Be Grover

Your cute, furry, adorable, blue monster pal

In her book Beyond Anxiety, Martha Beck uses an analogy of two spirals to explain how anxiety grows and ebbs. One is the left hemisphere anxiety spiral that tries to control fear by generating more fear stories. The other is the right hemisphere creativity spiral that dissolves anxiety through curiosity, play, and genuine interest. Her advice is simple: follow your “weird sparks,” the odd, persistent fascinations that arise within you. The ones that feel too specific, too silly to admit out loud. Her hypothesis is that they are not frivolous. They are healing.

In the role of client in a coaching session recently, one of my weird sparks popped up when considering how to react to a frustrating situation. Muppets. More specifically: Grover. It felt childish at first, but then I recognized it as a right hemisphere spark. A “squirrel passion,” as Martha calls it. The kind of fascination where the more you learn, the more you want to keep learning. The kind that interrupts the anxiety spiral without effort.

So, with a nudge from my coaching partner (their palpable delight was helpful), I followed it…which means I indulged in the most delightful research.

Who is Grover?
Where does he live?
What does he teach?

I rediscovered his cheerful voice and his effervescent style. I remembered the way he chaotically bursts into a scene shouting one of his signature introductions: “It is I, Grover!” or “Hello, everybody! I am your cute, furry, adorable, blue monster pal, Grover!”

On Sesame Street, Grover wears many hats. His profession differs by the day. Waiter. Taxi driver. Door to door salesman. Near and far demonstrator. He is not good at most of these jobs. He is spectacularly bad at some of them. But he shows up anyway and wholeheartedly tackles the task at hand. No matter the role he inhabits, Grover is unafraid to be exactly who he is. Cute, furry, blue, lovable.

Grover does not have a specific home on Sesame Street.
No apartment. No stoop. No fixed address.
He simply arrives where he is needed.

Grover is a helper, but not the polished, neutral, distant kind. He is the Super Grover kind, the energetic Muppet kind. The kind who crashes onto the scene and stands by, cape fluttering, while his friend figures things out for themselves. He accompanies. He cheers. He tries. He fails. He suggests terrible ideas. He attempts to sell Kermit things a frog does not need, such as toothbrushes.

Grover is unperturbed by his own imperfection. Or rather, he’s perturbed but keeps going. He is not a good waiter, but he keeps showing up. He may wilt a bit when the soup comes out wrong for the fifth time, but his enthusiasm never completely disappears.

Grover is a reminder that the point is not mastery. The point is wholeheartedness.
Grover shows that it is okay to try and not be good at things.
Grover shows that there is no one true calling in life.
Grover shows that love for customers, friends, and self can coexist with frustration, failure, and mess.

And this is exactly what Beck means when she says to follow your squirrels. They lead you out of the anxiety spiral and into the creative one. They reconnect you with the part of yourself that is curious, playful, and unafraid to be exactly what you are.

Here is the Grover who arrived when I followed the spark. (Drawing by Beth Kardong)

As a result of this rigorous academic study of Grover, I am trying to learn to be a bit more “Grover-ish” when I’m feeling stuck. This is the guidance I hear:

Show up where you are needed.
Wear the hat that fits today.
Try things you are not good at.
Love people even when they sigh at you.
Love yourself even when you are flailing.
Be cute, furry, blue, lovable; whatever that means for you.
Unapologetically introduce yourself as such.

Thanks for being here. And if this felt relevant for you, I hope you can find ways to practice letting your weird sparks lead you back to your own delight.