|
...and Ourselves
Book clubs are a wonderful way to stretch reading capacity—at least that’s how I experience the two I currently belong to. My original club began about 15 years ago and, over time, organically reduced to just three of us. One member eventually bowed out because she didn’t like the range of books we were choosing. I found that choice both curious and limiting, but the rest of us carried on. My second book club formed during COVID. I advertised it as a neighborhood-based group, and for the first year we met virtually. At our peak, we had eight members. Since then, one person moved away and another was asked to leave. This month, we’re welcoming a new member—a reminder that groups, like stories, evolve. Left to my own devices, I tend to gravitate toward familiar genres. Book clubs push me beyond that comfort zone. Some books land beautifully; others leave me scratching my head; a few become impossible to put down. Certain authors surprise me with their voice and insight, while others completely confound me. Along the way, I’ve come to appreciate audiobooks—especially for memoirs and nonfiction. The Book of Joy is a perfect example: listening to it added a depth and emotional resonance I don’t think I would have experienced on the page. I’ve also found meaning in unexpected places—even in light, beach-read fiction. Some stories help me better understand complicated relationships with my mother and family, offering small but powerful insights when I least expect them. And occasionally, quite by accident, I select a book with very steamy sex scenes (some authors truly know how to build tension). Book clubs offer many life lessons. Having a shared text gives people something neutral yet meaningful to talk about. Through that conversation, we learn about each other, hear differing perspectives, ask better questions, and discover how differently we each experience the same written work. Our life experiences act as a lens through which we interpret a story, and discussing it together invites growth—and sometimes a shift in perspective. In many ways, we are each active participants in our own nonfiction story. We experience life as both protagonist and author, while others experience our story as supporting characters—or occasionally as co-authors. Conflict sits at the center of every compelling book, movie, or plotline. It’s what keeps us engaged, develops characters, and moves the story forward. When conflict shows up in our own lives, it’s not a failure of the narrative—it’s an opportunity to deepen relationships, respond with curiosity, and remember that others are experiencing our story through their own lens. A book club brings different people together around a shared love of stories and written work. The most successful ones establish clear understandings—ground rules that create safety, invite participation, encourage respectful disagreement, and ensure that all voices and perspectives have space. In that way, book clubs don’t just help us read more widely; they help us live—and relate—more thoughtfully.
0 Comments
... and Doing the Hard Work When people are tasked with negotiating on behalf of others who have no power or voice, walking away should never be an option. Yet I see it happen repeatedly—with parents navigating co-parenting and with elected officials charged with representing the public. In both cases, the harm falls on those who have no seat at the table. In co-parenting disputes, parents are asked to create plans that primarily affect their children. When they stay in fight mode or refuse to fully engage, it is the children who suffer. The same dynamic plays out when elected officials abandon negotiations or refuse to participate in good faith. Bullying tactics, rigid posturing, and walking away because they dislike the opposing position are not principled acts—they are failures of responsibility. In nearly every other profession, this behavior would have consequences. A businessperson who refuses to negotiate would lose clients. An employee who ignores expectations would be fired. A doctor who withholds care would lose their license. Parents who cannot co-parent safely risk losing custody of their children. So why is it acceptable for elected officials to shut down the government, disrupt paychecks, and put the country at risk—without accountability? Why do they continue to receive pay and benefits while the people they represent struggle to meet basic needs? The ripple effects of these decisions create fear, instability, and real harm. At the root of this problem is dehumanization. The “other” becomes unworthy, less than, or undeserving of consideration. As a mediator, I have worked with people who view the other side as irredeemable. Yet time and again, I see transformation begin when people talk about their needs and, especially, the impact of the conflict. That process alone can begin to restore humanity and open a path forward. Not every mediation ends with full agreement. But when parties feel heard and understood, they are far more willing to engage in solutions that are workable and sustainable—even when compromise is difficult. Parents and politicians share something critical: they negotiate on behalf of people without a voice. When they cannot see the other side as human, the least they can do is center the people they represent. With parents, I often ask them to talk about their children—sometimes even to bring a photo—so we remember why we are there. Why can’t politicians do the same? Tell me about all your constituents. What do they need? What do you need to move forward? Where is the overlap? Doing the job means staying at the table. It means negotiating in the best interest of all constituents and honoring the legal and ethical frameworks that govern our democracy. Accountability matters. I propose that elected officials be required to remain in negotiations, supported by impartial mediators, until a resolution is reached—especially when decisions are time-sensitive and impact livelihoods. Walking away should carry consequences, including loss of pay, benefits, and voting power. In every other profession, accountability is expected. Our democracy should be no exception.  ...and the Cost of “Faking It” Years ago, I was introduced to Amy Cuddy's TED Talk, where she shared her journey through adversity, feeling like a fraud at times, and the idea of “faking it till you make it.” To this day, I still pause to do the Wonder Woman pose for a few moments before stepping into a training or speaking space. It’s a small ritual—but an empowering one. What underlies that practice for me is not performance, but authenticity. William Shakespeare is often credited with the phrase, “A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.” The quote has always made me curious about how we define mastery—and whether authenticity is part of it. How do authenticity and mastery align? And at what point do we cross the line from stretching ourselves into new capacity to genuinely faking it? This question becomes especially amplified when I find myself in roles that require me to show up in ways that don’t align with my professional values. For example, delivering a program in a manner that feels inauthentic to who I am. In those moments, I can feel the pressure to conform in order to be “successful” by someone else’s definition. That pressure often brings second-guessing, self-monitoring, and stress. Those reactions are data. Over time, I’ve come to see that this isn’t simply impostor syndrome. It’s a signal of misalignment. My conclusion—sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes clarifying—is that my mastery may not be aligned with the expectations of the role. If I choose to continue participating, conformity may be required. And that leaves me with a harder question: How do I remain both authentic and effective? My answer is twofold. First, I seek specific feedback about how I show up in the role. Not vague reassurance, but concrete information. This helps me distinguish between what is truly required and what I may be assuming is required. Second, I create my own process for showing up—one that meets the expectations of the role while staying anchored in my values. This is not a one-time adjustment, but an ongoing practice of reflection: listening to feedback, making intentional changes, and noticing how those changes land internally. One of my professional “superpowers” is authenticity. I strive to own my mistakes. I reflect on my impact. And I retain the power to decide how I want to proceed. That doesn’t mean I never stretch or adapt. Growth often requires some discomfort. But when I find myself faking it too much—when the performance becomes exhausting or values-eroding—that’s usually the moment authenticity is being compromised. Perhaps mastery isn’t about never faking it. Perhaps it’s about knowing why we’re stretching, how long we’re willing to stretch, and what we’re unwilling to sacrifice in the process. For me, authenticity isn’t showing up the same way in every room. It’s showing up with intention, integrity, and the courage to notice when the cost is too high—and to choose accordingly.  ...The Practice of Mediation It’s February 3, 2026. If we aren’t personally doing it, we all know people who see the new year as a signal to do something different—and if they’re still sticking with their resolution, they’re about one month in (hopefully). Often, that “something” is health-related: cutting out sugar, committing to “Dry January,” or resolving—once again—to use a gym membership. Other times it sounds like, “This year, I will start/stop ______.” The intention is good. The results are often short-lived. According to a Forbes Health/OnePoll survey (2023), the average New Year’s resolution lasts just 3.74 months. Only 8% of respondents stick with their goals for one month. Roughly 22% last two months, another 22% reach three months, and just 13% make it to four months. Research also shows that action-oriented goals—things we commit to doing—are more successful over time than avoidance-oriented goals, which focus on what we are trying to stop. The 3-Month Disconnect I’m not an expert in human motivation, but I’ve observed two patterns that matter. First, doing something consistently for about three weeks helps form a habit. Second, sustaining that behavior for three months can create a lifestyle change. So here’s the disconnect: if three months is enough time to establish a lifestyle shift, why do resolutions tend to fall apart right around that same point? I believe the answer lies in mental readiness and motivation—the same forces that often determine whether conflict escalates or gets resolved. Mediation Is a Lifestyle Practice, Not a One-Time Event Many people think of mediation as something you do after conflict becomes unmanageable. But in reality, mediation reflects a set of habits and behaviors—curiosity, accountability, self-awareness, and intentional communication—that function best when practiced consistently. If your resolution includes reducing stress, improving workplace relationships, or managing conflict more effectively, the work starts well before a formal mediation session. Begin by paying attention to patterns around you:
Just as with health goals, awareness comes first. After awareness, we can take action-oriented steps to make a lasting lifestyle change.  |
Sunny Sassaman
Sharing experiences and insights of reflection and conflict management techniques. Archives
February 2026
Categories |
RSS Feed