Swaddle

After the office holiday party a few weeks ago, an epic event at a marquee hotel in the city, several of us gathered for cocktails and more conversation around a cozy table at a local bar.  Surrounded by some of my most beloved colleagues, the conversation became lively and highly personal.  Along with other controversial subjects and preferences, we found ourselves debating the concept of exporting talent, a practice at my company that involves rotating people off various teams to enable career development for the individual and bring new perspective to our clients.  An overwhelming number of managers are hesitant to do this; once they’ve recruited and trained highly skilled team members they’re reluctant to change personnel.  Everything is working, why rock the boat, right?  Being in the minority of managers who embrace this, I took the opportunity to get on my soap box, arguing the case for this practice.  Not only does it keep our employees happy, our clients benefit from a fresh set of eyes, there’s no better tincture for best practice sharing, and, oh by the way, we work for the top firm in our industry attracting the best talent, the pool to select from when replenishing a team is deep.  The way I see it, every time I enable someone super talented to move, I make a space to bring on another really great individual to my team.  How is this not a win for everyone?

I think people get hung up on the work that goes into facilitating this kind of movement, the pain that comes with separating.  It takes time to get to know the systems, tools and processes that are specific to any one client, and relationships grow to be strong, stable and comfortable over time.  Who wants to start all over again with someone new?  When we invest in those who work for us it is difficult to let them go.  No different really than the outlay of love we pour over our children and the tension that comes with releasing the dam  spilling them out into the world.

When “The Christmas Box” by Richard Paul Evans was published in 1995, I purchased a copy just like millions of others. A short story, its Christian message seemingly simple:  The true meaning of Christmas. An easy read to be consumed in one sitting; I was startled, almost, to find myself stumbling terribly over the pinnacle moment in the story.  Many of us can relate to the harried father, busy making money, blindly giving away precious time he could be spending with his young daughter that he’ll never be able to recoup. He comes to poignantly realize by the end of the tale, of course, the error of his ways.  What I couldn’t grasp at the time though was how the idea of God so loving the world that he gave his only son related to the everyday living of the characters in the story.  Eighteen years ago I wasn’t nurturing teams at work; I hadn’t had a child of my own yet; I hadn’t endured significant loss.  I couldn’t comprehend that kind of love, being naïve to the enormity. Who knew it was even possible to love someone so much that letting go would feel achingly bittersweet, that a true sacrifice leaves a gaping wound that never fully heals?

Intrigued, and understanding enough of the message to be sufficiently moved, I made a commitment to re-read the book every Christmas.  As my boys grew it made more sense to me.  But the meaning was not cemented until I worked on my sketchbook this past year. I know that sounds weird, like how could anyone even compare a piece of artwork to the Son of Man?  But here’s the thing, the creation of that book was an intense four-month labor of love. It became more than an art journal, but my life story in my own hand.  It is me; in the same way my charges at the office become my own when they bring our strategic vision to bear, in the way my children are my heart and soul walking around outside my body. 

Artists are incredibly attached to their work; it’s why so many of us can’t part with it. The Sketchbook Project is about investing in a highly personal creation, only to seal it in an envelope to be mailed to the Brooklyn Art Library, where it is made available to the world.  And for all practical purposes, the artist never sees her physical book again.  Yes, it can be accessed for a few minutes at one of the traveling exhibits, or visited at the library during a trip to New York. But you never hold it in your hands again, not the way you did when you were creating it. I debated; I honestly did, before submitting my book.  My work became me and the thought of giving it away made me pause.  Where I ended up though, was that in keeping it to myself only one person would see it, by giving it away to the art library there was a chance that so many others could be inspired by my work.  It dawned on me then that this is what it feels like when I enable my best team members at work to move on to a role with another client.  And what it will feel like when my kids leave my nest. As painful as it is, it should feel like this, because if it doesn’t hurt, you just haven’t allowed yourself to invest enough. 

At the office party I kept running into not only my former teammates, those I’d shepherded on to new teams, but their new managers, too. There was a buzz in the air that went beyond the alcoholic beverages being consumed. It was a sort of love fest.  My people so happy in their new roles; their managers thrilled to have them. And me sated to have brokered so many fabulous deals, basking in the glow of gratitude and respect on the faces of those I spoke to, thankful for the generosity.

I think part of my reason for being is to encourage others to act on the voice inside beckoning them to jump into uncharted waters. If we’re brave enough to follow our internal compass, to go where we innately want to go, we’ll end up where we are meant to be.  What’s really amazing is that by wrapping those close to us in the warmth of our love, we release the power they possess to blossom and make incredible contributions to the world.  What I’ve found in doing this is that I come to know and love my people more than I could ever imagine, making it that much harder to let go. But we have to.  In order to reach their potential, they’re only meant to be with us for a moment in time. It’s not just the meaning of Christmas; it’s the meaning of life. 

Revelation

I’m sadly out of touch with current events, my newspaper subscription limited to Saturday and Sunday when my weekday edition regularly went from the driveway to the recycle bin without ever actually making it into the house.  I can’t tolerate the 10PM news anymore, disgusted by the sensationalistic delivery from plastic faces.  Do we really need to exploit the strife of others?  Consequently, most of what I see comes from my Twitter feeds.  So when my boys informed me of the looming apocalypse I was caught off guard.  Apparently the Mayan calendar is ending on Friday?  http://www.newsnet5.com/dpp/news/local_news/cleveland_metro/Mayan-calendar-ends-on-12212012-Will-it-mean-the-end-of-the-world

If the world ended tomorrow would you feel satisfied that you’d lived the life you wanted to live?  Every day I encounter women who are looking for their next thing.  And while the world waits offering a plethora of opportunity, most of my friends struggle with choosing where to go. Is it that we just want to be great at everything we do, so trying something new is fraught with the fear of failure?  Is it that we still feel an obligation to our loved ones that is so intense we can’t do for ourselves?  Is it that the burning desire beholden to us is too close to our core to share?   When I coach people with their careers, especially long term goal setting, I always ask them to think pie in the sky.  Pretend there are no limits, pretend your talent or skills don’t really matter, pretend there are no obstacles, what would you want to do?

It takes courage to answer that question.  What really matters to us, what we most want to pursue is in that place where we are most vulnerable.  To get there, we need to shed some fear. 

I was talking with a woman I work with a few weeks ago; she wanted to attend the office Christmas party in the city, but she didn’t want to drive.  When she responded to my suggestion to take public transportation by saying she’d never done that before and was afraid to try, I challenged her to go for it.  I told her how amazing it would feel to take that risk.  She wouldn’t commit, but when I saw her at the party a few days later, she couldn’t wait to tell me she’d hopped on the L.  Woo hoo; her smile was wide with confidence!   This is a woman who can rule the world, I’m certain.

If you haven’t stepped outside of your box yet, or colored outside of your lines, my advice to you, as it was to her, is just do it.  You need to. Because if the world ends tomorrow, while I still feel like I have so much more to do here, what I’ve already done could be enough because I know the absolute thrill and satisfaction that comes with taking risks.  It’s unmatched by anything else you’ve ever experienced.  I guarantee it.  Do one thing a day that scares you, really.

My scary thing for the end of the world tomorrow is to have a party. It’s what the Mayans are doing.  How ironic, considering I didn’t know the world is set to end.  Inviting people into my home is always a little unnerving.  I wonder if I can hold my own as a host?  Hopefully we have until 11:59 before everything blows up.  I have lots of wine.

Tidings

Ever since my kids were babies, I’ve been making my own holiday cards. I started with cute photos of the boys in matching holiday pajamas (or jamamas as Nate used to call them) and have evolved them over the years into intricate branded pieces of art crafted from papers, ribbons, cords and glitter. I remember vividly the year I painstakingly affixed jingle bells to each card with embroidery floss, only to come home from work and find the mailman had left a box on my doorstep filled with the cards and a notice of insufficient postage.  Ouch!  I cried, really, I did.  The mock-up was born from that experience, a single card mailed to myself early in the process to ensure a postal service friendly design. One year I even strung a chain of miniature lights around a paper tree with the message “shine”. This card was bubble wrapped inside the envelope; I was taking no chances.  More than just a picture, the cards are meticulously detailed to tell my story as they are opened and unfolded, no newsletter required.

With many of us paring down our lists, skipping years, or maybe even calling it quits completely, it’s easy to leap to the conclusion that the internet is responsible for the demise of the greeting card.  However, this piece in The Atlantic cites statistics that support the belief that the Christmas card is alive and well, and suggests that maybe we are prematurely mourning its death, and glorifying its value even, in the wake of social media:  http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2012/12/the-christmas-card-may-or-may-not-die-but-its-spirit-has-conquered-us-all/266471/.  Digging out my address list from last year reminded me that I had tracked those who sent me cards.  The math says a significant number on my list no longer reciprocate.  I’m trying to decide if this bothers me. 

The thing is I find myself sending more cards than ever. Each year I add a few names to my list, new people I’ve met who have made an impact on the lives of me and my boys.  But I truly have a hard time removing anyone, because my friends and family anticipate these cards in their mailboxes.  Just today a friend told me that my card is the only card she waits for.    

I’m sometimes a little overwhelmed by the response this work generates.  Several years ago I actually received a note in January from an extended family member saying how touched she and her husband were by the photo of my boys with the word “gift”, the message inside “the most precious gifts are right beside us every day”.

When we can put something of ourselves out there and touch someone else the world becomes that much better.  My cards arrived in mailboxes across the country this week.  Driving home from the office yesterday, I realized that there are 72 people out there who opened up my card and smiled, maybe marveled, hopefully spent a moment thinking about my message in terms of those who matter most to them.  Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Wassail

When I introduced into my life the practice of showing kindness to myself, it started with little indulgences like the wine.  I went from saving the expensive, high quality bottles for super-special once-in-a-lifetime events to cavalierly pulling one out of the basement on a Sunday night for a juicy episode of “The Good Wife”.  Every day I am free and powerful is a special occasion, right?  As I sit here on a “school” night sipping a hardy red, it just so happens there is more traditional cause for celebration.  You are reading the 100^th Windlass blog post.  I know, crazy!

Back in April when I began writing I really had no idea how much I would love it, or where it would take me.  I wondered if anyone would actually read what I posted.  I pondered whether I’d run out of content, or start to sound repetitive.  I lamented over what people who know me would say about it.  Could my message really resonate with my audience?  Did it matter?

I’m amazed when I look at the breadth of places and people I am reaching.  My page has been viewed across the globe:  China, Germany, France and India to name a few countries.  Search keywords such as “i sneezed” and “common yellow poppy nyctinasty” net a link to my posts. In fact, “Salve” http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/06/salve.html, at the top of the most-read list, landed there, I’m certain, when the 17 year-old mastermind behind the field of dreams my boys lived at this summer surfed the net for “wifflot” and discovered an essay about his baby, proudly passing it along to his friends.  Teenage girls were responsible for the popularity of “Intrepidity” http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/06/intrepidity.html, the story of my favorite modern day Disney princess as a spirited independent role model.

I like to think the writing quality has improved over time.  If nothing else, I have no doubt I could easily ace the vocabulary section of any ACT or SAT exam.  Mining a multitude of thesauruses, searching for the title word that exactly captures my meaning, or double meaning, sometimes, can be at times the most challenging and rewarding part of this creative process.  Not only does the word need to get to the heart of my message, it needs to sound pleasing too. Okay, maybe “Nyctinasty” http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/05/nyctinasty.html doesn’t fit that bit of criteria, but it’s a cool science word like “Syrinx” http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/12/syrinx.html.

It seems like my words are reverberating with readers, the ones I speak to, anyway. I’m always thrilled to hear when I’ve hit the nail on the head, or put something out there that someone else can really relate to.  I experienced the ultimate irony this week when I called an ally for advice and was told I should go back and read my most recent post. 

In all honesty this blog is an act of bravery.  A personal dare in response to the challenge:  “Do one thing every day that scares you.”   My heart and soul goes into this writing.  I often sit on the “publish” button debating whether releasing my latest ruminations will feel a little bit like standing naked in the street.  I meant it when I said in “Assuage” http://yourwindlass.blogspot.com/2012/05/assuage.html that, among other things, writing helps me solve my problems.  When faced with a difficult situation I often can’t wait to sit down to put my fingers to the keys.  I know that finding the words to share it will lead me to the perspective to solve it, or at least find a little peace. Some of my best work has come from the depths of despair.  Some of the best solutions are found there as well.

What I love more than anything is the idea that someday, maybe in 25 years or so, my boys will eagerly devour these words. Maybe they’ll find consolation with career or relationship disappointments or failures.  Maybe they’ll harness the strength they possess to keep working toward their passions.  Maybe they’ll settle on peace amid the bittersweet letting go with their own children.   Mostly I want them to see that moving from being a supporting player in the story of my life to the lead role is not a selfish act, but the ultimate and most selfless gift I can give them:  The real me.

For the women reading this work today, I hope you are inspired.  I hope you’ve lifted your anchors and started sailing, but not without first christening your vessel with the really good stuff.  Since the 1800’s it’s been the woman’s job to crack the bottle against the side of a ship before a maiden voyage.  Aren’t you glad it’s the 21^st century and you get to be firmly at the helm, too?

Glisten

As a teenager I spent countless hours holed up behind the locked door of the upstairs bathroom in our modest suburban 70’s home, staring at myself in the mirror that spanned one entire wall.  Often I would climb up on the long vanity that should have housed a double sink so I could get the closest look possible, studying my face intently, praying I would someday be pretty.  When my mother would tout the benefits of being smart I thought she was out of her mind, angered even by the pity I was certain was driving such a poorly veiled attempt to pacify her obviously plain daughter.  What girl would ever want to be smart?  Are you kidding me?  Pretty was where it was at.  That’s how you attracted the boys, and wow, did I want a boyfriend. 

Women spend lifetimes looking in the mirror. And we’re rarely kind to ourselves when we do, always finding something to feel bad about, reason to wish we were in some way different, better.  For me, the mirror always showed me what was lacking; gave excuses to fuel my belief that I would never be enough, prevented me from having what I truly wanted. 

We don’t leave these feelings at the vanity, do we?  We allow them to accompany us wherever we go. Everyday talented women are bringing only a fraction of themselves to the table, their confidence and power usurped by a bad hair day or muffin top. When we don’t feel good about ourselves, we can’t be our best selves.

Forbes Woman has a post this week http://www.forbes.com/sites/shenegotiates/2012/12/09/negotiating-with-the-woman-in-the-mirror/?utm_campaign=fwtwittersf&utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social professing that while women may be achieving the goals set in the workplace, there is still this nagging feeling we’re not getting to what is really meaningful, what makes us feel good.   It’s suggested that if we looked at all of our goals through the lens of how we want to feel at the office, at home, and in relationships that our choices would be much different, bring us happiness, and cause us to actually like the woman in the mirror.  Think about how powerful you are on the days you really feel great about yourself. How much could you accomplish if that was you every day?

Authorities on the subject have been telling me for years that the remedy for a lonely single life is to go out and do what makes you happy.  Immersing yourself in activities you love will bring happiness, you’ll forget about your singleness and your obvious joie de vivre will attract new friends, some of which may become dates, this notion that when you stop looking you’ll find a great person.

I’m starting to believe there could be truth to this.  I didn’t set out exploring my passions for the express purpose of finding a man.  My motives for adding dimensionality to my life were born out of failure at the office, the need to get my eggs out of one basket, to build the scaffolding for a legitimate Plan B, C and D, all with varying degrees of viability for profitable pursuit at some point should Plan A be a flop.  And, yes, to do something meaningful. But in the process I’ve found something surprising:  All of this makes me happy.

I’m looking not only at how my job and the people in my life make me feel, but making choices based on how I want to feel.  I’m choosing words like peace, freedom, intrepidity, power and happiness. I will surround myself with as many people as possible and as many work assignments as allowable that meet these criteria. It doesn’t matter so much anymore whether there’s a potential boyfriend amid the crowd or coffers of money with the work because my motivation has changed.  I just want to feel good about myself and what I do.

These days when people ask me about what I’m up to I can’t help but be excited about what I’m describing.  What I’ve noticed, and what is changing my life, is the face of the person I’m talking to.  It becomes the mirror of my obvious delight.  When we speak with passion our entire face lights up, a huge smile erupts, words pour out, eyes dance; we glow in refulgence. Others can’t help but be attracted to such infectious excitement or heartfelt joy.  I know this to be true.  I’ve seen it reflected back at me many times.  Sharing that kind of enthusiasm with someone creates an inexplicable bond, far beyond anything pretty could do on its own.

When we start filtering our to-do lists through this very personal sieve what truly matters easily makes it through the mesh.  When we start weighing requests for our time on a scale of feelings it’s instantly evident how quickly our loads are lightened when we say “no”.  Shouldn’t we be setting strategic goals for ourselves that foster a state of being rather than doing? 

When I look in the mirror today if peace, freedom, intrepidity, power and happiness are not looking back at me I know it’s time to recalibrate.  My mirror radiates shining possibilities.

 And, by the way, I’m so thankful I’m smart. 

Exultation

In a workshop last week it was suggested that if you’re looking for some fresh perspective or to start the flow of new ideas you should invite someone you don’t like to lunch.  We all laughed, of course, at this crazy notion and continued to make jokes about the idea throughout the afternoon, cautioning each other to be wary of the hidden meaning behind future invitations to nosh. I had to think twice, though, when it cropped up again in this HBR Blog called “A Simple Way to Increase Your Joy” http://blogs.hbr.org/schwartz/2012/12/a-simple-way-to-increase-your-joy.html?utm_source=Socialflow&utm_medium=Tweet&utm_campaign=Socialflow.

The idea that people we don’t like often reflect the parts of ourselves that we most abhor is not new.  Even with those closest to us we seem to have a laser focus on weaknesses rooted in ourselves.  I find when raising my kids that I attack the behaviors in them I’d most like to change in me.  At the office I have a special place in my heart for the highly skilled yet tentative ingénues, rushing to coach these young women into confidence so they can capitalize on their talents much earlier in their careers than I did. Maybe this phenomenon is the reason we all eagerly subscribe to the old adage “opposites attract”.  The farther away we get from our weaknesses and imperfections, the easier it is to sweep them under the rug.

The author of the HBR blog suggests that when we attempt to connect and find the good in someone we inherently dislike, that we practice compassion for ourselves.  If we can allow ourselves to appreciate, even enjoy, the great qualities in this other person doesn’t it stand to reason that we could then accept that we are still loveable in spite of those things we find less than desirable about ourselves, those places where we think we don’t measure up?

The blur of holiday season preparation can cause us to forget that we’re only human.  Instead of enjoying Christmas carols, we’re all tuned into the Greek Chorus that heckles on in our heads, reminding us of everything we’re not doing.  We’re overburdened, making our lists, squeezing more tasks in the name of holiday cheer into already packed days and nights, frantically attempting to “be done” before a looming deadline we have no hope of extending.  A friend recently suggested that to lighten the holiday load instead of checking our lists twice we should tear them in half, effectively tossing out 50% of everything we think we need to do to make the season bright. 

Sounds like a great way to start showing a little kindness to yourself. How much of your list is about what feels like obligations?  Are you performing certain rituals out of pure joy or habit or tradition?  Would anyone notice if you stopped?   

I’ve decided I’m keeping the portion of my list that makes me happy.  Our Christmas tree is devoid of ornaments; I’m going with a glittering star and a blaze of white lights. My theory is that if I’m not wrapped up in a flurry of frustrating holiday busy work I’ll be able to find compassion for those in my life, including myself, who could use it.  And I’ll have the time to take someone I don’t like to lunch.  Beware.

Syrinx

Social media has so much unleveraged potential it’s mind-blowing. No, this is not a guest blogger, it’s really me sheepishly eating crow, admitting I’ve done a fair amount of scoffing, but saying that looking in the rearview mirror my negative opinion of internet connectedness was more about ignorance and a fear of authenticity than anything else. 

At first blush both Facebook and Twitter turned me off.  I couldn’t see beyond the wretched idea of a constant stream of seemingly meaningless monologues from “friends” and “followers” about where they were and what they were doing 24/7.  Ouch!  That statement is a little harsh, isn’t it?  It’s just that my choice of Facebook friends was anything but judicious; I accepted any and all invitations. Instead of making time to investigate the use of controls and filters, I complained that my wall was full of unwanted graffiti. Uncertainty around what an unfriending would say about me coupled with my desire to be popular and nice barred me from the emancipation and relief I was desperately seeking.  After my Facebook experience, the idea of Twitter sounded like anything but singing:  I imagined cheeps, squawks, hoots and caws. With a barrage of unwanted information that I didn’t know how to shut off, I gave up and flew away.

In hindsight I now believe that I was initially discouraged because I was reactionary in my approach.  Rather than studying how others were using this medium and thinking about this technology in terms of what it could do for me, what message I wanted to push out there, I instead reacted to what was being sent my way.  I never extended friend invitations on Facebook, nor did I consider the value of the information that would be at my fingertips by choosing followers on Twitter.

Curiosity getting the best of me a few weeks ago, I clicked on the little blue bird icon a respected colleague has embedded in the electronic signature of her e-mail. Directed to her profile, I was fascinated to see how she uses this tool to share thought leadership around her passion.  Maybe my change of heart is a little about timing for me, too.  Since getting clear in 2012 about where I’m going with my life, enlisting Twitter seems like the right next step to get my message out there.  Understanding how others are approaching this brings a whole new perspective on this very powerful tool. 

What I am coming to love about Twitter is how it provides me with news tailored specifically to my interests.  It’s like bird seed for creative thinking.  I’m taking a proactive approach this time around, choosing which people, businesses, organizations, and communities I want to follow.  I can try them on for size, following and unfollowing at will. And yes, I’ve even blocked a few who have expressed interest in me.  While I am pleased they saw something in my messaging that inspires or intrigues them, I’m not sure I believe in the missions they purport. And when it comes down to it, social media is really about personal branding.  Everything attached to us is out there on display.  It’s another component of our digital footprint, to be girded as carefully as a social security number.  It’s also a place to be purposefully mindful of how we want others to view us, an opportunity to design this vehicle to the exact specifications befitting our own very personal messages.

To me a tweet is a work of art.  With only 140 characters, it’s all about getting to the point, challenging the writer to say something that entices her followers to open the link or photo attached.  In my mind abbreviations and texting short-hand are cheating in this game of creative writing.  How can the author strategically and poetically use her words to engage an audience and convey her ethos in a succinct phrase or two? 

What we’re all really looking for on Twitter is the retweet, thinking about the original message in a different way.  The mockingbird is known and named for this very mimicry. To me, this is the ultimate application of the artist’s concept that nothing is original, that all art is born from stealing, that your uniqueness comes out when you allow yourself to attempt to copy your influencers. When we’re successful at this, ideas and movements grow not incrementally, but geometrically.  Isn’t that what social media is all about?

I’m solidly on the Twitter bandwagon now.  I don’t know that I’ll ever go back to Facebook.  From what I read these days, it feels a little bit like Facebook is fading into the gloaming, maybe ready to join My Space in the social media afterlife? 

The next place I’m going is Google+. I don’t know much about it, but am piqued after Twitter (uh-huh, it’s a little addictive) led me to this opinion touting its business and personal branding toolkit:  http://socialmediatoday.com/jc-kendall/1047376/facebook-waste-time-most-advertisers . Google’s got a (relatively) new app called Hangout.  It’s free video conferencing that apparently blows Skype away, allowing something like 15 people to interact via their laptops and wireless phones.  I immediately asked someone on my team to research this application. 

With a career that has always needed to be exempt from relocation and significant travel, I’m continuously on the lookout for creative ways to deliver exceptional results and continue to grow on my own terms. Maybe Hangout goes nowhere, but think about the possibilities if I could bring my client a way to better connect our geographically challenged team.  Is that a mockingbird I hear singing?