Life lesson

Playing to My Strength Opened up a Gift Box —

Of a bunch of other strengths

“You win games with your strengths, not your weaknesses.” — Bear Bryant

Several years ago, when I moved with my family to Texas, we joined an Indian Association in our city.

A month later, I got a call from the Association’s president asking if I would serve as Entertainment Coordinator for the next two-year term. We had met at a dinner party the previous weekend. She was impressed (she said) with how readily I put forth my opinions.

I didn’t know why being opinionated made me a shoo-in for entertainment coordinator. I told her I had no experience putting together even a family reunion. How could I organize cultural and religious events for fifty families — ?

But she persisted. “Please… it’s tough finding people for the committee.” And then she threw me a bone. “I promise you can quit any time, and I’ll take your place.”

“Umm… okay,” I said.

And the little horned being perched on my shoulder crowed, “Sucker!”

This is not what we paid for…

I soon met the two other people serving with me on the committee. The president (a quiet, sixty-something guy), and the food coordinator (a bubbly, thirty-ish woman).

We worked well together. But the sum total of our experiences in organizing cultural and religious events was Zero.

Our first cultural event was coming up in two months. We chose a popular theme: an Indian folk dance “Dandiya-Raas” (Sticks Dance). You strike one dandiya against the other as you dance.

The committee’s first order of business should have been to rent the dandiya from an Indian specialty store. Instead, we lazily assumed that everyone owned these sticks.

More than half of the crowd at the event showed up, minus the accessories. When they asked for the dandiya, we had to confess we didn’t have any.

They stared in disbelief. “Are you guys serious?”

They didn’t ask for their money back. We must have looked beaten already. But they ate the appetizers and left — taking their friends with them. “This is Not what we paid for,” was the parting shot.

We were stuck with an empty banquet room and tables piled with food. Our debut event was an unqualified disaster.

Soldiering on…

Hubby was silent during the drive home. But I vented with all the self-control of a six-year-old —

It wasn’t my fault. The ex-prez got me into this mess. I had told her repeatedly I wasn’t up to the job. I would step down first thing tomorrow.

But I changed my mind the next morning.

I lecture my daughters all the time about “soldiering on.” If I were to slink off in defeat now, I couldn’t look my girls in the eye the next time I began my sermon.

I would hang on for just one more event. But if that went south, well… I wasn’t sticking around for another beating.

An obstacle course…

Our next event was a religious one.

This time the ex-president helpfully sent me a story from Hindu mythology. “Just have a couple of kids go up on stage and read this out.”

I skimmed through the piece and slapped my forehead.

The prose was an obstacle course, riddled with words of three or more syllables. Splendorous, transmogrify, stupendously.

It seemed as if the author — when translating the story from Sanskrit to English — had tried to retain the grand, epic flavor of the original by using ornate language.

I could see it now. The kids would trip over the clunky words; the audience would fall asleep.

And I would end up with egg on my face all over again.

I need to be dramatic…

I threw myself a pity party for the next couple of hours. Damocles has nothing on me.

Eventually, I got tired of moping around. Stop being dramatic. And figure this out.

Reading calms me.

So, I picked up the script and read through it again. I skipped over the purple prose. Suddenly, the story “transmogrified” into a “splendorous” tale with an engaging plotline.

A light bulb went off in my head: I need to be dramatic.

Drama queen…

I pitched the idea to my team. I would simplify the prose and dramatize the story —

“Please — ” they begged, showing a touching amount of faith in my abilities. I guess anything was better than a repeat of our dandiya disaster.

So, I went ahead and wrote the play. Now I had to find: 1. Actors: Seven children ranging from 5–12 years. 2. A director. 3. Someone to take charge of costumes and props.

The president and food coordinator (who knew lots of people in the association) jumped in to recruit actors.

Finding a director proved tricky, but —

When I was in school, I wrote and directed skits that my cousins and I enacted during the summer holidays. My childhood experience should be good enough to handle this little twenty-minute play.

I lucked out on item three because the parents stepped in to help. They were thrilled their kids were learning about Indian culture — mythology, no less. So, they came up with imaginative ideas for props and costumes.

Going granular…

I had two months to bring my play to life on the stage.

I began by creating a spreadsheet to coordinate venues-dates-times for rehearsals. For eight overscheduled sets of parents and kids.

Then I roped in hubby, my in-house techie, to pre-record the children’s dialogues. That helped cut down on rehearsals. My young actors could now lip-sync on stage. It wouldn’t matter if they forgot their lines.

I delegated tasks to the parents: Pick up the props and costumes from specialty stores; Get the actors into costume and makeup for the play; Stand by as prompters.

I went so granular I didn’t have the bandwidth to obsess about failure.

This time, we hit gold. When the audience applauded, my chief thought was: Thank you, God!

While driving home from the program, I was silent. Had I really pulled this off?

Leader or not…?

As a homemaker in India, I had lived a sheltered life. The only team I led lived within the four walls of my apartment.

Moving to America forced me to become more independent. To learn skills such as driving and using computers.

We moved around frequently in America. Every large city we moved to had an Indian Association — our shortest route to a social network. But I always shied away from taking on a position of responsibility in the organization.

I looked at the leaders within my narrow range of experience and saw them as: a) Extroverted, and b) Supremely confident.

I was neither of those things. Ergo, I was not a leader.

Still, I had taken charge of the play and made it a success. Was that leadership?

Gift box…

I had never suffered from an excess of self-assurance. But I was confident in one area of my life — writing. I was no Shakespeare or Kafka. But I was reasonably good. And I knew my writing skills were my strength.

So when I was desperate to avoid humiliation, I fell back on my strength — writing.

Once I scripted the play, I had to make my creation shine. Suddenly, I was doing things I had never attempted before. Things such as:

*Preparing a detailed plan of action *Recruiting. * Negotiating. * Delegating. * Coordinating logistics.

These actions felt organic since they flowed from the play. Essentially from writing. I experienced none of the usual hesitation or anxiety.

The ripples moved outward…

The scale of my “project” was minuscule. But I had cast a pebble into the waters — and the ripples moved outward. In going with one strength, I opened up a gift box of other capabilities I didn’t know I possessed.

I examined the contents of the box, and here’s what I saw: * I was creative * I had an eye for detail * I had decent people skills * I could think outside the box

Best of all, I could transfer these skills to other areas of my life. To my vocation as a homemaker. My stint as a paralegal. And my role as a wedding planner when my daughter got married in India.

Final takeaway…

I am still neither “supremely confident” nor an “extrovert” as I once yearned to be. But I have grown more self-assured since I began playing to my strengths. It has also helped me acknowledge my weaknesses and work on them.

Sixteen years after first serving on the committee, I am back as the Association’s Entertainment Coordinator. And this time, I volunteered for the post. The year’s biggest cultural event is coming up in three weeks.

And I — am more excited than anxious.

Thanks for reading! 🌼🌻 Thank you Dr. Preeti Singh for publishing my story. Here are some great stories:

Loved this one by Elder Taoist:

And Mani Goel’s wonderful “Corner of Happiness” story:

And here’s some more of my stuff — The first one’s about a house plant:

And this one is about my writing journey: