As a writer and editor for Southwest’s onboard magazine Spirit, I get to meet some very interesting people—including the man who graces this month’s cover. I think that Alex Sheen will inspire you to keep your promises. After he lost his father to cancer in September 2012, Sheen channeled his grief into a nonprofit/global social movement called Because I Said I Would, which champions the importance of honoring commitments. I had the pleasure of spending a few days in Cleveland, Ohio, shadowing him for the November edition of Spirit. In between marshaling volunteers at his office and foraging at a nearby nature preserve for firewood (get the full story on Sheen’s promise to build a fire using primitive techniques here), Sheen shared some wisdom about the nature of commitments.
One thing he stressed was the difference between promises and goals, and he used the objective of getting 1 million hits on YouTube as an example. “That’s not a promise,” Sheen said. “I can’t guarantee that’s going to happen.” Instead, he applies the word “promise” only to the things a person does have control over. In the case of scoring YouTube fame, that may include resolutions to post a video every week for a year or to spend X number of hours watching video-editing tutorials. Concrete commitments like these can propel us toward even the loftiest of goals.
I left Cleveland with a small stack of promise cards, a simple tool that Sheen devised to help people keep track of their commitments. These plain white, standard-size business cards are printed with the words “because I said I would” in black. You write down a promise, give the card to someone else, then get it back after you’ve followed through as a reminder that you are a person of your word. (Because I Said I Would will send you 10 cards free of charge. Submit your request here.) I’ve only used two so far—there’s something about the act of committing a promise to paper that makes me think long and hard before filling out a card. But I’d been meaning to incorporate more physical activity into my life, so my first card was a promise to myself to do a stretching routine every day for an entire week. I ended up missing a day and berating myself for coming up short. But rather than give up, I filled out another card, committing to doing the routine for six days the next week. Lesson learned: It’s good to start with small promises that you’re sure to stick with, then work your way up.
My coworker Melanie shared with me a promise that she and her husband, Sean, made recently. They haven’t spent Thanksgiving with her in-laws in a while, so this year Melanie and Sean told his family that they would fly back to New Orleans for the holiday. They even booked their flight early.
What about you? We’d love to hear what kind of promises you’ve made recently, especially those you may be planning to make to your loved ones this holiday season. Let us know in the comments.
... View more
It’s 20 minutes before the start of a hip-hop class at North Dallas’ Centre for Dance, and I’m sitting in my car having a mild panic attack.
When I pitched the idea of conquering my fear of dancing in public, I’d pictured myself following along to YouTube videos of routines like the Wobble—from the privacy of my living room. John McAlley, Spirit’s executive editor and my boss, gave me a reality check: “The point of this story is to get you out of your comfort zone,” he said to me one afternoon in his office.
So in the parking lot of the dance studio, I try, desperately, to get a handle on my heart rate. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this. IcandothisIcandothisIcandothis. It’s no use. I am way beyond “out of my comfort zone.” But there’s no turning back now. I hope you’re happy, John.
Once inside the studio, I nervously introduce myself to the instructor, a five-foot-tall, and incredibly svelte, black woman dressed in a turquoise hoodie and stretchy pants. Mbange Ngaaje, or “Geena,” as she tells me to call her, is a lifelong dancer whose resume includes performing in Super Bowl XLV’s halftime show alongside a little group called the Black Eyed Peas. “Intimidated” doesn’t even begin to cover it—more like “scared witless.”
“Every-whap-body’s-whap-sexy-whap-is-so-different,” she says, hitting the tabletop between us for emphasis. “Just because one person does the hair flip and they feel sexy does not mean you’re gonna flip your hair and feel sexy. For you, it may be a shoulder pop.” Her words are encouraging—even though I don’t know what a shoulder pop is, much less how to execute one. I was about to find out.
A steady beat pulses through the classroom speakers as the group warms up with stretches and—by my approximation—about 10,000 crunches. The volume makes it difficult to hear the instructions, but on the plus side, it distracts me from the pain in my out-of-shape abs.
Geena, who’s pulled on a pair of heeled boots by this time, moves with natural grace and exudes an easy confidence that I immediately envy. But her attitude is contagious—and I’m catching it after just a few minutes in her presence.
The main event is a choreographed routine to Rihanna’s “It’s Raining Men.” Geena breaks it up into segments, and as soon as we get one set of steps down, she has us link it to the previous set. Repeat, repeat, repeat. By the time it all comes together, I realize that an unexpected, but welcome, sense of confidence has snuck up on me. When did that happen?
At the end of the lesson, we run the three-minute routine from the top. “If somebody’s watching, don’t worry—they just want to steal your moves,” Geena shouts out over the opening beats. And for once, I’m not worried; I’m too busy having fun.
After class, another student—whose moves I’d definitely wanted to steal—approaches me. “You were so good! You really looked like you knew what you were doing out there,” she says.
The compliment leaves me beaming. “Thanks!” I say, flattered and totally flabbergasted.
I stand a little taller as I walk out the door, knowing I’ve just redefined my comfort zone. Next on the list: perfecting that shoulder pop.
... View more