Salve

They call it The Wifflot; I call it Salvation. A field of dreams conceived by a group of budding entrepreneurs caught in that space where playful boys transform into fine young men, it is where mine are spending nearly every waking moment of their summer.

By the time we slog to the finish line of another punishing school year, I am overjoyed to be freed from my role as resident nag:  Rousing languid boys at dawn from a deep and persistent slumber and the endless pursuit of missing assignments that I can’t evade thanks to my electronic nemesis, otherwise known as “PowerSchool”.  It’s like the skipping needle has finally been lifted from the deep groove worn into the LP.  I look forward to being reunited with the gym suits, as we haven’t seen each other since the beginning of the year. 

I enjoy a few days, maybe a week of bliss until I notice the dishes piling up in the sink, remnants of snack foods in the most unexpected places, and the distinctly frat-house look my family room takes on as it converts to sleeping quarters for nocturnal boys.  Oh, yeah.  I don’t like this either.

Each year brings new challenges in terms of keeping these guys busy, especially given that they couldn’t be more different.  Nick goes out of his mind spending more than five minutes alone, while Nate could hole up in his room with electronics for the entire 100 days of summer and be happy as a clam.

When Nick mentioned that his friend had permission from his dad to parcel off a chunk of their property to create a baseball field, my response was something along the lines of a dismissive, “That’s nice, honey”. It wasn’t until they came home with a detailed game schedule through the end of July and informed me they had both paid $20 to become league members, that I started paying attention.

If I told you this is an incredible experience for my boys, it would be the understatement of the season.  Every day, and yes, I mean every day, around noon they pack up a cooler and head out.  Game times are at 1PM and 6PM generally, and last maybe an hour, but they are at the field all day.  They arrive home, sweaty and exhausted, with smiles that are as difficult to wipe off as the ground-in dirt.

It’s more than just the fuel that comes from sunshine and exercise, but lessons in responsibility, accountability, organization, team building, coaching, strategic planning and profitability.  My boys don’t know it, but they are an integral part of a start-up business. 

Nick is a team captain, responsible for motivating and coaching his players, with all the administrative duties that come with the job:  Finding replacements when players can’t make it and making the difficult call to suspend a habitual no-show.  The leaders of this organization take on many tactical responsibilities, as they are a lean team, striping and preparing the field for play, staining the left field “party deck” and soliciting donations like outdoor furniture and an umbrella. 

Nate is thriving under the wing of his coach, an older boy who has taken a genuine interest in him.  The first two weeks of the season Nate’s bat never left his shoulder, I’m told.  Now with the tutelage of a patient mentor, he has transformed into a respectable hitter.  I can’t help but think that spending time with these older boys will ease his transition into high school in the fall. 

On Father’s Day, Nick organized the Kids vs. Dads game complete with a cook-out.  Grandpa was invited to take in the games while staying at my house a few weeks ago.  I’ve never seen the boys more appreciative of a gift, than when they opened a box containing a 12-pack of regulation wiffle balls, compliments of my dad.  And the fourth of July will not go by without a fireworks display and All Star game.  They’re tracking stats for every player, and they tell me 300+ have been through the gates already and we’re not yet out of June.

Is this all too good to be true?  Maybe.  My shadow side can’t help but think this could be a well-orchestrated charade, reminiscent of that Paul Newman-Robert Redford movie, “The Sting”, but I doubt it.  I would be remiss if I didn’t concede that there are likely a few unsavory activities going on.  They are teenage boys, after all.  But the ostrich in me is willing to live with a little sand on her face.  The benefits far outweigh the risks.

What I am most grateful for is a short respite, the chance to let down my hair and breathe a little. They are busy and content with something meaningful. I’m thinking about how I make the connection for them, to help them see what happens when they use their powers for good rather than evil, that they can conceive of a dream and turn it into reality. 

I also love that I am here, in it with them.  Whenever I receive a text requesting a ride home, even though it’s only a five minute long-board skate away and they could surely manage on their own, I hop in the car.  There is nothing better than getting the lowdown on a day at The Wifflot while the excitement is still brewing, stories spilling out as fast as wiffle balls fly out of the park.  I missed being in the moment all those years I spent in an office.  I’m not missing it now.

 

Epistolary

The power of the pen has been buried deep inside me, pacific in my youth, going dormant for decades, until erupting through the surface like a diver suddenly desperate for air.

As a kid, my cousin and I traded letters encrypted in a secret code known only to us, sadly lost today like the extinct language of a forgotten tribe. In college I remember taking a business writing course, assigned a persuasive paper in which I solicited university alumni to donate to their alma mater. The comment my instructor penned alongside the “A” he awarded was a suggestion that I become a barrister.  I had to look that word up, as I had no idea what it meant, and then promptly dismissed such a ludicrous thought.  “Was he crazy?  I could never argue my position in a court of law.  Clearly, he doesn’t know me.”  Thinking about it today, I would say he saw my gift before I did.  I’m the one who didn’t know me.

When I decided back in February that writing was one of the five new and diverse places I was going to take myself this year, I never imagined how far I would actually go.  The blog was a pipe dream, seeded by a new friend. It wasn’t until I realized that the fact that I had even met her at all was a feat, a testament to the success of my deliberate efforts to network, that it became absolutely certain I accept the assistance she so freely offered.  Within a weekend, my site was designed, complete with an inaugural post.

The avenues to explore for publishing are coming fast and furious.  I’ve submitted an essay to a magazine.  I’ve written a white paper about a business topic in my industry.  I am blogging incessantly, honing my craft and building a body of work to market to the outside world. And I’m looking for ways to take this infatuation to a serious relationship by moving it into my day job.

My sponsors and I meet periodically to discuss open positions as I search for my new permanent role at the office, and to talk about how I am filling my time in the interim.  Being in “the awkward”, that space where work is defined as special short term assignments, has me perpetually scanning for opportunities to work with people I love on projects that keep me moving forward.  My philosophy being, that if I don’t drum up my own work, I’ll have no choice but to accept what is handed to me whether I like it or not.  Today I presented suggestions I had researched that match my strengths and passions to gaps and goals I see in our organization. 

I walked away with permission to move forward on nearly everything I suggested.  And guess what?  By offering to write a newsletter that has been noticeably absent due to the author’s lack of time, I now have the chance to develop a brand new communication program for my service line.  

The power of pursuing our passions is not so much in the joy we reap by doing what we love, although that is certainly a huge part of it. It’s in the way doing what we love uncovers what’s been there all along:   The courage to get us where we want to go in this world.

“There was power in the pen; I knew this for certain…It was there all the time, just waiting for me.” -- Shay Youngblood, in Black Girl in Paris

Estivate

Some like it hot.  I’m one of them.  Whoever was mixing this season’s magical potion dosed the precise proportion of unusual spring warmth and little-to-no-rain, netting an endless string of perfect sunshine-filled days and mosquito-free nights specifically conceived for the summer girl in me.  I’d like to bottle it.

The gloaming has usurped my day, commanding my undivided attention with a glass of wine in a lounge chair outdoors.  The subtle changes that take place between the setting of the sun and total darkness hold amazing beauty. While it seems like this time should pass relatively quickly, in actuality some semblance of light lingers a little over an hour during the height of summer. 

I’m not sure who shows up first, the fireflies or the twinkling stars in the cloudless night sky. Trees fade to silhouette. Zephyrs skim the pond, pulling a smooth sheet over the gentle waves, as if they’re being tucked in for the night while the crickets chirp their bedtime stories and bull frogs croak love songs in hopes of getting lucky.  

By the time I reluctantly haul the cushions inside, it’s my bedtime, too.  Who knows if this summer’s blend will materialize again in my lifetime?   Better enjoy it now.

Intrepidity

Seeking solace from sweltering summer heat, I ducked into a movie theater over the weekend to take in the latest Disney-Pixar venture “Brave”. I have to confess, I have been eagerly anticipating the opening of this girl-power feature, beguiled from the moment I glimpsed the feisty heroine in the trailer, a quiver of arrows buried in the mane of wild red curls flowing down her back.

Merida is her name, and she is everything I hoped a 21^st century princess would be:  Replete with strength, valiance, a fierce spirit, an iron will and a touch of sass.  As the story goes, she rebukes all attempts her mother makes to betroth her.  In an effort to preserve her independence, she chooses archery as the challenge would-be suitors must vanquish in order to win her hand, well aware that as the first born of a leader, she is eligible to contend.  When an arrow strikes the bull’s-eye signaling an apparent winner, Merida stuns her mother by proclaiming that she is competing for her own hand, and proceeds to cleanly hit the center of each target.  In the coup de grâce, she snatches herself from the jaws of death, cleaving the arrow that would have sealed her fate.

Freedom is what Princess Merida is desperate to retain, and the right to choose for herself. I couldn’t help but identify with her, as I am reveling in my own freedom right now and, like her, can’t imagine it all coming to an end. It makes me wonder if I would have been inspired years ago to fight for my inner gypsy had Merida been the princess of my youth.

The princesses of my era were a polished, demure sort of beautiful, innocuous and desperate for rescue, at the mercy of the impossibly handsome prince.  They seemed to have no particular place they wanted to go, content to leave it all in his capable hands. Indentured servants toiling until salvation was found in a shoe that fit or sedated into slumber by poisonous apples and pricked fingers, these girls were helpless without a man.  All that was needed was that magical kiss, and everything was right with their worlds. 

Many of us in my generation who married expecting our happily ever after were somewhat surprised, maybe even disillusioned, to find out just how much work goes into wedded bliss.  That’s the part they don’t talk about in the fairy tales.  Nor do they warn us that we’ll want and need our own interests once our crowns have tarnished and the glass slippers are tucked in an old shoe box in the depths of the closet.

Maybe you were initially rescued, taken where your handsome prince wanted to go. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  In real life, it’s only the beginning of the story, not the end.  Once the credits roll, that’s when the real living starts, where our mettle materializes and we find our own way. It’s also where we shine, brighter than any sparkling diadem or glittering pumps ever could. 

We carry around with us the power to make our own happiness. We can invoke it anytime we want, mounting our own steeds, galloping out of the castle at lightning speed, with untamed curls flying behind.  Rather than bridling your desires, patiently waiting for your next rescue, think about adding a quiver to your arsenal. I can’t tell you how great it feels to let the arrow fly.

“Our fate lives within us.  You only have to be brave enough to see it.”

-- Merida in “Brave”



Capacious

Art House Co-op is interviewing contributing artists on The Sketchbook Project Tour.  Short live-action video clips, they are pieces of art in themselves in the way they are shot with a hand camera in one cut without editing, to give us a taste of what these creatives are thinking when they put their books together.  When an artist in Portland, OR was asked if sketching is a regular part of his life, his response was “It’s not what I do for a living, but it’s what I enjoy.”

While this comment is by no means uncommon, it begs two questions:  How can we put more of what we enjoy into making a living, and why do we restrict our definition of “a living” only to activities that bring us monetary rewards?

The phrase “making a living” has traditionally referred to what we do to earn money.  But women, for generations, have been relegated to defining our living by activities that reap no compensation, leaving us with a feeling that we are somehow less important.  Along the continuum of time it’s a relatively new development to have women in the workforce, earning a paycheck.  Assimilation into the business world has never been at the expense of the “volunteer” work that we’ve filled our days with since the Stone Age; it’s always been in addition to.  Weren’t we the ones once described in an 80’s advertisement for Enjoli perfume as “bringing home the bacon, frying it up in a pan, and never letting you forget you’re a man?”

While this concept of doing it all undoubtedly puts a tremendous amount of pressure on women, I would argue that it makes us more interesting, well-rounded people. We need to stop apologizing for having responsibilities and interests outside of work that we value as much as our jobs and therefore invest time in to maintain.  If we can get away from the need to be a rock star in every aspect of our lives, I bet we would uncover, and even successfully market, rich rewards that come with the wide net we cast over “making a living”.

The idea of incorporating broader experiences into resumes was recently presented in an HBR business blog, with the suggestion that jobseekers out of the workforce for an extended period of time tout volunteer experience as part of the package they have to offer prospective employers.  Of course, this obviously referred to charitable organizations somehow sanctioned as business-worthy, not raising a family or connecting with your spouse to sustain your marriage. But who says it can’t flow into a bigger pool?

We are so much more than our work; however, it’s easy to become consumed with it.  It’s competitive out there.  The drive to be the best, earn the highest wage, is contingent on delivering tangible results, usually requiring a fair amount of hard work.  This can eat into personal time, leaving little energy to invest in what we truly enjoy.

I’m finding unexpected power in setting boundaries in my work life.  By working reasonable hours, I’ve created space to pursue what interests me, and by really investing myself in these activities, I’ve found ways to bring them into my work life. It’s a virtuous circle that’s actually helping me turn earning a paycheck into something I truly enjoy.

There is benefit to my employer as well.  Volunteering as a panelist for women’s forums has allowed me to hone my speaking and presentation skills, which has helped in marketing the new product I have responsibility for launching.  I am the face of my product, and if I can’t communicate its importance in a compelling manner it sits on the shelf.  The confidence required for public speaking comes in part from the physical strength I found in myself running distance.  Writing regularly for personal enjoyment absolutely improved the quality of the operations guide I recently authored and a proposal response I penned.

And a word on “never letting you forget you’re a man”. Marriages are in peril today because we aren’t investing enough time in them.  Like anything else, they require a continuous outlay of energy to keep them strong, and not just satisfying, but rewarding.  If we wear a path to this well without pouring anything back into it, it will go dry.  Going home to a husband after an honest day’s work should be eagerly anticipated and applauded, not dreaded and disdained.  Relationships are at the heart of what our living is all about.  

I think women are right on when it comes to doing it all.  What happens outside the workplace matters.  Prioritizing time and finding balance makes for fulfilling, happy lives.  There is more to life than work and work becomes more when we put some life into it.

What advice would the Portland, OR artist give to others about approaching a sketchbook?  “Do what you like to do and make it different and as lively as possible, as alive as possible.” 

I say that’s a good way to make a living.

Aplomb

My dad is staying with my boys this week while I travel for business. A stern reminder about the importance of being on their best behavior prompted my 16-year-old to tell me I have nothing to worry about, admitting that he is a little bit afraid of grandpa.  This surprised me, as I view my dad as anything but scary.  When I asked what it is that induces fear, neither boy could put a finger on it.  But somehow, both my boys have been left with the impression that grandpa is someone not to be messed with.

We all have a distinct aura.  The French say “je ne sais quoi”, translated means “I don’t know what”. And that’s exactly it.  I don’t know what it is that mystically melds into the assessments we make to describe a person’s character, but the feelings we associate with people can be immediate and so strong they’re almost palpable.

I consider myself to score high on the self-awareness scale, but as my influence in business has grown, my own cognizance of how I’m received has lagged.  More than once I have been burned, completely unexpectedly, having underestimated my standing and the subsequent behavior in others my actions ignite.

I nearly set off a mutiny years ago when a re-organization occurred on my team and had me heading toward a demotion. Rather than go backwards; I requested to move, and when my peers got wind of it, the reaction was volatile.  While I thought I had been venting harmlessly, I discovered I was really viewed as a cornerstone of the team, and my potential exit left people reeling, creating quite a stir.  The support was awesome, but the consequences for me were ugly; a huge lesson in knowing my audience and keeping myself in check.

Why is it that we sometimes have such a hard time seeing ourselves as others see us?

For women and power, I think a lot of us still look at the world from the perspective of the girl inside of us.  This is especially apparent as we rise in an organization, and become the leaders we’ve aspired to be.  We may have worked tirelessly to get where we are yet we still can’t believe we’ve arrived. 

My kids’ appraisal has me contemplating, yet again, how important it is to have an awareness of the expectations and reactions we elicit, just by the manner in which we hold ourselves. It is more than what we say.  It’s body language, expression, even a smile, all those intangibles others subtly process, often without deliberate intent. In my quest to become more approachable, I’m training myself to become attuned to how I am received.

I believe we can control our own presence and consciously decide in every situation who we are putting out there.

In preparing for a presentation this week for a group of colleagues and influential leaders, I gave careful thought to who I would bring to the meeting.  Many members of my audience have more experience with the content than I do, and believe they have been doing just fine for many years without the product I am introducing.  I wondered how I would win the credibility and respect I needed to be heard.  I could bring a timid wallflower who assumes her audience to be full of hubris and disregard for her allocution. Or I could bring a confident speaker who tirelessly researched, consulted a gaggle of subject matter experts, and wrote the manual (literally) on her topic. 

The performance was a smashing success for me personally, and here’s why:  I made a deliberate decision to bring the confident speaker.  She carefully assembled her content ensuring it was as concise as possible so people could follow.  She forced herself to add one slide, early on, about a topic she is vehemently passionate about, something she can’t help but get excited about, so that she was certain to put some of herself into her talk.  She reviewed her slide deck countless times to make sure she knew her talking points so well she didn’t need notes or to read off the slides.  She sprinkled personal stories of her experience in the job she was explaining so that it was evident she has been around the block and earned the right to talk on this topic.  She capitalized on the fact that one of her biggest fans was in her audience by looking to him to chime in when she thought he could add value.  She entertained questions with an open mind, holding her ground where she needed to and graciously accepting suggestions and new ideas.

I walked away feeling great, and to many kudos.  My subject wasn’t particularly interesting, it wasn’t something everyone necessarily wanted to hear about, but I generated a buzz anyway.  It couldn’t have been any more evident how much my strategy paid off, then when the presenter who immediately followed me lost his audience, stumbling through a lackluster soliloquy. The capstone on the debacle had me wincing in my seat when he asked “Does that make sense?” and no one answered because we hadn’t been listening. The hook came out shortly thereafter.

We all own our presence, a reputation, maybe even a following.  Behaving in a manner that aligns with the stature we’ve achieved can be tough to gauge and feel like a daunting obligation.  Good thing there is also a powerful benefit to go along with it.  We can bank on the creditability and esteem we’ve accumulated and harness the power to fuel our confidence.  The people who saw my presentation walked away with the imprint that I wanted to impress upon them.  Next time I present, they’ll know they’re in for something good.  And they’ll tell two friends.  And so on, and so on. . . 

A while back I dragged my kids to a picnic, a rare work-related weekend event. Upon being introduced to my boys, a woman on my team proceeded to say “Your mom could take me.”   The statement puzzled me for quite some time.  I’m not large in physical stature. Nor do I walk around carrying a big stick.  I now realize her assessment was probably more about my direct approach to solving issues and my unwavering commitment to stand my ground when it really matters.

That certain “je ne sais quoi” may be elusive but it speaks volumes.  Who are you putting out there?

Caesura

When I was in my early twenties I moved four times in five years.  Some of those moves meant I was seeking a new job.  I was fortunate to have a safety net in the form of a gainfully employed boyfriend.  So while it was important to find work and start earning money, I certainly was in no danger of living in the street and had the gift of time to be selective.  Problem is, I didn’t have a career plan for myself back then, nor did I view these sojourns as chances to make intentional moves. 

There is something inherently messy about being between jobs.  Most of us have an aversion to how this feels.  We writhe and twist as if bees are swarming poised to sting.  We wallow in guilt over not pulling our weight, and shifting an unnecessary burden on to our partners.  It can be embarrassing to admit we’re out of work even if it is through no fault of our own.  And there is uncertainty in landing something at all, let alone something we’ll be happy with.  I always found a bitter irony in the fact that while I finally had some free time, I was so consumed by culpability and angst that I couldn’t permit myself to really enjoy it. 

Eagerly snatching up the first job I was offered soothed the burning desire to take up residence back on firm ground. Most of us can’t sign up fast enough.  The danger in this is that we can end up headed in a direction we don’t want to go, or undercut our worth.  Luckily for me, although I was not particularly strategic about my moves, looking back on my choices, I was unconsciously trading skills I had already mastered for the opportunity to learn something new, a tactic I recommend to others looking to move in new directions. 

Now, years later, I find myself in a similar position.  I’m between roles at my current company; caught again in that space that can only be described as “the awkward”. Thankfully, I’ve acquired some wisdom and a little patience since the last time I put myself here.  I am in no way any more comfortable than I was twenty-five years ago, but I’ve decided there may be some benefit to lingering in the awkward.  There is tremendous power in the pause.

This time around, I’ve invoked a vision, both to keep myself grounded and to ensure I make decisions that honor my commitment to continue moving in the direction I want to go. I have pledged to myself that I will remain in the awkward as long as it takes, no matter how badly it makes me squirm, to get to the best place possible.  Instead of tightly squeezing my eyes shut, hands clenched and praying this tumultuous roller coaster ride will soon be over, I’m going to really be in it, eyes wide open, arms overhead, screaming my lungs out.

I believe this is imperative and here’s why:  The awkward is a turning point, a multi-tined fork in the road, a rare chance to calibrate my compass and consider my course. Glomming on to the first option that comes my way, just to restore some semblance of normal, does me an injustice. I don’t settle anymore.  I just don’t. I carefully weigh options and will entertain compromise and even alter my direction if a new opportunity presents advantages I hadn’t thought of before. But I don’t give up on what I want.

The very fact that I am looking for a new role within my company moves me into an active networking mode.  I’ve unleashed something so powerful in this it’s almost impossible to contain.  In my quest to work in areas I’m passionate about, I’ve reached out to internal connections as I mine for job opportunities, and in some cases I’ve been innocuously launched into the outside world. I’m no longer tossing business cards in a box never to be looked at again; I’m following up with the engaging and talented people I’m meeting and sharing information that can help me realize my dreams of publishing a book and building a coaching practice.   This is the essence of embracing the awkward.

The first step I’ve taken since making this promise to myself is to ascertain those who can influence where I land are clear on and support where I’m headed. I had a candid conversation with a sponsor of mine about my aspirations in the organization.  I laid it all out, stating I see my possibilities as limitless and that, for me, it’s all about putting myself in the right place to capitalize on everything I have to offer, maximize my earnings and stay on course to meet my goals.  I need to be evaluating opportunities against those criteria. 

Wow!  Right?  Can you believe I said that?

Funny thing is, I needed to hear myself say those words - out loud to him - more than I needed him to hear me.  There was a time when I wondered whether this isn’t just hubris.  Do I think I’m better at what I do than I really am?   I’ve since decided the answer is moot. The real issue is getting comfortable with saying that I’m good at what I do and can take myself as far as I want to go:   A whole new kind of awkward.

Many women struggle with the idea that speaking up about career goals is somehow selfish.  We accept positions we are over-qualified for and stay in them well after we have mastered the role under the guise of being a team player.  I would argue that unless I’m in a position where I can exploit as much of my talent as possible for the benefit of my colleagues, clients, and myself, I am being underutilized and we’re all being done a disservice. 

I have been struggling with hitting the “Publish” key on this post for a few days, second guessing myself since speaking to my sponsor, feeling like maybe I was a little out of line; until I was asked for advice this morning by a super talented woman in my organization pondering a similar issue.  I knew I had said all the right things advocating for myself when I started reciting this draft in response to her situation. It’s okay to want more for ourselves.

While I may have initially shocked my sponsor with a vision that seemed brazen to me, I have no doubt he’s heard far less eloquent versions of this message many times in the past from my male colleagues.  He offered that we meet with another advocate of mine to brainstorm options for me.  I’ve already put the meeting on the calendar. 

Meanwhile I’m telling myself to trust the mess and hunkering down for a little more time in the awkward.  I’m envisioning I’ll need sizeable rations:  My trusty suit of armor, measured doses of “your opinion is none of my business”, vials of fortitude, a little grit and a steady drip of wisdom to know when it’s time to resume play.