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.

Discern

I watched this video a few days ago and could not stop laughing.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZSIYQeF7FE&feature=player_embedded.  Being the mother of teenagers, I found an instant affinity to the writer’s sardonic acceptance of his adolescent’s lack of ambition.  But the underlying theme, and I think what makes this subject so real to so many, is our chronic habit of comparing ourselves to others.

It feels like every walk of life is laden with overachievers. Isn’t that all we ever hear about?  As parents, we compare our children to each other by the number of Advanced Placement classes they are enrolled in, the tier of the sporting team they play on, the number of extra-curricular activities they’re involved in.  The college graduate who gets the job at the office has an advanced degree from the most prestigious university, an exhaustive resume of internships, volunteer work with a myriad of worthy charitable organizations. To even participate in epic sporting events like the Olympics you need to be extraordinary, but that doesn’t even seem to be enough in this venue; the press flocks only to the superhuman, bejeweled with multiple medals.   

Even the most confident person has to look at herself sometimes and wonder how she can possibly measure up.  This mindset can be even more devastating when you feel like you are working really hard to be the best, yet it looks like someone less qualified is winning.

I’ve spent a lot of time gauging whether my climb up the corporate ladder is expeditious enough by comparing myself to my peers.  The absolute worst came out in me many years ago when I worked for a manager who I did not view as talented enough to be in a role that was senior to me.  I am forever indebted to a close colleague and dear friend who patiently listened to me for months as I doubted my own talent. Every evening, it seemed, I spewed another story laced with bitterness about “Charming”, our code name for my self-proclaimed nemesis. My logic, at the time, told me I must be marginally competent at best if the powers-that-be in my organization deemed this guy skilled enough to be my boss.

Of course I was all wrong.  I’ve since learned “comparison is the thief of joy”.  (I think I’ve quoted Theodore Roosevelt in a previous blog).  Safely removed from the situation, I can see now it was nearly impossible for me to be happy with what I had accomplished when I was constantly comparing myself to Charming.  It was so bad; in fact, I was demotivated; wondering why I needed to work so hard if other people around me appeared to be getting ahead when it seemed they hardly did any work at all.

Over the years I’ve become much more comfortable in my skin and confident in my abilities.  Sure, I occasionally, well maybe a little more than occasionally, compare myself to others.  But I’m quick to remind myself that I possess a unique combination of skills that distinguish me from everyone else. 

We all possess our own secret sauce or magic potion no one else can touch.  The challenge is in figuring out what it is and capitalizing on every opportunity to exploit it. That’s what Joan of Arc and Annie Oakley did.  Who cares if they were only teenagers at the time?

It’s been quite some time since I’ve spent any time thinking about Charming. Maybe a year ago I found a sealed envelope labeled in my handwriting:  “To be opened in 2014”.  I smiled as the memory of what was inside came back to me. My friend who consoled me through my months with the sub-par manager wanted to make a point to me that none of this would really matter in the grand scheme of things.  Inside the envelope was the question she suggested I pose to be answered far in the future: “Where is Charming now?”

Sangfroid

It didn’t take long, less than two weeks, actually.  My new assignment has me so consumed with commuting extra miles, attending non-stop meetings and acclimating myself to processes and people, it seems like there is hardly time to catch my breath.  I’m back on that treadmill where I can barely stay on top of the avalanche of e-mail, doing the heads-down work at home in the evenings because there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.

At three o’clock in the morning I found myself wrested out of slumber attempting to solve some vague, but confounding puzzle in my mind.  I can’t say what it was exactly, just that it was disturbing and had me working really hard.  My demons were now wide awake attempting to fill me with angst and self-doubt, the new tasks in front of me growing as disproportionate and overbearing as long shadows looming on the wall.

Eventually I drifted back off to sleep, and upon awakening to my alarm just a few short hours later, a quick scan of my in-boxes revealed a new post on one of my favorite blog sites, the one that reminds me how to find grace and peace in our fast-paced, 21^st century world.  Although I’m not proud that my morning routine involves checking e-mail while still reclining, I always read these particular posts in bed.  They speak of what truly matters in life and often cause me to rethink the approach to my day.

This morning was no different.  “At Home with Our Faith” is running a two-part interview called “Help Yourself”.  Read the post here:  http://homefaith.wordpress.com/2012/08/27/help-yourself-part-two/. The topic is how to find more harmony and enjoyment during the course of a day in spite of the constant demands placed on us. Who couldn’t use this advice, right?  It is especially valuable to me as I parachute back into another tour of duty at the office.

The post challenges the reader to ask herself “How do people feel when they’re with you?” Does your presence create a feeling of calm, safety and security where others would unburden themselves?  Or do people feel your need to be heeded, placated, respected or loved?  The idea is that we’re happy, and more importantly, those around us are happy when we project an inviting tranquility. 

As I processed this concept in my mind I thought about which one of my needs would likely bring the greatest amount of calm to my day if I eliminated it.  I settled on my desire to impress.  I am especially absorbed with this when working in a new setting where I believe, possibly erroneously, that others expect me to take swift action.  I ticked off the activities I have in front of me, visualizing how things might play out if I stopped trying to impress people.  How would decisions I need to make be impacted?  How would the course of conversations change or my direction be altered? 

The effects of this exercise were pacific.  All of the stress associated with urgency fell away.  I actually felt lighter and happier about starting my day.

What I also discovered is that the second point in the blog is important to how successful any of us can be at sustaining this behavior.  We need to find peace and happiness within ourselves in order to share it with others:  Whether it is noticing and capitalizing on those moments in life when we’re handed the opportunity to take a break, or allowing ourselves a few minutes each day to feel grateful.

As the day wore on and I got caught up in the urgent requests and issues that couldn’t wait, I was swept right back into the stress which I’m sure others could read all over my face. I can tell this is going to take some time to master.  But I’m encouraged by the success I’ve seen at home.  The relationships I’ve cultivated with my boys over the past five years radiate this philosophy.  More and more I notice our remarkable ability to remain calm and respectful with each other in spite of some extremely challenging situations.  It’s not all sunshine and roses in my home, but we find our way back to peace with an arresting immediacy. I’ve literally seen my boys calm down in my presence alone. I’m hopeful I can move this practice into the workplace. 

It’s past my bedtime, but I just had to take some time to write.  While it might seem like this is a lot of work, imprinting some words on my virtual paper never ceases to bring me a little peace.  I’m grateful for this gift.