Good Life Project - Less Show, More Soul.

Episode Date: August 7, 2014

So, we're having a bit of fun in August, calling it the "GLP Summer Jam."Instead of our longer interviews this month, we're doing a full month of short and sweet visual essay jam sessions. It's a great way to get you thinking about bigger questions as you shift your energy down a bit, slow down and take some time to explore the bigger ideas that'll let you set up the second half of the year with a sense of greater purpose and alignment.Plus this 2 to 5-minute format is perfect for viewing on vacation or on the go!First up is a visual essay version of something I wrote a while back entitled "Less Show, More Soul." It'll take you on a quick journey to the Mexican Riviera and a big lesson I learned in a very public way. One that I still explore on a regular basis. It's about coming from a place of integrity and service, rather than posturing and theater.Big takeaway...An audience stays as long as you perform. A community stays as long as you serve. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Welcome to Good Life Project, where we take you behind the scenes for in-depth, candid conversations with artists, entrepreneurs, makers, and world shakers. Here's your host, Jonathan Fields. It's 2002, Mexican Riviera, and I'm sweating almost violently. Barefoot in the middle of a tile thatched roof, palapa, feet from the rolling surf. I'm there with a yoga wonderkin, Baron Baptiste, and the famed Kirtan singer Krishna Das, a.k.a. KD. And about 100 sweaty humans trained to become yoga teachers. And we practice, and we teach, and we move, and we twist and grind and stretch, and we shake until we can no longer move. And my head is pounding. Fruit is abundant, but all I want is caffeine and a fan maybe.

And on the last day, something different happens. Baptiste begins to call postures. And minutes in, his number two takes over the call. Up dog and then down dog and fingers wide and palms kiss the mat. He tags number three, who then takes us through sun salutations. And I kind of start to see a pattern. I know what's coming. Three others on his team, then they take the teaching baton as we flow. And a hundred nubile bodies pose by pose through the soupy morning air. And Baron steps in to lead us again.

But I've done the math. Ninety minutes remain. Who's going to lead now? So I stand in Namaskar Mountain pose, erect at the mat's edge, and hands in prayer as the universe sweats through me, just waiting, and I look at Baron. I want to go first. His eye catches mine.

He smiles. He nods. So I step off my mat. And I begin to stalk the room. Inhale, I encant. And the next few minutes are surreal. I never let a group this size through anything quite like this. And I'm overwhelmed.

And I'm new at this. But I own my own studio back home. And damned if I'm not already good. Better than most or so, I think, right? So I finish the sequence and I step back onto my mat and Baptiste looks at me. He just says, less show, more soul. Then he calls the next sacrifice. And I'm pissed. It would take years for me to really own the truth of his words though. Show is soul's cover up. It's been a lesson hard to learn. So much bravado, so much posturing, positioning, all to distract from the simple fact that you really don't quite know who you are or what you're doing.

And the last thing you want is for others to know that, too. So you put on a show and it brings in an audience. But an audience is not a community, nor a business, nor a tribe. An audience stays as long as you perform. An audience stays as long as you perform. A community stays as long as you serve. So I see a lot of show in the online and entrepreneurial worlds these days, especially in video and copy. So much bravado, so much blatantly fierce language and sound

and movement and imagery, and sometimes I buy it, most times I don't. What the creator offers as a mechanism to attract attention and build connection becomes something that shines bright and then gets old really fast. Eventually people feel the disconnect and to this day I continue to struggle with that dance between the show and the craft. And I know how to engage and entertain. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, adding the element of a little bit of theater can be incredibly powerful, provided it's built on top of craft and impact, rather than as a distraction from the inability to deliver the same.

So when I default to that mode that tends to come easiest, frankly, to me, I increasingly find myself asking, to what end? Sometimes I'm good with the answer, but sometimes I'm not. But at least I've gotten more into the habit of asking the question, what need is the show serving? What work, if any, is it keeping me from? Is it stopping me from, or enabling me to serve better? What about you?