“Always be a first rate version of yourself and not a second rate version of someone else.” – Judy Garland
My brother and I like to talk about Wordle strategies. It seems to be our easy, go-to conversation. To be fair, my brother has all the strategies and I’m just a decent guesser.
His goal is to have more successes getting the word in three guesses than in four. I hadn’t thought of that particular challenge. So when I changed computers a while back, I had to relog in to the NY Times and it started my stats all over again. I thought this was a great chance to give his approach a try.
For a while my 3’s and 4’s were neck in neck. But then I realized, taking the time to be strategic about getting it in three was irritating me. I’d rather go faster and get it in four.
Taking the time to play Wordle is pleasureful, but taking time to think through all the possible combinations to land on the most likely was just unrealistic.
“Very often what people would accurately claim as what they DO isn’t where they want to GO.” – Dr. Vicki Atkinson
I wonder if Leonardo da Vinci would have had trouble creating a LinkedIn profile. Here’s how Wikipedia describes him: painter, draughtsman, engineer, scientist, theorist, sculptor, and architect.
We might not have a list as long as da Vinci’s but we’re all Renaissance people to a degree, right? People who pivot between roles and evolve to own different titles throughout life. Writers, moms or dads, professionals, leaders, caretakers, gardeners, woodworkers, advocates, seekers, athletes to name a few.
A few months ago I asked my dear friend, Dr. Vicki Atkinson, for some tips about updating my LinkedIn profile. And then I sat on her expert advice for two months because marketing one’s self seems so vulnerable.
When I sat down to actually follow her clear and helpful advice, it only took me about 90 minutes. So we podcasted about this effort to build profiles that honor all our facets.
Dr. Atkinson has so much good guidance on how to build a presence that reflects our many facets. Her professional experience as a career counselor, therapist, and educator comes shining through in this episode. We learn some great how-to’s in this episode.
I found updating my LinkedIn profile to be challenging. I have 30+ years in the technology industry and I’m unsure how to marry that with my writing and experience as an author.
So Vicki walks me through using headlines instead of titles. She provides a great tip about using tags to introduce some dynamism into our profile and ability to be found.
Dr. Atkinson talks me through the idea of integrity as it applies to building a profile that honors ALL of who we are. As we pivot from professional experiences, interests and passions, she coaches us to do the story-telling to paint a picture of our whole-hearted experience.
And finally, we talk about the use of images to compliment our presentation.
I’m confident you’ll learn a lot — and also love the scenic and beautiful places we explore as we share the power of storytelling in our profiles.
“There will never be an “us” if I play small.” – Sharon Preiss
Last Monday when Miss O, Mr. D, and I were getting ready for bike camp, nine-year-old Miss O was dragging her feet. She had a ton of “problems” that were blocking her: she couldn’t find shoes, Cooper the dog was in her way, her helmet was missing one unicorn ear, she didn’t remember the route we usually use to go down to the lake, yadda, yadda, yadda.
I turned to her and said, “You are being difficult.”
She replied, “I am.” And then added, “I wish I could tell you when you are being difficult too.”
To which I replied, “Please do. But I’d especially love to know when I’m being difficult when others are trying to be helpful and supportive or if it’s when you all are dragging your feet.”
I’ve been troubled by this conversation ever since. In fact, I’m finding it hard to write about. Here’s my best guess at why.
I think I’m starting to experience the generational BS that women in my family pass down. And it’s so ingrained and insidious, I’m not even doing it intentionally.
“You are being difficult.” It’s like code for saying that I expect her to fall in line and be agreeable. To be flexible and accommodating like a young woman.
To be fair, she was being difficult. It’s just that the word hits a note of a gender stereotype that I’ve tried to avoid my whole life. I had no intention of passing it on. Then it slipped out of my mouth.
I’m naturally pretty agreeable. But inheriting the expectations of how a woman should behave has kept me from speaking up when I needed to – both in pursuing my own interests and also when something is wrong. And it kept me playing small. Trying not to stand up or stand out has kept me quiet about what I know or am capable of doing. It’s made me intentionally dim my light so I’m not too much.
It’s taken me decades in leadership positions to figure out that I can be genial AND forthright. And when needed, it’s acceptable to be hard-headedly, certainly, yet kindly, difficult.
So, I’m officially okay with Miss O being difficult. While I prefer she not do it when we are heading out the door, it’s fine if she does that too. Because sometimes that is when we learn to flip the script.
“Everything will be alright in the end, and if it is not alright, it is not the end.” – The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
Months ago, when I signed Mr. D up for his very first summer camp (rock climbing, in case it matters), I assumed that it would start at the same time as Miss O’s. For his age group 3-5, the camp ends at noon. Miss O’s older group goes until 3pm. But certainly they’d start all the groups at 9am, right?
When I took a closer look before the camp started this week, I discovered Mr. D’s doesn’t start until 9:30am. When I realized that detail, I started inwardly groaning about the inconvenience.
But just briefly. Because in the last dozen years, I adopted a shift that has made an immense difference to my happiness. I started assuming that “it” is for the best. That whatever is irritating me is just an opportunity opening that I can’t yet see. Or that I may never totally understand because it’s above my pay grade.
This has a Biblical basis (Romans 8:28), and a Buddhist basis, but I don’t think it requires a particular spiritual tradition. It’s just an act of staying open to the possibility that there’s a perspective that I can’t yet see.
For anyone that is thinking this sounds Pollyana-ish, I get it. But this change came from the darkest days of my life when I was stuck in all the feelings of failure after my divorce and clueless about what I was going to do next.
It’s easier to do this for things like camp drop-offs. In this case, the payoff came almost instantly. Of course, it was beneficial to have Mr. D’s camp start a half hour later. He got to see his sister get dropped off, and then have some time warming up on his own.
It gets harder when the kids are sick and I have to cancel my hair appointment. Or the babysitter cancels and I can’t go out with my friends.
So, I practice with the small irritations – believing that it’ll be alright in the end. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” – Mary Anne Radmacher
A couple of days before Miss O had her field day at school, I mentioned it to her. Much to my surprise she groaned.
“Why that response?” I asked, thinking of past years where she loved all the silly games like the Mustache Dash where you run with a piece of licorice between your lip and nose, and the water balloon toss.
My almost nine-year-old daughter replied, “I don’t like it when I try my best and don’t win. It makes me feel like I’m a loser.”
Oh. All I could think to say in the moment was, “Well, the only way you have a chance of winning is to try.”
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how early we learn that it hurts not to win and the feeling of competition.
I think the trait that has served me the best is my willingness to try. So I find it fascinating to consider all the things that teach us not to try.
To be fair, parenting has also given me insight into the many things I’m not interested in trying. Weird foods, holding insects, and playing with slime come to mind. Even trying comes with some limits. Or wisdom. Whichever way you want to look at it.
Fortunately, the topic of field day came up the next day so I had another shot at handling it. Miss O brought up the topic of practicing. And I concurred that we don’t practice things like potato sack races on a regular enough basis to have any predictable chance that we’ll win.
“Nothing has a stronger influence on their children than the unlived lives of their parents.” – Carl Jung
The post was originally published on 5/10/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.
There’s a family joke that my mom is a CIA agent. Even now at 83-years- old, when we mention it, she just smiles and shrugs her shoulders, or says there is no point in denying it because we wouldn’t believe her.
As with most jokes, there is a kernel of truth in it. My very smart and capable mom graduated from college in the early 60’s with a degree in Far Eastern Studies and fluency in Russian. The CIA was actively recruiting from college campuses at the time and offered her a job. Her story is that she turned down the job because she met and married my father instead.
But over all the years since, she’s maintained her fluency in Russian, she went back to school when I was in college to get another degree in Russian language and literature, and she’s traveled there – when it was the Soviet Union in the 1970’s and later when it was Russia, many times. Would there be a more perfect cover for an agent than being a pastor’s wife?
It took me becoming a parent myself to understand how ridiculous this story, as fun as it is, really is. Not only because I finally understood that she didn’t have the time while raising three kids, of which I’m the youngest, but also because there is no way her heartstrings could have been in both places.
She made her choice. Instead of translating documents, she took on the work of translating the patter of baby talk into something intelligible. And then developing the sources into people who could talk the language properly.
She gave up a life of intrigue and instead instilled intriguing thoughts and ideas into her children’s lives.
Instead of secret meetings at night, she was called to hold our hair when we threw up and calm our fears when the bad dreams came.
She traded briefings about the state of affairs for parent-teacher conferences and traveling to sports events. And instead of establishing confidence in sources and colleagues, she choose to do the work of instilling confidence from the ground up in three young people.
Instead of fighting the bureaucracy at a government agency, she taught her kids that we had agency and were capable of fighting our own battles for what we believed in.
Instead of patiently nurturing a career that would challenge her brilliant mind and sense of adventure, she choose to nurture her patience with three young people who challenged her peace and equanimity.
Instead of running agents with their own backstories and motivations, she choose to help build a solid and stable backstory for us, fully present to launch our own motivations.
Instead of changing the world balance as a spy, she was the world for us.
My mom has never framed it as a sacrifice, but now that I see how much it takes to lose oneself to take care of others, I know that it was. I understand now that she had to make all these choices, from what might have been interesting and rewarding to her mind to hopefully what was interesting and rewarding to her heart.
She made her choices in life so that I could make the choices in mine.
“I have great respect for the past. If you don’t know where you’ve come from, you don’t know where you’re going.” – Maya Angelou
Riding bikes with my kids has given me a new appreciation for the learning process. That is to say, I’ve come to see “two steps forward, one step back,” in a more growth-minded way.
I bought eight-year-old Miss O a bigger bike (24 inch wheel) with gears. She hopped on and owned it. It was like she aged five years in that one move because it was bigger and sat her up higher.
As a result, four-your old Mr. D got her old bike, a medium sized bike (18 inch wheel). I moved the training wheels over from his small bike. But even with training wheels, he got a huge boost in confidence and speed from having a bigger sprocket.
We’ve spent the week riding everywhere and in all sorts of conditions. We’ve gone round the block so many times we must have worn a groove. Then one night we rode around our local little lake to get pizza. The next night we went up the hill to get pie. All the while, I’m riding behind Mr. D watching him wobble back and forth before he gains his balance, my fingers crossed that the training wheels will hold.
Then, we got the small bike out of the garage to pass on to another kid in the neighborhood. Mr. D hopped on his old bike, now without training wheels.
I held the back of the small bike for a moment. Before any of us could really think about it, Mr. D took off – riding the bike without training wheels. So, Miss O and I took turns running up and down the block a dozen times holding the seat for the start until Mr. D mastered that too.
All this has made me think of the rhythm of growth. Sometimes you have to go back a step to see how far you’ve gone.
It makes me think of the feeling I get when I go back to the town where I went to high school. With the swirl of old memories all around, it’s easier to see where I’ve grown.
Or when I dust off an old favorite recipe and discover how I’m better at trusting the timing.
Or when I hike a familiar trail and feel the burn of my muscles within the certainty that I can make the summit.
Or when I re-read something I wrote years ago and I can discern how it’s gotten easier to put my authentic self on the page.
Sometimes we have to go back to figure out how much we’ve learned.
“Write without pay until somebody offers to pay.” – Mark Twain
The was originally published on 5/3/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.
On a recent podcast, Dan Harris was telling a story about when he suggested to his wife, a physician who graduated top in her class from a prestigious medical school and has practiced at some of the best teaching hospitals, that she might suffer from Imposter’s Syndrome. His wife’s response made me laugh out loud. Dan said it was something like “It’s interesting that some other people felt like that but I really AM an imposter.”
This Ten Percent Happier podcast with Dr. Valerie Young, an expert on the syndrome for more than 40 years, is fascinating for their deep dive in Imposter Syndrome or “feeling like a fraud, despite evidence to the contrary.” She also noted that some areas are more susceptible to this kind of thinking and being creative is one of them. According to Dr. Young, “when you are in a creative field, you are only as good as your last book or your last performance.”
Or, to expand on the professor’s point — your last blog post. That really resonated with me. Here’s why I think that.
I didn’t go to school for it.
In my professional life, I’m an expert in Microsoft collaboration software – things like creating structure and process about where people put and find their files, and workflow (e.g. how do I submit something for approval?).
Does my electrical engineering degree have any bearing on that? No. Outside of some basic troubleshooting and thinking skills, there isn’t any relationship between my degree and what I do now. I could draw a similarly loose relationship between the writing classes and I took in college and writing now, but I wouldn’t ever call myself an expert because….
Writing has been around a long time.
Writing has been around for about 5,500 years. I’m pulling that number from this delightful Psychology Today article about The Evolution of the Written Word. It’s a lot easier to feel like I know a good deal about collaborative software even though it changes daily and I’m always have to look something up. But writing? Well, there’s been Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Garcia Marquez, Rushdie, and Hemingway and just typing that list makes me remember all that I don’t even know about the great writers, much less about writing.
No one pays me to write
For whatever I do and do not know about Microsoft software, I’ve been able to make a living out of a career providing consulting services around it. I’ve even published a couple of technical books, some of the least profitable parts of my career, which doesn’t bode well for me making a living from writing. But no one pays me to write, or at least not that I’ve managed to figure out yet, which makes me lack in the most basic form of transactional affirmation.
For some people, and I’m thinking of my colleague, Jack Canfora, who have made a go of writing as a career, the mantel of a writer seems to fit a lot better. Which affirms my inclination to think of myself as just a hobbyist.
And yet…
So why persist as a writer? Because writing feels more meaningful than any single consulting project I’ve ever done. Because writing requires me to dig deep and put myself out there is a way that is not required with computer consulting. Because writing about life creates a goodness in my experience that increases my enjoyment in life.
Here’s what I’ve concluded. Sure, sometimes (or a lot of times), I feel like an imposter as a writer and I know I’m not alone in that feeling. But every one who lives their authentic words out on paper can’t be an imposter to their experience. Any one who has hit the word “publish” has indeed created something. No one who uses words to create feelings in others and communicate should suffer from the distinction that others may have done it better. All who bleed, figuratively speaking, to put themselves out there should be proud of the effort.
What about you? Do you feel like you’ve suffered from Imposter Syndrome as a creative? What have you done to combat it?
“A man with outward courage dares to die, a man with inner courage dares to live.” – Lao Tzu
This was published previously on 3/22/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.
Before I left for three-hours the other day, I told my three-year-old son that his favorite babysitter was going to come hang out with him. Because he adores her, I was surprised at his answer and the vehemence with which it was said, “This is dumb. I don’t like her. No, you can’t go.”
It took me a second to realize that the last time I left him with her, it was for four days. I started to explain, “I’m just going to be gone for a few hours.”
He replied, “Mama, I’m scared.”
As soon as he said he was scared, his mood changed from angry to calm. It’s like it popped the bubble of fear so that we could move on.
I said, “Right. I can understand that. But I’m not going on a trip. I’ll be back by lunchtime.”
He said cheerily, “Kay. How bout this deal? I play with her and then we’ll have lunch.”
Deal.
“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”
George Adair
I think somehow I missed the memo about acknowledging fear. Growing up in a household with infectiously joyful and confident parents led me to assume they didn’t have any fears. So I’ve blustered through life without admitting my own.
One of the most ironic is that I have a fear of heights and yet I choose mountain climbing and rock climbing as hobbies and tried to just stampede over my fear. I remember a few years back doing a bouldering route at the climbing gym. These bouldering routes 12 -18 feet high and are climbed without ropes in a section of the gym padded with thick mats. I was on a wall that was angled out so I was climbing horizontally, my body almost parallel to the ground, couldn’t see what I was reaching for, and needed to shift my weight carefully to stay on the wall. I was in a position somewhat like I am in the photo below but I wasn’t smiling!
All of a sudden, I felt the full impact of my fear which amped up because I was five months pregnant at the time. I couldn’t move, my arms felt like they weighed two tons, I felt a heat flush all over my body. Then it passed, and I was 10 feet up, completely exhausted and wrung out. I managed to down climb a couple of feet and drop from there, landing on my feet and rolling tiredly onto my back.
I still climb – but not without acknowledging my fear before I get on the wall. It’s like saying “hello” on flat ground so I don’t have to greet it on trickier ground. I also didn’t climb again while I was pregnant. Regardless of all the assurances that babies in utero are fine being jostled, I realized it magnified my anxiety too exponentially.
This incident in concert with becoming more willing to be authentic and vulnerable have led me to understand that there is more room for courage once I let out my fear. That is to say, once I admit I’m afraid, it’s like a full exhale, after which I can take in a deep breath of courage.
“The perfect breath is this: Breathe in for about 5.5 seconds, then exhale for 5.5 seconds.”
James Nestor in Breathe
I bring up the perfect breath as described in James Nestor’s book Breathe because it has a spiritual connection. Nestor also notes that if we recite the Ava Maria or Om Mani Padme Om or the Sa Ta Ma Na (Kundalini Chant) – they all take about the same amount of time of 5.5 seconds.
That ties to the final element to expressing my fear that I’ve found to be at play – the spiritual connection. It isn’t until I own my vulnerability that I can receive help. Sometimes that’s from another person but more often it’s delivered in spiritual and mysterious ways. It’s the element I couldn’t see about my dad – that he didn’t seem to have any fears because he had so much faith.
“Our strength with continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak, and vulnerable.”
Melody Beattie
My lived experience resonates with Melody Beattie’s words. We can’t receive courage until we acknowledge that we need it because we’re afraid. Whether it’s taking on a bully, walking your authentic and individual path, risking to be vulnerable in a relationship, or any of the other million ways we need courage, I’ve found the relief comes much more quickly if we don’t muscle our way through but simply say, as my son did, “I’m scared.”
“Life doesn’t come with a manual. It comes with a mother.” – unknown
The other day, four-year-old Mr. D said to me, “Mama, you are the bestest in the whole entire moon.”
Sweet. And I don’t want to minimize that, but he said it to me after I gave him a cookie. I’m sure I can’t be the only person who has a complicated relationship with compliments, especially in families. Do they love us for who we are, the role we play, or what we do for them?
Do you feel that nugget of self-doubt in that last sentence? Me too. It reminds me of the few things I’ve been able to glean in the last fifty years about confidence and compliments.
There isn’t a compliment in the world that can overcome my inner resistance. This one is fraught for me as a parent. My kids frequently compliment me for being the “bestest” or a “good mom.” But, of course, I’m just a mom and I can’t get everything right. My biggest growth area is mindful eating – not eating in front of devices. For a number of reasons this is complicated and I’m getting it wrong more than right.
So I find myself circling back to my driving principles. My priorities are to help them be kind (including to themselves), safe, and healthy (body, mind, and spirit). And to be present and to love them. If I can aim for most of that, then I try to give myself some grace about the rest.
Compliments are best when I would have done the same thing with or without it.
I would have given Mr. D the cookie whether or not he gave me the compliment. It wasn’t conditional on him saying anything.
So, yes, it feels safe to say that this time I can believe I’m the bestest on the whole moon. After all, it’s only me and a probe that’s tipped sideways in the running. Not that I’m on the moon…. but you know what I mean.
(Mary from Awakening Wonders reminded me of the quote for this post)
Surprised By Joy 