Denslow's Curious Questions Helped Me Discover My Limits

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The other day I walked to the middle of my yard, looked down, and asked the grass what it was learning from being stuck to the ground.

“I wouldn’t say stuck,” it replied, “I’d say tethered.” Then it paused. “Or integrated.”

“Or,” I asked, “What about adorning the world?”

At which point we began to discuss the cost-benefit of being trod and pooped upon while being Earth’s lovely hair. The grass’s final analysis was that while it was limiting not to be able to move at a moment’s notice — or ever — it was a bigger benefit to live a purposeful grass life. Grass serves as food, housing, toilet, a beautiful green space, and sometimes a makeshift soccer field. These things were worth the immobility.

“What’s the takeaway here?” I asked the grass.

“Life is good.”

That’s my yard.

Asking Questions

The woman who founded the coach training program I went through, Denslow, is a beloved figure in the professional organizing and ADHD worlds. She’s a generous expert on coaching, too.

She once told us that when she was learning to coach, she’d go for walks and practice asking curious questions of the things she happened upon — trees, fences, fire hydrants.

Tell me, Mr. Oak Tree, what has you questioning your position at the side of the road right now?

While this is funny, it’s also clever. The coach’s role is to listen to what the client is saying and be curious about it, rather than certain about it. In the case of a tree, none of us really know what the life of a tree is like, but if we listen intently, we’ll hear something interesting.

This is how it was the other day when I left the grass in my yard and eventually came across a stop sign. The stop sign was taller than me and rather definitive. “Stop!” it kept saying.

But I was curious, so I asked it, “What about ‘stop’ is so important to you?”

Then it glanced at me and asked, “What about what’s important to a stop sign is so important to you?”

Road signs. They can see things coming from all directions.

Now things were getting interesting. My curious questions were turned back toward me. What was so important to me about the concept of “stop”?

Curiosity circled then coalesced around boundaries, around the lines that are better crossed with reflection, lines that exist for a purpose, that exist for self-compassion and self-preservation. In other words, lines I can draw to keep myself sane.

Recently, some folks I know were perplexed as to why I kept my distance from a stressful situation that didn’t involve me. Historically, I’d have gotten myself involved in the background so as not to seem like I didn’t care. Not this time. This time I was able to say no. This wasn’t a popular decision, and I was gifted some hurtful comments. At first, I was surprised, but then I realized, “Steph, this is exactly what you wanted to protect yourself from.”

Over eons — since the beginning of time, actually — I struggled to set boundaries. But over the last couple of years, I finally got it — I see boundaries as a neutral caring of the self, rather than a slight on the world. I can set boundaries in peace rather than fear.

Enlightened, monolith, or human?

When I say this, are you thinking I’m either fully enlightened or an unflinching monolith? I’d understand if you did. Setting boundaries can be a Herculean task, especially when they’re as invisible as the ghosts of the pieces of us that die with each failure to set one.

Emotions are a good place to start looking.

Is there stress as soon as I say, Sure, I’ll do it? Or, better, as soon as I imagine saying that?

If so, there’s my stop sign and it’s the wisdom of the ages. It’s an opportunity not to cut myself off from the world, but to pause long enough to get objectively curious — to start questioning. What could be possible if I say no to this? How do my values fit in here?

If it’s only human of me to say yes when it’s better to say no, isn’t it just as human to learn to say no?

For me, regarding the recent stressful situation, it was clear to me after some dedicated thought that the emotional fallout from putting myself into the tornado of stress would harm the parts of my life that matter to me — my family, my ability to show up well for my clients, my writing, and my integrity. The situation was a war of sorts, and to enter the battle — even if I was as neutral as Sweden — would mean I was condoning war, especially since diplomacy had gone out the window.

When I agree to cross over my limits of time, attention, energy, emotion, or generosity, another of my ghosts is born. When I ignore a boundary, I’m shutting off all those moments of my life from oxygen. This is as common as could be. We all do it. But if we do it too much, it’s time to mourn a piece of ourselves, which is sad because life is a gift.

Curious questioning over these recent years has gotten me clarity on all this.

After I left the stop sign to do its thing, I walked into a grocery store and over to the shopping carts to retrieve one. Looking down, I noticed the miniature carts parked there for kids to push while shopping with their parents. I took one of those.

There I was, a grown woman hunched low, pushing the cart, while the other shoppers gawked. The cart was flummoxed.

“Why are you pushing me around?” it asked in its tiny voice. “I’m not enough for you.”

I understood its confusion.

“Oh no, you’re plenty for me,” I said, “I don’t need to buy into, do, control, agree to, or take on more than will fit in this cart.”

“Why not?” it asked.

“Because you and I — we’re more than enough. We’re plenty.”

With that, I threw bananas in the cart and made my way over to the pumpkins to ask them where they drew the line on pumpkin carving. Personally, I’d draw mine at the first cut.

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Happy Fall, all.