The Power of And

Sometimes one small word changes everything.

I wonder how many times I’ve mistaken one feeling for another.

How many times I’ve called something fear when it was also excitement. Called something failure when it was really learning. Called something uncertain when it was actually the beginning of something new.

Life has taught me that our first interpretation is rarely the whole story.

That reminded me of something my son taught me years ago while we were standing in line for a roller coaster.

We live near Santa Cruz, so trips to the Beach Boardwalk have always been part of life. Like most kids, my son was fascinated by the Giant Dipper, the beautiful old wooden roller coaster that’s been rumbling along since 1924.

He’d hear the screams and laughter as it flew past, then watch the riders climb off grinning, talking about how much fun they’d had. It looked terrifying, but also wonderful.

When he finally decided he was ready to ride it, he was a pre-teen. We stood in line, him pacing back and forth, trying to work up the nerve. I could see him talking himself into it, then right back out of it.

Seeing people stepping off the ride with huge smiles on their faces was so inviting. Little by little, his confidence grew. If all these people were laughing at the end, maybe it wasn’t quite as scary as it looked.

We climbed aboard and strapped in. The ride was exactly what you’d expect from a hundred-year-old wooden roller coaster. Loud. Fast. A little rough around the edges.

When he got off, he’d spent most of the ride gripping the safety bar so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He also couldn’t stop smiling.

From then on, riding the Giant Dipper became one of the highlights of every summer.

A few years later, we visited another amusement park. The roller coasters there made the Giant Dipper look almost quaint. These were towering steel giants with impossible drops and giant loop-de-loops.

As we stood in line, I watched him begin pacing again.

“I don’t know about this,” he said. Then, after a pause, “I’m scared.”

I smiled. “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’re excited. Sometimes those feelings feel an awful lot alike.”

He thought about that while the line slowly moved forward. After the ride, he came back wearing exactly the expression I was hoping to see.

“No,” he said. “I really was scared.” Then he laughed. “But I was excited too.”

I’ve thought about that conversation many times over the years because I’ve realized something. I wasn’t trying to convince him he wasn’t afraid. Fear wasn’t the problem. The problem would have been believing that fear was the only thing he was feeling.

That’s what reframing is. Not replacing one truth with another. It’s about expanding the frame we see through so we realize that more than one truth can exist at the same time.

Our minds are wonderful storytellers. Give them a little uncertainty, and they’ll happily write an entire screenplay about what might happen next.

We assume we know what someone meant by a comment. We convince ourselves a change at work is bound to go badly. We imagine the presentation will be a disaster before we’ve written the first slide.

The stories feel real because our minds are so very good at telling them.

When we practice even a moment of mindfulness, we have a chance to notice those stories before we automatically believe them. We can pause long enough to ask, Is this the only way to see what’s happening?

That’s where the little phrase, “Yes… and,” has become so helpful for me.

Yes, this promotion feels intimidating… and someone believed I was ready to handle it.

Yes, changing careers is unsettling… and it opens doors I couldn’t see before.

Yes, I’m anxious about having a difficult conversation… and it might strengthen an important relationship.

Yes, I feel afraid… and I’ve done hard things before.

That tiny word and creates room for possibility.

Looking back, I think the Giant Dipper gave my son more than a fun memory.

It gave him evidence.

Evidence that he’d been nervous before. Evidence that he’d climbed aboard anyway. Evidence that he could do something that looked terrifyingly impossible from the ground.

That’s the gift our challenges leave with us too. Every time we move through something difficult, we collect a little more evidence that we’re capable.

The next challenge doesn’t necessarily become less scary. We simply remember that we’ve done hard things before.

That’s the real power of reframing. It’s not about pretending life is easier than it is. It’s about seeing a little more of reality.

Mindfulness isn’t about changing our thoughts. It’s about giving ourselves enough mind-space to question whether they’re telling the whole story.

Sometimes all we need is enough space to add 2 small words.

Yes… and.