Abeyance

There’s a difference between being stuck and standing still.  On the outside the two look very much alike, easily mistaken for one another:  In neither case are you moving. On the inside, well, that’s how you can tell; it has everything to do with how you feel.

 

When you’re stuck there’s the angst of wretched frustration, a hopeless resignation that you may be in this exact spot forever, repeated analysis of every conceivable option, doubt that the answer is anywhere to be found, agitation abounds.  When you’re standing still there’s the steady calm of thoughtful contemplation, a knowing assurance that you’ll only be in this place for a moment, careful consideration of the plausible possibilities, a sureness that the answer will come, peace prevails.

In both situations the answer can be right in front of you.  When you’re stuck you can’t bring yourself to make the right call. When you’re standing still you’re just waiting for the right moment.

Peirastic

Beers, chips and guacamole in front of us, we’re sitting across the table from each other on a warm late-summer evening.  I’ve been enjoying immensely a new soundtrack full of great songs I can’t get enough of, but lately it’s skipping maddeningly, the way vinyl does on a turntable.  I’m out of sorts, desperately in need of a friend to lift the needle and help me accept that it’s okay to move on without hearing the rest of this song, maybe even switch to a new album. But I need to choose this friend wisely as I have some painful truths to admit; it doesn’t take long to decide who to call.  Facing me now is someone who I can say anything to, without ever feeling judged, weak, unworthy or unloved in his presence.  And as usual he does not disappoint.

As we’re talking I marvel out loud that I can speak so openly with him, and I’m struck when he admits it’s difficult to communicate with such frankness to the woman he is committed to. I walk away curious about replicating this extraordinary relationship.  How did he and I get to this place?

Friendship is a giant petri dish. It’s a place where we can experiment with putting ourselves out there, a litmus test for our hopes and dreams.  A good friendship is the best laboratory you’ll ever find because it’s completely voluntary in nature and comes without obligations or expectations.  Friendships are absent of commitments like “for better, for worse”, and any rules or parameters such as fidelity and monogamy.  Both parties remain independent coming together on their own accord. Different than family ties that offer no choice and are rooted deeply in responsibility, and our teams and clients at work which are often selected for us, friendships are at-will connections we completely own ourselves; a deeply liberating opportunity to truly be who we are because there is nothing at stake.

 

When I think about my cherished friend, this is how we got to where we are today.  In the seven years since we met, we’ve tried each other on in all kinds of situations, without ever considering that our choices or actions might mean an end. We’ve had a chance to watch each other relate to other people, handle a variety of situations, work in highly stressful environments.  Circumstances have required some very hard conversations between the two of us; we’ve made it out the other side with the friendship intact. We each see something beautiful in the other in the way we move through whatever life places in our paths.  This keeps us coming back for more.  We’ve seen amazing successes combining our unique strengths, and exposed some shameful weaknesses.  Through it all I’ve never had to stop and think about potentially altering my approach because I’ve never technically “needed” him.  I’d miss him terribly if he was no longer around, but I would still move forward with my life.

 

Marriages bring obligations to provide for dependents, both physically and emotionally. Being too candid or bringing too much “you” to the table can risk upsetting an apple cart you need to be in for the long haul. Careers bring requirements to deliver results.  Pay raises and promotions are on the line; being outspoken or advocating radical change can impact your livelihood. Romantic relationships bring all kinds of expectations around finding the “one”. If I’m too “me” he might not like me, this will end and I’ll need to start all over again. The only place where we truly don’t need to consider the end game is in a friendship. Friendships are viewed as infinite.  We’re not working them for some specific outcome, like happily ever after or until death do us part, a promotion or bonus, or an engagement ring; we are just enjoying the moments as they present themselves.

 

What would happen if we applied this approach to other relationships in our lives?  We are able to be our true selves when we put to the side our fears about how others may receive or react to us. Couldn’t we all invest more in every encounter if we weren’t concerned about meeting an expectation or outcome?

Of course we could, but this is really hard. Marriage by definition creates dependency.  Bringing two lives together means a division of labor which puts women in particular at risk of losing themselves. Frank conversations about change can be scary to start.   But if you don’t find a way to talk openly to each other about the hard stuff, you run the risk of a transactional existence that never moves beyond what needs to get done to keep the business of life operating. You’re not the only one in the relationship who is afraid the hard stuff could break it apart.  The strength of your relationship is found in admitting this to each other.

At work, we instinctively want to protect the promise of that promotion so we keep ourselves in check, less engaged because we’ve suppressed our ideas, leaving our teammates, the project and the organization with the benefit of only a portion of what we bring to table.  But if we throw ourselves wholeheartedly into each assignment, honing in where we can add value, we’ll enjoy it more, and be free to assess whether we can get the results we need for that promotion or should think about moving in a new direction.

If you’re really determined to fall deeply in love, it needs to be approached without any thought about the future, just like friendship. Yes, this is impossible, not just hard.  I don’t know of a person out there who can ever really not think about the future when it comes to love.  But I challenge you to try.  It’s like character; we build character each and every day by striving to be a great person.  And we fall in love when we are brave enough to invest fully, pouring who we really are on the inside into each and every encounter without fear of whether it will or won’t lead anywhere.  It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. As you invest in someone, you begin to notice in individual encounters something so beautiful and wonderful that makes you think, hmm I could say “I love you” here, in this moment.  And then you start paying attention to those “I love you” moments. One of two things will happen: You’ll see that while he’s really great, there just aren’t enough “I love you” moments to keep you in it, and you move on. Or more and more of them will string together until you find yourself in the place where you know in your heart that you can say “I love you” all the time because there are so many “I love you” moments to sustain you in the inevitable moments where you don’t.

We can hold back and be a little less of who we really are in hopes of staying on course to reach our dreams. But we spend far more time on the journey than we do at the destination. And we run the risk of missing out on all the happiness and joy there is along the way.  The future is built on each and every now.  What if you lived as if you have nothing to lose?

Arylide

I color my hair a head-turning brilliant blonde.  Some might call it platinum; I prefer to think of it as something along the lines of the shiny paleness of corn silk. Coupled, most days by default, with a mass of unkempt curls cascading down my back, volume control wrested out of my hands by the weather, I’m often told I can be spotted a mile away by my hair. Does this make me look more youthful?  Maybe.  Does this make me a beacon men of all ages hone in on from a distance curious for a closer look?  Probably.  Are these the reasons why I do it?  No.

I’ve been ‘brightening” my tresses for what feels like forever. Like most of us native towheads, I watched my hair darken over the years.  Alarmed into action after the birth of my second baby, I remember vividly, fifteen years ago, looking at my bleary blandness in the mirror and deciding I wanted to return to me.  I’ve always felt at home as a blonde. Maybe this is why hair coloring for me doesn’t feel the least bit contrived, unnatural or disingenuous. My decision to do this is my choice, made before I “had to”, so to speak, but inevitably every woman is confronted with our society’s pernicious aversion to aging around the question of covering her grays.

It is bitterly ironic that just as we really come into our own in our forties and fifties with a focused awareness of the gifts we have to offer the world and the confidence to put them out there, our superficial society turns its back on us because our bodies begin to show signs of age.  I like to think that gray hair, laugh lines, the way the skin on our faces thins and veins become more prominent on our hands, that these are all badges of honor we earn for the ups and downs we’ve weathered garnering knowledge and wisdom over the course of a lifetime. It’s more than unfortunate that our youth-obsessed culture broadcasts such a different message.

As we age, women become invisible. This is heartbreaking to me.

Women are in the throes of a major identity crisis. Never have we been more powerful and self-sufficient.  We’re changing the world all over the place, and yet even though we know better, we can’t help but tie our self-worth to how we look.  The pressure to alter our physical appearance in an attempt to slow the natural and inevitable aging process is suffocating.  It’s most damaging consequences are in how we ultimately see and value ourselves. Our men are socialized to believe that women get less attractive with age, and can unwittingly contribute to the sense of worthlessness a woman feels when she looks at herself in the mirror as grays creep in, wrinkles become more pronounced, extra pounds make themselves at home, and gravity’s forces take hold.

For women dating during middle age, it feels like there’s an entirely new biological clock ticking. No longer worried about fertility, now the burning question is whether we’ll ever be able to attract a man if we’re unsuccessful in doing so before our youth fades.  We think about men as the perpetrators, but honestly I think they’re victims to some degree.  They’re fighting their own pressures; it’s a common message in our society that older men belong with younger, attractive women. Given the choice it seems that’s what many want.

I’ll admit I use my wrinkle cream religiously.  Maybe it’s nothing more than an expensive placebo, but it seems to be working and it feels innocuous to me.  I know I draw the line at injections and cosmetic surgery.  And I’ve always imagined that someday I will stop coloring my hair and be at peace with my long, curly gray hair.  Every one of us, if we’re lucky, will ultimately need to deal with getting old.  Ladies, I say we make sure we’re doing this in whatever way feels true to ourselves; we should never feel like we need to change what we look like on the outside to be beautiful, worthy or loved.

One of the many women Brene Brown interviewed for her book “I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn’t)” says that instead of investing time and money in a futile quest to prevent aging, she’d rather use her time redefining “what it means to get old”. I like this.

 

And so I think about what getting older means to me: It feels like it ought to be a gift that anyone who makes it that far in life is fortunate to receive.  I’m confident I’ll have wisdom to share and hope to have my wits about me so I’m able to do just that.  And I never, ever want to lose my voice.  I’m convinced it houses my power.  One of the things I find so amazing about writing is that it’s almost impossible to tell how old an author is by her written words.  Maybe this is my secret weapon against the invisibility I am certain to encounter.

 

These words of Leo Buscaglia found their way into my Christmas card a few years ago and bear repeating: 

 “If you love someone, you’ll look at him very carefully.  He is changing each day through a beautiful, gradual process which you will surely miss if you do not learn to watch. When is the last time you looked at your wife or husband’s face, your child’s face, your mother’s face?  For that matter, how long has it been since you looked deeply at yourself, not while shaving or washing or putting on eye shadow, but at a moment of peace, just looking?”

This is aging.  And it truly is a gift to behold.

Jaunt

While astronomical summer isn’t technically over until September 21^st, lots of us tend to fold up the patio furniture and call it at Labor Day.  Partnered with Memorial Day, the two holiday weekends serve as bookends for our summer fun.  We push to the side many of the responsibilities rote in ordinary time to make room for the great outdoors, packing into this time vacations, barbeques, gardening, swimming and the like, made all the more decadent by the long hours of daylight.  I often wonder with such a full life how I create space for something more.

Although I manage to keep up with the blog, posting at respectable intervals, I allow my normal life to be interrupted during these magical fourteen weeks of warm weather to make room for an honest-to-goodness summer romance, the juicy kind that teenaged girls can only dream about.  No, a ghostwriter has not jumped in to author this post; this is really me talking.

So when I come across this piece on maintaining focus in the face of distraction from the ever-empathetic, always authentic and truly human Peter Bregman, I read it in the context of my own thrilling, reckless summer disruption. I am fascinated to discover that in all of the intoxicating excitement someone new brings to my life, I keep my eye on true north (most of the time) by telling myself the very same things Bregman is telling others to address focus at work.  It might seem clinical to connect the two, but I assure you, it’s not. Seen through my lens, the ideas look like this:

Dating is all about attempting to “put yourself in the right box”.  This is tricky because in order to be truly happy, you need to be comfortable in someone else’s box without changing what is core to you.  Bregman stresses resisting the urge to downplay your strengths, repair your weaknesses, or abandon your passions in order to fit in.  You would think by middle age we’d be wise and confident enough not to go there.  But I’m here to tell you that engulfed in a steamy haze every one of those thoughts cross my mind this summer.  I need to look hard at what I am willing to alter and what is non-negotiable.

Dating demands experimentation.  To know if you even want to be in this person’s box, you need to test drive the things he likes and he needs to do the same for you.  Who knew I could become addicted to green smoothies, drive a Porsche, or bare my soul, because it’s not only about trying new activities, but initiating intimate conversations.  I learn through finding the courage to speak from my heart that it’s possible another will truly listen respectfully, despite the fact that he disagrees.

Dating cannot be rushed.  We’re all in a race to the finish line, to seek and secure the “one.”  There are few things requiring more control than attempting to slow the momentum that the passion of a relationship in its nascence fuels. Yet every time I allow myself to slow down and breathe, I find that I am actually able to invest more, to love more than is possible moving at warp speed.

Dating means establishing boundaries, clearly communicating them, and remaining steadfast when they feel like they’re slipping. If I fall down anywhere, it’s here.  This is where I am most vulnerable.  In my quest to please I will give up a little bit of what’s important to me, not always fully able to trust that I can hold my ground and still be loved.

 

Dating, more often than not, means an end.  I’m sure some lucky couples hit the jackpot on the first try, but they’re likely a statistical anomaly. Many deem the end of a relationship the equivalent of failure.  I don’t see it this way.  Bregman highlights a very important nuance that is the difference between feeling broken and defeated about a dating experience and feeling positive and proud:  Failure informs you about what doesn’t work, which can be even more useful than knowing what does. 

In September we lose minutes of daylight at a faster rate than any other time of year, summer annuals are dying out, kids are back at school.  I’m looking forward to renewed focus on my art, hard at work on my next submission to The Sketchbook Project. I plan to research how to self-publish a book.  And I want to learn how to row on the water. I have dreams to pursue, time to fill, a chasm to close.

I wouldn’t trade my summer hiatus for anything. Where I didn’t believe space existed, not in my busy quotidian world, not in my head and especially not in my heart, I discover a capacious opening and allow a new person inside. That’s success in itself.

Incipient

“Imagine if I was in a man’s body.  Wow!” she exclaims.  When I ask her why she might want to reside in this foreign place, she says matter-of-factly that the deck is stacked so heavily in favor of men.  This is my friend Kathy talking and what she’s calculating is the exponential impact her skills and expertise would have on her own compensation and status in the work place, as well as how her talents are applied within her organization and industry if she were a man.

This conversation during our five-mile morning run is referencing a provocative interview with Sheryl WuDunn, author of “Half the Sky:  Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide." WuDunn has several theories around why women ascend the corporate ladder in fewer numbers than men. The statement that resonates with me is this one:  “There are hundreds of thousands of women who have fought very hard to lead, thrive and grow in corporate America and in the political arena, but our culture has yet to embrace them.” 

On the one hand I like this perspective because it acknowledges how hard women have worked for the right to use their skills in leadership and executive level positions.  And I am being intentional when I use the word “right” because as recently as the 1960’s women still suffered punishing oppression; being qualified and ambitious did not guarantee women would be recognized and promoted to the highest level in any area other than the typing pool. Yet this viewpoint also frustrates me beyond belief, because if it truly is about a culture shift than the next question is an admittedly selfish one.  Is it all over for the female executives of today and any work we do now is simply paying it forward? 

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. My 40-something female colleagues are tired, too.  We’ve leaned in. We’ve taken on the extra projects, put in an insane amount of hours. Those of us with children have somehow managed to excel at our jobs and raise families.  We’ve spoken up about compensation inequities; asked to be promoted.  We’ve solicited mentors, sponsors and advocates, faithfully manicuring these relationships. We’ve joined women’s networks and as executives we now lead them.  We’ve done everything we can possibly do for ourselves.  But we need to wait for the behemoth sloth that is culture change to reap the fruits of our labor? 

Never at any time in history has there been more pressure to address this moral dilemma.  WuDunn is not the first person to refer to this issue in these terms.  If you’re reading regularly on this topic, you’ve seen the research and commentary that infers continuing to ignore this problem has significant economic ramifications. I have to believe those of us with the passion to address this are being heard.  WuDunn advocates that every woman do just that:  Make this problem your problem and help any emergent woman you can.

And it is in this way, I believe, that we ultimately help ourselves. For those of us who fear culture won’t change fast enough for us, I think the answer is in believing that we are powerful enough right where we are.  Didn’t we put in all of the hard work to get here?  The very act of attempting to affect change opens new doors not only for our careers, but for our life’s work.  Sure, some of us will stay on track and rise to the very highest levels in our organizations.  But others will take the experience gained in corporates, follow new passions and soar to greater heights.

 

This has me thinking about the power I have, or any one woman for that matter has, to change the world. I’m confident it’s pretty significant. Nilofer Merchant wrote an HBR post in January about how she brings more energy and creativity to her workday when she holds walking meetings. Today on Twitter, Merchant receives a dividend for her investment in the form of a tweet sharing a photograph stating Obama changed his position on Syria after a walk-and-talk with his Chief of Staff; her follower has this to say: “Hey @nilofer, in case you harbor any doubts about whether you’re changing the world.”

“Wow!” is right. 

Unfetter

Tonight I receive a gift I am not expecting. A huge burden lifted off my shoulders as another joyfully picks up my cross to carry for a while. I am caught off guard by how easily I allow her to take it.  I can’t remember a time when I thought this job belonged to anyone other than me.

As sweet relief floods over me it becomes clear that I’ve been given another gift this week with the capacity to render the very same release, yet I haven’t allowed myself to accept it.

We often think that holding on tight will ease the pain and make us feel safe, but sometimes peace comes with the courage to let go.

Heresy

 “Men treat us badly and we just need to get over it!” she barks through the phone, lambasting me as I’m explaining why I have no interest in socializing with her and her boyfriend who happens to be my ex-husband.  I leave this conversation shaking my head, yet unable to shake the bad feeling even though it happened several years ago.

 

Fast forward to present day.  I’m talking with one of my dear friends, a smart, attractive corporate executive who’s been on the lookout for Mr. Right for almost a decade since her divorce.  Her response to my hurt feelings over an encounter lacking what I was raised to believe is common courtesy is a flippant “men don’t think about that; it’s no big deal.”

 

It’s got me wondering where on earth we’ve left our pride. 

Caitlin Moran, a self-proclaimed “strident feminist” published a fantastic autobiographical satire in 2011 called “How To Be a Woman”. Parts of it have me howling out loud, much to the disdain of the neighbors within earshot of my patio.  Moran weaves the fabric of every woman’s life; the warp of each chapter a gut-busting stop on her journey through womanhood; the weft the sobering story of the second-class and often demeaning status of women throughout history, complete with her compelling case for change. 

What I find most captivating is her introduction, describing the concept of “Broken Windows”, this theory that if repair on even one window in an abandoned building is ignored, it’s seen as a sign by vandals that the entire place is fair game to be invaded or decimated.  According to Moran, as women we put ourselves at risk to be similarly violated every time we allow yet another seemingly small injustice slip by unnoticed.

Women are marginalized every day.  We don’t see it coming; many times we don’t even notice it when it’s happening.  Most men, I truly believe, are not even aware that they do this. Our gender roles, behaviors, interactions with and status relative to men were cast at the beginning of time.  If there wasn’t science to prove it’s not so, you’d swear it’s encoded in our DNA. It’s pernicious and invasive; to deny that it’s there and not act on it is the equivalent of marginalizing ourselves.  I won’t have it.

I’m the first to admit it’s not easy to combat this.  When I think about how many times in my life I’ve just gone quietly, it makes me want to scream.  And it still happens to me today. In fact, over the course of the last several weeks I have literally watched, like an out of body experience, as a boundary I set at great emotional peril ebbs away silently under my own resigned acquiescence.  Even though we know we’re entitled to be on equal ground with men, it can still be excruciating to hold our ground in situations where men have always been dominant.

Somehow the term feminist has been marginalized as well, reduced to a four-letter word.  It takes a strong woman willing to put up with a load of crap to even call herself one out loud.  But the last time I checked the dictionary the definition was this:  “advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.”  What’s so wrong about equality?

Not everyone is made to stand on a soapbox as an activist for womankind.  But we can all keep our eyes open for those seemingly innocuous acts of injustice, find the courage to speak up, and in the process feel really good about ourselves.

 

Because we don’t need to get over it; the little things do matter.