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. 

Kedge

In a conversation with one of my running friends the other day, she said to me that she doesn’t feel like she has enough “helpers” in her life.  Qualifying the statement by saying that she’s not talking about assistants, but coaches; she explained that a friend of hers has a “spiritual director” and a psychotherapist, wondering out loud if people in similar-type roles would benefit her.

Her query was timely.  Just a few days prior to this conversation I was marveling about the success I’ve seen when I’ve allowed myself to tap into the expertise of others, amazed at how much more powerful we all become when we ask for a little help. It almost feels gluttonous, the way I am teaching myself to embrace the counsel of specialists and propelling myself to places I never thought I could go. So why do so many of us have an aversion to requesting help, seeing this as a sure sign of weakness to be avoided at all costs? 

Help can be tricky if you’re not looking at it the right way. It can feel like you’re admitting some horrible inadequacy.   Many of us start our careers in the workforce in individual contributor roles.  Responsible for a finite set of tasks under our control, it’s easy to get swept up into the mindset that we should be able to do it all on our own.  Our performance is measured by how well we do individually, independent of others.  Asking for help in these situations can feel like drawing attention to what we can’t do.  Why on earth would we open ourselves up like that?

We can also feel like if we ask for help we’ll be passed over in favor of the person who’s jumped in to offer her services.  I remember leaving my babies at home daycare years ago.  There was always a gnawing fear in the back of my mind that my caregiver would be better at nurturing my kids than I was.  Would my boys begin calling her “Mommy”?  Of course this never happened (or if it did, she knew not to tell me to spare a broken heart), although I lived through some sleepless nights pervasive with guilt over the idea.

But here’s the deal,  you’re irreplaceable:   At home, in the workplace, in your relationships, everywhere.

The very nature of our uniqueness makes us all irreplaceable. This can get lost on us, especially when we’re young and trying to fit in, but our value is in our diversity.  It’s our differences that make it both essential and easy to ask for help.

Asking for help requires a certain amount of vulnerability, for sure. But not in the way you might think.  When we ask for help, we expose a gap or a need.  It doesn’t mean we’re expected to fill the gap ourselves.  In fact, we’re obligated to find the very best way to fill the gap. Admittedly, sometimes we’re not the best solution, someone else is.

It takes a certain amount of courage to identify the problem and admit that you’re not the solution.  But it also comes with a certain degree of freedom.  I’m working through this very thing at the office right now.  I asked my boss for some help connecting our client to some of our expertise in India.  I know no one in India within our organization.  He knew exactly who to call. The response he received from our colleagues was overwhelming in its impressiveness.   I’m willing myself to make this okay.  I can choose to watch and learn from someone who appears overjoyed to insert himself and contribute.  Or I can worry that I’m going to be seen as unqualified for my role because he’s doing this piece of the work, not me.  It seems silly even writing the second option. The client is getting the highest quality work and lightning speed responsiveness.  There’s no way I could have delivered this on my own.

So what was my opinion on my friend’s question as to whether she should bring experts into her life:   A resounding “hell, yes!”  It can only make you better, especially when it comes to venturing into the unknown to chase your dreams. Sometimes it truly is the only way you can move forward.    

We can know exactly where it is we want to go, but very few of us can get there without some help.  Embrace it.  At some point we all need a light anchor to warp our vessel.

Amaranthine

If youth is wasted on the young, middle age is to be savored by its inhabitants.  While it might be nice to have smooth thighs, an unlined face and naturally blond hair, honestly, you couldn’t pay me to be a kid again or to go back to adolescence.  There’s not enough money in the world for that.  Medusa, complete with snakes in her hair, defined my teenage experience.  Don’t let the hint of a smile deceive you.  I was mostly miserable, and made everyone around me miserable.  I could turn you to stone in a heartbeat.

I am a late bloomer, and as such, I have a special place in my heart for other late bloomers.  And a firm belief that it is never too late to go after a dream. 

My new book club recently finished reading “Memoirs of a Geisha” by Arthur Golden.  It’s rich with subject matter for my blog, which you’ll see more of in future posts, but what I want to consider now is the idea that our dreams don’t die when we leave our youth behind.

The main character in the book, Sayuri, has led a hard life.  In her training as a geisha, her mentor who is somewhat jaded by her own experience, admonishes Sayuri for her dreams, saying,   “Hopes are like hair ornaments.  Girls want to wear too many of them.  When they become old women they look silly wearing even one.”

I have to disagree.  I’m trying very hard to consider life as a continuum, not a story with a beginning, middle and end.  Sure, we are all aging.  We’re aging from the moment we exit the womb.  But life itself is one experience after another.  Society has put definitions to it that relate to chronological age.  That doesn’t mean we need to abide by them.  Nor does it mean we have to give up on our dreams just because our bones creak or our hair is gray. We all get to choose how we’re going to experience this life. 

I like to think I get to keep moving from one interest to another, and at some point it will have to end. The fact that most of us are not given any advance warning of our impending death tells me we just need to keep on living life as if we have some time.  Stopping short in an attempt to align the sunset of my dreams with the digging of my grave seems futile, and a doleful waste of time. 

What about choosing to look at middle age as a time of incredible freedom?  Not a mid-life crisis where we need to buy sports cars or Botox to convince ourselves we're still young, but a time to capitalize on the gifts of wisdom and confidence that allow us to articulate  our dreams and go after them, pedal to the metal.

Life changes constantly.  One of the road blocks of youth is the inability to recognize, let alone embrace, this fact.  It’s so hard to visualize what’s in front of us when we live in the moment, unable to see beyond the teacher we can’t stand or the classmate who seems out to get us.  We haven’t seen enough to know that life moves up and down like the waves of the ocean. Wasn’t it King Solomon who said, somewhere around 900 BC, “This too shall pass”?

So if youth is blind, or at least experiences blurry vision about the future, how can we be expected to know what we want to do with the rest of our lives at 17?  It can’t be too late to figure this out in our 30’s, 40’s or 70’s for that matter.

I talked to a woman this weekend who, by the way, makes a plethora of beautiful hair ornaments for her daughters in spite of the fact that they sometimes appear to shun them for snakes. She is contemplating doing something for herself.  Her children are leaving the nest. From my vantage point, she’s put her family first in every move she’s made for the past 20 years.  It’s her turn now, but I hear doubt in her voice as to whether she’s capable of achieving her dreams. I hope she’s not thinking she’s too old to proudly wear her own sparkling hair ornament.   I, for one, have all the faith in the world in her.

Maybe I’ll feel differently about all of this in another twenty years.  I can’t speak for old age today, but I do vividly remember my uncle, in his early 70’s at the time, saying that he looks at himself in the mirror sometimes and can’t believe what he sees because he feels 17 inside.

I like that.  The upside of 17 is the belief that you are invincible. 

Billet-doux

Love is a word that doesn’t normally make its way into the workplace.  Lately, though, I’ve been thinking it just might belong there.

I’m working with colleagues on some new business opportunities that are out of my area of expertise.  The vernacular is new to me, so I’m asking a lot of questions to ensure I deliver what’s needed to support our effort.  I was especially pleased the other morning when the recipient of my team’s work was so tickled with the product that he replied, “This is great stuff.  I promise they never get information like this.”  A smile of intense satisfaction and delight spread across my face.  He might as well have written, “I adore you; let’s run away and spend the rest of our lives together.”  That’s how loved I felt when I read his words.

The more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became by how motivating and empowering love is. I really do my best work when I feel loved. And I’m not alone.  I think if we all asked ourselves where we feel the strongest, the most willing to exert our whole being, most of us would answer that it’s when we’re surrounded by people who give off some kind of vibe that makes us feel good.  Maybe we can’t put our fingers on exactly what it is, but those who affect us in that way bring out the very best in us.

If we know this to be true, it would seem obvious that we could get the best work out of others when they feel loved.  Yikes!  Who’s ever going to talk openly about this concept in the office?  I mean, what man would ever use the “l” word in the workplace?  And while a woman might, she’d always put it on the scale first, careful to weigh the risks of appearing too soft.

Maybe we need to say it differently,  but packaged up in whatever socially acceptable argot you choose, it’s still that basic, primal need to be loved that propels us to be our best selves.

I find myself in the position of needing to put my team at work at ease.  I’m the new leader. People don’t know what to expect. It would seem like this idea of love would apply in my situation.  So I’m thinking now about how I use this theory at work. I’m banking on it, because I’ve already seen its benefits at home.

We were screamers, way back when.  I’m not proud.  Like most parents, out of pure frustration I thought maybe if I just spoke louder, my children would fall into line, doing what I asked the first time, speaking to me respectfully, giving their best effort to the task at hand.  All that got me was a sore throat and chronic high blood pressure.

And then I tried love. I reinforce every positive behavior they exhibit.  I make requests that respect their time and allow them a certain amount of control and flexibility in terms of completion. I’m careful not to criticize, even if it kills me.  I support their new ideas and diverse interests anyway I can, going out of my way to say yes to as many requests as I can, even if the last thing I want to do is get off the couch to go buy duct tape at Walmart or allow them to paint the bedroom.  And amazing things are happening.  The garbage gets out every Monday evening without a word.  Dinner plates always make it to the sink. Grades are improving. They respect my time in the same way I respect theirs.  And what’s really great is that they confide in me. They are learning that it’s safe to admit mistakes and still be loved. They are learning how to love themselves in spite of the flaws.

And this is the part we always forget.  How important it is to love ourselves if we’re ever going to achieve our dreams. 

I truly believe that when we feel loved and respected and that our contributions are acknowledged in a very positive way, we work harder.  The sky is the limit in those situations.  It’s demotivating to be accountable to someone who never praises our efforts or only sees what’s wrong; and it’s dangerous too:  We begin to lose faith in ourselves and our capabilities. 

Sure, it’s a little more elementary when you’re talking about kids.  And I do have the parent card to play, but I’m playing it less and less, because more often than not they are giving me their best.

I’m convinced this translates to the workplace. (And probably with your husband, too.)  Try love.  I know it seems silly.  Love is such a squishy word. But there just might be a case for it the working world. 

Lodestar

You would think that the distinct briny scent of the air would be the only compass I’d need to find my way to the shoreline.  Okay, not really, but I do love the ocean that much.  On a jaunt through Cape Ann in Massachusetts last weekend, it became evident that no matter how intense my desire to reach my destination, I really live for the journey itself. 

A friend and I set out on our adventure, a last minute trip hastily planned to get us out of town for the long holiday weekend and check out what Coastal Living magazine promised to be an ocean-side treat:  quaint fishing villages, lighthouses, artist communities, and amazing restaurants teeming with fresh lobster. We picked up our rental car at Boston Airport; the guy behind the counter thrilled to loan us a luxurious silver Lincoln with black leather seats, at no extra charge.  We nearly walked out leaving our GPS on the counter, maybe a bit of foreshadowing, I can't be sure.

My friend volunteered to drive, expertly programming in our endpoint, and we were on our way.  From the very start I found it impossible to blindly follow the pink line that Claire, also known as our GPS, laid out for us.  While this isn’t so much of a problem on trips where there’s nothing of interest to see along the way, I couldn’t help but think we were missing something spectacular defaulting to the expeditious mindset of Claire.  I’m sure I became annoying fairly quickly, certain I was much better equipped to plot out our route than efficient, but boring, Claire.  At our first stop in Gloucester harbor, we grabbed a “real” map at the brew pub where we enjoyed Fisherman’s Ale and the best fresh, deep fried halibut with coleslaw I think I’ve ever tasted.

By the time we were ready to venture out to Rockport, in hopes of catching a few lighthouses along the way, I had the map firmly planted in my lap, studying intently to chart the most scenic course possible. We meandered along the coast, taking in all the charm and character these seaside communities had to offer, until the gem of a village we had been moving toward appeared, picture-perfect, before our eyes. We clamored out of the car, snapping photographs like eager paparazzi stalking a closeted starlet, pausing only for a few moments to savor the infamous east coast lobster roll, a decadent delicacy consisting of the morning’s catch piled atop a hotdog bun, accessorized with nothing more than a piece of lettuce for color and a bag of Lay’s potato chips. Heaven.   

I found it interesting that I was immediately at peace once the map was in my hands.  To me, there is nothing quite like seeing the big picture, pouring over the atlas, absorbing the different options, charting the desired course and then watching it unfold in front of me.

Not surprisingly, I look for this same assurance on the road of life.  Never content, it seems, with where I am today, I’m always looking for what’s ahead.  The irony is that on both the literal and figurative road, there’s a need to make room for chance.  The best life, it seems, is equal parts planning and precipitousness.

It was telling, what happened when we weren’t so worried about the map anymore.  Maybe it was stomachs happily sated with impossibly fresh lobster.  Everything seemed to fall into place for us.  No sooner had we said we’d like to find a little market where we could pick up wine and some snacks for the evening, both a grocery and liquor store appeared around the bend.  In search of a lighthouse for two days, we pulled up to the bed and breakfast, and there were the historic Thatcher Island Twin Lighthouses, lit way back in 1789, visible from both the beach we visited and our lodging for the night.

As we sat on the patio enthralled by the waves of the ocean breaking on the rocks no more than fifty feet in front of us, a curtain of clouds opened up in the sky, revealing the waning Blue Moon two days past full, its spot light glimmering on the water below. We couldn’t have planned that if we tried.

There’s nothing wrong with being deliberate about where you want to go and how you’ll get there.  But sometimes you need to know when to just let the road take you.

Rockport Harbor, September 2012

Prodigious

Trapped in the Cleveland airport last fall due to a 4-hour flight delay, I found myself with ample time to explore the bookstore.  Perusing the business section, the title “How Remarkable Women Lead” by Joanna Barsh and Susie Cranston caught my eye.  I have to admit that mostly I was drawn to the great use of color, a deep poppy red, cornflower blue, and yellow-green artfully displayed on the spine.  And although I wasn’t feeling particularly remarkable that day, it’s sure what I aspire to be.

At the time I was flying fairly frequently and had my nose in this book for a few hours each week. It’s my favorite format for self-help reading, full of real-life stories from successful leaders.  While many of the pages are dog-eared to mark particularly salient points, my big take-away was the section on networking and how one woman uses this often misunderstood practice to embark on journeys exploring diverse areas of interest.

The idea is that every year you choose five new places you want to go in your life, with the caveat that only one can be related to your current job. Once you’ve decided what these are, you start to think about whom you know with an interest or experience in these particular areas.  You reach out to these contacts to learn more about their involvement; and through the course of conversation are led to others who share this interest and have their own set of connections to meet.  It’s brilliant in its simplicity, really. By using a one-on-one approach and targeting the passion of another, all of the awkwardness of traditional networking disappears.  You’re no longer standing with crowds of industry colleagues in cavernous ballrooms at a loss for the right questions to entice the stranger next to you into a discussion about something more than the weather.  You’re guaranteed to engage in meaningful dialogue, and to walk away with either an action to take or a new connection to make, or both.

The way the book describes a graphic mapping of your destinations sold me on giving this a try.  I am motivated when there is a way to visually track my progress. The idea of literally logging my new connections as I make them, and charting my successes on a giant piece of kraft paper tacked to the wall in my hallway at home appealed to the artist in me. I decided in March that I’d get started.    

To pinpoint my goals, I looked at what I love to do and what I thought was stagnant because I wasn’t making a concerted effort. I wanted to work on publishing a piece of writing, exhibiting some artwork, landing a new position at work, going on a date, and adding distance to my running. I quickly came up with 2-3 connections for each of those five areas and began talking.  Whenever a conversation led me to someone else, I was quick to make a phone call or schedule coffee or lunch.  Every time I followed through with one of these actions, that person’s name made it on my wall.

Nearly every new endeavor I’ve gone after this year has been through my networking. This blog was born from people connections.  I reached out to the mother of one of my son’s friends to quiz her about her blog.  She was more than willing to chat about her experience, coach me through set-up and take a look at my initial design. In talking with her I also discovered she’s published writing.  And, of course, when she asked a few months later if I’d write a recommendation for her on LinkedIn, I was more than happy to oblige.

So here’s the 6-month progress report: 

The blog has over 60 posts now.  I’m not sure how many subscribers; I may need to go back to my friend for a tutorial on how to find that statistic.  While I have yet to be published, I’ve submitted to (and been rejected by) The Sun magazine and The New York Times, and have written a white paper at my office.  My latest idea, thanks to another connection, is to check out the Iowa Writer’s Workshop.

The sketchbook submitted in January to The Brooklyn Art Library is now on exhibit in Atlanta, having been in Chicago, Vancouver, LA, Oakland, Toronto, Philadelphia and both Portlands.  It will finish out the year in Orlando and Austin. Sketching classes at the Art Institute this spring and several pieces for Art House Co-op’s artist swap projects kept me creating new work.  Oh yeah, I started designing a collection of cards, bearing my signature mermaid theme, to market in the future.

The search for a new position at work led to mentoring opportunities with women in a leadership development program, speaking engagements as a panelist for women’s networking groups, and in a completely unexpected move, a seat on the Strategic Advisory Board for a consortium dedicated to promoting integration and work life balance for women professionals. In addition, I recently achieved my original goal by landing a position with a new client.

The dating has not fared as well.  My assumption that some of my male connections who I hold in high esteem could introduce me to potential dates did not reap the benefits I thought it would.  In fact, I think I scared them off. But I continue to expand my network even if I’ve yet to see results.

As for the running, I finished my very first half-marathon this spring.

Not bad, and my year is only half over. What is most astounding to me is how many new people I’ve met in the past 6 months who have interest, expertise and contacts in the areas I am pursuing. My connections have more than tripled since I started tracking them. And I’m happy to say I have several new friends. 

This is truly an amazing feat.  And the really cool thing is that I consider myself pretty much of an introvert who always struggles with meeting new people.  If I can do it, anyone can do it. 

I’m moving in directions I didn’t think were possible, no longer feeling like a one-dimensional human being, focused solely on her career.  While I originally viewed that delay in Cleveland as an annoyance, it seems like serendipity to have found the book. 

Now that’s remarkable.