Substratum

She tells me she’s putting her house on the market, describing all of the depersonalization her real estate agent prescribes to speed up the sale.  I’m a staunch opponent of this approach believing no one should dictate the number of objects living on my kitchen counters. It’s ridiculous, I say, to invest my money in cosmetic changes to a property I’m exiting; worse yet guessing what might appeal to a prospective buyer who will likely make changes before the paint even dries.  My house is who I am, to alter it to be what others think it should be goes against, well, pretty much everything I believe.

I don’t consider how much my home has to say about me until he shows up to start fixing it.  The need to replace roof vents leads to patching ceilings, which stretches into drywall repairs of all kinds, and well, if we’re going to paint, after twelve years I‘d like some new colors please.  The more good work he does the more I find for him to do.  And as he gets intimate with my home uncovering nail pops and drywall seams behind brightly colored walls, he gets intimate with me.

He asks questions about what he sees, and as he’s mudding my kitchen ceiling we talk about art museums, Les Mis, Frank Lloyd Wright and the Chihuly exhibit in Phoenix.  He sees not just the home in my life, but my life in this home.  He says he likes the dynamic he witnesses between me and my boys; he says he can tell I’m someone who’s been through a very challenging time coming out the other side with grace.

Validation comes in unexpected places sometimes. That what I’ve been working on for so long, so pointedly, so determinedly is manifesting itself in ways others can see, appreciate and even admire leaves me vindicated.

It’s never easy to go it alone, to parent from the gut when your gut goes against the grain, to lead from the heart when others lead from the wallet, to paint the shutters purple when the neighborhood is clearly grey. But now that I’m actually doing it, I can’t imagine it any other way.  

It makes me wonder this:  Are those who need to see a vanilla house in order to imagine it as their own maybe living a life that’s a little too vanilla? 

Lodestone

My heart skips a beat when she asks the colleague next to me at the table what it is that makes me a good leader.  It’s that moment we attempt the impossible, to prepare ourselves for vulnerability. We’re not sure what exactly will be said, but we know the words are fraught with the potential to evoke a visceral reaction we pray we can field with passable grace.

Every day some publication somewhere is posting research, opinions, guidelines, maybe even folklore, around the seven, ten or thirty-three qualities a great leader possesses. As we digest these concepts, we can’t help but assess ourselves in search of reassurance we’ve got what it takes to come out on top. But my co-worker’s response to this question is anything but a checklist; it’s all about the singular combination of traits and values making me exclusively me.

Harvard Business Review, in "Which Women Are Rising to the Top?" cites data gathered from elite female leaders across the globe surveyed about how they rose to the top in their fields. The findings highlighted in this particular post are brilliant in their simplicity:  Exceptional women leaders look at success holistically; it’s not just about work, but about life. They are honest and open about the choices and sacrifices they make to balance, and they go about finding a workplace culture where they are set up to win on all fronts. 

What I love most is these women know this to be true: “They aren’t “one of the guys” and they don’t try to be.”

As this information sinks in, it starts to feel groundbreaking, and for me personally, vindicating. My colleague’s words are powerful because they tell me I’m succeeding on my own terms.  My determination to lead with authenticity, to resist the urge to be anyone other than me is paying off.  And it’s

reverberating.  I am smiling when it hits me every initiative I own at the office this year pairs me with an outstanding woman leader.  I find it ironic that I don’t set out to do this, it just happens.

We are natural magnets for what we most want out of life, for the connections we want to make, for the relationships we want to be in.  Is what you’re putting out there what you want to attract? 

Tachometer

When Larry shows up oozing respect, takes a careful look around, asks the right questions, gets to the root of the problem at hand, and explains in layman’s terms absent of condescendence I decide he is someone who has earned the right to do more for me.  In this single interaction I have no doubt he will fix what’s broken and have my back.  My son’s free-wheeling approach to procuring contractors for work in our home finally pays off. I’m blanketed in stuckness again; a stranger’s appearance a gift I spot as a relief valve when this, the smallest of clogs, starts to open with the promise of dislodging the dam of my life into a cathartic watershed.

 

My foot is pushing the accelerator to the floor, yet I’m not moving. I’m a dune buggy spinning sand thinking speed will bring traction.  It’s even invading my sleep. This week’s recurring dream is most telling:  I’ve remarried my ex-husband, more miserable than ever, but it’s clear I’ve somehow allowed myself to be coerced into this place again even though I know I don’t want it.  It seems obvious it’s me I have the problem with.  Where has all my confidence gone?

As Seth Godin puts it, it’s easy to be confident when you’re having success:  When you’re bringing in gobs of revenue at work, guiding motivated teenaged over-achievers, basking in the glow of an attentive partner showering you with admiration.  Who wouldn’t be bleeding confidence?  What happens when instead the results of your work are less visible or take years to come to fruition, your child stands on the threshold of his future yet doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up, or your partner barely seems to notice you’re around?

I’m fascinated by how easily, how abashedly I allow others to rob me of my confidence, stalling myself in feelings of unworthiness, recusing myself of this inalienable right.  It’s not easy to “be your fabulous self” as my friend Tracy puts it, when the highly engaged audience at the conference loses all energy the minute I start presenting my topic, or when the decision to press for early graduation for my high school senior results in a state of limbo without a job or a plan, or when the former boyfriend I’m embarrassed to admit I still harbor feelings for shows up at a party with someone else fabulous and proceeds to get my name wrong when he makes the awkward introduction.

 

We start to think maybe we’re not so great after all.

 

We all seem to depend on some degree of outward affirmation of our fabulousness to coax our inner confidence out of hiding, but life is not always there to profess this faith.  We need to manufacture confidence and continue to produce it no matter what the environment. So how do we each own our confidence and stand tall when circumstances can cause us to feel like the world is out to get us?

 

I don’t have any magic formula, but what I’ve learned is this:

You’re not always going to be able to exude confidence.  It’s more about striving.  Even when you know you’re walking into a potentially volatile situation, it’s impossible to be completely steeled and prepared for whatever awaits. The only unequivocal certainty is that whatever situation you play out in your head will not happen. Accepting that you may not be able to course correct in the moment as adeptly as you’d like is a kindness you need to grant yourself.

    

One failure doesn’t define you. Standing in front of twenty-five people and putting them instantly to sleep with a boring monologue doesn’t mean every presentation is awful. We’re made up of a multitude of data points and experiences factoring into who we are.  The same is true when we think of the circumstances composing one failure.  You are only one factor in a complex equation, and there is usually a next time to get closer to right.

You’re allowed to feel down when things bomb. When successful advocacy for early graduation for my struggling child creates new challenges I don’t anticipate, I can choose to wallow in this outcome and second-guess myself. Or I can acknowledge the frustrations as I remind myself of the many reasons this choice was the best one to make at the time. No one skates through life getting everything right.  No one should be expected to pretend it feels great when it doesn’t.

Don’t leave love on the table. Even in your darkest moments, those times when you’re embroiled in what feels like a colossal failure, there is likely at least one advocate or champion in the room, someone who knows what it feels like in your shoes, who can see your breath as it’s literally sucked out of you and finds a way to rescue you with a protracted and protective hug.  Take it.  Don’t suffer in silence because you’re embarrassed or ashamed.  It’s amazing how many people want nothing more than to comfort a wounded soul.

When one thing goes wrong it can seem like everything is wrong, leaving us in this place of stuckness as we helplessly watch our confidence ebb. Conversely, when one thing goes right, everything begins to look better and confidence returns. So I’m pausing to change gears, looking for places where I can gain traction, even if it’s only the lowest common denominator inching forward.

 

This is why hope springs eternal for me when Larry does such an impressive job with the entire experience of diagnosing the problem with my oven. When we find someone who brings good into our lives, we latch on hungry for more. I haven’t soaked in my bathtub in several years.  I can hardly contain myself when I realize Larry can make this possible again. I’ve been stuck here for a long time, unable to ask for help where it’s demanded.  But now this feels solvable. I eagerly question what needs to happen with my hot water heater so my bath isn’t stone cold before it ever fills to the brim.  He even has a friend who can trace the source of the water spot on the ceiling below my tub so I don’t end up bathing in steamy water on the kitchen floor. Ralph will be here tomorrow.

As I write the first two sentences of this post I think what if I use the Larry rule to decide who earns the right to the leadership I bring to my work and the love I have to offer in relationships?  I may never feel stuck again. 

Hieroglyphics

When he settles in the passenger seat firing up his playlist, it’s pretty likely what’s coming out of the speakers is nothing I’m interested in hearing.  But this time I like the melody and so I listen intently to the lyrics. Absorbing what this artist is saying leaves me thinking in a different way about expression, judgment, the root of defiance and everything my teenager fights for so passionately. It goes like this:

Graffiti the land with skyscrapers
Graffiti the sky with airplanes and satellites
Graffiti the minds of children with your man-made laws
Graffiti the world, I saw the writing on the wall

It’s amazing, really, that mindful attention to one rapper could be so powerful, but all of a sudden I understand why my boy is so upset. 

We have covered a once pristine land with buildings of all shapes and sizes.  Sure, we require architects to go to school in order to design structures that are safe and sound, but who gets to decide whether they are truly beautiful enough to pepper our landscape?  And then we take it to the next level, branding these buildings.  Corporations and retailers imprint their logos in all shapes, sizes and colors, complete with lights and neon; homeowners choose paint colors for doors and shutters, accent with trees, flowers and seasonal decorations ranging from twinkling lights to statues to plastic figurines.  Who gets to say whether this is aesthetically pleasing?  We complain tactlessly about the choices of others, yet we’re all outraged with homeowners associations trying to infringe on what we believe is our right to ornament our piece of property however we see fit.

Our world is full of virtual graffiti, too. What about social media as a form of self-expression?  Our Facebook pages and Twitter feeds are flooded with graphics tagging the internet with our photos and thoughts in hopes of being liked, friended, somehow called-out, noticed for our unique brands.  Life is a rolling advertisement for millions of individual messages.

I get how we can confuse, deflate and disappoint our kids when our actions don’t seem to match our words, and how a feisty teenager could be driven to taunt a hypocritical world with his own small mark on an already littered universe.  Isn’t he just expressing himself like everyone else is?

I’m striving for understanding.  While I may not like most of my son’s musical choices, I often find I can connect with him when I take the time to wade through the booming bass, foul language and screaming to get to the message in the song.  Like all of us, he’s just trying to figure out how he can make his mark on this world.  I see his writing on the wall.

You can find “Graffiti the World” by Rehab here. 

Impenitent

There’s this bird who sings a song that speaks to me so completely I would swear he sings for no other.

He circles above me through countless seasons, taking me in with a surreptitious blatancy, cawing, even dive-bombing, until I give his song a listen.

He longs for a nest I wonder if he’ll ever be brave enough to build. While he’s never far from me, he rarely gets close.  Yet in unexpected, evanescent moments I find him perched on my shoulder singing so sweetly, so intentionally, so honestly, so unapologetically, solely for me.

And as quickly as he lands, he flies away again, leaving me to stand fallow in his wake, wanting more.

I’m seeking the grace to revel in every note this beautiful bird is capable of trilling for me however fleeting, the willpower to leave this birdfeeder bare, and the patience to listen for the one who knows the nest builds itself when you find the courage to sustain an endless serenade.

I discovered prayer flags in Cloth, Paper, Scissors magazine two years ago.  Dating back thousands of years to India, an artist creates a flag, hanging it outdoors for a period of time.  As the flag weathers, unravels and fades, its sentiment is spread to all touched by the wind.  The symbolism moves me, and so I create my own in hopes a zephyr will bring back to me all that I am seeking.

Debouch

Until it’s pointed out to me, I don’t see any significance in today, March 4^th; just another day on the calendar at the tail end of winter, right?  When a new friend of mine shares the symbolism another imprinted on him I know immediately I’m going to write about it.  As I recall his story in my head, it goes something like this:  A friend of his, who embraces implicitly the evanescence of one human’s life, when diagnosed with a terminal illness implores everyone he touches to march forth; life will, and should, go on without him.  It’s nothing short of eerie then when this day ultimately marks his passing.

This has me thinking March 4^th should be a power day, the reminder we need to pause for a moment, consider how we’re moving forward with our lives, refuel and recalibrate if needed, and bask in our progress.  Maybe you’ve disappointed yourself, abandoning your New Year’s resolutions sooner than expected?  Maybe this relentless winter has left you listless, stripped of your inner drive? Maybe you’re feeling like a spectator on the sidelines while everyone else around you appears to be putting one foot in front of the other?

I inventory my advancement since opening 2014 with the decision to find ways to put myself in the hands of another:  I mail my sketchbook to the Brooklyn Art Library in January; my art will be in the hands of many (I hope) as the cross-country tour kicks off in New York in ten short days (tour dates and locations here). I start a hot yoga practice, putting myself in the hands of the instructor, tuning out all distraction as I execute her commands, healing both my body and mind in ways I didn’t think possible.  

I hadn’t considered myself an option for this exercise, and so the real surprise comes when I notice I’m confidently putting myself in my own hands.

 

Sure, I’ve been running my life quite successfully for quite some time now.  I’ve made career choices, parenting choices, relationship choices.  But I can’t say I’ve believed up until recently that I own all of these choices outright, that I can make them independent of the opinions or feelings of others, that I will not sabotage myself choosing what I think another wants me to do over what I know in my heart is best for me, and most importantly, that I will not abdicate my power with the mistaken belief my fate must hinge on the choice of another.

This becomes crystal clear for me in matters of the heart.  The radio talk show host asks women to dial in with their stories of forcing a man’s hand in marriage.  Caller after caller tells her tale of frustration and misery over her boyfriend’s hesitation to commit until finally both the host and I blurt out in unison, “Didn’t any of you ever think you could make the choice to walk away?”

But we don’t.  We wait and we wish things were different.  We worry we’ve invested too much to abandon this.  We worry we’re not getting any younger.  And what will our parents think?  What will our friends think?  We don’t ever for one minute trust that there will be a right time and a right place when the right person stands in front of us ready to march forth.

 

We always have choices.  Sometimes we make ourselves blind to them because we’re afraid of the uncertainty they bring.  And so it’s easier to stay put, convincing ourselves we are powerless, turning over the choice to someone else, readying ourselves to react to whatever gets decided.

I’m not saying it’s easy. What I’m saying is that instead of taking ourselves out of the equation, the powerful move is to assess the situation, recognize the choices that belong to us, weigh the opportunities and risks, and be deliberate and decisive about what we do next.

Our children only run our lives if we let them.  Our bosses only dictate our next assignment if we don’t ask for the one we want.  That guy who can’t answer your question about whether he wants to marry you only holds you hostage if you choose to wait on him.

What are you doing to march forth?

Suss

As a girl, my most vivid memory of clothes shopping with my mother is of her holding up something beautiful draped over a hanger only to place it right back on the rack.  This was pretty standard behavior for her, and when I asked why she put it down, her answer was always the same. “Not today, I’ll come back another time.”

Am I a slave to fashion?  No.  But I carefully curate my wardrobe, rarely exhibiting the same control my mother did, hardly hesitating when I see something I like.  And I’m drawn to the beautiful sketches fashion designers create to illustrate their ideas as they bring them to life. So when this infographic depicting dresses worn by every best actress winner in attendance at the Academy Awards the evening she receives her statue makes an appearance in my Twitter feed, I study intently.

Although not an Oscar contender for this particular part, Kate Winslet’s character in “The Holiday” is emboldened by the discovery her perpetual unhappiness stems from the fact she’s never had more than a supporting role in the story of her own life.  She’s put the wants and needs of others first, her own desires on the backburner.  Now it’s time to step up and be the leading lady.

And so I ask the question, are you the leading lady in your life?

It’s easy to cast yourself in a supporting role.  Subordinate has been the default position for women since the beginning of time. While the world is far more accepting today than ever, many of us still hold ourselves back, finding it difficult to break our own glass ceilings; to silence those voices inside our heads saying we’re not giving unless we’re denying ourselves, the voices saying we should place our desires on hold while we support others in pursuit of their own.

 

A writer for Psychology Today says it best here. When we don’t take charge of our own happiness, we inevitably look to others in our lives to make us happy.  We put an unbelievably huge burden on those who love us.  It’s a task they can’t possibly complete to our satisfaction.  We may think we’re doing everyone around us a favor by sacrificing ourselves, but if we’re unhappy and unfulfilled in doing so, everyone else is unhappy, too.

If you’ve been doing for others for what seems like forever, you may not even allow yourself to give this much thought, but it’s never too late to start.  There’s no time like the present to figure out what direction you’d like to take the pursuit of your happiness.

It’s actually a gift to others to own this part of ourselves; to create space to follow our dreams; to occasionally take a dress off the rack and bring it home. The best conversations, whether we’re recounting our own stories or listening to another’s, are those we share with a loved one positively gleaming in pride, awe and satisfaction as we witness the power we possess to make our own happiness.