers and assigning blame is easy,” Desai wrote. “But they are most meaningful when they set the stage for constructive social action.”

So, why do we get stuck in blame in the first place, and how can we either avoid it or get unstuck and become the solution?

We blame for a combination of reasons, including frustration over getting something we didn’t want (or not getting something we wanted) and the human tendency to deflect responsibility.

But to get out of blaming you first have to be aware that you’re in it and see the value in making another choice, which can be difficult when you’re emotional about a cause. The sense of righteousness we experience when we blame can feel very energizing.

Perhaps even more difficult is examining your role in the problem you’re protesting. Desai points out Gandhi’s belief that “the British Empire existed because Indians had let it exist.” Likewise, “. . . the drastic income inequality in America . . . is here because Americans collectively allow it.”

This is a hard pill to swallow—if for no other reason than it means you’ll have to do the hard work of changing how you think. And remember, we like the easy stuff. But if you can summon the humility and courage to acknowledge that there is more than one way to look at the problem, you start to see it objectively and holistically. This is a much more effective perspective.

Another tool that can transform your energy for change into action is finding positives.

Once you acknowledge that a problem is a collective one, you break through the “us and them” barrier. This makes it easier to see positives in points of view other than your own because you are no longer demonizing people who don’t agree with you. Suddenly, you’re all equally culpable for and capable of finding a way out of the mess.

Be the voice, by all means. Then be the change you’re shouting about.

We’d love for you to weigh in on this conversation. What changes do you find yourself wishing for and how have you succeeded in moving from wishing to action? Leave your comments below.

There’s a perception in our current culture that if you behave as a “call-’em-like-I-see-’em”, straight-shooting, bottom-line kind of person, people should assume you are a strong leader. Someone who knows the truth and isn’t afraid to stand up and tell it like it is, even when others don’t want to hear it—maybe especially when others don’t want to hear it.

Certainly, it can take courage to make a bold, definitive statement about who you are or to confront someone else with uncomfortable facts or opinions. The social, political, and cultural progress we’ve made in the last 200-plus years owes much to those who’ve been willing to take unpopular positions or not take “no” for an answer.

Much progress has also been made when leaders have had the guts to admit their perspectives are limited. But it’s risky to be the kind of person who changes your mind about “the truth” when new information comes along—because it may mean you’ll have to reconsider, revise, restate, or retract an idea or position you’ve been really passionate about. And in this country, we tend to judge that as a weakness.

Perhaps we judge it that way because if you don’t pick a side and stick to it, you’re too hard for me to figure out—and I don’t like things I can’t figure out. Plus, you might not always agree with me if you’re a moving target, and I need the comfort of knowing my leaders agree with me.

The ironic thing about those who project such adamancy is that they’re often compensating for a lack of confidence. It’s a double-layered inauthenticity: They’re inauthentic about the limitations of what they’re saying. The inauthenticity also comes from the mismatch between the outer confidence and the inner doubt, which they may or may not be entirely aware of.

There are a lot of positives about being rooted in your values. And true strength is both rigid and flexible. Look at a 100-year-old oak tree. Would it have lasted that long if it didn’t bend and sway in the wind?

Integrity and honesty must be accompanied with vulnerability.  It takes far more courage to admit one’s mistakes and uncertainties. While appearing invulnerable and confident in all situations may curb public panic and win votes, it doesn’t foster authenticity. 

Authenticity, requires not only courage, it requires a two-fold commitment: One commitment is to communicating and making decisions based on your current best understanding; however, understanding doesn’t equal certainty.  It is simply the best the leader currently knows or thinks they know.

The second commitment is to acknowledging that there is always more to learn. What you think is accurate at any given moment must be balanced with a degree of uncertainty and the probability of unanticipated consequences.

By all means, tell it like it is. Just be willing to hear it like it might be, too.

Critical thinking is now the No. 1 skill companies are looking for among rising executives.

According to a new study by Executive Development Associates (EDA), an Oklahoma City-based research and consulting firm, leadership ability and strategic thinking used to top the list. But the pace and magnitude of change in the 21^st century have created a strong need for people who have “heightened ability in recognizing assumptions, evaluating arguments, and drawing clear and valid conclusions.”

So what does this mean to you?

Well, it depends. You may already be good at it. If you tend to be detailed and logical in your analysis and decision making, identify and challenge your assumptions, and look for evidence to back up your conclusions, critical thinking is a natural skill for you.

On the other hand, if you tend to make quick judgments and feel uncomfortable with reasoning that’s not consistent with your own, critical thinking may be something you want to work on.

Whether it’s natural or not, you can always hone this skill. And the first step is to recognize the difference between thinking critically and criticizing. When you criticize, your motivation is typically to point out what you believe is wrong or bad about a person or an idea. Thinking critically is about stepping outside your beliefs and assumptions and objectively analyzing what you observe—“observe” being a key term.

Observation and evaluation are two different things. Observation doesn’t carry any judgment. It’s simply a gathering of information based on what you experience with your physical senses. The longer you stay in observation mode, the more complete your data will be before you start analyzing it.

Of course you’re not a robot—you have biases and experiences that will affect what and maybe even how you observe things. The key is to be aware of your filters and catch yourself making assumptions. This will help you avoid jumping to premature conclusions.

Another important nuance of critical thinking is that it can lead you to premature positive conclusions just as easily as it can lead you to negative ones.  Strong critical thinkers accept that they must identify weaknesses even in those ideas and perspectives that they want to believe are flawless. 

The benefit of being a critical thinker goes beyond just being better at reasoning. EDA’s new research also revealed a prevalent belief among executives that strong critical thinkers are more likely to be good at creative problem solving and strategic planning.

These findings align with what we’ve found in our several decades of behavioral research and consulting. The ability of critical thinkers to see more than one dimension in an idea or perspective exposes them to a broader range of possibilities. And because they’re less likely to pass judgment on those possibilities, they’re more apt to consider and play around with ideas until they discover truly innovative and practical ideas. This is the kind of big-picture, or holistic, thinking that makes a leader good at creating effective long-term strategies.

Click here for information on an assessment that measures your critical thinking capacity, as well as your creative and holistic thinking skills.