Glug

When I was a kid, my mom had bottled milk delivered to our house.  My siblings and I loved the first pour, the sound of the milk bounding out its vessel and into the waiting glass like a dam just released.  My brother was always adamant about his being the first glass. “I want to hear the glug!” he would say insistently, as if it was a sound audible only by the bearer of the glass.   He was relentless, complaining mercilessly when my mother chose to pour into someone else’s glass first.  His incessant whining often ignited a big, ridiculous argument, and then more crying on his part when he missed the glug amid the ruckus he had created.  As the oldest and the practical one, I was just annoyed.  Didn’t he realize that even if he was relegated to second or third pour, the very fact that he was in the same room gave him the opportunity to experience the glug?

As an adult, I can now understand my brother’s need to be first, especially growing up in a family with five children.  Competition is a natural phenomenon among siblings. As I raise my own children in today’s world, there doesn’t seem to be anything left in life that is not competitive.

We can’t always be first.  But we sometimes forget there is tremendous value to be gained just by being in the room. 

I remember a point in my career when I wanted so badly to be on one of our client leadership teams.  I’d spent almost 10 years in various team leader positions, but this was the “senior” team.  You needed to be at the top of your respective service line for this spot.  It was exclusive, where breaking news was announced, strategy was outlined and all the decisions were made. This was the table I needed a seat at if I was going to move up, and I wanted in. 

It took two excruciatingly painful years to get there.  During that time I was beside myself.  I felt stifled, like someone had a thumb pressed firmly on the crown of my head. I jumped on any opportunity to get in front of that group, volunteering to present learning from a training session, or options to more efficiently organize my team. I became a sounding board for my manager, and the go-to person for the team and client.  I soaked up everything there was to know about the client’s business and goals. And all the while my frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

I look back on it now and marvel at how much I absorbed just by being curious, driven and wanting so badly the seat at the table.  In those years when I believed I was stagnant, I became a subject matter expert in my line of business.  I came to understand our business as a whole and how the parts work together in seamless integration.  My internal network grew exponentially.  I was so well prepared for my role on the senior team, that in my first year I took my group from the worst performing to the best performing.

All that and I didn’t think I’d heard the glug.

I’ll never tell an ambitious woman leader to stop fighting for a seat at the table, or to patiently wait her turn in second or third place. What I will tell her, is that while she is casing the room for an opening or the opportunity to bring her own chair in and sit down, she should never discount what can be learned from another vantage point.

The funny thing about the glug is that you’re the only person who can prevent yourself from hearing it.  Don’t let your impatience and frustration get in the way.

Impetus

Today is one of those days where I can’t seem to make progress on anything.  I’ve got a significant presentation to tackle, but it’s in that bewildering stage of development where it’s just a bunch of big ideas.  Before the detail work can be done, I’ve somehow got to pick a direction, narrow the focus and organize my thoughts.  It calls for brainstorming exercises which I’m usually pretty good at, but for some reason while I’ve turned the key in the ignition several times, I’ve done no more than choke, sputter and gurgle to a meager start.  It leaves me thoroughly unmotivated and feeling a little worthless, having spent valuable time spinning my wheels with no results to show for it. What does it take to rev up the engine and make it purr?

Big goals leave us feeling like this sometimes, too.  It could be why so many of us have a hard time pulling our anchors out of the water and moving toward what we want. When the options are too broad, we can’t move at all.  But setting parameters sometimes feels like a prodigious exercise in itself.

I start by defining success.  How will I know I’ve achieved this goal to my satisfaction?  What will it look like and what will I feel like?  While it’s a step many of us are tempted to skip, what it does is provide the framework for scaling goals appropriately.  Put plainly, I need to know before I set out that I’m on the path to work for an outcome that will satisfy me.

I loved my sketching class at the Art Institute for the freedom the instructors invoked around artistic license.  They had a purpose with each drawing exercise, but deliberately made the rules as loose as possible to encourage thinking out of the box. With only a limited amount of time, they also wanted a way to jump start our creativity so we didn’t spend the whole class afraid to put the pencil to paper.  We spent several classes working in front of a single painting of our choosing.  Mine was Kandinsky’s Improvisation No. 30. A large work, we were encouraged to choose only a small portion if it felt overwhelming in its entirety or did not serve our purpose as a whole.

This concept can be applied to attacking our goals also.  Releasing ourselves from the obligation to boil the ocean, look under every rock or please everyone in sight, can be just the catalyst we need to get to what we really want.  It also protects us from the apathy that sets in when the task in front of us looms so large we’re at risk of not even trying. 

Gauging goals against success metrics paves the way to taking action. When the goal starts to look achievable and you can picture yourself basking in your desired outcome, it begins to take on an energy of its own. The focus that’s needed to start acting on the goal should be visible, clearing the way to move forward.

If it still looks muddy, a break is never a bad thing.  It seems pretty obvious, but mapping out big goals doesn’t usually happen overnight.  Things may not come together as easily as you think, but that doesn’t make you a failure.  A lot has been written about the power of the brain to sort out ideas and find clarity when we’re occupied with something else. 

For me, stopping to write this blog has proven to be just the diversion I needed to get my thoughts in order and decide how to move forward with my project.  I’m going to put my success metrics in place, build an agenda for my presentation, and send it to the meeting organizer for review.

But not until after I clear my head with an evening run.

Accretive

“Mad Men” is one of my favorite shows; while it is traditional, scripted, fictional television with professional actors, I find it to be an interesting take on what life was purported to be like for women in the sixties, with an occasional timeless application for women today.  It doesn’t hurt, either, that I am lured in by rich, colorful set design and costume as pieces of art working deliciously in concert.  I savor every element of the performance each week and am enchanted by the possibility I'll be moved and surprised at any moment.

And Sunday’s episode was no different.  Titled “The Other Woman”, among other things, it is a moving portrayal of a woman taking charge of her life, packing up her potential and setting out to change a few things for herself.

For the past five seasons we’ve watched the Peggy Olson character evolve from submissive secretary to confident copywriter.  As she continually delivers quality ideas, winning hard-fought accolades and recognition from a group of male colleagues slow to grant her even a modicum of equality or credit for her work, we’ve watched her self-assurance grow. She’s now at a crossroads. Over coffee with one of her sponsors, a former colleague at her current advertising agency, he suggests just the encouragement she needs to take her career into her own hands and she accepts his offer to recommend her to a competitor. 

Making a decision to move on can feel like a big risk.  We get so comfortable with what we know.  Sure, there are things that aren’t great about our circumstances, but if the choice is between moving to the unfamiliar or staying put, it’s easier to minimize the down side of our current position rather than risk something new. There can be a million good reasons why we should leave, but fear of the unknown can trump all of them and leave us idling in a stale situation long past the expiration date.

We also feel a sense of loyalty toward the people around us.  Most of us spend more time at work than at home, and become quite close to our colleagues, clients and teammates.  For many of us, it’s been a considerable battle to get where we are today, and we’ve had some help.  We’ve built strong teams, and cultivated a sizeable amount of fidelity in those who work with us. Picking up and leaving our fans behind, whether they are managers, advocates or our direct reports, can leave us feeling selfish and ungrateful, like we are abandoning those who made our achievements possible.

And then there’s the nagging fear of failure. What if we cannot be as accomplished in the new place as we are right now?  What if we really have been held up by those around us, and our work is only ordinary?  When we spend a long period of time in one role, we perfect it and make it our own.  It becomes such a part of us it seems impossible to believe that we could leave it and recreate similar success elsewhere.  But we can’t grow unless we give ourselves the chance to do exactly that.

What I loved about the way Peggy delivers her message to her manager, Don, was the unequivocal statement “it’s time for me to have a new experience”. Sometimes the reason to move on is as simple as that. We don’t need to leave on bad terms, burn bridges or make it about money. We owe it to ourselves to get as many diverse experiences as we can.  It makes us more interesting, valuable, and happier. Who can really deny that?  As Peggy tells Don, he would do the same thing in her shoes.

The scene in Don’s office is beautifully orchestrated.  She thanks him for recognizing her skills, for treating her like a protégé and for being her champion.  Of course Don is angered, but as she holds her ground and speaks from the heart, we watch him soften slightly.  He can’t argue. We come to realize in the moment Peggy’s extended hand is met, not with Don’s hand, but with his lips in a lingering kiss, that he holds a deep appreciation for her talent and understands the true magnitude and inevitability of his loss.  By handling the situation so confidently and authentically, she garners from him a rare and genuine flash of grace.

The door is left ajar to walk through again in the future if she chooses, and she is off to spread her wings in another direction.  She’s made the right choice and she knows it.  As the elevator doors part and she contemplates stepping over the threshold to her next adventure, a smile of sheer joy and pride crosses her face.  Priceless.

Perspicuity

In order to go for what you want, you have to know what you want. I talk a good game around the need to express goals, to say them out loud, in order to achieve them.  However, I was reminded last week that, in the words of Tom Petty, “you can’t say what you don’t know.”

While mentoring a group of highly talented, emerging women leaders, it became apparent that being faced with options can be its own challenge.  One woman in particular has a golden opportunity.  Her company is in the middle of a reorganization.  Roles are being redefined and created.  Job functions may move to different cities.  She has a chance to take on a bigger role. She talked a lot about being willing to relocate, but never said with conviction that she wanted to relocate. When I pointed out that her manager was probably unclear about what she wanted, because she appeared to be wavering herself, she admitted she’s got work to do in terms of figuring out what it is she wants next.

We spent some time talking about our expectations that career paths in our respective companies should be prescribed, that our managers should be taking responsibility to assess our readiness and put us in the next position within the hierarchy when they deem us ready.  We put our heads down and do our work, waiting for the announcement that we’re moving up.

This is the safe approach. It does two things; it eliminates the need to do the hard work and project the confidence required to own our careers, and if we wait until a manager proclaims us ready for the next move, we’re certain to have the validation we need from others to feel qualified.  The problem is this leads to frustration that comes with remaining in a position long after we’ve outgrown it, and not getting what we want. In the case of a changing organization where our next step is not obvious, we run the risk of being left out in the cold or having someone else choose for us.

Thank goodness it doesn’t have to be this way in most organizations.  We get to own our careers, but deciding what they look like is not easy. We often dismiss what we really want without serious consideration because we don’t know how we’ll get there or we don’t believe we have what it takes. We kill our own ideas right on the table.

I like to think about what I want to be doing in a perfect world, assuming there are no barriers.  I put my ideas down on paper, free of any self-imposed restrictions.  I don’t worry about how it might happen or what obstacles are in my way.  I end up with a list of things I absolutely love. 

My goals are big.  It’s not clear when I look at them today how I’ll ultimately get there.  I spent some time being paralyzed over the magnitude of my goals, until I read this Harvard Business Review blog called “What To Do When You Don’t Know What To Do” http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2012/03/what_to_do_when_you_dont_know.html. It talks about the need to keep moving forward in the face of uncertainty. You pick a direction you want to go, take a small step toward it, analyze what happened and reassess your situation before taking the next step. 

It’s been an unbelievably powerful process for me.  It allows me to see, almost immediately, success or failure with the step I’ve taken and gives me the opportunity to decide whether I want to keep moving forward with my chosen path or try something else. After taking only a few small steps, I’ve become really clear on what I want to pursue.     

The most surprising benefit of all for me is the confidence that is building.  With each step I take, I see myself getting closer to achieving my goals. This success makes it easier to say out loud what I want because I’m starting to believe I can actually get there.  I feel compelled to tell more people about where I’m going.  The fire in my belly is constantly stoked. 

My own confidence breeds confidence in others.  In fact, I shared with the mentoring group what I experienced seeking out the opportunity to work with them.  I eagerly forwarded my resume detailing my qualifications.  I thought I’d need to interview or go through some sort of evaluation.  I was floored to find out that the enthusiasm I projected was all it took to win me a spot on the panel.  I marveled at the fact that my belief in myself as an expert, with valuable information and a willingness to share it, made it so. And, best of all, my work with the panel was so good, I was asked to be on another panel next month.

When we are confident about ourselves and what we want, we are unstoppable. Don’t be afraid to get clear.

Nyctinasty

I have a thing for poppies. Well, flowers in general.  But I’ve always been drawn to the poppy, my initial foray into gardening. I would buy the seed packet and attempt to grow them, envisioning a field full of their beautiful paper-thin petals in screaming scarlet dotting my yard.  They’ve proven difficult to propagate, even though I now have years of experience with plants under my belt.  But I persist because they are so alluring. 

The forked blue-green foliage hides in my garden, looking deceivingly forbidding, like that of a weed with the ability to inflict pain, however, if you touch them there is a sultry, silky smooth quality incongruent with what the eye sees. Once the flaming blooms burst out of their fat buds, I know to make no mistake, they’ve arrived, as if they’re saying, I’m here, take notice!

So when I ran across the poem “Early Nightfall” in my quest for more detail about poppies, I was immediately enamored with this line which speaks to my belief that the first step to realizing our dreams is to announce them to the world in all their glory: 

“The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.”

I was eager to digest the full meaning of the poem. As I dove in to understand the composition, I found a puzzling pattern of word choice. “Opes”, in fact was not a spelling error, nor is it in the dictionary. Does the poet get artistic license to make up his own words?

I wanted to love the whole poem.  In unraveling its meaning, unsavory information about the author came to light.  I started looking at other poets like Sandburg and Yeats.  Surely they’ve written something masterful about poppies, and they’re considered better writers and well-respected.  But their words didn’t grab me in the same way. It made me pause to consider, was the line of the poem no longer worth using because its author was deemed marginally talented and lacking integrity? 

Do we have the right to discount something entirely because a portion of it is flawed?

It feels in some ways like we have become a society that hunts down and devours imperfection. The way political campaigns are run, there isn’t a person alive perfect enough to be President.  And who has the stomach to undergo such scrutiny, especially, when it is inevitable that something will be uncovered. We’re human.  Yet we’re constantly told our teeth aren’t white enough, our skin isn’t smooth enough. And that lapse in judgment you made when you were 19, that’s going to be a problem for the rest of your life.

We all live in glass houses.  How is it that there is so much stone throwing going on? 

What worries me is that this assumption that we all need to be perfect holds us back from pursuing our dreams. It’s enough to make us close up and keep our aspirations to ourselves. I was a panelist at a women’s leadership training session today.  We spent a lot of time talking about how women hold themselves back, shying away from requesting promotions and taking on stretch assignments until they are skilled in every required area, almost to the point of over-qualification. It seems the threat of an attack on our competencies makes us hold back when we should be leaping at the next new challenge.

The advice from every woman on the panel was to find the courage to take a risk.  Don’t worry that you don’t know it all. Practice articulating your dreams because the first step to becoming CEO is to actually speak your goal out loud. Ask for a stretch assignment to test your muscle.  Find a mentor to help you navigate.  See the big picture, but don’t solve for the problem that may be five steps down the road, solve for the one right in front of you.  Mistakes will be made.  It’s not the end of the world.

Most importantly, in a time where everything and everyone is scrutinized for weaknesses and faults we need to look for the good. Someone’s going to find our flaws, that’s a given.  We can run from it or we can proudly turn our scarlet purses to the sun, with all of our imperfections, open them up to the world and reveal our dreams.

Assuage

“We read to know we are not alone.”- -  C.S. Lewis

Today I was thinking about the reasons why I write, happily ticking them off in my mind until I startled myself with the last one:  I write because I find absolute beauty in words.  I write because I love the pursuit for words that unlock my precise meaning.  I write because the options for constructing new and melodious sentences are endless. I write because it helps me solve problems. I write because I believe I can use my talent to inspire.  I write because it is a way to express some of my most coveted desires.  I write because it engenders intimacy.  I write because I am lonely.

When I was healing from my divorce, I found myself resurrecting long-distance friendships I had let lapse.  Being geographically challenged, we used e-mail to communicate.  I spent hours at my computer pouring out my hopes, fears and failures, and receiving in return immediate responses filled with heartfelt and thoughtful counsel both to soothe and fortify me on the new road less traveled which I’d chosen to take.  These friends were – and are - life savers for me.   

Without a man in my life, I sometimes feel like I’m burdening friends with concerns that I’d reserve for my “person”. While my friends have never made me feel like they are unwilling to listen, and their generosity is always sincere, it sometimes feels like too much to ask, and is achingly not the same. Putting my ideas down on paper helps me work through them, filling, at least partially, this evanescent void in my life.  Posting them makes me feel like there is always someone listening.

The beauty of a blog is you get to choose whether you read it or not.  If you’re not interested in what I’m thinking about, you don’t have to read.  Unlike Facebook, my thoughts are not plastered on your public wall; if you don’t want to be assaulted with my posts there is no debate over whether to give me the virtual hook with an unfriending. 

I hope that those of you who choose to read feel less alone.  We’re all lonely in some way, even when we have a really great person committed to traveling through life with us.  Finding a voice of affinity on the journey can be comforting, even in the absence of any real solutions.

Maybe my philosophy on life, love and leadership is not always for you.  Maybe I pose more questions than answers.  Maybe seeing yourself in a post stings a little but helps you acknowledge something that has been really hard for you to hear. What I hope shines through is that we’re all human and by accepting and revealing a little bit of our mortality we can find our way to where we want to go.

Verge

Raising adolescent boys is the most difficult project I have ever undertaken - hands down. Not only do they expect more control over their lives, but they often take it without asking.  Like the “sneak” attacks on horseback that characterized feudal times, there’s plenty of warning the slow moving army is on its way, but the townspeople are almost never a match for their foe. I think it’s safe to say placing the reins into the fresh and eager hands of teenagers is never smooth. In order to manage it, I’m finding I need acumen, patience and the fortitude to continue to take risks in spite of repeated failures.

I’m not risk averse.  I consider myself to be a measured risk taker. I believe in failure as a necessary component of success.  When debating the prospect of something new, I weigh the consequences of possible outcomes and make a decision to take a risk based on how damaging an unsatisfactory result will be.  I believe in giving my teenagers opportunities to manage their lives even though there is a chance they will fail.  I would much rather see them make their mistakes with me, someone who loves them unconditionally and has their backs always.  I use this approach as I shift the balance of control toward my boys, in much the same way I delegate and empower my teams at work.

The flaw with using my measured risk approach with my kids is that the stakes feel really high.  These are my babies.  I have been entrusted to guide them through the beginning phases of life, to keep them safe and sound until they’re ready to be launched into the world to make the contributions that comprise their purpose. What if something goes wrong along the way and they don’t reach their potential? 

It is so very hard to watch young ones make mistakes and get into trouble.  They don’t have years of experience with it like we adults do.  They haven’t learned how to manage their emotions and see situations through any lens other than their own.  Every failure seems monumental and every consequence a death sentence.  I want nothing more than to shield them from disappointments.  But that’s not my job.

I believe my job is to equip them with the skills they need to be self-sufficient, contributing, happy members of society.  To teach them that they are accountable for the consequences of their actions, that trust is a lynchpin of successful relationships, that life is not always fair and that not only are they in charge of their own happiness, but they have the power to create it for themselves. Teaching these lessons means allowing them to take some responsibility that may result in failure.

It also means educating them on how to handle it when they do fail. Imposing consequences on an adolescent is gut-wrenching and requires unbelievable tenacity, especially as a single parent.  My muscle is halved by the sheer fact that I am one person without a partner who has my back. I can’t overemphasize the value of the power of two.  Would Batman have lived through so many perilous plights without Robin?  I doubt it.  It forces me to narrow my focus to the critical few and choose my battles judiciously.

I offer some insight into my own challenges. Although often met with eye-rolls, I believe firmly that giving my kids an age-appropriate awareness of the failures I’m dealing with teaches a valuable lesson around the importance of perseverance.  I have shared with them select aspects of my recent experience with clients who did not renew our contracts while on my watch.  They need to know that good people who work hard and have the best intentions sometimes lose. They need to know how to accept gracefully the consequences of losing.  They need to know how to squelch the panic and fear that comes when you are suddenly not doing the job anymore you’d thought you’d be in for a long time. They need to know that one of my responsibilities to them is to provide security, and to see how this can be accomplished even in turbulent times.

They also need to see me experiment and stretch myself into new endeavors so they are never afraid to pursue their own crazy dreams, and to seed in their developing minds the value of diversification and a Plan B.  Maybe the pursuit is an option for a rainy day, or will end in abandonment, but we’re all richer for the experience.

So what’s required to enable risk-taking and the failures that inevitably ensue?  In my opinion, a suit of armor and, in the absence of a crystal ball, a healthy dose of faith. 

We can lock our kids up in our ivory towers and hope their hair doesn’t grow long enough for their friends to climb up and misbehave while we’re sleeping at night (yes, a rendition of this played out at my home).  We can tether them to us, experiencing every minute of life together (I have often envied the bravery of the families who took their children on year-long hiking or biking trips across the Americas).  For most of us, these options are unrealistic, and delaying the inevitable.  The shift of control ultimately needs to happen.

I’m choosing a phased roll-out into the world, an unfurling of freedom, with the belief that I’m laying a really solid foundation for future good decision making.  Not all of my lessons are meant to be realized in the moment, but rather are absorbed into an arsenal of tools for life, to be retrieved when faced with a situation where they’re needed.

An important caveat is that my philosophy is aspirational.  They are after all, my babies.  While I’m usually pretty good about granting requests for freedom that have risk attached and calmly dealing with some pretty obscure and outlandish outcomes, there are times when I find the thought of another failure unbearable and I want nothing more than to pull up the drawbridge and retreat to the respite the moat affords. 

These are the times my children need my love the most, when they are stretching and finding their wings.  Ironically, they’re also the times when they are the hardest to love.  This is where the armor comes in handy. I often find that when I don’t know what to do, when they are at their worst, the best place my energy can go is into loving them more.  What else is there?

Besieged

In a recent meeting with one of our client service teams, I was struck by the inordinate amount of time we spent talking about the clients’ bad behavior.  Our team felt inundated with criticism and in turn deemed the client to be inconsiderate, ungrateful, ignorant, oblivious, insensitive, and unappreciative, to name a few.  The leader is frustrated, believing he is doing everything right operationally, yet perplexed, unable to identify the changes he needs to make in his organization to trigger a warm embrace and celebration of success from the client. 

After spending two days assessing his team’s operations I came to find that his team is technically solid.  I couldn’t come up with another report he can compile, training to complete or meeting he can add to his calendar that will improve his team’s service delivery. What I did come away with is overwhelming evidence that he is in a one-sided relationship with his client.

Plain and simple, whether we are talking about business or life, in order for relationships to be successful, both parties need to be invested.  I think we can all attest to the amount of work it takes to maintain a healthy and satisfying relationship when both parties are engaged and committed to being together.  No wonder it feels like moving mountains when one side isn’t a willing, contributing participant.

As my peer experienced with his client, it is extremely frustrating when you feel like you’re doing everything you can on your end, you see no indication that the other side is expending equal effort, yet the fault seems to rest with you.  It begs the question:  Is your partner really a partner? 

If the answer is no, you’ve got some decisions to make.

We tend to feel trapped, believing that we have no choice in these situations but to stay.  Getting out might mean looking for another job which can create economic pressures or feel impossible because we don’t quite know how to find something new.  It may mean ending a marriage and taking on greater financial responsibilities or single parenthood.  Fear of the onslaught of unknowns that come with moving on to something new often preclude us from exiting a toxic situation, but if you’re struggling and unhappy and feel you’ve done all you can to change things, you owe it to yourself to consider leaving.  You do have a choice.  

And getting out is often the best choice if you can’t keep your contempt and attitude in check.  A bad attitude impacts everyone around you, especially when you’re the leader of a team at the office or a few impressionable children you love like no other.  And it can certainly dim all of the good you’ve done.  While it’s not easy to do, sometimes the right thing to do is find the courage to bow out.

If you decide to stay, you need to make peace with yourself.  Is the situation ideal?  No.  Do you wish it was different?  Yes.  But you’ve decided to stay in. If you’re going to be happy, you need to take your focus away from trying to change things you can’t influence to making the best of the situation for yourself and those around you. 

While the destructive behavior may feel personal, most of the time it’s not. In the business situation I’ve highlighted, it’s reasonable to believe that this client may feel his job could be in jeopardy because the service provider has come in and is delivering at a higher level.  When we feel threatened, we’ll do what it takes to protect ourselves.  I think about how mean and nasty my teenagers can get when I get too close to a guarded secret or insecurity they want to mask. 

I’m a firm believer that no one comes to the office everyday saying “I’d like to do a bad job today and make everyone around me miserable.”  Nor do we intend to create an insufferable home.  There is often something that is not evident to others impacting the way we behave.  We all face challenges, harbor worries, and covet dreams we’re reluctant to share with anyone, even those closest to us.  Having an appreciation and awareness for this makes it easier to exist in any environment.

When we can acknowledge that it’s not personal, we’re given a clearer, more objective perspective that can open the door to honest conversation and compromise. These are the very things that are needed to build and maintain good relationships. Coming to terms with our inability to control anyone’s behavior but our own creates its own kind of power.    

We’re all weak in some ways.  But the good news is we’re all strong as well.  Recognizing our strength, that we have choices and that it is necessary to grant grace in order to get through difficult situations is what ultimately gets us to where we want to go.

Cleave

“A girl should get exactly what she wants.”  I’m not sure who to attribute these words to, or where I first heard them, but this has become an aphorism for me.  At face value, this statement can be taken as presumptuous, or be misconstrued as some sort of entitlement, but for me these are words that remind me to be patient and that I don’t have to settle.

My dreams are well-thought out and meaningful to me.  If I’m going to put myself out there to realize them, I should not accept an outcome that is anything less than what I set out to achieve.  This doesn’t mean that I can’t change my mind along the way and reset my goals, rather it means that I shouldn’t lower my standards or expectations because it feels too hard, is taking too long, or others are telling me it’s unattainable.

This adage shot back up to the top of my mind after a conversation at a party I recently attended where it was opined that it should be relatively easy for a woman my age to find a man who will treat her decently.    I am wrestling with the word “decent”.   The on-line dictionary says “above average in quality”, “satisfactory”, “adequate”, “sufficient”.    While there is nothing outwardly offensive about these words, they leave me feeling insipid.  When I think about what I want my next relationship to look like, these are not the descriptors that come to mind. 

Is this all there is?

I’ll admit to having what could be described as a Pollyanna perspective on relationships.  I am looking for “amazing”.  I don’t want to settle for “decent”.  This is not the first time I’ve wondered whether it is too much to expect a relationship where there is mutual love, respect, and admiration fueled by enthusiasm, joy, and passion.  A partnership with someone who has his own dreams he can’t wait to let me in on, and supports mine in the same manner.   I’m looking for someone who is not afraid to invest and be truly intimate:  A person who not only loves me but has the courage to give me the ultimate gift of allowing himself to be loved back.   

I know all about how hard this is.  I know that life gets in the way, that the commitments of work and kids leave little time for the couple.   I have lived the power struggle of competing goals and the battle for an equal division of labor.  I have suffered the apathy and atrophy that separate lives create. I have sat huddled in the gloaming wondering how I could feel so alone with someone right beside me.

I also know it doesn’t have to be this way.   Relationships end up in unhappy places because of the choices we make managing what life sends our way. Many of our relationships lack credence and courage.   We’re afraid to ask for what we really want. We avoid the difficult conversations because we’re unskilled at managing the raw emotions they elicit.  It’s easier to keep our distance.  This is how we end up with “decent.”  There’s nothing particularly wrong, but there’s nothing really right either.

Just like we have the power to drive our careers in the way we want them to go, we have this same power to drive our relationships.   To define what we want them to look and feel like and to model the behaviors that manifest the best in us.   Is it easy?  No way.  But it can be done.  It has to be done.  Our happiness depends on it.   

I’ve decided that at this point in my life if the option is to settle for "decent", I am happier alone.  I’m not lowering my standards.  And I’m not giving up the pursuit.  My eyes are wide open.  I know what I’m looking for is not easy to find or maintain.  I know I need to be open to someone who may not be practiced at this type of relationship, but who is willing to work with me to find our way to it and through it.

And therein lies the beauty.   You can start this anytime you want.  You can start today with the person you’re in a relationship with right now. Chances are “decent” is not what he’s looking for either.  Together you can figure out what you want it to be like and make it happen.  We have the power to turn “decent” into “amazing”.