283. Tell Me More: Riding The Wave Of Criticism

I remember the wave that stole my enjoyment of the ocean.

I was 11 years old and at the beach with my friend and his family. My friend and I were body surfing in the ocean waves. We were having a grand ole time.

We were laughing. I was smiling.

I looked behind me and my heart dropped into my stomach. A massive, mean and monstrous wave was about to barrel down on my body.

That smile I mentioned above, it faded into fear pretty darn fast.

I hadn’t seen the wave coming and didn’t know what to do. It was about to pummel me. I was trapped.

As it began to crash down on me, ready to quash me in its crushing grip, the current below suddenly swept my legs out from under me. I fell in the water just as

KA-POW!!

The wave hammered down on my body.

I got swept away in the curl, tossed and turned and tumbled. I was a ragdoll in a rabid washing machine.

I lost my sense of direction. I panicked. I didn’t know which way was air.
I needed air.
I needed to breathe.

I frantically swam for the surface.
Kicking. Flailing.

Just as I was about to lose what little oxygen remained in my lungs… my hands hit the sea floor.

I was turned around. I had swum in the wrong direction. Shit shit shit shit.

The panic intensified.

I turned my body and blasted to the top. I emerged out of the water with a violent gasp for life.

And that was the moment when I was hit by the wave that stole my enjoyment of the ocean. It was the wave to end all waves after the wave that already shook me up.

It was an equally big, equally forceful monster that immediately barreled down on me. I had no time to catch my breath. No time to recover from the last.

Again, I tossed and turned and tumbled. I struggled to find direction. Struggled to get back to air. Struggled to find which way was up.

I struggled to survive.

This was it. I knew that I couldn’t outlast another misdirection. I swam for what I desperately hoped was the surface. Pushing as hard as I could against the violent churn. And with one last effort

Swooosh!

I came up for air.

Weak.
Gasp. ing.
Shaking. Drained.

I dragged my body through the water. Out of the ocean. Onto the beach.

I collapsed onto the sand.

And I never went back into the ocean again for the next 20 years.

The Wave Of Criticism

I think of that wave sometimes when I’m being criticized by somebody.

It feels the same. I feel the fear envelop me.

When somebody tells me I’m wrong, I can sometimes feel myself tumbling and turning in the churn. I feel the life leave my lungs. I struggle for breath. I fight for my right to be right and hope I’m swimming in the right direction.

Sometimes I will push back. I will battle the wave of criticism. As if I had the power to stop it. To change its inevitable course.

I will argue with the person criticizing me.

“You’re wrong,” I will say. “I am right.”

I will lash back at them.

“Who are you to say this to me? You are the one with the weaknesses.”

But if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that you can’t fight the wave. It’s more powerful than you think. You will always lose.

Even if you win the battle, you’ll lose the war. Every. Single. Time.

How To Ride The Wave Of Criticism

At the age of 32, I was taught how to swim through the waves.

They aren’t monsters as much as music. They aren’t roaring, instead, there is rhythm. They rise and they fall in harmony.

You either dive under the wave and calmly avoid its wrath, or float serenely above and let it pass.

Fighting the wave doesn’t work. Whether it’s an ocean wave, a wave of anxiety or a wave of fear – the only way to thrive, is to embrace its flow.

When somebody says you’re wrong, instead of getting defensive and fighting back, float with the flow.

It is done with three simple words: “Tell me more”.

Be open to being wrong.
You think I did something bad?
Tell me more.

Be open to curiosity and learning.
You think I can improve myself?
Tell me more.

Strive to understand their perspective, and force yourself to do it with an open mind and an open heart.

It doesn’t mean they are right. It just means you’re willing to listen.

Tell me more.

I’m not saying this is easy. In fact, if you’re used to fighting – if your natural tendency is to lash back – this change is going to feel uncomfortable at first.

Don’t fight the discomfort.
Strive to understand it.

Tell me more.

Why are you fighting back the feedback?
Who is the you that you wish you could be?

Tell me more.