Antithesis

I have a problem with bookstores.  Whenever I go inside one I’m compelled to touch the books.  Although I have collected hard covers for ages, I now find myself partial to paperbacks.  Not just any paperback, though.  I’m not interested in the throw-back versions, compact and fat, like a 3X5 photograph with a glossy cover and maybe the smooth edges of the book dipped in a bright colored ink.  I prefer the sleek paperbacks of today, more like a slim 5X7 with a sultry matte cover that’s silky to the fingertips.  Uneven pages that take on the look of handmade paper around their rough-cut edges are all the better. So it should be no surprise that I regularly leave with a purchase to add to the growing stacks scattered throughout my home.  If only I had time to read them all.  Writers are supposed to read, aren’t they?

So on this Easter afternoon I find myself in the bookstore, having made it up to the coffee shop in the loft with only one detour, to handle “The Dinner” as I read the back-cover epitome. It might seem strange to be here on Easter, but my kids are with their dad, and I’ve decided this day should be what I want it to be, eggs, bunnies and ham notwithstanding.

It hasn’t always been this way for me.  Holidays were rough for many years immediately following the end of my marriage.  These occasions steeped in family traditions and expectations, I felt like a fish out of water being, at times, a family of one.  I think lots of single women feel like this, maybe men too.  When you are alone and longing for the love that only that special someone can provide, holidays are a brutal reminder that you haven’t yet succeeded in your quest, and maybe, just maybe, you won’t.  Who wants to celebrate that?

I have a different perspective now.  Some might say I’m giving up on love and my new view is more about steeling myself against that statistically insignificant probability that Mr. Right might not exist for me.  There may be a sliver of truth to that.  But really, it’s about learning how to make every day my own.  I believe that my time between now and the man of my dreams should mean something.  It can’t be this holding pattern where I live in limbo, my nose pressed up against the glass of other people’s lives waiting to pair up again so the business of living can continue right where it left off.  I’m on a new path now, and it’s so much more enjoyable than my old path because it’s more about me and less about falling in line with tradition, doing what I think others expect of me.

In the language of the holidays, this translates into seeking out the people I want to be with on these days. For Thanksgiving I indulged myself with a long weekend soaking up the hospitality of my cousin and her family. We took walks, watched movies, ate amazing home-cooked feasts, and conversed about life.  She even found me a Turkey Trot and gave tacit permission to run it without my hosts!  At Christmas, instead of worrying about where I would eat a big meal or who I would exchange gifts with, I spent time reconnecting with a few long lost friends, both distant and right around the corner.  At gatherings I carved out time to talk one-on-one to the person at the event who I most wanted to be with.

And sometimes, the person I most want to be with is me.  There is nothing shameful or regrettable in this truth.  Sometimes we need to buck tradition to be who we really are.  Today is a perfect example.  The day is unfolding to my exact specifications. I started with a mud-filled 5-mile trail run, followed by a hot cup of coffee, a big breakfast and an afternoon of writing.  I may or may not meet a friend in the city for dinner.  My sketchbook arrived in the mail yesterday; I hear it beckoning me to begin filling the pages.  My studio has been dark this month of March.

I’m not completely blind to this spring ritual; Easter baskets sit on the kitchen counter ready for the boys when they arrive home, packed with my trademark sunflower seeds, beef jerky and copies of the newest “Wreck this Journal” , a sketchbook that appeals to the recklessness of their age.  This is how we make our lives our own.

On my way over to the bookstore, I couldn’t help but walk into my new favorite athletic wear boutique.  The door was wide open; the white wicker basket full of colorful "Light as Air Hipsters", my own version of Easter candy. It seems I now have a lululemon problem.

Opus

It seems I’m having an affair with my iPad; I know, disgraceful. He spends the night tucked in beside me quite regularly.  I can’t help myself.  It’s just that he knows exactly how to turn me on with his lighted screen; luring me into the decadence that is reading in the dark and thereby securing his coveted spot nestled close to me when I’m ready to shut my eyes.  That he is a formidable alarm clock furthers his case to share the bed. Awakening me before dawn with his fetching shivaree means that of course I can’t keep my hands off of him.  One thing leads to another and before you know it I’m tweeting and checking my e-mail every morning while still under the sheets.  Yes, even on the weekends.  Ugh!

One of Sunday morning’s messages contains some feedback that’s really hard to hear.  It’s coming from a plethora of sources, and I asked for it willingly.  The words I’m reading are not awful in and of themselves, but the way I allow myself to feel when I read them is.  Anything remotely negative immediately causes me to speak harshly to myself:  “Your message is obviously not being heard, why can’t you find a way to resonate with everyone?”  “The guy who had this job before you must have been much better at this than you are because his name keeps coming up.”   “You really stunk it up in this job, look at all of these unsolved problems you’re skipping out on.” “Your successor is going to wonder what the heck you’ve been doing.”  “You didn’t get anything right in your time here.”

The good news is I call a time out before it gets really destructive. I know in my head that none of these thoughts are accurate.  I also know that I need to be much kinder to myself.  But as I leave the house dressed for the morning’s run, I notice that I have inadvertently cloaked myself in the dull ache of shame we feel when we’re convinced we are not quite good enough.

Forty-five minutes in the crisp air dodging snow flurries, speaking my self-inflicted humiliation to a trusted sounding board brings fresh perspective.  I decide that I need to look at the feedback objectively; assessing in terms of what is truly lacking and can be remedied versus what represents a craving for certainty that simply can’t be satisfied.   I need to convince myself of this truth:  It is impossible for one human being to anticipate every question that could possibly be asked and meet every unvoiced need.  I need to believe that coming up with the wrong solution to a problem is not the same as failing to address the problem at all. I need to speak to myself like I’d speak to someone I love.

And if I’m willing to take this a step further, I need to decide to love myself.

I’ve been tossing this concept around with a fair degree of seriousness since the “Love Yourself” theme for this year’s handmade valentines came to be.  I think I need to go for it. And so as an antidote to the venomous biting words swirling in my head, I ask myself on my way home from the run, “How am I going to love me today?” 

By some strange coincidence, Dr. Brene Brown is scheduled to appear on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday talking about her research on shame, which touches this very topic.  I wanted to catch Part I last weekend, but missed it due to the excessive fun I had at the St. Patrick’s Day party; so I am thrilled to see that I have time to grab my coffee and be right on time for Part II.  Let’s start this self-love journey off with a bang!  I am not disappointed. She talks about much of what you’ll find in this blog post:    http://www.oprah.com/relationships/How-to-Increase-the-Love-in-Your-Life-Brene-Brown/1 and I trust the link to the episodes themselves is on this site. Must see TV. I mean it.

Here’s why it matters.  There is no one on earth we spend more time with than ourselves.  And no one we spend less time trying to please.  Most of what we do in a day is for others, and you can argue that the greatest portion of that time is spent attempting to impress people on the periphery rather than honoring those who are truly close to us.  It's these people who don't know us, who haven't earned the right to hear our stories that we injudiciously work so hard to engage.  We've got it all backwards.  What if we stopped trying to appeal to the masses and limited ourselves to those wonderful and supportive friends who love us for who we are? 

What if you really believed you belong on the list of people who matter to you?  What would that look like?

I want to commit wholeheartedly to asking myself everyday what I’ll do on this day to love me.  I want to write my blog only for me, create my art exclusively for me, and free myself from concern about what others may think or feel or take away from my work.  I want to rid myself of the compulsion to check who is retweeting, +1-ing, or liking my images and posts.  If I do this for me, stripped of my need for affirmation and validation by others, I become more authentic and my chances of truly resonating with others rise.  This is how I’ll be true to me.  This is how I’ll give all of me.  This is how I’ll learn to love me.

Scary. Really. Scary.

My kids are creating today; I can hear them in the family room collaborating on the design of their next composition.  Fresh from a trip to Blick to purchase Nick’s early birthday gift of paint, canvas and an inspiring book on graphics, the itch to inaugurate the new supplies screams out to be scratched. I love it when they bring their usually divergent minds together for creative good.

A blank canvas is put in front of us every day, the moment we roll over to find our beloved iPads beside us (okay, that’s just me). We can choose to paint what we think others want to see, or bring to life our own unique masterpiece.  Now, more than ever, I’m cleaved to my belief that fostering my boys’ creativity will show them the way to becoming authentic people, people who love themselves.  Wouldn’t it be great if I did the same for me along the way?

Panoptic

Eight at eight:  This is how my friend Kathy and I have come to refer to our eight-mile Saturday morning runs launching at 8AM. We’re training for another Madison to Chicago relay this spring and need to build endurance.  I come away from these 90 minutes voracious for food for my body, but sated by the food our dialogue provides for my soul. We cover the gamut of topics:   Leadership, relationships, spirituality and she’s a good sport listening to the trials and tribulations of parenting even though they don’t apply to her. 

Today we covered, among other things, the benefits of sharing our day-to-day work life with our loved ones.  We’re both career-focused and driven, yet we’re mute when it comes to discussing at home what goes on at the office.  Most of us, if we bring anything at all home, we bring our complaints:  Those people who get under our skin, the amount of work piled on us, our questions about our perceived value relative to compensation.  Successes might get a little air time, but only if they are monumental in nature like a promotion or a big bonus.   Rarely do we talk about what it is we do or how we actually do it.   

Over time a rift develops that takes a while to make itself known, but somehow an entire element of our being, one that commands much of our self-worth, disappears from the sight lines of those closest to us.  Workaholics notice it in increased noise that follows an announcement they’ll be at the office late again, attending yet another dinner or packing a suitcase for business travel.  Some notice it when they sit across the table from their spouse and realize they have nothing to talk about but the kids; work has become taboo.  Many of us say our spouses won’t understand; or we rationalize it will take too long to get them up to speed.  It’s just easier to leave this subject out of the conversation.  What we fail to realize is that we’re missing a huge opportunity to strengthen our relationships by de-compartmentalizing our lives.  Happier in our relationships, we’re more successful at work.

One of my all-time favorite business leadership books, “True North”, does a good job of explaining this phenomenon. HBR recently posted a blog with two powerful stories:  Real Leaders Have Real Lives; it's worth a read.

Running with Kathy this morning I told my own story of how I recently solicited business advice from my sixteen year old.  No, I haven’t lost my mind completely.  Over the years I’ve shared stories with my boys about what I’ve learned from failures at the office, but I took it a step further to really engage my oldest.  A captive muse in my car, I decided that asking him how he might handle a relatively simple business challenge might give me an idea as to whether or not any of the life coaching I provide sinks in or if I truly sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher when I open my mouth (listen here if you’ve forgotten her "Wah wah woh wah wah"). 

My question revolved around how I should talk to my manager about making a change in personnel on our team. His suggestion was that I have someone new in mind before I have the conversation so that I’m ready to act should we be in agreement.  Impressed with the thought behind his suggestion, I responded that this makes a lot of sense, making sure to compliment him on his acumen.  Part of my agenda is to help him believe he can make valuable contributions when he puts his mind to it.  In the longer view, I’m teaching him how to interact with his future wife around her career.

I thought that was the end of it.  A few days later we got in the car again and he asked me what happened with the discussion with my manager.   I told him that I shared that we should make a change which was met with agreement.  I was surprised when my son picked up on my word choice saying, “Mom, don’t say should make a change, say need to make a change.”  Flabbergasted, I asked him to explain.  He informed me that “should” is a suggestion, “need” is a necessity.  Wow!  Powerful stuff.  (It makes me wonder if there isn’t something to the idea that males are innately programmed to speak in more definitive terms than women.  But that’s a blog post for another day.)   This is advice I am taking. 

There is so much upside to sharing whatever it is you’re passionate about with loved ones, whether it’s your spouse or your teenagers.  They get to be involved. It’s a proven fact that when your team understands what you do, what your goals are, they begin to see ways to support you, and engagement rises. Your spouse can begin to understand why a business dinner, trip or late night might be required; the part these extracurricular activities play in your ultimate success becomes evident. When those who love you believe they can contribute to your success, they become vested. And when they’re vested, your bond strengthens. 

This is not rocket science, although it might feel like it because making this happen is hard.  It’s about letting people in, allowing loved ones to feel pride in watching your success unfold and to live through your mistakes with you; it’s the scariest and most exhilarating thing you’ll ever do.  It’s allowing those you love to love you.  They deserve to experience how amazing you are at what you do.  Why don’t you show them?

Vernal

Today the sun reached the First Point of Aries, crossing the equator, making the length of day and night almost equal everywhere on Earth.  This day went by, as many of them do, in a flurry of demands and deadlines. Incredibly busy, yet it can feel like nothing gets done.  The real work often comes at night when there is finally peace, quiet time to focus and let fresh perspective in, allowing answers to the biggest issues to find me. 

I’m in a place where I know I can add a ton of value, but the individual I’m meant to support doesn’t want my help, resents my very presence.  My experience is discounted, my expertise rebuffed, recommendations spurned, direction disregarded. Everything I have to offer feels unwelcome, every opening to diminish my position is exploited.

I know I need to address such blatant disrespect, but I’m struggling with the how. I’ve learned the hard way that confrontation in the heat of the moment can result in words that should remain unspoken, apologies never fully accepted, effects that reverberate beyond measure and regrets never quite put to bed.   

I also know that sometimes the message, no matter how carefully or compassionately arranged, simply can’t be heard.  Finding the words once is hard enough, when they are met with denial and deflection, demanding repeating, the best intentions derail quickly into a reversal of power where I find myself sputtering in helpless defense.  Wait, I’m the one in charge, right?

Yes, I am in charge I remind myself. I’m here to make sure we stay on the right track, that we don’t close doors that can’t be reopened, to protect those in no position to protect themselves. This is not about me.   

When I’m able to look past how all of this makes me feel and consider the feelings of uncertainty, pride and fear that might lurk behind the behavior of this unexpected nemesis, the way to handle this situation will make itself known. 

So tonight I’m searching my soul for some grace.  Maybe this equinox has come too soon.

Auspicious

My body has not a drop of Irish blood coursing through it, yet last night I found myself celebrating with my favorite Irish couple at their annual gathering, grown women and men shooting chocolate-flavored liquor from dainty green miniature plastic mugs.  My intention to drink water and retire early; the reality is awaking in the guest room, bleary eyes and a tumbling mane of tangled tresses announcing to the world a stilted and truncated sleep.  Of course it was all worth it because we solved world hunger, conversing, debating, consoling and debunking until well after 4 AM.  I’m sure the birds were chirping somewhere underneath the din of our laughter and my tears. 

Talk somehow manages to turn intensely personal in the wee hours of the morning, and you’re never quite sure how you get there, but before you know it, you’re in it, and there’s no turning back.  This friend in particular always manages to usurp brutal honesty from me.  Even when I’m feeling really great about my situation, he makes me look into the dark corners that scare me, outing the demons preventing me from realizing my greatest desires. He pulls off their masks, grips my shoulders, turns me around so I’m standing squarely in front of them in a penetrating standoff.  Sometimes what I see makes me laugh for it’s obvious I’m being ridiculous. Other times I weep for the enormity of what I need to overcome.

When I evaluate my personal situation through the lens of my business world, I appear to be covering everything:   I’m coaching and developing my charges, increasing my revenue and watching the bottom line, even tending to my own personal growth. But I’ve got an open position on my team, the requisition languishing long past any acceptable fill-rate metric.  Instead of taking action to remedy, I’m taking on most of the responsibilities myself. Inevitably, critical components fall through the cracks, those which are clearly impossible for me to handle for obvious reasons.  It is this Achilles heel my perceptive and persistent friend seizes.

I pride myself on my team building skills, in fact shaping teams is a beloved aspect of my job. I believe in a measured balance when addressing openings.  To me it’s most important to find the right candidate, even if it means the position might be vacant a little longer than I’d like.  Because, after all, I’m going to invest in this person, and long after he leaves my assignment, I expect he’ll remain with the organization. I remember a request a while back to bring someone new on to my team.  Granted, it’s tough to find talent with the skillset in the geography we were targeting, but even when a qualified candidate surfaced, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger.  When I consider that my inaction may be telling me something, what unveils is the awareness that I don’t believe we need to fill this role, that it’s already being done well by another, adding to the team seems redundant. 

Applying this line of thinking to the open position in my life brings the admission that I’m being undone by my own hesitation.  I notice I’ve been holding my breath for a really long time, shoring up the business of my life with limited resources, refusing to even ask for a new slate because past experience tells me filling this role will bring more work and little joy, still feeling bad that I had to choose to manage out the predecessor, an individual I was responsible for bringing on to the team in the first place.  Ouch.

Lucky girl.

This particular section of my glass ceiling is not coming down easily. I count myself lucky to have friends who care enough to go to this scary place with me, a place I expect I’ll need to revisit before I am looking at unfiltered blue skies.  It was Carl Sandburg who said “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.”  Maybe I can start to breathe again.

Curia

The tradition around which the Roman Catholic Church shrouds the selection of a new pope is mystical. The idea of a group of decision makers behind the closed doors of the conclave debating candidates while an eager audience awaits a smoke signal in announcement of the results of the day’s work is a stark and welcome contrast to the competitive rush of today’s world, anodyne and analogue in this digital age. I like that this event is still newsworthy to a global society that appears to grow increasingly skeptical and secular with each passing day.  

As I absorb what the Wall Street Journal has to say about the newly appointed leader of the church, I can’t help but agree that there is not only power in the new pope's humility, but power in all of us when we display this lost virtue.

The strength that is borne from humbleness is immense.  A timely example showed itself this week when a cherished colleague of mine won a Champion of Excellence award for embodying the values and culture of our company over his 20-year career here.  This man is kind, thoughtful, calm, and brilliant.  He sits at the apex of his business, President of his group, at the highest executive level in our organization. Infused with integrity, he makes the right decisions even when it’s not the easy thing to do; he puts his people first. When my mother died he asked another colleague to deliver a heartfelt, handwritten note expressing his condolences and sharing a personal story of loss.  When I sent him a congratulatory note for his award, in his reply were words of appreciation for me and the work I do every day for our clients and people.  He is without a doubt one of the strongest men I know.

The idea of creating a wake has not left my mind since my manager painted this picture for me during last week’s discussion about moving my career forward. With the focus shifting from shoring up my own skills to influencing others, it signals affirmation that I am enough.  And when we believe, truly believe, we are enough we can tend to the needs of others with abandon. As leaders we have a responsibility to be people worthy of being followed. I’m conscious of the choices I have when leading my teams, clients and children; how I can advise instead of admonish, support instead of supplant, inspire instead of impress.  This is the power of humility.

I met up with another friend this week, a former teammate.  He glowed telling me how happy he is:  He’s spending more time at home with his family, less on the road for work, amazed at the rewards he’s reaping by investing in his relationship with his wife.  He’s challenged with his projects and his client loves him. He received a positive performance review, coupled with a surprising year-end bonus.  He says he’s got all this money in the bank now and can’t think of a single thing he’d like to buy. Somewhat bemused with this contentment, he asks if I think he’s in the right place, shouldn’t he be clawing his way up the corporate ladder? 

Why does it continue to surprise us that when we invest in others we bring joy to ourselves?  If I had to boil happiness down to the lowest common denominator, it would be the golden rule:  “Treat others as you wish to be treated.”  There is a certain amount of humility required to make this real. And an enormous amount of power for those who choose to act on it. The white smoke over the skies of Rome heralds a leader steeped in humility.  I expect he’ll create a spectacular wake.

Seminal

“Let it come to you,” is what he says to me.  We are talking about my next promotion, specifically my request for 2-3 skills I should be developing to position myself for the next level. He explains to me that at this point in my career it is all about leadership; the ability to create a wake.  This is a phrase that resonates immediately with the sea girl in me, a knowing smile spreading across my face as I envision this powerful graphic. The idea of cutting through clear blue water creating an endless trail of waves that reverberate into infinity speaks to my very essence. How many times have I found myself on the water, mesmerized by the unswerving sureness and magic of the wake?   Never before have I felt more in control of my destiny.

A sphere of influence is difficult to measure.  Many of us think it’s about specific individuals, and spend time targeting the “right” people to impress with our work, hoping we’ll get the job that gives us the maximum exposure to the upper echelon.  While it is obviously advantageous to be in the view of those in high places, we sometimes forget that everyone we come into contact with plays a role.  The experience others take away from the time they spend with us creates our reputation. We each have the opportunity to positively influence every person we encounter, every day, and this is how the wake builds. 

Your wake is all around you.  For me it’s in the member of my account advisory board who called yesterday to report that in me the team has found a leader who hasn’t just opened her door but created a threshold that’s comfortable to cross.  It’s in the woman from last spring’s networking event who so strongly identified with the story I told of my shy beginnings, she reached out to me this week seeking some advice on how to overcome her own reserve. It’s in my teenager who, when I marveled over being asked to host a call that 600+ people attend, replied “that’s not enough, Mom.”

There was a time when I would have thought that letting something come to me was the equivalent of being passive.  It takes on a whole new meaning when combined with the concept of creating a wake.  The work doesn’t get any easier, but this is in my wheelhouse.  And there’s a part of me that finally sees when someone who’s drawn me into his own wake advises me to let it come to me, I should believe in the possibility that it could.