Diapason

Ever thought about why you were put on this earth?  Okay, I know that sounds like a deep and possibly unanswerable question, but it’s not meant to be rhetorical.

A friend of mine attends different churches periodically to feed her curiosity about faith and spirituality.  She says I would have loved the service she attended last weekend. The congregation was treated to a video clip called “Joy in the Congo”, aired last spring on 60 Minutes. Watch it here:  http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18560_162-57410920/joy-in-the-congo-a-musical-miracle/?tag=contentMain;contentBody.  

It’s the story of a pilot who found himself at a crossroads twenty years ago when the airline he flew for folded.  He decided to follow his dream to assemble a symphony orchestra.  He lives in the Congo. This is a pretty lofty dream in and of itself, choosing to make it happen in a third world country ravaged by poverty and war seems like an impossibility. When he started not a single person, including the pilot himself, could read music or play an instrument. Yet somehow through his determination and sheer joy for music, he created enough interest to seat a complete orchestra, teach and provide instruments to every participant.

The message conveyed at this church service, and the reason my friend thought I would find this so compelling, is this:   Follow your passion, be the best you that you can be.  When you are doing what you love, you can positively impact the lives of those around you. That’s what you’re here for.

When put in those terms, it almost seems too easy.  Do what I wake up every morning craving to do, the things that I’m naturally good at, the stuff I would rather be spending time on more than anything else in the world and I’ll be fulfilling my life’s purpose?  Where do I sign up?

It’s that simple.  And it’s not.  There are those who will get caught up in the practicality of it all.  Somehow there needs to be a way to make a living, to cover the responsibilities we all have in life which can’t be ignored.  I’m sure if this pilot had told his mother when he was eighteen that he wanted to have a symphony orchestra she would have said words to the effect of “over my dead body” and sent him to college instead.  When the dream seems a little too impractical or risky, those who are responsible for guiding us tend to steer us in a safer direction.

But the part that is simple, and should be considered, is the idea of carving out space in your life for what you truly love, no matter how impractical or implausible it feels. It doesn’t necessarily need to be how you make your living or consume every waking moment.  But it could be. Start by making some room. Find ways to incorporate more of what you love into your work. Develop your outside interests to the point that they could become a career or your Plan B when you find yourself at a turning point. The most important aspect is to get into the habit of feeding your own interests.  At a minimum you’ll be a happier person.  At a maximum, you’ll change your life.

We tend to think that in order to make an impact on others we need to do for them.  We have this mindset that we’ll put what we’d like to do on the backburner while we go be someone else for the people in our lives. This is what they need and want from us, isn’t it? What’s hard to wrap your head around is the idea that by feeding your own soul, you feed the souls of others.  This orchestra sits in the middle of a war torn country where just outside the parking garage some of the musicians use for practice, there’s mayhem.  But in the moments these people play their music, they are transformed.  By doing what this pilot loves, he has literally changed the lives of those who practice his craft with him.  If he hadn’t taken the lead, if he had not made this possible, where would these people be?

Sometimes we give up before we start.  We think that if we can’t foresee a huge impact we shouldn’t try at all.  We think that if we can’t envision our passion influencing anyone other than ourselves, it’s not worth doing. It’s selfish and we’re just better off continuing to serve and support those around us who are pursuing their own dreams, right? 

The thing is we can’t ever predict the outcome. We need to put ourselves out there to find out what will really happen. I sometimes wonder if I should keep writing my blog.  The readership appears small, and it does take away from time I could be putting into other things. Is it serving a purpose if it hasn’t gone viral?    

I think it is, and here’s why:  The first step toward a dream could be made when one reader reads one blog post. Who knows where that will take her and those around her impacted by her gift?

What the minister at my friend’s church service was trying to say by telling this story is that this man is doing nothing more than what he loves. He couldn’t possibly foresee the power following his dream would have on those around him.  All he knew is that it made him happy.  That’s enough to start anyone off and running.

It’s what you’re here for.  

Chispa

The Harvard Business Review Blog caught my eye once again with this recent post entitled “Solving Gen Y’s Passion Problem”, read more here:  http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2012/09/solving_gen_ys_passion_problem.html?cm_mmc=email-_-newsletter-_-weekly_hotlist-_-hotlist092412&referral=00202&utm_source=newsletter_weekly_hotlist&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=hotlist092412

When I saw the words “passion” and “problem” in the same sentence I knew I needed to click on the link.  The author, a member of Gen Y, explains that he and his peers have grown up with the concept of “following your passion” when it comes to deciding on a career.  This entitled generation feels misinformed; however, sorely disillusioned because they expected to love their jobs fresh out of school.  Apparently they didn’t realize there would be so much hard work involved to build a rewarding and fulfilling career.  Now they’re looking for some solid advice on how others have fallen in love with what they do.

As one of the youngest Baby Boomers, it’s hard for me to even fathom that this group didn’t know they’d need to do grunt work for a while, or that the assignments would not always be glamorous, that there are dues to pay.  I feel like the only thing I knew at that time in my life was that I could expect to work hard. If you’re making broad generalizations, Baby Boomers and older Gen X’s seem to possess a humility that is absent in Gen Y.

What I find myself telling the super-talented, ambitious Gen Ys, and even some of the late Gen X’s, is that they just need time.  No matter how badly you want to ascend in an organization, you can’t rush experience.  When I think about raising my own Gen Z’s, I’m certain that once they get over the sloth that is their adolescence, nothing in the working world will move fast enough for them either.  These are digital natives, born and raised on the internet and smartphones.  Patience might as well be Sanskrit.

But I can offer advice today to these bedraggled Gen Ys, and someday to my beloved Gen Z’s, because the making of careers really doesn’t change much through the ages. It’s a slow growing love affair, building over time as expectations move into alignment with achievements, becoming more satisfying with age.  Fulfillment has as much to do with where you are in life as what you’re doing at the time.

When I think about the story of my own career, I could characterize it in the same vernacular as the search for true love or a soul mate.  Some of the relationships were great, some not so much.  There were hook-ups and multi-year marriages.  I garnered valuable insight from each encounter. And every experience has made me who I am today. 

I’m not so different from Gen Y.  I started following my passion, going to school for design.  My first three jobs were brief affairs, lasting no more than two years each. Two amicable partings that sandwiched a messy falling-out:  I knew it needed to end but couldn’t bring myself to make it happen, so it was ended for me.  I had been unhappy for a while. 

Not long after, I settled into a seven-year relationship at a big architectural firm.  We dated for a few months; I was a temporary employee they soon decided to hire permanently. We had good times, for the most part, but I realized eventually that I wasn’t what they needed me to be. I guess I was cheating on them for a while with another company, but they were the ones who pushed us together, sending me off to a client site to be a project manager.  I ended up leaving them for my client, and a completely different career path.

And here I am today, fourteen years into a very satisfying relationship that has absolutely had its ups and downs.  I’ve had assignments that I loved and some that I couldn’t stand.  It hasn’t always been easy.  We’ve weathered many storms, and I stuck it out in some very dark times because I believe in the core values and culture fostered here. They’ve supported me in tenuous situations and demonstrate an unwavering commitment to me.  Because of this, I’ve unearthed passions that I didn’t even think I possessed. Somehow along the way I’ve fallen deeply, madly in love with what I do. 

If I could write a letter to my younger self, I’d tell her she has no idea what she will be capable of down the road, or where her dreams will take her.  

But Gen Y doesn’t seem to lack for confidence and courage when it comes to embarking on the pursuit of what they love.  Reading the HBR Blog, I thought for an instant I might be misleading my readers, thinking that I am making it sound too easy:  Just decide on your passion and go for it.  Am I feeding Gen Y’s problem? 

I don’t think so.  I like to think I do a decent job of acknowledging obstacles and supplying encouragement to work through them.  I hope I’m sending a positive message to keep moving through the mess because there is greatness all around us.  I want others to see that we need to find ways to enjoy the journey, not hold all happiness in check until we get our desired outcome.  And that it’s okay to change your mind, but only if you really want to, not because someone else thinks you should. None of this comes easily.

What’s sometimes absent in us all is Gen Y’s spark to launch fearlessly in the direction of dreams.  It’s the embers of the youthful independent spirit I’m seeking to ignite. Gen Y may think it’s the falling in love that’s the hard part; but anyone who’s been through it knows the real challenge is in staying in love.

Avail

The other day as I slathered my Justin’s all-natural Honey Peanut Butter on some crackers, I noticed that Justin took a moment to script on the label of the jar a few words about how he feels about his product.  He says, “Some people may consider my single-minded obsession with nut butters to be a waste of time, but I disagree.”  Amen, Justin.  I’m with you. 

This is a man who has found a way to do what he loves, and he’s pulled out all the stops.  This is what we are supposed to do when we hit on our passion.   If Justin had worried that by pouring all of his energy into peanut butter people would be thinking he was some kind of oddball, or nut (who could resist the obvious pun?), he may not have moved forward to realize his dream.  The world would be deprived of his tasty creation, and Justin would be deprived of the satisfaction and pure joy that come from bringing his passion to life.

Think about the potential if every person in this world was able to hone in on the art or science that she or he absolutely loves to do and find both the courage and means to pursue it.  The world would be filled with individuals capitalizing on the gifts they’ve been given.  The quality of everything produced, every job done would be improved exponentially.  The world would be overcrowded with happy and fulfilled people.

This is what happens when we encourage and support others to embrace their differences, those qualities that make them unique, the single-minded obsession. 

How many times have you found yourself telling someone to approach a task the way you would do it, dictating without even considering there’s another way, supplying the answers instead of asking the questions?   Every time we impart our own methods on another, we take a little away from the uniqueness of what she has to offer, watering down her essence, slowly chipping away at her pride and confidence, adding another degree of separation between passion and peanut butter.

It’s like doing your kid’s science fair project for her. 

We’re conditioned as leaders to have our direction accepted and followed without question.  We count on the power of a reporting structure to ensure our troops fall in line.  In fact, lots of us believe it’s our job to tell people what to do, not coach them to the answer that’s within.  And it’s easier this way.  It’s easy to get lazy and forget to ask for differing perspectives, especially when our teams are filled with people who see things the way we do.

When we surround ourselves with like-minded individuals we don’t need to work as hard.  The ideas we gently lob out are caught immediately and enthusiastically by followers who admire our success, and coveting it for themselves, eagerly jump on our bandwagons.  Our orders are so happily followed to the letter of the law, those around us can actually fail to realize they haven’t really had a say.

When you find yourself faced with overseeing a diverse team sanitizing the product with your own personal mandate becomes a real challenge. This applies whether you’re leading employees who approach tasks dramatically differently than you do or leading your children who seem so diametrically opposed to you that you need to keep reminding yourself they did in fact come out of your womb.  If you don’t accommodate different ideas or ways of doing things, the environment decays into disappointment, defeat, or dissention.  

I can’t continue without saying that, in my opinion,  diversity and inclusion is really in its infancy in Corporate America, and maybe even in life itself.  I think we set our expectations extremely low in this area.  If organizations truly understood the power of creating deliberately diverse teams and how that can’t help but translate into increased productivity which is the natural output of confident and empowered people who feel valued, instead of pleading for tolerance, we would be complaining about the “unfair” advantage diversity brings.

Diverse personalities initially confound us.  We’re so conditioned to acquiescence in our cookie-cutter worlds that we’re taken aback momentarily, forced to retreat to consider how we respond when a foreign position or concept is now on the table. We can get caught up in attempting to coerce others to see things our way, instead of listening to understand their way.   

If you take the time to really listen, you’ll find out there is in fact another way, room for a different approach.  And if you take a risk by allowing someone else the freedom to take her own risk, you just might change the way this individual feels about herself, infusing her with the confidence she needs to go after her own single-minded obsession.

Justin differentiates himself further by distributing his peanut butter not only in jars, but in 1.5 ounce packets, perfectly sized to stuff in a pair of running shorts, an accessible and tasty energy boost when you find yourself wilting in the middle of a half marathon.  His niche packaging is how I found him in the first place.

I’m an unwitting beneficiary of the generous person who launched Justin in pursuit of his dreams.  Who knows, without his product I may have passed out 8 miles into my race.

Justin makes Almond Butter, too.  I’m just saying.

Trammel

My bags feel unbearably heavy today.  Maybe it’s the rain that preempted my morning run. Maybe it’s a lack of sleep after slogging in from the airport at 1:30AM. Maybe it’s the rich comfort food (my mom’s meatballs and noodles recipe) I served for dinner in hopes of taking the chill off both my hands and my heart.  

We all carry around some sort of baggage.  We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t.  Most of the time, we do a pretty good job of checking it at the curb, to be stowed out of sight paving the way for us to move forward and get on with the business of earning a paycheck or tending to the transactions of daily life in the here and now.  But sometimes it bursts out of its compartment flooding, unwanted, into open spaces, like when a teacher calls to report yet another instance of misbehavior from a child who should be quite over such inane capers.   And suddenly you find yourself in tears in the middle of the work day.  On the phone.  With the teacher.  And she’s young enough to be your daughter.  Really?  Yeah, really.

But today’s trigger appears to stem from a problem that’s bigger than you are.  A problem you’ve seen before.  Looking at the contents of the past strewn in front of you, their ephemeral qualities cloaked in a shroud fabricated with your fear, your blood runs cold. And you can’t help but imagine this new situation careening like a raft in rushing white waters into the old cesspool you’ve already lived in; the one you’re desperately seeking to pack away.

I bet if you look around you at any given place or time, there is at least one individual who has dealt with a personal challenge so incongruous with her professional or public persona it would shock you. And I’m talking about people you think you know fairly well.  Someone you greet every morning at the coffee shop, office or school.  An alcoholic husband, a teenager addicted to drugs, a floundering marriage, debilitating credit card debt, a bullied child, a cheating spouse, a pregnant daughter, an irresponsible ex, a home foreclosure:  The list goes on.  Our worries may differ, but we’re the same in that we all have them, and they can’t help but color our views on life. Yet we somehow feel like we need to walk around acting like everything is great, like we’ve truly put it all behind us, like we are the most together people on the planet.    

This perplexes me partly because I do it myself.  Maybe it’s about the desire to be first, to be the best, to be perfect. If we admit that our lives are blemished we might be rejected, deemed too broken for a shot at our dreams. Or it could be about a reluctance to ask for help.  We should be able to carry the load all by ourselves, right?   If we need help it could mean we’re less capable, or that we just have too much “stuff”. Everyone wants to hang with the person who travels lightly, right?  It might be about the fear of being judged.  If others see how we handle our baggage, we open ourselves up to criticism.  This is particularly burdensome because we always feel less competent managing our pain than we do our pleasure.

When I take the time to mull over what’s inside my own valise it seems somewhat overwhelming.  If this is me, what does everyone else have?  I mean, I feel pretty average on the spectrum of human beings (although others may debate this  ;-). And I bet you do, too.  So if we’re all feeling like we’re fairly normal, yet we’re carrying so much around, then it leads me to believe there is an awful lot being stuffed into overhead bins every day.  No wonder they seem to always run out of space on the plane.

I can’t begin to offer thoughts on how 21^st century Americans might unburden themselves from the glut of accumulated personal baggage. Maybe talking about it is the answer, but I know few who are willing to ante up to this soulful game of strip poker. We’re long past the Little House on the Prairie days when Pa’s list of challenges was no more than one basic line item:  Enough food to get through the long winter.  The rules are different when survival is at stake.

So my ideas are around mitigating the damage.  How can we at least lighten our own loads and help those around us to do the same?  It might only shift the contents, but sometimes even a little redistribution helps us bear the burden more comfortably.

Recognize that we’re all carrying something fairly heavy.  Most of us come into work, and into life, everyday trying to please someone, to be our best selves. Our bags can get in the way, shaking confidence or stealing our attention. Taking a second to consider that something might be buried beneath an uncharacteristic decision, missed deadline or the fact that the socks are still lying on the floor can move the next interaction from altercation to conversation.

Share a story once in a while that makes you human.  You don’t need to expose your deepest, darkest secrets, but a challenge that displays a flaw you’re willing to admit can change the dynamic of any relationship.  If you open up, it’s a good bet those around you will too. It really does feel better to talk to someone with an empathetic ear.

Along with rewarding greatness, reward striving for greatness. By this I don’t mean a prize for participating, but recognition for advancement in the right direction or for taking a risk on an innovation that fails. A student with poor grades doesn’t go to straight A’s overnight.  And will he slip up sometimes?  You bet.  But that doesn’t negate all the progress that’s been made. This is really where it’s at anyway.  If you wake up every day believing you can be great, you can’t help but get there.

Accept that your own bags will weigh you down occasionally, and momentarily cloud the way you perceive the world.  They should.  These are the heaviest of all because they belong to you.

Having baggage doesn’t mean you won’t get to where you want to go. It may; however, hold you in stagnant waters against your will for a while. We all have the power to find our way out, but changing perspectives and gaining the courage to move forward takes time. It was Helen Keller who said, “The best way out is always through.”  Now there’s a woman with a little baggage.

Sometimes the zephyr a caring person puffs in your direction will break you free. My friend Kathy would say release might come from your inner voice in a dream or a vision.  Or maybe some time for pause will cause you to move in a whole new direction.

There are those who slip it into slick, glossy designer satchels, some who stuff it into sturdy rucksacks, others who tuck it into hidden pockets sewn in their clothing, and a few who lay it all out there for the world to see.  But anyway you look at it; none of us come without a few bags.  Happiness is determined by how you decide to carry yours.

Argonaut

I could hardly believe it the other night when I found myself at the harbor again, this time looking west at the Golden Gate Bridge, its distinct orange color siphoned into the soft haze created by the glare of the sun beginning its decent in the early evening sky. Having just returned from the east coast, I hadn’t expected to be at the water again so soon, but when I booked a last minute trip to the Bay area for work, I didn’t think twice about a detour to Fisherman’s Wharf, not only to get my fix of the salt air before vanishing into the vortex of the Silicon Valley, but to remind myself of how far I’ve come since my last visit here.

You could say, to quote an old cliché, that I’ve left my heart in San Francisco.  It’s here, a little over five years ago, that I ventured out into the world as an unmarried woman.  The first vacation I’d ever taken solo, I barely stopped moving for two days straight, covering every inch of the Wharf, Union Square and The Haight on foot.  I treated myself to Breakfast at Tiffany’s, literally at their doors when they opened in the morning, a cable car ride (you can’t drink your coffee aboard, in case you’re wondering) and a lux and cozy room with a canopy bed at the Hotel Monaco.  It was pure decadence; the first time in my life I had ever truly spoiled myself with such guiltless, narcissistic pleasure.  

Ascending the nearly vertical inclines of Nob Hill is rewarded with breathtaking vistas, but the climb to the top is reminiscent of the caped crusaders scaling sky scrapers at a horizontal pitch. They made it look easy, but it really isn’t.  And that’s probably the best way to describe my foray into this engaging city all those years ago. 

While the thought of a vacation that was all about me filled me with a jittery excitement, it was also incredibly scary, symbolic of the new chapter of life I was embarking on.  I was wary; however, I was also unwilling to suspend my life while I waited around for the right companion to enter and undertake adventures with me. If I wanted to go anywhere, it was up to me to take myself there. 

Whether it was eating at a sit-down restaurant, soaking up the sun on the steps at Union Square, or taking in the Golden Gate on a pier at the tip of the Embarcadero, exploring this city offered just the practice I needed to get comfortable in this world without someone at my side. The cool thing about testing new waters on a vacation is that you are instantly rewarded for your intrepidity at nearly every turn.  Having drooled over the prospect of an afternoon in Haight-Ashbury, you can imagine how I felt returning to my hotel room, exhausted, with shopping bags full of one-of-a-kind vintage treasures from this storied artists’ haven.

I pushed myself hard over that long weekend.  Driven by my desire to see every point of interest that I possibly could, I forced myself out the door and into the world, even though at times it felt much safer to sit nestled in my hotel room noshing on room service. I was determined to prove to myself that I could do this on my own. But I tried to be forgiving, too.  I remember telling myself that the timetable was mine.  I didn’t need to see everything.  There was no one I was disappointing if I missed some famous attraction.  And when I chickened out and brought a glass of wine back to my room instead of sitting at the bar and sipping with strangers, I reminded myself that courage and confidence build over time.

San Francisco was the start of what has become a regular practice of putting myself out there.  And I can tell you it absolutely gets easier the more you do it. Every day presents opportunities to go out on a limb. And each time you grab one, the next one looks within reach too. You are stronger and braver than you think, really.  

Returning to this city, I feel immediately at home as I revisit the familiar sights.  Street vendors proudly display gorgeous Dungeness crab, the prized catch of the day, amid the tourist shops.  Cable cars slice up and down the center of impossibly steep streets. The Ghiradelli sign still sits atop the hill overlooking my coveted bayside seat at the infamous bridge.  Before I leave, I scoop up my requisite handful of sand, a souvenir from yet another shoreline visited, to be jarred, tagged and added to my growing collection.

The view from the top is, in fact, breathtaking and worth every bit of the sometimes painful climb.  San Francisco will always be my city, like no other could be.  It’s here that I found me.

Lioness

A colleague recently described me as a “fighter”, saying she is happy we’re working together because she knows she will have a voice.  While thrilled to be received so positively, I was initially perplexed, uncertain of the source or magnitude of her oppression, and taking seriously my obligation to uncover it.  As I noodle over the meaning of her words, I’m beginning to see that she’s not talking about someone to fight her battles for her, as I originally assumed, she’s talking about inclusiveness and my propensity to imbue it in my teams.

While I let the enormity of this facet of my reputation sink in, I can’t help but wonder how who we are becomes visible to those around us. Some of us come from a place where we believe we need to tell people what we are about, having little faith that others will notice what we’re putting out there.  Or that somehow our real selves don’t live up to the people we aspire to be on the inside, so maybe if we keep saying who we are, it will be so. It can be surprising then when having never uttered a particular word to describe ourselves those around us make observations and come to conclusions that align with our unspoken intentions.

A teacher at the middle school who knows my boys really well has shared with me on several occasions how evident their sense of social justice is.  Having experienced plenty of adolescents over the course of his career, I’m confident he’s astute at identifying anomalous aspects of character. He has cited over the past four years a myriad of examples of my boys’ conviction and willingness to be the voice of the underdog, or any student they have perceived to be persecuted. While their intentions are the best, the impulsive actions of brash teenage vigilantes have sometimes worked to their personal detriment.  But despite the hot water this occasionally gets them in their spirits are never broken.

The beliefs that we will fight for to the point of self-sacrifice; these are the lodestars of our existence, continually tugging us toward who we are like the pull of a kedge.  So ingrained are these values, that we may be unaware we’re even fighting for them. But others almost always can clearly see what’s unrecognizable to us.

So it pleases me immeasurably that my advocacy of inclusiveness is well established and expected among my associates.  This acknowledgment works as further enticement for me to use this strength to bring about the particular change this colleague is seeking.  To have a vision, to feel like you are skilled at making the vision a reality, and to have others know and expect that this is the reality that comes with you is like the triple crown of confidence.  How can you not deliver?  

Recognition for what we’re good at and what we value breeds assurance fueling us to continue to put our gifts out there. The great thing about a realization like this one is that we don’t need any extensive training or modification to the way we do things when it comes to importing our beliefs and values into a new situation.  All we need to do is be ourselves.  The way we go about doing our jobs will tell the story for us.

People talk of a job being perfect for them in terms of matching needs with skills and strengths.  I guess anything in life is like this.  You might use the same logic as the litmus test for the perfect mate.  But we all know that life is ever-changing and success is about adaptability and buoyancy.  The real challenge is in figuring out how you can use who you are to make the absolute best of any situation. 

We each blend an exceptional elixir made up of our values and beliefs.  If you can’t put your finger on the ingredients in yours, it might be time to ask a few questions.  What do you instinctively fight for?  Where do you draw your line in the sand?  What are your show-stoppers?  On what points do you always hold your ground? 

If you’re still not sure, ask a good friend.  She’ll know.

“What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.”  – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Yarn

When I was a little girl I remember sitting next to my grandmother while she talked with the adults, content to study her bracelet, mesmerized by the number of different charms affixed and the gentle jingle of the metal each time she moved her arm. If I was lucky enough to find a break in the conversation, quite a feat in my loquacious family, I was rewarded with the story behind a particular charm.  

A history of where a woman takes herself in life; these bracelets are also tradition.  My mother had her own, likely started after admiring the one her mother-in-law wore on her wrist.  And on my 11^th birthday, I received a delicate chain with one charm:  A shiny, silver disk bearing my name in block letters and the date 11-16-75.

Over the years I would collect charms, mostly from the vacations we took:  Minnie Mouse from Walt Disney World, a fish from the Lake of the Ozarks, the Amana Colonies, Mark Twain’s boyhood home and the St. Louis Arch. I liked the idea of building my own bracelet, much like the women in my family before me. 

In my twenties, though, my interest waned.  I was too busy being hip and fashionable for such old school jewelry I guess.  It wasn’t until after my mother died and we were going through her things that I resurrected the idea.  One of the treasures in her jewelry box was her mother’s bracelet.  Sparsely endowed, it held only the engraved charms of her five grandchildren.  My mother must have given her this piece and each subsequent charm as the babies were born, in hopes that she’d round it out herself.  It doesn’t surprise me that it never grew.  Charm bracelets just didn’t seem like my maternal grandmother’s style.  But this was the bracelet I needed to have.  Even more meaningful than my mother’s own that, of course, my father held on to, this one would become the base for my exclusive creation, hand-selected by my mother, a piece I’m sure she truly loved.

I removed the charms bearing my siblings’ names and made sure they received them.  And then I started assembling my own bracelet, anchored around the inaugural charm that likely adorned the chain when my mother presented this gift to her mother sometime in the late sixties.  Charms representing my marriage, my own babies, trips to the beach, hobbies like photography, gardening, and of course my beloved Volkswagen Beetle added to the sturdy chain.

My bracelet sat idle for another long period of time, until one of the stops on my recent trip to Boston; a jewelry store loaded with charms. I found a mermaid that I just had to have, perfect for a bracelet, the shopkeeper observed, inspiring me to pull mine out once again.  It was in need of serious maintenance, tarnishing in the drawer alongside a backlog of charms purchased with good intentions to add when I got around to it. 

After watching a how-to You Tube video, I went out and purchased a soldering iron, solder, flux and got to work.  In addition to securing memorabilia from my trips to the mountains, the desert, a cruise, I added the charms from my childhood bracelet. I will hold on to my first bracelet, perfect in its daintiness, to pass on along with one special starter charm to a little girl in my future, just as my mother did for me.

Picking up my son from a friend’s house, I couldn’t wait to show off my work of art.  Honestly, I was expecting nothing more than a vague nod of acknowledgement, something along the lines of “That’s nice, Mom”.  I was caught off guard when he requested that I remove it from my wrist so he could look more closely without distracting me while I drove.  And then he asked for the tale behind each and every charm!   As I happily recounted the stories, I couldn’t help but smile at the power the charms possess, casting a spell of enchantment on yet another generation.

I’m thrilled with this one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry so steeped in tradition.  And I like the fact that it will always be a work in progress, just like life itself, a place to mark the milestones as I take myself wherever I want to go. There are all sorts of ways to tell a life story, but I can think of few that are as intensely personal as a woman’s charm bracelet.  She can literally wear her heart on her sleeve.