Yesterday I was in a coffee shop eating breakfast and getting some work done when I overheard a conversation between two men. They were discussing one man's daughter, where she was living now and what she was doing. "She's working at Allstate, the insurance company," said the woman's father. "No, but it's actually a pretty good job. It has benefits, and the salary is pretty good, and she just got a promotion."

I think it caught my ear because of something else I heard over the weekend. I was listening to Oprah's Super Soul podcast, to a session by Dr. Shefali Tsabary. She said that "children are not the diamonds and the jewels you get to adorn yourself with."

Photo by JESHOOTS.COM on Unsplash — Photo by JESHOOTS.COM on Unsplash

So much of my career path has been shaped by my parents and my family and their expectations of me. Not their overt expectations, of course. I picked a college that was more expensive than they probably would have liked, I picked a major I loved, and I defied my mother's joking wishes that I enroll in pharmacy or engineering schools. But there was one underlying belief that was the foundation of most of my choices: If I was successful I could make my parents happy. If I was successful it meant they were successful, and that would make them proud of me.

So my recent decision to quit my job and launch myself as a freelancing life coach and yoga guide is pretty fraught with emotion. I've had to ask myself some big questions. Do I think I would be just as happy working a less prestigious job? Do I believe my family and my friends will still love me if I fail? Do I have "what it takes" to be successful on my own?

I think many of us are at a crossroads between two different models of success. There's the model we've learned from watching older generations, and there is the model we're observing in our world. It's hard to be in between these two, because we can see we're living in the new model but the old model is embedded in everything we do and use every day.

The old model is why, when I start a business checking account, there's no way for be to actually include my industry. The closest match in the drop-down menu was "fitness centers".

The old model is the reason our best shot at health care is being employed by a large company that offers "great benefits".

The old model is the reason I get questions like "do you think there's even a market for what you want to do?"

It's taking all my courage and energy to keep reminding myself that the old model is fading, and when I was inside it I could feel myself fading too.

And, when it really comes down to it, I don't want anyone to be proud of me because I had a good job. I want them to be proud because I had a good life.

As a yoga teacher and an educator, l’m pretty used to speaking to groups of people. In high school, and in college, I loved performing in plays. So I wouldn't say that I’m afraid of public speaking the way that many people are. Recently, though, my speaking engagements have gotten a little, well, personal.

In early November, the yoga studio where I have been teaching and practicing for years was the target of a seemingly random incident of gun violence. Just two days later, I was supposed to speak to a large group of first-year college students about yoga and mindfulness and how these practices can help us become more effective and less stressed. I was feeling more vulnerable and raw than I ever remember having felt before, and all of a sudden I didn't know what I would say
to this group of students. Could I talk about yoga and meditation and just leave out my personal story?

Then I was asked to speak again at a conference on violence and abuse. I had no idea what I would say. I had the biggest case of impostor syndrome I had ever experienced. What did I possibly have to say that could add to this conference, with insights from social workers, policy researchers and helping professionals? I didn't know.

In both of these situations I had no idea what I was going to say. But I knew I was going to speak, and that there was an important message to spread. I just wasn't sure what that was. So I opened up and I asked for help, both from other people and from whatever else is out there.

Here are the 3 prayers I used to help me get through:

Thank you for giving me a voice to make change.
Sometimes the nerves and stress around public speaking can obscure the gift that it really is. Many people never get the chance to use their voices to change the world. Other people spend their whole lives fighting and striving to be heard. Some people around the world risk their lives when they speak up for what they believe. So, when I can remember all of this before I speak, I can say a prayer of gratitude for having the chance to share my thoughts and my words.

Thank you for speaking through me, and for letting the message come through clearly.
This is a prayer to take some of the pressure off. It acknowledges that inspiration is something that flows through us and out of us, not something we create. Before I speak I ask the universe, or God, or spirit, or whatever you choose to call the energy that binds us all together to send the message that this particular audience needs to hear.
Phrasing it as a thank you shows my trust that this is all being taken care of. I’m not begging. I'm trusting and thanking the universe for guiding my words.

Thank you for being here with me.
This is a prayer directly to my audience. There's not a more Lonely feeling, I think, than speaking in front of a room full of people who aren't actually paying attention. Recently, I've found it helpful to actually ask my audience to stay with me. It’s something I always do at the start of every yoga class, and it works great in public talks. We walk through life with scattered thoughts. So I ask the room to get comfortable, take a deep breath, and to really be present.

Using these 3 prayers, l've been able to let go of some of the anxiety that springs up
around public speaking and connect more fully with my audience. But it's not just for crowds.
You could use similar affirmations before a tough conversation at work or with family, and when
writing. It's all about acknowledging that you're here, in this situation, for a reason, and trusting
you'll be taken care of.