Belie

No doubt the blog has been neglected this week while I happily work on my term paper for To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee’s masterpiece.  I mean while I work on my son’s term paper.  No, I mean while I help my son work on his term paper.  Yikes!  I just can’t help myself.  He finds himself in a huge hole dug with teenage apathy and procrastination, and it just so happens that I absolutely love this book.  How can I not give him a hand?

The novel is fraught with storylines that converge to show us in a powerful way that too often we judge people without getting to know them. Who doesn’t love Scout, the scrappy, most un-ladylike girl who’s full of sass and her own opinions which she can’t quite keep to herself?  I imagine she would have grown up to break a glass ceiling or two.   And Atticus, well, he’s just dreamy.  I swoon over his calm strength, integrity, intelligence and moral compass.  I love how he fights for justice, yet accepts that he will not always win, and how he fiercely protects his children, without completely sheltering them.  He speaks eloquently in the real and beautiful language of a man committed to living his values of humility and compassion.  I’d marry him if he existed outside the pages of a book.

Atticus is steeped in compassion, maybe to ensure we notice the other characters that are so sorely lacking in this area, those who are so quick to judge.  Compassion is a concept that is often misunderstood.  Of those who grasp it, most keep it at the surface, assuming that it is a somewhat sentimental idea but really rather worthless in the grand scheme of things.  But if you dig deep on compassion, it really is the gateway to happiness.

My book club chose The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama and Dr. Howard C. Cutler for this month’s discussion.  I am woefully behind in my reading and won’t be done in time for this weekend’s meeting, but this book intrigues me.  I’m looking forward to hearing whether my fellow readers believe in the Dalai’s philosophy, and whether it can really be lived in western culture. 

Many of us walk around with a lot of negative energy, assuming the worst of those around us.  I know I have spent most of my life assuming everyone is looking for something not to like about me and hanging back to see how I am received.  Talk about missed opportunities.  This is the trouble, though.  We spend so much time expecting and addressing the negative.  It’s almost like we look for fault in people.  In fact, there’s research out there that says we as a society are far more likely to key in on negative trends and issues than positive.  Ouch!  Does anyone spend any time being happy?

What I’m thinking about these days is the power we have to invite a positive response from those we interact with.  The Dalai says it like this:  "I think in many cases people tend to expect the other person to respond to them in a positive way first, rather than taking the initiative themselves to create that possibility."  What I like about this statement is the word possibility.  If we start to think about every encounter as an opportunity to create a positive experience, the possibilities to connect are endless. 

To live the Dalai’s ideal, we need to show those around us a little compassion.  Can you see beyond the facades of the onerous client, sullen teenager or short-tempered spouse?  They’re not so unlike you, sometimes just trying to get through a day.  Think about how powerful you feel when you can extract a positive response from someone.  There is victory in even the hint of a smile from the morose adolescent traipsing off to school in the early morning light.

The Dalai’s philosophy, in my opinion, is aspirational in today’s western culture.  But if we start practicing compassion it can become a regular part of our lives.  People like Atticus Finch don’t necessarily need to exist only as characters in a work of fiction.  We can put them in the real world.

So I’m now set up to receive tweets from the Dalai.  Today he said, “On a simple level we find that if we have a compassionate heart we naturally have more friends”.  I’m thinking this is probably true.

Attraversiamo

I spent the past few days, like most of us do with holidays, in this odd mid-week reprieve from the daily grind.  It’s almost like the world stops turning for a little while so we can all move into this unnatural state of being.  Even the local coffee shops close up, much to the disappointment of the runner who finished her five-mile Turkey Trot with visions of a leisurely walk home, warming her hands around a steaming cup. Electronics go into semi-retirement to make room for old-fashioned cooking that requires analogue equipment like ovens, stove-tops, and hand potato mashers. Our texts and tweets are replaced with face-to-face conversation in a cozy kitchen, often induced by social lubricants served in fancy glasses, meticulously measured (at least the first round anyway) and sprinkled with festive garnish. 

While a reprieve such as this is healthy, a lot of us don’t know what to do with it.  Many of us are tempted to use these days as catch up, thinking we may shrink our endless pile of deliverables both at home and at work if we stay in our regular routine, getting ahead so to speak when no one can add to our lists.  We are antsy, sneaking peeks at our phones to see if someone, anyone out there is communicating in our usual vernacular, some sort of sign that life as we know it still exists. Retailers sense that all of this stillness is aberrant to most, and capitalize on our weak state, boldly marching right up to the line, invading our holiday and taunting us with the slake of “Grey Thursday”.

This feeling, for me anyway, is not unique to holidays.  I am struggling with this same issue both in parenting and with my job.  Right now I find myself in a transformation, moving into oversight roles in both arenas.  My teams are fully capable of delivering outstanding work product without my constant intervention.  My teenagers want and need to take responsibility for many aspects of their lives. Whether I like it or not, others are now either filling my former roles outright, or moving into them, taking ownership of more and more of those tasks that I felt so comfortable and accomplished in doing.  Those things that defined me, that made my reputation, sealed my success, showcased my worth, fed my need to be appreciated.

Stripped of everything I know, I’m in a curious vacuum that sometimes is as painful as open wounds. I’m hesitant, for a whole host of reasons, to fill this space so my inaction renders me useless, as lost as those thrown into holiday mode in the middle of a work week.  I should be enjoying this, yet I can’t help but feel out of place.

Emptiness like this leaves me worn out with worry.  I’m almost afraid to fully fill my time with new pursuits.  Don’t I need to be available as a safety net for my people?  What if they get in some sort of trouble and don’t ask for help?  If I’m not around to notice this and swoop in to fix things, will everything fall apart?   So I spend my time dancing around beneath them like a spotter for circus acrobats, poised to catch someone who will likely never fall.

Holidays can be rough because the change is so abrupt.  We’re expected to switch gears completely and for a very short period of time.  Moving as quickly as the squeaking sound of shoes on a basketball court; we’re not in one place long enough to get truly comfortable. Of course we’ll be called for over and back. But in these other aspects of our lives, we have time to adjust. This is all good, really.  Our struggle, after all is in the crossing over. 

For me, I will know I have it right when I strike the balance in my new roles.  This means letting go of how tasks get done and instead focusing purely on the outcomes. It’s about staying engaged and informed enough to know when coaching and support is appropriate.  It’s about being open to different methods and empowering others to pursue them even if it’s not the way I would do it.  It’s relinquishing control.  It’s about being vulnerable with those that matter, for in knowing who I really am they can find strength in the little bit of something me that can’t help but find its way into them. 

Wouldn’t it be great to stop using my idle time worrying about how to protect my people from the negative consequences of their choices, to really believe that a mistake made by one of my charges is not a reflection on me, to know that while I may pay some price for a failure on my team, I will survive it?  If I didn’t spend my time in this limbo, think about the possibilities I could pursue, the places I could take myself.

And that’s just it.  I think I’ve been seeking this sort of freedom for so long, that now that it’s within in reach I’m afraid to grab it.  It feels a little, well, selfish.  Am I not abandoning my post, leaving my charges to flail on their own while I’m off doing what’s new and exciting to me?

I’ve decided I don’t think so.  At one point I loved intensely the tasks that others are now assuming.  It’s right that I get to move on, and this work is now done by someone else looking for his or her opportunity to shine, learning and making mistakes the same way I did. I’ve worked really hard to get to the place I’m at in life.  I’ve earned the right to pursue more.  And to enjoy it, trusting that my successors will live some of my values and take what they need from me to make the job their own.

The fact that we get ourselves to this place where we have more time to do what we love is a testament to our hard work, tenacity and focus.  Now it’s time to turn our idea of this place into reality.  And that’s what we need to do with holidays, too.  We all have some sort of picture in our minds of what this one day will be, of what this one life will be.  We also have the power to make it all that. 

Breed

Food shopping is usually a dalliance for me. I like to peruse the products while sipping my morning coffee, leisurely making my selections and singing along (quietly) to the soundtrack that appears to be targeted toward middle-aged women like me.   I was completely unprepared for the holiday humanity that ambushed me in the grocery store this weekend, feeling naked without my patience and grace which I unwittingly left at home.

It seemed every spouse who has never set foot in this hallowed place decided to accompany the accomplished shopper of the family. Someone needs to give lessons in the proper protocol before allowing these amateurs into this space.  Carts abandoned in the middle of aisles; couples in matching Chicago Bears jerseys crowded around packages of rolls arguing over how many they’d need to bring to mom’s house. Was there really not a single jar of pumpkin pie spice to be found in this cavernous warehouse?  I only need one teaspoon.

People talk about grace being such an important component of happiness.  I think that’s right.  But it seemed noticeably absent in the store.  Here we all are shopping for a common purpose, this giant communal meal to give thanks.  We should feel some sort of connection, a generosity of spirit, yet all I could muster was frustration.  And I’m not alone in this.  Has this day of thanks become a perpetual perdition, not only in the shopping, but in the way every aspect of the day is colored:  Inviting guests, belated RSVPs, cooking the meal, what time to eat, relatives who can’t get along; is everything achingly short of perfect?

I have only one prescription to cure our self-inflicted woes on this day because if you get this one right, everything else falls away:   Be where you can be your best self, with people you love who love you in return. 

In order to really do this you need to stop thinking about obligations and what others expect, and start thinking about surrounding yourself with those who bring out the best in you, those who truly enrich your life.  Why are you attending a traditional family dinner that makes you miserable every year?  Why are you begrudgingly opening your house up to the extended family?  Are you savoring the celebration or just looking to get it over with as quickly as possible? 

I didn’t say this was easy, by the way. 

A few years ago I decided it was time for a new family tradition, taking my boys to my dad’s house out west for the week.  On our first visit we were invited to join my dad and his desert family at a party hosted by some of their friends.  It was the strangest concept ever to me.  Was I really going to share this dinner with people I’d never met?  We dined alfresco a la Martha Stewart Living, the surroundings breathtaking and the company delightful.  My boys covered their laps with white napkins while waiting for everyone to be served before picking up their forks.  Who knew?  We walked into this home with open hearts ready to embrace the day.  And what do you know, we had a great time.

There is something to be said for being grateful every day.  This one day is meant to be symbolic of the other 364 in the year, not the end all be all.  If you don’t get this one quite right, it doesn’t mean you can’t do it again next week over burgers and fries.  There’s nothing preventing you from having your own eclectic feast whenever you want with a handful of the wonderful people in your life.



This year I’m spending my day with loved ones who are always in my corner.  I know the food will be delicious no matter what’s on the menu because we’re making it together with that secret ingredient called extra love.  Appreciation will be top of mind with a call out to those intangibles that make life worth living:   My freedom along with the wisdom and courage that allows me to use it to find happiness, the coveted role I play in helping my boys reach their potential, the family and friends who remind me every day that I bring value into this world.  The grocery store playlist comes to mind as well, the one that includes “Annie’s Song”.  It is a most unexpected place for a reminder of my mother.  She liked to make the stuffing. I miss her sometimes.

Intentalo

I’m not very hip.  Really.  Some people of my generation may look at me and say I am, but I’m really kind of a technology dinosaur and tend to lean toward practical and methodical.  I do not need fancy or glitzy anything unless you’re talking jewelry, clothes or art supplies.  I am not an early adopter; in fact I’m usually the last person to pick up the first generation gadget, holding onto it fiercely long after multiple versions have come and gone. I’ve been described as innovative by some, but I scratch my head with this one.  I’m adaptive.  I can take anybody’s proven concept making it work for me, but brand new stuff is generally not born in my space. 

I have been wearing myself out these days attempting to solve a client problem.  It is a somewhat nebulous request which makes it difficult to pinpoint a definitive path.  I have offered the traditional solution, a slick prose proposal outlining a regimented process to get from Point A to Point B to be led by a white man in a suit, and been politely told “No, thank you, not what I’m looking for.”  Becoming increasing frustrated and embarrassed to be missing the mark so completely with my client, I finally asked myself “Is this request really unreasonable or is it exasperation because I can’t find the right answer?” 

I did what any reasonable person would do, and asked for help, connecting for a little brainstorming with two women colleagues I met many years ago on a trip to the Bay Area.  They were able to share some insight around what makes this client tick, and offered some fresh ideas on how to approach my problem. I walked away with renewed energy, feeling lighter having thoroughly enjoyed catching up with these friends.  It was like the clouds lifted and all was right with the world again.

Reviewing the information I would go on to forward to my client for consideration, I was struck by how much presentation tilts perspective.  This new proposal was packaged up in a more interactive medium to be delivered by a woman with a retail background. It’s full of the newest buzz words like idea campaigns, crowdsourcing and social collaboration.  It talks about output in terms of illustrations on a white board in real time rather than a paper report issued a few days after the fact. While I am offering essentially the same services outlined in the classic consulting format, the whole picture now looks Instagram instead of Polaroid.   

Most would be excited to be touting such innovative material.  And I am, but there’s a part of me that has been waiting to be at the point in my career where I’m in the position to offer my clients the coveted “consulting proposal”.  It somehow feels like I’ve arrived.  Maybe the sting of its rejection resurrected this recurring theme that haunts my professional life:  I salivate over all the appealing rewards that appear to come with the next level on the corporate ladder, yet when I finally get there it seems like the jewels I’ve been seeking have vanished; the treasure chest is empty; all the rules have changed. But that’s just it, the rules change all the time.  We need to be willing to try the new things, and sometimes that means abandoning our idea of what the job looks like, and seeing it for what it really is. 

While my client’s persistence in not settling for my tried and true approach was initially frustrating, I’m contemplating this lesson in listening and thinking outside the box.  We consider ourselves to be hip and new, but are we?  We become set in our ways and willing, almost anxious, to follow the prescribed path because this is what we’ve been working toward. 

That same day I decided it was time to resurrect my Twitter account.  Sadly neglected, my photo the default “Egg”, it needed a make-over.  When I looked around at how others are using this social medium, my mind started whirling with the possibilities a new vehicle for my message offers.  Sure I’m telling the same story in another way, but that’s a good thing.  Sometimes its a question of finding the right language.  We all hear the words differently which is why they appear in missives, tweets, lyrics, posts and whispers from within. Why not give several a try?

Intentalo is a Spanish word meaning “try it”.  It’s also considered cutting-edge global music, a movement called tribal guarachero that has become synonymous with Northern Mexico.  I read about this yesterday in the print newspaper that lands on my driveway every weekend.  Yes, I said print. Old habits die hard.

Annuity

My birthday cake, as far back as I can remember, has always been German Chocolate.  I have no idea how my mother landed on that uncommon delicacy for me, especially given the fact that as a kid I lacked an affinity for both coconut and pecans.  But back in the days before frosting came in plastic tubs, I would sneak so many spoonfuls of the gooey decadence simmering on the stove, it was a wonder there was any left to cover the cake.  And the best part of this kid un-friendly flavor is that there was always more for me.

A neighbor once told me that birthdays are really for the mothers.  I think she’s right.  Over the years my birthday has lost much of its luster; I find myself far more sentimental on the days my boys were born.  As each year goes by I can still vividly recall the original birth day, the idea that a sleeping newborn so full of promise could be cradled, for a moment in time, in the palm of my hand.

Nurturing that promise consumes our lives for the next 18+ years.  But it’s not an easy task.  Society puts out an unwritten instruction manual, but I know very few who find that they have that exact model at home.  Most of us end up throwing out the directions and winging it on our own. 

We think that the most difficult window of time is when they are babies, helpless and unable to articulate their needs. With nothing else to go on, we have no choice but to rely on what our gut says. We tell ourselves it will get better as they grow. 

The irony is that while our children are in fact becoming more independent and vocal, they don’t necessarily do a better job of telling us what they need. The truth is that now, more than ever, my kids can’t define it. It’s not just that the helpless cry has morphed into an undecipherable grunt, although sometimes that’s it.  But mostly it’s that the problems are so complex, expectations so high and their uncertainty so pervasive they truly don’t have the words for how they feel. I’m certain I look to my gut for guidance more now than any time in the past.     

We make huge personal investments in our children without ever expecting any kind of tangible return.  We’ll work tirelessly to break their encrypted code.  We’re fully vested in their happiness and will go to the mattresses for them at any time.

If you believe like I do that every element, every detail of the miracle that is human life was meticulously mapped out before the first one of us was ever released on earth; what an awesome design specification the mother is.  It’s no accident none of us can get into this world without the one person who unequivocally has our backs.  Yes, birthdays are for mothers. And I bet my mom loved German Chocolate cake way before I ever did.

Obfuscate

This past weekend felt like summer’s last call.  With rumbling thunderstorms, intermittent sunshine, temperatures in the mid-60’s and runners in shorts, you could almost trick yourself into thinking it was early September.  The thermometer predicted to plummet this week; I dropped everything in order to winterize.  Berried branches from the flowering crab apple in back have made their way into a white pitcher in the porch. Spent chrysanthemums dropped into the ground in hopes they’ll return next summer and flower that beautiful pale yellow that waxes pink.  While it’s a little too early for the dwarf pine trees now sitting in the concrete planters on my front porch in the stead of the mums, history tells me if I don’t plant now, I won’t be making time in the early December cold, no matter how pretty the picture in my mind. 

Choosing to spend my free time on fun instead of work is relatively new for me.  Doing things I love like decorating with found objects always seemed to get pushed to the bottom of my list, shooting to the top only in the mad scramble that comes with opening the house up to entertain friends once in a Blue Moon. Work life balance feels good. It’s about time women weren’t the only ones talking about it.

I had drinks with a friend recently, a guy I hired about six years ago who worked on one of my former teams.  No longer with that same client, we hadn’t spoken in a while.  He caught me up on his kids; it was evident how much he is enjoying spending time with them.  On my team he traveled constantly, with this current assignment he is home nearly all the time. His new client recently asked if he’d go to China for six months to fix their problems over there.  He thought about the possibilities of this from the vantage point of increased compensation and career growth.  But he likes the balance he has found being grounded, and is thinking about how he can continue to be challenged without sacrificing his new-found freedom. What he really wanted to know from me is how I’ve been able to be so successful in my career without ever traveling. 

Wow!  When I talk about women redacting their stories to exploit how they are achieving results equal to men while still maintaining a work life balance, I expect that we will need to push these tales to the masses, authenticating what surely must be urban legend, convincing men there really is validity in our approach.  I am asked all the time by younger women how I achieve despite the “limitations” of motherhood.  It never occurred to me that a man seeking his own balance would solicit this information from me. It is so encouraging to see evidence that women’s success could be considered gender neutral in the eyes of men. 

“Having it all” is a concept that seems reserved for women.  No one ever talks about men in this vein.  It’s interesting to me.  Are men considered to have it all already because tradition calls for men to be breadwinners at the expense of time with their families?  Who defines how much time or involvement a man has with his family as the proper balance?   What would having it all even look like to a man?

At a recent after-hours work event, the waitress at the restaurant brought out a birthday cake for one of the guys.  We (weakly) sang to him, watching him blow out his candles and make his requisite wish.  He struggled to recall the last time he was home celebrating his birthday with his family.  This struck me as sad, in a way.  Doesn’t he know his loved ones are jealous, wondering why he would give this moment to co-workers?  Maybe they’ve given up, resigned to the fact that work always comes first.  Maybe he’d like it to be different, but after all this time closing the chasm that has widened at home seems impossible.  But this is exactly why women fight so hard to have it all. We know our relationships need at least as much care and attention as work.

It may sound harsh, but sometimes I think maybe men don’t want it all, so many of them seem willing to allow work to bleed into family time.  Maybe in a single-income household men experience tremendous pressure, trapped on the treadmill of travel and entertainment to keep the job?  I don’t know; I’ve never been in that place. But I see a fair amount of men who appear to use work as an excuse to avoid unfulfilling relationships at home. 

It feels like a monster has been created, work consuming more and more personal time while marriages crumble and kids expect that dad is rarely around.  Does mom need to be ambushed as well if she wants to be successful at work?  What if we could instead build a gender bilingual platform where we structured our approach around the successful techniques of those who have had no choice but to balance work and home?  

This is exactly what I’m giving thought to these days. The conversation the other night in the bar with my male co-worker seeking his own balance is now the first draft of my chronicle.  Working women telling their success stories won’t just benefit women, they’ll benefit men, too. And the married women at home raising families in what must feel like a whole different kind of single motherhood. 

Stay tuned.

Antiphon

Yesterday was my first official college visit, ever.  Seriously. When I selected my school in the early 80’s, economics ruled.  The parameters set, the sole contenders public, in-state universities left little else to consider.  In those days, like in any when constraints limit range, those who thrived accepted the foregone conclusion and entered the experience with excited anticipation.  We were blessedly free of regret, free to embrace all the good in where we landed because there really were no other viable options. Visiting a school in the present day as I did with my sister and niece; however, opens your eyes to the possibilities, somehow making a decision as monumental as this feel suddenly seriously complicated.

How do we narrow the field when so many alternatives are available to us?  How do we make decisions that bring us peace?  How do we let go of the equivocation, stop vacillating between options, let ourselves make a choice and lean into it instead of remaining in a state of infinite wanting? 

I struggle with this on a daily basis, with the most mundane of decisions.  As recently as this morning, when faced with the option of hitting the snooze button on my alarm clock to catch the winks that had eluded me all week or rising super early to drive 25 minutes to run in a 10K race, I found myself debating my decision long after it was made.  By opting not to go, was I potentially leaving my destiny at the starting line, the man of my dreams waiting there full of hope at the prospect of meeting me?  Did I skirt yet another opportunity to meet people because I decided to skip this race?  As I looked my unshowered self in the eye through my reflection in the bathroom mirror, pulling back into a pony tail my flat hair badly in need of some fresh color, I rationalized it all away by saying my plainness would just be lost amid the sea of younger, fresh-faced beauties running faster than I do anyway.  Knowing that wasn’t the answer either, I ran instead in my neighborhood and challenged myself to take God with me.

Yes, I did say God.  He’s not my usual running partner, but something my sister said yesterday reminded me once again that He is a secret weapon I usually neglect, sometimes the last arrow in my quiver to be pulled.  My sister told the story of a recent situation where she was searching for the right words.  The answer she received when she asked God to weigh in was to keep quiet and let the loved ones in her life speak instead.  Often compelled to be the loudest voice, she received the shot in the arm she needed to seal her lips when the emotion of the moment literally rendered her speechless, a sign for certain that the right words for her were none at all.  She found in her silence that those around her spoke more eloquently than she ever thought possible.  That’s powerful stuff. That’s the power within, whether your beliefs about its source tend toward the spiritual or the secular. 

My niece appears to be a shoe-in for the university we visited yesterday.  She is brilliant, with the requisite test scores and grades as solid evidence those who are unfamiliar with her will need to feel confident about extending her an invitation to join their community.  In return, they are offering her a customized program designed by administrators, professors and coaches interested in understanding her strengths and addressing not just academics, but sports, faith and life.  She has as much to offer them as they have to offer her.  Yet I felt her hesitation as acutely as if it were my own. 

I can’t help but think that what differentiates her from her competitors, and where she’ll find the place that ultimately feels right, lies at the root of her choice to pursue physical therapy.  In a beautifully written essay she talks about her experience growing up with a sibling who knows this practice intimately.  Immersed so completely, she’s fully aware it involves so much more than fixing a privileged athlete’s sports injury.  She witnesses its pure magic, the transforming powers invoked by imaginative and compassionate souls who change lives by treating the whole person.  She lives the faith and strength it takes to make choices that shun the temptations of cosmetics and assimilation, in favor of enabling and empowering solutions that net an individual capable and anxious to pursue his full potential.

To get an idea of what I’m talking about, take a look at this video recently aired featuring her thirteen year-old brother:   http://www.csnchicago.com/preps/news/Connor-McHugh-overcomes-odds?blockID=795587&feedID=661

When I think about where she could take this field with her unencumbered intelligence, untapped passion, and unmatched experience, it gives me goosebumps.  Her brother knows more than most adults do about pursuing dreams.  Unable to hide such visible differences right out of the gate, and blessed with a family that has always chosen to develop his physical strengths over attempting to shore up the weaknesses, has resulted in a boy who applies this approach to his own life.  He has honed in on his intellectual strengths and interests, and freely and confidently follows them.  He may say he’s missing “a couple of bones”.  His sister, somewhere in the course of her college studies will be able to tell us exactly how many.  And along the way, she’ll get closer to finding herself, too. 

When I look at the choices, who wouldn’t be dazzled by the bigger schools with their bright lights, explosive social scenes and hype that their sheer size commands?    Yet there is something so enticing, powerful and proven about a smaller community that supports the whole person. College is a big decision, no doubt, but in the big picture one step on a life-long journey of finding and developing purpose.  Which one to attend is not make or break necessarily, but a tool to exploit on the path of life. What really matters is that along with the choice comes the commitment to embrace it. This comes from nowhere but within.

On this morning’s run, what came to me was the idea that maybe it’s not about meeting new people at every turn, but looking around occasionally  to see if I’m missing someone right in front of me who wants in to my life. Also, the thought that one person, alone, cannot push everything over the finish line in one big shove, no matter how desirous that individual is.  While there are those who would say they do it on their own, each of us has at some point leaned on some really caring people.  It’s our job to surround ourselves with them, focus on what we’re really great at and, in the process, propel ourselves and those around us forward, one decision at a time.

My nephew is ultimately right, you know.  If we’re brave enough to keep making small moves in the direction we want to go, it’s pretty likely we’ll end up where we really want to be.   

Wield

Women possess an enormous amount of power in this country.  The census tells us that from a sheer numbers perspective we rule. This is not news.  I can remember, embroiled as a kid in the early 70’s in one of those classic “girls are better than boys” debates, being exceedingly proud to cite this statistic.   In 2010, for the first time ever, we evened the workforce playing field in terms of representation by numbers.  In 2011 we surpassed men in earning advanced degrees.  It’s no secret we’ve held the buying power in our households for generations. And there isn’t a man out there who can give birth to a baby.

So if we have all of this power, why are we still allowing men to be our mouthpieces in government? 

So much of what I write about socializes the challenges of women in business; I was happy to receive from one of my loyal readers this perspective on women in politics:    “Why The White House Glass Ceiling Remains Solid” http://www.npr.org/2012/10/30/163951288/why-the-white-house-glass-ceiling-remains-solid?sc=emaf.  It asks the timely question of whether the United States will ever elect a woman president. 

Women appear to be even more underrepresented on the political front than in business.  While we talk of the deep bench and pipeline in corporates, it’s not the same in politics.  The representation of women in statewide elected offices in the past 30 years has increased negligibly from 11% to 23%.  It doesn’t take an actuary to calculate that at this pace it will be decades before we break even.

What leaps out at me in this article is these two statistics:  In every election since 1964 women have cast more votes than men.  And while more than 80% of women plan to vote in this election, less than 40% of women surveyed think that those in office represent their interests.  If the men aren’t getting it done for us, why aren’t we jumping into the fray?

The writer doesn’t attempt to answer this question, and maybe I shouldn’t try either, but I have to believe it has a lot to do with the fact that men have historically dictated the methods and behaviors associated with attaining these jobs. 

On the very same day I received the White House paper, another reader forwarded me an HBR blog I hadn’t seen (is that possible?) titled “What Women Know About Leadership That Men Don’t”  http://blogs.hbr.org/schwartz/2012/10/what-women-know-that-men-dont.html.  This post speaks to men’s natural tendencies toward aggression and the fact that positions of power are won primarily by those who are willing to overinflate their achievements to prove they are big and bad.  Isn’t that what the campaign trail is all about?   It’s no wonder the natural approach of women, connection, doesn’t stand a chance in this arena.  This could very well be one of the reasons why women are not lining up to take office, and why we can’t help but feel on Election Day that we are picking our poison, choosing between two disingenuous candidates saying whatever they need to in order to win. 

I’ve often felt that the political candidate with the stomach to handle the campaign could in no way also possess the qualities I’m looking for in a leader.   Aren’t women’s inclinations toward collaboration, empathy, diplomacy and mediation just what the doctor ordered when it comes to managing through today’s growing minefields and keeping the peace?  I wonder how often war would be used as a tactic if more countries were run by women.

It’s a shame that the road to office precludes most women, paved in such archaic one-upmanship. Maybe it’s time our so-called democratic selection process had a make-over. When the constitution was written by a bunch of men wearing powdered wigs way back when, wasn’t the intent of the House of Representatives to address equal representation?  Our forefathers attempted to prorate by population so that the voice of the people was balanced.  It made sense at the time.

But times have changed.  When this country was born, it was unfathomable that women would ever be anything more than barefoot and pregnant.  We’ve come a long way, but our political process is sorely behind.

As women I bet more of us would feel like our elected officials had our best interests at heart if they looked more like us.  Our leaders in government are as different from us as the leaders above us on the ladder in Corporate America. The path to positions of power is a complicated obstacle course favoring the males who have always been the predominate navigators.

The government could stand a solid inclusion program.  The political gates need to somehow be opened to women.  Maybe it means mandating representation prorated not just by population, but by women and minority groups.  Maybe it means an overhaul of the malicious alpha dog fight that is the campaign.  Maybe it’s a little of both.  What’s certain, though, is that a group of men can’t represent women’s interests any better than a group of women can represent men’s interests.  We all need a say if we’re all going to be heard. 

A government for the people and by the people needs to be truly representative of all the people.  That, by the way, includes the girls.