Consigliere

We all know her; she positively glows in the limelight.  She can’t wait to get in front of the group, completely energized by the thought of being “on”. By day her schedule regularly includes travel to shake hands and kiss babies; few know she’s up nights worrying about hitting the numbers. She’s the last person I want to be, and up until as recently as last week, the person I thought I had to be if I want to reach my full potential.

 

I’m seeing things differently these days, thanks to some enlightening training and a relevant piece, courtesy of Fast Company, asking the question "What if second became the new first in leadership?"  You mean I can still be an ambitious and courageous leader as someone’s number two?

Contrary to popular belief, great leaders are not well-rounded.  They all possess their own unique mix of strengths.  Strengths, for the purposes of leadership, are defined as activities that energize us; we’re good at them AND we like them. The best number ones know they can’t be great at everything.  They enjoy spending their time in the spotlight, revel in being where the buck stops, and surround themselves with a team of skilled advisors; equally solid and respected leaders possessing complementary strengths.

Yet it can be hard sometimes, when you know you’re smart and capable enough to be number one, to accept that you’re really happier as a number two. We’re a society conditioning ourselves to question whether something is wrong if we aren’t striving to be first.  We’re all supposed to want to keep climbing, until we can’t climb anymore. We don’t’ drop out; we go until we’re taken out. But does every person who secures the top spot really enjoy it?  I’m beginning to wonder.

I used to look at the rung above the one I stood on at any given moment and think, I need to take another step because there is something up there that scares me, and I need to prove I’m capable of conquering it. It didn’t matter whether I thought I would like the next role, it was all about demonstrating I could do it.

Now I look at the next rung and ask myself if what’s required of the role energizes me or deflates me.  Will I spend the majority of my time doing what I love?  Can I remain my authentic self or will I need to become an actress to pull it off?

 

Not only do I not need to pursue it, I’ve got no business being number one. I’d just be getting in the way of those besotted baby kissers who can’t wait to get on it and are far better at it than I am.  Besides, who will think big picture, shape the future and make a difference for those around her?

Atlas is shrugging. Who knew it would feel so good to grant myself permission to be myself?

Ampersand

“I’m an “and” kind of guy.”  He articulates this to me more times than I can count; in response to a statement or lament I express involving the assumption I need to sacrifice, shroud or surrender pieces of myself in order to be accepted. It’s the notion of relinquishing a little bit of our true selves in order to assimilate into what we think others are expecting us to be he is adamantly attempting to evict from my vernacular.

 

God love him.  This is a reflex predating my earliest memory.  I don’t know if it affixes to the X chromosome, or is nurtured to fruition in the obsequiousness of a first-born daughter, to be permanently cemented with the inherent selflessness of motherhood?  Maybe this bias is not even gender-specific?  Whatever it is, it’s limiting and serves no practical purpose.

We’re all multi-dimensional, yet how many people in our lives do we actually allow to embrace this fullness?  We carefully dole out facets of ourselves, methodically matching to each different audience only what we deem they can bear.  I’m not sure how this happens, but in this practice we become really good at compartmentalizing our lives, so good in fact, the prospect of uniting all these selves for another to experience becomes a source of anxiety.  What will my corporate colleagues say about me upon reading my blog posts or viewing my art?  Will this wonderful man in my life think differently about me after we attend a business function together?  How will my kids, having grown up with a single mom, react to me with a partner? 

Who hasn’t witnessed or lived this at the office, believing the requirement is to sequester for long hours, pretending family commitments don’t exist in order to demonstrate loyalty and the ambition to get ahead?  It can seem impossible to live the “and” life.  Many of us fold immediately, presuming our only option is “or”, that we need to diminish or extinguish the importance of one area to prove we are truly committed to another. Or worse yet, we need to keep the different aspects of our lives completely separate, juggling in a vacuum.

I think about moving to “and” in two ways:  It’s about trusting the tribes who are part of our divergent interests and who may each know us a little differently will amalgamate when needed. And it’s also about believing each of those stakeholders, be it our kids, our partners or our bosses, will still love, support and value us when time in another area of our lives takes us away.

While the transformation into an “and” kind of girl is not quick or easy for me, I’m finding a remarkable phenomenon occurs when you allow it; not only do you create capacity for more of what matters, but in the process become more interesting and valuable to the people who matter.

To the “and” kind of guy in my life: Thank you for an epic Year One. XO

Bibliogenesis

As I walk from the gift shop to the gate, I can’t decide if I should pat myself on the back or kick myself in the ass.  I’ve opted to return to the shelf an intriguing paperback I study intensely, killing time before I board my plane. Not one to pass up an opportunity to grow my library, I make my choice in a moment of proud frugality but can’t shake the feeling there is more in this book for me than the rich content its captivating title promises.  What can I glean from how this young author, Marina Keegan (who lived only twenty-two short years), is able to package her work in the vessel my yearning heart covets?  The covers which sandwich "The Opposite of Loneliness" not only exude praise for relatable, wise writing, but outline the string of small publishing victories this author fought for before winning the big prize.

I’m wallowing in my own stuckness again, a familiar cesspool where I routinely swim whenever a few hundred of my most talented colleagues converge on an exquisite desert resort for networking, learning and awards.  Who can be in a setting like this and not compare herself to at least one other person?  Who hasn’t spent at least a minute or two feeling small while rubbing against some big shoulders?  I’m a trainer, not a trainee, and yet I’m reminded of all there is I don’t know, and maybe more importantly, all I’ve forgotten.

 

It’s a surprising statistic, but a full 50% of adults in America are contemplating not just a job change, but a career change. Wow!  How can so many be so far off base?   Seems there are a lot of us questioning our passion for our jobs, wondering if maybe we belong somewhere else, but what we do today seems so different than what we dream of doing tomorrow we can’t even begin to chart a path in another direction.  We think in one enormous step, instead of considering a series of small ones.  And we end up making no move at all because such a giant leap is just too scary to contemplate.

My brief encounter in the airport with “The Opposite of Loneliness” reminds me the road to a book often includes stops along the way in magazines, journals, newspapers, social media and the internet. What happened to the “me” who posted to her blog 2-3 times a week, or the brave soul who submitted to and was rejected by the likes of “The Sun” and The New York Times “Modern Love” column?  How could I have forgotten my own studied logic?  More importantly, how have I allowed myself to abandon the regular practice of my craft and the joy this infuses into my life?

And as I begin to think small again, big ideas flow like a sluice.  Are we really so distant from our passions, I wonder, or are we just not being creative enough about how we might introduce them to our work? 

At the awards dinner last night I seek out and confide in a familiar face; I discover she wants to be a fresh advocate for me.  She volunteers to help me get unstuck, warning she’ll expect me to think out of the box. Is it possible to weave my writing into the profession I’ve honed and evolved over the course of nearly 30 years?  What if my career today could take me to my dreams for tomorrow? 

Surrounded by hundreds of energetic peers this week, I somehow find myself in a lonely place, questioning where someone with my talents, skills, hopes and dreams fits in. Ironically, the message I walk away thinking my organization wants to convey is that our business not only thrives on, but depends on the unique qualities each individual brings.  I can see now that space can be made right here for the real me; I just need to be brave.

The road to authenticity is an uncompartmentalized life. In the opposite of loneliness that is my conference I sometimes fail to remember we’re all scared of something.