Exorcise

Sometimes it seems I’m haunted by sonorous spirits floating around inside my head, inhabiting this space for the sole purpose of making sure I never believe I’m good enough.  You know who they are.  They’re the people who despite our obsequious childhood behavior always somehow managed to make us feel like we didn’t get it quite right. They’re the cruel kids who bullied or made fun of us for being different.  They’re the bosses or co-workers who told us we couldn’t cut it.  They’re the lovers or spouses who said “it’s not you” when they left us seeking something different with someone else. 

Most, if not all, of these people have been absent from our lives for some time.  Yet their voices ring as clearly as if they were sitting right next to us. Whether these people ever came out and actually verbalized the toxic thoughts in our heads is irrelevant.  It’s now what we believe to be true of ourselves. They’ve left in their wake a destructive pattern of self-loathing that we use to attack ourselves in situations where we feel weak.

It wasn’t until I read an article by Martha Beck in the November issue of O, The Oprah Magazine that I started thinking about who those voices belong to and how I’ve allowed them to take up residence in my attic, seizing so much power over me. In “How to Silence Your Inner Critic Once and for All” http://www.oprah.com/spirit/How-to-Believe-in-Yourself-Stop-Negative-Thinking, Beck talks about banishing your inner demons.

What was eye-opening to me was the fact that the venomous vocals belong to so few.  They scream so loudly that I guess I always assumed they were coming from a chorus, yet I can trace them back to only a select few.  These were important people to me, though.  People I admired enviously, loved fiercely, and trusted implicitly.  And this is why their criticism, whether imagined or realized stings so ferociously I sometimes feel scarred. 

The good news is there are far more people who have wonderful things to say about us.  So why do we let our lives be ruled by the foul few?  I know I blatantly disregard overwhelming amounts of positive feedback from multiple sources in the present day to languish obsessively over a tiny piece of criticism that reminds me of a harsh interaction in my past. There is no logic to this, right?  And that’s Beck’s point.  She says that once you’ve unmasked the phantoms, they’re simply not welcome anymore.  The idea is that you replace the deleterious demons with amorous allies who love you unconditionally. 

She goes further to suggest you can show these pests the door by strengthening your positive connections.  Basically, stop hanging out with the Wicked Witch of the West and start spending your time with Glinda.  Beck insists that if you commit to communicating daily for three months with one of your biggest fans, you can evict the evil spirits from your head.  I’m trying it. I’ve chosen my person. She’s about the safest choice I could make, having known me my entire life; she’s seen it all and is still here for me.  I’ve committed to sending her a quick e-mail every day, before I start my day, just a few lines to stay close to someone who is solidly in my corner.  Always.  No matter what.  I’m on Day 14.

A colleague of mine asks the rhetorical question “Why do we continue to over-serve bad clients?”  She’s referring to those simply looking for bodies to go through the motions of transacting business.  They’re not interested in raising the quality of service.  However, as one of the type-A over-achievers who flock to work for our organization, I’m conditioned to provide top notch service, even to a client who’s only looking to be average.  Her point about aligning effort with outcome is valid.

And so I’m asking myself the same question when I consider how much time I devote to the phantoms lurking in my head.  Why do I allow so much press to the ghouls who have nothing good to say about me?  Why do I give them so much of me when I get absolutely nothing in return?

I am slowly loosening the vise I have on myself. On the verge of lethal self-blame, instead of plunging headlong into the cesspool, I’m pausing to question whether the soundtrack I’ve just replayed yet again is fair, just or even applies in the situation.  What I’m finding is that when I clear the cobwebs away, the person underneath is not so bad after all. 

It’s time to clean house and make space for those who make us better.  It’s how we get to where we want to go.

Thaumaturgy

I am not a superhero.  I am not a witch, although those who have experienced my wicked fury may beg to differ.  But I have no magical powers.  I am not gifted with any sort of extrasensory perception or superhuman strength.  However, it was pointed out recently by a very insightful friend that when I cry out in despair that I just want the people around me to realize that I can’t do it all and that I’m only human, this is news to no one but me. 

If you’ve lived your life as a perfectionist, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  We were the kids who turned in nothing but our “best work”, we anguished over a missed point on a test or quiz, we did all the extra credit.  We had a hard time trying something if we didn’t think we could be great at it right out of the gate, and we never answered a question in class unless we were certain we were right.  Other people could get low grades; that was acceptable for “them”.  But we were better than that.  We always got everything perfect, or died trying.

As women we believe we can do it all.  Not only do we hold down our full time jobs, we excel at them.  We also raise a couple of kids with the expectation that they will be cut from our same, pristine mold.  We keep our homes clean, pay the bills, grocery shop, cook, do the laundry, lead the Girl Scout troop, and somehow manage to keep a husband happy in the process.  Well, some of us do, anyway.

You get my point.  We have a hard time saying no, and a harder time asking for help. When one of the facets of our lives goes awry, what we find hardest of all is accepting that we really can’t do it all. And maintain our standards of perfection, that is.

The perfectionist simply cannot accept her flaws.

It’s not that we are against imperfection, like I said its fine for the mere mortals on the planet.  But we hold ourselves to a higher standard.  While we can completely comfort and empathize with our friends and colleagues when they find themselves foiled by their humanity, we cannot sympathize with them; we consider ourselves exempt.  Case in point:  My recent revelation that I am not immune or above inequity in the workplace.  For years I’ve believed that if I just do an exceptional job and advocate for myself I will break the glass ceiling. I will not be one of those women who remains underpaid.  Surprise!  I’m no different.

In a way, this is a relief.  The upkeep around perfection is exhausting.  I can barely keep mascara on my eyelashes; I don’t know how I’ve maintained my own ridiculous standards for so long.  And maybe I haven’t.  Maybe others have known this, chuckling at the sidelines while they watch me spin around like a mad woman trying to keep everything in tow. My frazzled demeanor makes it pretty evident I’m not snapping my fingers like Samantha Stephens with her smooth hair.

But I get it now.  I’ve finally picked up a pair of glasses that allow me to see clearly how damaging this façade has been for me. I need to put my cape in the closet.  The graphic that comes to mind is a cartoon from some 1960’s animation studio (maybe a Hanna-Barbera guest character on The Flintstone’s?) who is a superhero by day, but when he gets home at night, he literally lets the air out of his puffed chest, his deep and booming voice deflating along with it to a feeble squeak, much to the chagrin of his disappointed and viraginous wife. (If any of you remember this character, post a comment.  I’ve searched endlessly for him on the internet.)

So how do we get our heads out of the clouds and descend to a lower altitude; the one inhabited by the mortals that we truly are?  How do we get closer to being fine with our flawed selves?  Start by asking how bad it would really be if you weren’t great at everything you set out to do.  What would be the worst thing that would happen if you admitted a shortcoming or that you needed help?  How would it feel if you allowed yourself the same compassion you do others?

“You’re Probably Not Very Good at Most Things” was the HBR blog headline that caught my eye recently:  http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2012/10/youre_probably_not_very_good_a.html .  It’s another take on identifying your strengths and matching them to the right job, but what I really focused on was a whole different direction the author could have taken this.  The idea that when we consider everything we could possibly do in a lifetime there is only a handful of skills that we are exceptional at, and none (sadly for us perfectionists) that we are perfect at.

It really is impossible to be perfect.  There is an absolute expectation that everything you touch does not turn to gold.  The people who look like they have perfection nailed are the ones who have honed in so acutely on their strengths that the rest of us see little else.  They’re also the ones who have the confidence to delegate what they’re not so great at.  

And they realize that their humanity makes them beautiful and highly desirable in work, in life and in love. Who wants to live with the perfect person?

Do I sometimes wish I could conjure up an incantation to get everything right all the time?  Or that I could wiggle my nose or wave my magic wand and the man of my dreams would appear in front of me?  Sure, who doesn’t?   But the real magic is in knowing that we are extremely powerful in our vulnerability.  That when we let others see that we need their strengths to compliment ours together we can be a force to be reckoned with. 

We become that much closer to perfect, I mean that much closer to fine. Yeah, that’s what I mean.  Fine.

Dehiscence

When “The Sketchbook Project” tour ended last week after six months, I assumed my book would be archived in the Brooklyn Art Library, retiring for good from life on the road.  I was surprised to discover this is not the case.  The mixed media work I submitted for Art House Coop’s collaborative, flagship global art project was one of 1,000 sketchbooks selected for the inaugural “A Landmark & A Mission” tour starting November 2^nd.  Can you stand it?   The curator for this exhibit hand-selected my book from the 22,000 books representing 130 countries in the permanent collection. I’m a little overwhelmed, to say the least. You can read more here: http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2012/09/a-landmark-a-mission-colossal-partners-with-the-sketchbook-project-to-create-a-mobile-library-tour/

I poured my soul into that sketchbook.  In fact there were times when I hesitated, thinking maybe I had gone too far, maybe parts of the work are too personal for public consumption.  But something made me mail it anyway.  Maybe it was a need to be heard.  It felt like such a brave, almost reckless act.  It still does.  I put it out there in hopes it would lead me to my purpose.

Purpose is puzzling.  Some of us search for our purpose, but you don’t find her when you go looking.  She finds you.  It happens when you allow yourself to be, well, to be you.  Purpose comes out of hiding when you find the courage to bare your soul.

If anybody out there is watching the television show “Nashville”, there was a great example of this in last week’s episode.  A very talented amateur is coerced into recording a song she’s written. It is one of the most beautiful, soulful pieces of music I’ve ever heard.  When she sings the duet with the really handsome guy who is secretly in love with her, they are magical.  But she can’t sing it in the studio.  She’s completely intimidated by the watchful eyes of everyone surrounding her.   After she bails in embarrassment her boyfriend explains that it’s not about her.  She is the instrument through which her unique and intimate message makes it into the world.  If she thinks about it in those terms, she’ll find the courage to sing.

Wow.  He is so right.  Or rather the screenwriter who scripted his lines is right. We’re all put here to see something, or articulate something, or act on something that no one else views in quite the same way.  We’re the instrument sent to deliver a message no one else can. That’s our purpose.

Purpose is kind of spiritual in a way, but I did find a somewhat secular version of this idea in a recent HBR blog called “How to Let Your Purpose Find You”. Here’s the full post:  http://blogs.hbr.org/haque/2012/10/how_to_let_your_purpose_find_y.html. I have to say this is a tough read; I’ve gone through it three times.  I don’t know if it’s the author’s writing style or the fact that the concept is so abstruse.  But he says that we should do four things to pave the way for our purpose to find us.  Here’s my translation.

“Be uncool enough to love”. I love this one because it’s not for chickens.  He’s talking about big, say it out loud love, not just to your significant other or your kids, but to the world. To me this means letting some of the real you soak into your professional or public persona.  So here’s an example before you freak out thinking you need to kiss people at work or something.  This guy on my team resigned this week.  I’ve had to send no less than three communications on this, strategically timed so that all the stakeholders heard about it in the appropriate order.  Each time I was challenged to say something a little different, but I wanted it to sound real, not the standard clinical-speak thanking the guy for his service or a cut and paste of the previous announcement.  I crafted personal messages.  Tonight I got an e-mail from him thanking me for the way I’m handling his departure. I’ve been saying goodbye to him in a way no other manager ever has or will.  Uncool?  Maybe. Scary?  Absolutely. But it makes it all matter. 

Allow yourself to experience heartbreak. Not the kind that comes from a broken relationship, but the all-encompassing feeling of grief that comes when you experience something completely unjust.  Whether it happens to you or someone else, it leaves you so changed you’re absolutely compelled to take action in support of a cause that truly matters.  For me, it’s become fighting for inclusion in the work place. I have allowed myself to feel the crushing hurt that comes with admitting I am collateral damage in this, and now I simply have to act. Without my own personal pain I don’t know that I would have found this. And I can make a difference for a whole lot of people.

Let yourself fail, get beat up and bruised.  People who sail through life on easy street, always taking the safe route to guarantee they’ll win, they don’t find their purpose.  It’s not until the undertow pulls you beneath the surface and leaves you fighting for air, that you can truly appreciate the smooth sailing. Take a risk.  You will survive. You’ll thrive.

And what truly matters evolves over time.  Purpose cannot be rushed.  And this makes sense.  It takes time to rid yourself of inhibitions and really put it all out there.  Purpose won’t find you until she’s sure you can cut it.  She wants to be heard and has got to know you’ll follow through.

The deacon who prepared both of my boys for confirmation once gave a homily that haunts me.  He tells the story of a little girl who somehow got lost in the woods on an outing with her father.  He was panic-stricken, as any of us would be, and searched high and low for her.  She had discovered a clearing, planting herself right out there in the open, intent on waiting for him. She had to have been just as scared as he was, but she was open to allowing him to come to her, with all the faith and patience in the world. It was hours before they were finally reunited, and when they were, the first words out of the girl’s mouth were “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I knew you’d find me.”  She put herself in the great wide open for all to see, and what really mattered found her. 

Real people write the scripts and highly emotional songs for television dramas like  “Nashville”.  There have got to be real people who are brave and willing to breathe life into our relationships.  That’s purpose.

Let someone have a look at your sketchbook.


In your heart in your head in your
arms in your bed under your skin

Til there's no way to know where
you end and where I begin

I wanna melt in I wanna soak through
I only wanna move when you move

I wanna breathe out when you
breathe in then I wanna fade into you

--Fade Into You

Redact

About a year ago when I was looking for a new opportunity within my company, my manager brought me a position that required weekly travel.  Talking over with him the pros and cons, I made a comment about how I’ve managed to avoid travel in my career up until this point, but I’ve always known I would eventually need to do it, as if it were a bullet everyone needs to bite in order to get to the next level.

Fast forward to today where I once again found myself pondering the question of inclusion and how we get straight to the heart of the matter.  What lit the fire this time was a snippet I saw about a woman who won an award for the work she does around diversity and inclusion.  Reading beyond the teaser headline, I was intrigued to find out what specifically she is doing that is so ground breaking it led to recognition.  She's worked globally in a variety of different cultures, she gets to know her teams really well and matches their strengths and beliefs to like clients; she reads articles and watches TEDTalks on the topic and passes them on.  All good stuff, but nothing terribly earth shattering.

Sometimes I think my ideas are so radical the world is not ready for them.  But I really think I'm on to something with my position that in order to be truly inclusive, we need to change the way business is done.  And maybe it's not so far-reaching after all. 

For years I've described my career in terms of being able to "dodge" travel.  But I’ve also been very successful in national, regional and global leadership roles with next to no travel.  I led a team in Latin and South America for over a year without ever leaving Chicago.  Something is not right here. I’m beginning to think I need to rewrite my story.

We women spend entire careers apologizing for what we can’t do. We speak about opportunities presented to us in terms of what is unworkable. We see our options for career growth as onerous.  And we’re always surprised by how much we accomplish in spite of our limitations. 

What if we viewed it differently? 

It’s time to start dissecting our success.  This is important. This is where the clues lie to help us begin to solve the puzzle of changing how we do business.  The tactics we use to connect and empower teams are what we need to make visible and exploit in order to drive this concept forward.  What do those of us who are grounded do differently to achieve great results in spite of the travel gap?

I’ve referred to the 2010 Deutsche Bank white paper on gender balanced leadership in a prior post.  I love this excerpt because it shows what is possible:  “Vivienne Cox who was with BP for over 25 years, and the head of gas, power and renewables until 2009 was offered in 1998 a promotion to head a division in the company’s downstream division. She was 39, had just had her first child, and turned the promotion down on the grounds that she did not want to travel all the time, work weekends and put in the constant late nights she assumed that the job required. The deputy chief executive, Rodney Chase, rejected her refusal and promoted her, because he wanted to show that the job could be done on her terms.”

Few of us have a manager like Rodney, but if more of us can start to correlate the positive results of our work to how we do business, we really could drive change.  The change is already happening; the problem is we’ve made it invisible, hidden behind our shame and embarrassment that we can’t get results in the same manner men do. We need to stop apologizing for doing the job differently and talk about what makes us successful doing the job on our own terms.

If I think about my own career, I’ve been able to manage my national and regional teams remotely because of my leadership skills.  I’m organized, proactive, communicative, inclusive, and cleaved to a regular meeting cadence that includes action items and holding the appropriate party accountable to demonstrate progress and deliver results.  I’m also adept at leveraging my local teams to connect with their clients.  I believe that delegation empowers, engenders loyalty, and grows careers. I’ve developed tightly connected teams and built virtual bridges to my clients.  I’ve probably saved my clients hundreds of thousands of dollars in travel expenses over the years, and given my company far more productive hours spent on tangible work product instead of sitting idle in transit.

My challenge to you today is to think differently about your success.  Assume that your approach is the accepted and expected method. What if you were proud to broadcast how you go about doing your job?   What would that feel like?

 

“Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.” — Robert Bresson

Zeitgeist

Most people would probably consider me to be behind the times when it comes to social networking. I’m not chipping words into a stone tablet, but let’s just say my foray into digital connecting has been somewhat of a bust.

I tried Facebook, but took myself out (which is not easy, by the way) due to sheer embarrassment when it became clear my cavalier philosophy for friending proved insidious.  Let’s face it; I have no one to blame but myself for my ignorance.  It likely would have taken minimal effort to figure out how to make invisible unwanted comments about farm animals, mafia wars, and the like.  Instead I ran away.

Ditto with my Twitter account. My initial excitement over the idea of tweeting about the 200-mile relay race I ran this spring fizzled instantly when re-tweeting became recalcitrant. 

No surprise I lost interest in Pinterest when I realized hours slipped away searching the web for cool stuff to pin that I never looked at again. 

Instead of beating myself up over my remedial social media skills, I’m reminding myself I have the blog.  Yes, this counts as active participation in our 21^st century technological society. 

Many of you receive the posts through a subscription, and may not interact much with my site.   I’ve made a few changes recently that could be worth a look.  I’ve added a section called “Reverberate” that lists the top ten most-read posts over the six-month life of the blog.  “Anthology”, my list of favorite blogs is now refreshed with new content.  Check out Brene Brown’s blog called “Ordinary Courage”.  She’s got great stuff around the idea of being the real you. You’ll also find recommended reading in my “Athenaeum”.

My favorite new addition is something a friend passed on from Facebook (okay, it can’t be all that bad) that I’ve posted under the title of “Inanition”.  No doubt its low tech, archaic even, but I love the idea of this piece of paper that says “Take What You Need” fringed at the bottom with individual strips ready for the passerby to tear off.  Love, forgiveness, peace, understanding, hope, and others are there for the taking.  I have one hanging in my home, in hopes that my kids learn to articulate what it is they need to nourish their souls.

My blog is as much, or maybe even more about me than a Facebook page could be.  Some may disagree, but I might not be in the Stone Age after all.

Ardor

Today is Sweetest Day.  A Hallmark holiday at best, I’ve never really thought it warranted celebration.  In fact, this day is not even on my radar, but an e-mail that called it out in the subject line got me thinking about where I stand on sweetness.  At first glance it appears I didn’t make much progress toward this year’s goal of going on a date, but when I look at the big picture, I’d say I learned a lot about love.

I learned how fiercely I can love my teenagers, in spite of the challenges that come with raising them.  I learned to cast aside my expectations of who I thought they’d be to make room for them to show me who they are.

I learned that girlfriends demonstrate unconditional love on a daily basis.  They are at the ready holding us accountable to assess ourselves objectively.  They allow us to express our fears, sadness, anger, frustration and disappointment, while reminding us that we are strong, powerful, and capable of changing our worlds.  They show us that we are worthy of love.

I learned that we can change the way the people around us interact, and ultimately how they see their value.  We can encourage inclusion and really connect people, empowering those around us to share their ideas for positive change. By speaking emphatically about what we believe in, we can influence the direction in which our organizations move and improve the experience for our teams.

Our capacity for love is limitless, yet most of us barely scratch the surface. I’ll leave you with Brene Brown’s TEDx Houston talk on vulnerability:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4Qm9cGRub0

If we’re going to find love for ourselves in this world, the first place we need to look is within.

Velvet

It’s been three months, an entire quarter of a year, since I’ve done anything more artistic than drool hungrily over the wall of pastels at Blick.  Okay, there was that time I set up a cocktail bar on the potting bench in my porch, making a cool looking elevated serving tray out of an old scale and a bamboo cutting board, but that doesn’t really count.  We get so buried in the tasks we think we need to do, that we completely abandon what it is we like to do.  Thank goodness for the perspective of thoughtful friends who occasionally think to ask the question “What have you done for yourself lately?”

My friend sounded the alarm over lunch last weekend, alerting me I am in danger of flattening out again, becoming so consumed by my work that the other interests I have been so intentionally pursuing have all but vacated my life.  She could hear the knell so clearly in the wail of my voice, yet I had barely noticed.  Wrapped up in my new assignment, I easily slid right back into the long commute, crazy hours and tunnel vision that define a big job.

Leaving the restaurant, I took inventory.  Yes, it’s true I’ve reduced the number of miles I run these days, but this is a conscious decision after the stiffness from my half marathon in March took several months to dissipate.  I’m still writing, fighting to make time for the blog, but no longer investigating publishing opportunities.   The last piece of artwork I created was in July.  And the dating, well, we don’t need to talk about that.. . 

The most telling of all, though, is that I’ve stopped thinking about what I’ll do next with my career.  When I didn’t have something nailed down at the office, I allowed myself the freedom to think way outside the box.  Now I find myself confined inside familiar walls, squelching all the possibilities I had so proudly sketched out over the course of the year.

It’s like the patient who gets on maintenance medication and starts to feel so good that she decides she doesn’t need to fill the prescription anymore.  Fueling our passions is never-ending; we need to dose daily to keep ourselves happy. 

Someone very wise once told me that the work will still be there tomorrow.  We never completely finish what is on our plates.  For me this translates into permission to set limits around the time I spend working and permission to engage regularly in what’s fun. 

I didn’t pay too much attention in Economics class in college.  In fact, I paid so little attention that when a male friend once called my dorm room on a snowy morning impersonating my instructor, notifying me that class was canceled due to weather, he wasn’t given away because I recognized the teacher’s voice from lectures, but rather by the implausibility that I would receive a personal call from the professor.  What I do remember though from Economics 101 is the concept of diminishing returns.  We all invest with the intent to reap big rewards.  Many of us, women especially, invest for years on the promise of big rewards.  Economics tells us there’s a limit.  There is a point when the rewards top out despite our continued investment.

We all see our return in different terms.  The currency can take on many forms.  But what is universal is that when we invest all of our time and energy in one area, it becomes how we define ourselves.  It actually reduces confidence, because there’s an increased dependency when we limit ourselves to a single option. And you don’t need a college economics class to tell you that you should never put all your eggs in one basket.

So I’m back into my art.  The concept for my holiday card is complete; the mock-up on my desk while I mull over whether I’m really pleased with the execution.  It may need more tinkering.  The foundation for my next sketchbook is laid, which is super exciting because with the canvas prepped, it’s ready for whatever inspires me on any given day.  And I’m starting to think hard again not just about what I do at work, but what I really like to do at work. 

I’m taking my friend’s sage advice and recalibrating, sprinkling in a little economics.  Balance is based on where I see the biggest rewards.  My currency is happiness and pride. My return exceeds my investment in ways I've never imagined.

Virago

Winding down after another day in the paradise that is raising teenage boys, I find myself once again holed up in the relative calm of my porch, shuttered against the storm that I know will eventually pass.  The wind is howling in the form of foul lyrics blaring from the lips of a talented young songwriter who has yet to realize he’d reach so many more people if only he could limit his use of expletives. 

Attitude abounds in the mind of a stripling who clearly knows it all. Hubris prevents him from keeping his misguided thoughts to himself.  Before you know it, enough eye-rolls, heavy sighs and disparaging grumblings have been shot my way that my calm requests for respect crescendo into outright demands.  Yes, I’m yelling now. It never fails to surprise me how easily I succumb to the quick sand that girds him.  Before you know it I’ve sunk to his level.

I remind myself that in these moments he finds me to be the most overbearing obstacle in his life, and that his behavior is about control and exercising his independence. 

My sapience always saves me. True strength speaks in a whisper.