Solstice

The mercury drops mercifully, shedding the load of humidity she’s carried strapped on her back since the break of day when dawn stretched her sleepy arms up into the clouds.  The sun is on the backend now, making her slow decent in the evening sky.  At this moment, she’s aligned her column of light with the tops of my blossoming day lilies, casting her glow across the bright orange petals stretching their necks to be seen above ferocious weeds attempting to choke the color from neglected beds.  My yard, like my hair, and other aspects of my life is wild. I can’t be bothered to tame any of them.

 

Dogs bark, kids at play sing out to each other in muffled lyrics I’m not meant to make out, but their little voices I recall so clearly.  It was only yesterday when my boys giggled with glee pulling sunfish out of the pond out back. Evening, just before the sun sets is the best time to fish, as the water grows eerily still and swimmers make their presence known leaving reverberating circles upon its surface.

A cool breeze is blowing now.  As I sit here the first lightening bugs begin their game of tag, emitting intermittent, iridescent clues.  It’s the gloaming on the longest day of the year.  And it’s been forever since I took the time to sit outside, tuck the world in bed, and hold her hand until she falls asleep. It’s almost time to turn the nightlight on:  Tonight it’s the Strawberry Moon.  

Sweet dreams and welcome to summer.

Tribe

“We need to be there early,” I insist, “my family gathers.”  The dynamics make little sense to someone new, but he soon experiences the phenomenon himself when we arrive late by family standards, which in reality is a full twenty minutes before mass on this Wednesday morning, to a lobby teeming with the chattering members of my clan.

 

I am a child of the sixties and seventies, an era when adults laid down their roots in relative proximity to their own childhood homes, kids outnumbered the bedrooms in the house, moms mostly stayed at home, heading upstairs to apply a bit of lipstick and rouge in anticipation of dad walking through the door at the appointed time like clockwork every evening. Our social lives revolved around my father’s family. Cousins were part of birthday parties, holidays and summer vacations.  We celebrated baptisms, first communions, confirmations, graduations, and weddings.  Attendance at family reunions could easily sail into triple digits. Still today my family comprises a full one-third of my Christmas card list.

We’re here today to honor one of our own. I look around this capacious church and I feel an intense pride and admiration. The tight net my father and his siblings knotted with their spouses and expressly cast across their growing families not only brands my childhood, but bonds and binds me to the most stable and loyal shelter I’ll ever encounter. It’s where my values are rooted, where my sensibilities, creativity and integrity are modeled and fostered.

 

Early in life I choose one from the brood to tether myself tightly. As girls we share our hopes and dreams, write to each other in secret code.  As young women we make a pact we’ll be there to take care of each other no matter what; we imagine living together in our old age.  As I listen to the stories of a faithful man recounting his 67-year friendship with the one we’ve loved and lost, I consider the depth and breadth of my relationship with her. She turns my pages with me; she possesses the intel, the grace, the love for me to speak eloquently of my essence when it’s my turn to move on. It is a gift to be so completely known.

After mass we find ourselves congregating in the lobby again, and even though we’re all scheduled to meet at the cemetery, followed by lunch at a nearby restaurant, we linger.  It’s a hallmark of my family.  The joke is you better start saying your goodbyes the moment you walk in if you expect to walk out at a reasonable time. This is our culture; it’s who we are.

I’ve had the debate at the office about whether culture can be taught.  There’s no curriculum for culture, and there is no mainlining its absorption.  It’s kinesthetic learning. It is hands-on, requiring full immersion, repeatedly over time. In making a priority of coming together for the joys of life my dad taught the family culture to us. And as such created a haven for us to be known and to draw upon in the pain.

When the circle of life prevails, those who are present the moment we enter this world are gone by the time we find ourselves in need of an escort out.  Thank goodness my family is comprised of gatherers and lingerers. We get to leave this world surrounded by familiar faces who have memorized the recipe for our unique brand of love and support, serving that magic elixir we were welcomed in with a generation or two ago, by mothers and fathers eager with anticipation and possibility.

Leaven

“I don’t stand up to anyone.” Her statement startles me in its unabashed delivery. I’m sure it feels like an inescapable truth she proclaims.  And with it I find an appreciation for the comfort she displays as she is unapologetically herself. I imagine she’s kneaded this dough of hesitation and resignation to the point of exhaustion, finally baking it into a self-acceptance she can bite into without tasting any bitterness.  Could she change it?  Sure.  But there’s conviction in her confession.  And I get it.  I’ve been tied to the same apron strings.

This behavior surrounds us; this backing down, or never stepping up:  The professions of loyalty a devoted customer can’t seem to articulate in the presence of her superiors. The right answer lodged in the throat of a team member afraid his thinking might be too far outside the box.  It’s one of the most powerful parables of faith:  A disciple and the denial he makes not one, not two, but three times.

What causes us to keep our dissidence under wraps?  On the surface it appears to be group think. As recently as last night I’m warned, along with my friends, that we’ll fall prey in the game we’re playing, the challenge we’ve accepted to find our way out of a locked room.  We’re told we’ll uncover clues we won’t agree on how to apply, and we’ll lack the independence to consider every option, making discards in favor of the loudest voices.

We can get twisted up in believing we’ll need to fiercely defend our perspective.  Or that speaking up commits us to presenting our case for a ruling. Or that others will think less of us or ostracize us for our beliefs or choices. And so we make the decision to say nothing at all.  We press ourselves up against the wall or slide down a little lower in our seats in hopes we won’t be called out for who we are.

The origins of debate are in respect and freedom of speech, yet somehow over the course of time debate has devolved from a forum for understanding into a contest that must have one winner.  Expressing your opinion isn’t about being right or wrong, it’s about believing you are worthy of having an opinion.

Isn’t not standing up to others really about not standing up to yourself?  Being capable and willing to articulate your beliefs, values and pride in the choices you make demonstrates self-confidence and self-respect. It’s a deficit of self-respect that prevents us from speaking up. It’s simple, really:  When you demand respect from yourself, you’ll have no choice but to find the voice you need to command it from others.

We’re not required to ask for permission to be ourselves, yet many of us fail to live our lives fully waiting in vain for someone to grant it.  The only person preventing you from rising is the only person you control. Are you standing up to her?

Molt

“Make a list,” I say, “Write down places you want to go, activities you want to try, anything you’d like to learn.”  It’s his move in the chess game of life and he has no idea which piece he’ll pick up.  I can’t fully appreciate the pressure, having in some ways taken the easy way out myself.  I went away to college. Immediately.  Immersed in the throes of New Student Week months before my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t have it figured out any more than anyone else did, but I picked a major that seemed achievable, and with that took the next step toward bettering my future on a well-worn path.

While rewarding for many, high school can be a defeating, dark time for lots of kids. It’s a time of tremendous change physically, yet labeling is affixed freshman year with permanent glue, making reinvention over the next four years nearly impossible. For every cheerleader or football player fully embracing the fairytale dream of Friday night lights, there are at least as many kids, maybe more, living a nightmare, steeping in isolation, wondering why they can’t have or don’t want this prescription.

A traditional college education is a chance to create a new identity, hopefully one more aligned with who we really are inside, offering enough diversity to join the culture that fits rather than try to fit into the culture that is. Along with a degree, it includes the added benefit of “finding yourself”. Parents unleash somewhat sullen or surly, argumentative know-it-alls onto campuses swarming with the same, to be infused with alternative perspective, and are delighted to welcome home almost unrecognizable adults:  Born-again, humility leached into their skin, a worldly energy coursing through their bloodstreams, bubbling over with new viewpoints they can now articulate with more intelligence and respect than before.  It seems miraculous, like they have to do this without us, like it’s something we can’t give them.

 

As our economic times force disruption of higher education, I wonder how we help our kids find themselves.  Junior colleges are infinitely more affordable, and while taking courses on-line takes care of book learning, how do we replicate the community of peers living and breathing the experience?  How do we generate the passion and excitement around critical thinking and personal development inherent in 24/7 immersion?

Is it simply being on their own, away from parents that allows so many kids to flourish?  Is there something magical about being on a college campus?   As graduation day draws near and I listen to my youngest struggle to express his uncertainty, I can’t help but think about my own reinvention, the one that led me to, among other things, writing this blog. I believe it’s a new way of engaging with the world that carries us through the iterative process of finding ourselves. We forget sometimes how much loneliness there is in this digital, connected society, how scared our kids are to put their toes in its water.  I need only to recall how frightening it is to start a new life in the isolation of divorce to relate to him.

The milestones in our lives present us not with the option, but the obligation to engage with the world differently. Whether we’re talking high school, the working world, college, marriage, becoming a parent, divorce:  It’s all scary in its own way. Maybe sending our kids away to college seems like magical transformation to us parents because we aren’t directly witnessing the courage our kids expend as they learn how to engage with the world on their own terms.

And so I ask him to make a list, to contemplate, in poet Mary Oliver’s words, what he plans to do with his one wild and precious life.  I urge him not to worry about whether his desires seem plausible, nor to work out the details, but just to dream. The bravest thing he can do in this moment, I tell him, is to speak out loud what his heart tells him to pursue. From here we chart the course.  He is his own windlass.

Accord

He calls it “healthy tension”. I’m instantly interested, on the edge of my seat wanting to hear more.  What is this phrase he has coined to describe the dynamic he believes teams should aspire to in their working relationships?  I am seeing tension for sure, whether it’s healthy or not is another story.  What’s unclear to me is if he feels we’ve already reached this goal or sees we have more work to do.

I observe our teams experiencing a faux collaboration; no one gets too friendly or too comfortable. A certain congeniality is extended and embraced on the surface, tempered by an awareness that at any moment the hammer will come down. We’re always prepared with our defense. Ideas over-incubate, hatching induced once their parentage is indisputable. It’s all about taking credit so we’re ready when asked, “What have you done lately?”  We’re just short of a partnership or true equality because at the end of the day one party feels entitled to wield power over the other. Each side wants to win separately, and as such they both lose, creating a double negative, abdicating the powerful alliance these two groups should be poised to create.

It’s worth considering why we join forces with others. I like to think we come together because we see mutual benefit.  We know that together we can achieve more than we could individually; we can make each other better.  Each party brings different strengths, experiences, viewpoints and priorities.  Inevitably this introduces conflict. It takes an enormous amount of humility, self-awareness and vulnerability to marry our differences into a harmonious, functioning partnership.  And the benefits are epic, beyond anything you could ever imagine.

Yet many of us take the easy way out, we keep our conversations at the transactional level, steering clear of contentious topics in the name of keeping the peace.  Our silence becomes consent, and as such we never feel heard because we’re unwilling to say anything.  Until it leaks out sideways.  In another conversation.  About something seemingly trivial and unrelated.

The thing is open discussion in the face of conflict is the breeding ground of an unbreakable union.  You can’t impart your unique perspective unless you’re willing to dispute tried and true views.  You can’t incorporate what the other party brings to the partnership unless you’re willing to risk floating an idea in its nascence so it can be nurtured together. Expressing frustrations uncovers our differences, discussing our differences builds a new and better path forward.

I recently ran across some research that says the healthiest relationships are not the ones between couples who keep arguments and debate to a minimum, but between those who openly address conflicts when they arise. They don’t let grievances pile up, in fact they are vigilant about raising issues in the moment.  They know the destructiveness of the rug of contempt, and avoid sweeping problems under it.  The couples who are comfortable working through disagreements are closer, have each other’s backs and tend to stay together.  This feels like healthy tension to me.

 

And I believe in this for business partnerships, too.  As service providers we’re taught to be people pleasers; “the customer is always right.”  Maybe we need to be asking our customers if they want to always be right, if the tension in our partnership is, in fact, healthy.

I’m thinking about the meta-conversation, the one that lays out the ground rules for discussing conflict and differences of opinion, and bringing new ideas.  The one that ensures we respect each other as individuals, leaving pride intact.  The one that opens the door for winning together.  

Keen

“These are a bit pricey,” she observes, passing the glass vase of tulip bulbs over the scanner. Surprised by her comment, a myriad of thoughts fly through my brain in rapid succession.  She works here, doesn’t she?  Shouldn’t she be supporting a customer’s purchase, no matter her personal opinion?  Maybe these are more expensive than those buried in a plastic pot full of dirt, but I get to keep the vase, don’t I?  It’s an interesting shape and a nice size. Do I really owe this woman a justification for my buying decision?  Isn’t value ultimately determined by the individual contemplating the purchase? 

As I’m thinking, I’m searching her face for the hint of judgment, trying to supplant my own mug with a pleasantly neutral expression.  I say nothing at all.

The truth is, I find the presentation of these flowers-to-be interesting. What compels me to hand over some of my hard-earned cash for this transparent vessel containing five sprouting bulbs resting in water is the opportunity to watch the flowering process.  What happens underground is made visible to me. It’s a new perspective into blooming.  I want to see how it works.

We’re all curious about some things, but thankfully we’re not all curious about the same things.  We’d be living in a pretty one-dimensional world full of a lot of helpless people, and far more unsolved problems than we have today if that were the case.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am to the amateur mechanic who knows his way around an engine so well he doesn’t even need to be in front of my car to talk me through jumping the battery, or the dentist so well-versed in the characteristics and inherent differences of gold and porcelain crowns, he guides me to the best choice for my tooth without regard for lining his own pockets. Where would we be if Thomas Edison needed more than 4 hours of sleep at night or Madame Curie preferred time in the kitchen cooking Monsieur Curie’s dinner to time in the lab?  Without individuals driven to sate intense curiosity, the world doesn’t evolve.

It’s interesting, then, how all at once we can dismiss the curiosities of another because they don’t align with our own, and at the same time feel compelled to weigh-in on subjects we know next to nothing about.

There’s a lot of pressure to be the first responder to a request for information, but the question I’m asking myself these days is whether I’m always the best responder.  It’s impossible to be expert about everything, and in a world that’s becoming more and more about specialization, we need to become connectors to survive, and be open to many perspectives to thrive. It takes time to connect the dots, assemble our thoughts and formulate our position.

I doubt I’ll be making the next breakthrough in horticulture watching both ends of a tulip plant develop. But what I take away from my point of sale experience is we don’t owe responses to every individual opining on our choices. There is power in knowing I’m quite capable of delivering a response in the moment, but I’m also just as confident offering none.

We can’t allow others to shame us into being less than ourselves. We get to be curious. Curiosity begets passion. How else do we bloom?   

Preposition

It’s a bit like the grammar school textbook instruction on diagramming a sentence, the nearly extinct dissection of subject and predicate into their individual components; the idea we’ll somehow construct better sentences if we can visualize how each part functions. Except we are diagramming me, attempting to put our fingers on the precise descriptors explaining what makes me who I am, that certain je ne sais quoi I bring to my work, what I do differentiating me from the pack.

 

Of course there’s the discomfort creeping in with the thought of proclaiming my unique talents.  If I were a megalomaniac I’m certain this wouldn’t be an issue, but as I work on what I might say, I’m discovering the real problem is the lack of clarity in my message. I know what I do well, but I don’t always recognize what it is I do well that no one else is doing. And I’m struggling to pipe up in my voice, as opposed to droning in the one sounding like everyone else.

My first draft is loaded with dry corporate speak, a litany of metrics and statistics, the familiar markers of success in my industry, an inhuman spouting of recent accomplishments. The only cue I give my reader to distinguish my list from that of any other is my photograph at the top of the page. We’re a world focused on results.  We bring in new clients, attract top talent, grow our businesses, we make money for our companies. But the numbers and associated clichéd buzzwords don’t tell the story. They translate into finite, static snapshots in time, incapable of doing justice to, nor honoring, the living, breathing human beings producing them.

Sure, the numbers are there to talk about what’s achieved, but along with them is the need to somehow impart how it’s achieved. There’s a latent repeatable process I’ve never uncovered nor unpacked; it’s a secret recipe honed over time, applied in all walks of my life.  A conglomeration of parts of speech buried in the sentence that is me, begging to be called out individually and studied in their own right if I’m ever to tell a compelling story.

We’re all a bit myopic about ourselves.  We tend to think what we do isn’t so special, surely others use our technique, look at issues from a similar vantage point, draw comparable conclusions, or inspire the same ideas.  We often need to seek out our colleagues and loved ones to show us how we’re different and point out where we need to place the “extra” in front of “ordinary”.

And so he and I draw my diagram, consulting the dictionary and thesaurus, searching for words I can comfortably put in my mouth, swirl around and share back with the world in a voice that rings true. Even as my story begins to take shape, I’m still tempted to stay within the safe bounds of the vernacular of my industry. I’m fearful my words will be too different, too human for the staunch world of business. But I need them to be.  I’m connecting my dots, deconstructing myself for understanding, allowing for a richer depiction of how it is I do what I do, over and over again, for winning results.  It’s a story no one else can tell.