Caterwauling

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I re-read Peter Drucker’s “Managing Oneself” this week. Although it’s merely a 10-page article from the Harvard Business Review, I always get something new out of it.

This time, it’s to realize that I learn by writing.

I suppose I always knew that. (Hence a decade of blogging and 20-odd years of writing in a journal.) But it makes sense to me that I had more trouble than usual at the Ghost of Employment Past, when the only things I was really writing were meeting notes, documentation for employees’ files, and status updates. When it came to what we really did — the important stuff — I regret to say I don’t know it as well as I could have.

Nine months in or not, I should be ready to teach college-level courses. And I am sure I could do a basic community-college-level introduction and perhaps an offshoot workshop. But I feel like I failed to show my intellectual prowess, and it’s because I failed to respect how I learn and process.

I often tried to sneak in reading and writing time. To read a snoozy book chapter and pull out a notebook and re-write it in Goddess terms.

Beethoven did that, according to the article. He took copious notes in a sketchbook but never actually read them again. By the mere exercise of writing, he memorized what he needed to retain.

While I’d never classify myself with him, by any means, I guess I always thought I learned by reading. However, in the great Internet age, I am so goddamn sick of straining my eyes that I have given away most of my books. I may donate even more to tonight’s beach bonfire. 🙂

The bigger lesson — how we learn, and therefore how we perform, changes. It all goes back to my cake-and-cookie-cutter analogy. The shape of the cookie cutter never changes. But the cake has its own consistency and edges that a traditional cookie will never develop.

And said cake has every right to rise however it deems fit. Frankly, it depends on the oven. My mom has used the same damn recipes in a dozen kitchens. And while the cook and the formulas haven’t changed, it’s always a coin toss as to whether the dish will cook all the way through or whether the bread will rise evenly or simply cave in during the baking process. (We have a lot of “ugly banana bread” around here. Damn electric stove. Although when I took some into work, everyone said they loved it!)

Where was I? Damn food tangents!

Today I was reading Penelope Trunk’s thoughts on how to “Match Jobs to Personality to Avoid Anxiety.”

Her take on finding a family dog fit for her new life on a farm resonated with me:

“The farmer points out that all dog breeds are meant for a job. Retrievers retrieve, Basset Hounds sniff, Pitbulls protect. The farmer says you have to let the dog do its job or it will not be happy. …

“The problem that people have, which dogs don’t, is that people judge certain jobs as ‘good’ and others as ‘bad,’ and often the result is a person refuses to see what is really right for them.”

All right, class. Go back through your copy of “Managing Oneself,” turn to the part about taking responsibility for communication. And what a disaster it can be if relationships aren’t managed properly.

Think about it — you go from working with someone who prefers communication in writing, to a place where people prefer to learn by listening, and you’re going to want to cut off your ponytail and hang yourself with it if you possess the learning-by-reading/writing gene.

It’s downright painful to learn to communicate in meetings — where you have to think and talk on the spot — when you are WAY more impressive on paper. I do NOT talk off the cuff. I ALWAYS say something I shouldn’t. Or the big idea or witty comeback doesn’t occur to me until after the hour or two of torture has drawn to a close and I can gulp down a cup of coffee to clear my addled brain.

The listeners/talkers of the crowd perceive you to be slow, to not being on their page, to perhaps withholding information that you need time to process.

I remember having a conversation with someone and then someone else following up with me instantly, firing off questions my brain simply wasn’t in gear to answer. What the asker failed to comprehend was that I needed to pull out my notebook, to jot down some statements and try to fit them into the bigger picture of both the person and the projects they were working on.

The next day, I felt it was important to share a factoid that I hadn’t deemed important the prior day. The value of the information changed, and I felt like I was doing everyone a disservice by leaving that sentence in a notebook that only I will read.

That was a real easy way to get called a “liar.” Which, I will always disagree with. As I said, the value of the information changed, and frankly, I was quite honest that I wasn’t done processing the information when I was first asked to share it.

In other words, I am happy to help anyone in their quest to bring the best out of me. But calling me a liar (or insinuating it) brings up the memory of when the female boss with the bushy mustache (that could hold a cigarette hands-free) told me I was a “disappointment.”

Anyway, so here I am now learning through writing. And drawing the parallels that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. Frankly, I’d forgotten about Mrs. Mustache (circa 2004) until now. But I remember that was the day I decided I was done with her. There’s the point where I will keep smiling and fighting, and then there’s the point where I will close my eyes, ears and heart and simply stop acknowledging someone.

I’m not saying I was planning to be so petulant the second time around. I still had hope that adults could be adults and we could all learn from each other. And I still do, frankly, especially now that I’ve seen that our learning styles aren’t set in stone just because that’s what once worked for us.

Now that we’ve removed the stimulants of college (I’m thinking Mountain Dew and Marlboros, but insert your drug of choice), speed-reading isn’t going to get us through the exam. I don’t remember shit about biology and medieval literature; nor do I plan to refresh my memory. But I do have my way of immersing myself in information so as to not only remember it, but to use it as effectively as possible.

This is why memory is selective. And how sad is it that I only remember the vice president to whom I reported as looking like Janet Reno with a mustache and having a propensity to ruin my day … and not for anything effective she might have done in her 40-year career.

Sadder still that I may only remember that last conversation or, worse, that the other party will be left with that memory as well. Especially when there was a common ground and neither one of us had a foot on it.

Honky Tonk Heroes

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I just so happened to have a free movie ticket that expires Friday, so I went to see “Country Strong” today.

I’m SO moving to Nashville!

The movie was shot there, and when Lady L and I were there back in November (we went to the Grand Ole Opry. *swoon*), she said she’d never seen me so at-home.

And while I couldn’t survive in a land-locked state, I am definitely a fan of taking an extended vacation in the birthplace of bluegrass.

Anyway, the movie. Love and swoon. I was never Team Gwyneth, but I daresay she’s a better singer than actress. Perhaps marrying a musician was a good thing for her. I haven’t been able to stand Coldplay since “Yellow” was Beaten. To. Death. on mainstream radio. But clearly it’s benefiting her career, so good for her.

Since my own chances of marrying a musician and becoming a country singer are zero, I’m happy just being a Honky-Tonk Woman with a guitar that I can’t begin to figure out how to play. 🙂

My takeaway from the movie wasn’t anything the characters said or did. It’s the fact that I could have written that movie. OK, not that PARTICULAR one. But Lord, I have so many stories and chapters and wannabe screenplays sitting in boxes in my living room. That damn song “Give in to Me” is just a remix of a song I wrote when I was 16 called “Come to Me.”

It irks the fuck out of me that I’ve been busting my ass in the workforce since age 16 when all I had to do was sell a stupid song to a stupid studio to end up in a stupid movie and it would make me stupid-rich. 🙂

I don’t fully believe that you can follow your dreams. I think you can chase them, sure. But if you find me someone who does what they absolutely love, you’ll also be showing me someone who probably had to give up something like money or relationships or rearing a child. And while I don’t want to sell my soul for money, well, the landlady doesn’t give a shit that I’m quite happy scribbling in a sketchbook.

I guess I just wish I could sell one of my book ideas (and, oh, write the damn thing) and buy myself some more time to coast … to only take on project work … to go on tour to promote my book and see various cities and countries … and get inspired to write the next one. You know, whenever the mood hits.

I had one of those soul-selling interviews yesterday. One where I’d rather pull off my toenails with a set of pliers than say yes to that deal with the devil. And it pains me to think that it *has* to be that way, where I am mentally writing the resignation letter before the thank-you card for the conversation!

Of course, I had a better conversation with someone else today and I am feeling much better about the universe. But yeah, I took a risk and decided I didn’t want to be boxed into a cookie-cutter role. And said so. In no uncertain terms. And I would do the Snoopy dance if they end up taking me seriously.

Because while no role is perfect straight out of the box, why can’t I craft my perfect job? How do you expect anyone to think outside the proverbial box if you try to stuff them into one before they’re even on the payroll?

I’m actually kind of excited about the possibilities. It sure beats panicking, I guess. And maybe, just maybe, I can spend a little less time spinning my wheels and instead go from zero to 60 in point-five seconds like I’m more-than-capable of doing if I’m not falling in a pothole before I drive out of the lot for the very first time.

Failing that, I’ll head to Nashville and try to peddle my songs to washed-up artists and help them to stage their comeback. Maybe it will lead to mine. …

I was talking with a couple of friends in high places today, about my next move. They want to know what it is *I* want to do when I grow up.

And this gives me pause. Because I’ve always done what others wanted. Not well, in some cases, which can be attributed as such:

* 33% to not being totally on board with what they wanted.
* 33% to not knowing what they wanted.
* 34% to THEM not knowing what they wanted.

In any case, I was emptying out some boxes the other day when I ran across a copy of Peter Drucker’s “Managing Oneself.” I used to read and distribute it to my staff every couple of years. I need to make some time to read it this week, actually. To freshen up.

I had one of those epiphanies tonight. That even though any organizational failure must be placed right at the top — not of a department or a division, but right at the apex of the whole operation — that ain’t the yahoo looking up recipes for how to make government cheese delicious when the fit hits the shan.

Nay, the finger-wagging should be pointed squarely at ourselves when things go kaput. Even though the success of an organization is almost fully determined by the icing on and the filling in the cake, so to speak, it’s the cake itself that holds it all together.

You can certainly tell me, “You are what you eat, then,” and I wouldn’t disagree. I just wish I did such a good job of BEING cake as I am at CONSUMING MASS QUANTITIES of it!

I realized all of this as I was perusing the latest copy of Better Homes & Gardens as I waited for Mom at a dental appointment this afternoon. I’m taking her to the DMV (again. Fourth time’s a charm. Le sigh) tomorrow and there’s an all-day appointment Thursday out in the middle of bumfuck Floriduh.

Now, I’ve stated it before and I meant it — that this work hiatus is fortuitous in its timing in that I can finally help her to get the health care she refused to get for herself. But … the longer I’m out of the market, the harder it is to get back in.

Like I told one of my beloved connections today in response to what I want to do: “I want to network, and to NOT work.” Since I was sharing the wealth about another available talent with someone else who was looking for talent that I wish I had (that he possesses).

How does one carve such a niche? Lord knows that’s self-management at its finest. How can you expect any type of leader, even with the most experience in the world, to figure out how that fits into their strategic goals, and how to leverage it so that everybody’s happy?

I have a friend who is the queen of the field. She knows EVERYONE. She’s the first one I call when I get into my car in the morning (or evening. Depending!). We dish about opportunities and how to match up people to them. We discuss our zany ideas and giggle a bit at those who have none (or, worse, bad ones). We roll our eyes at the state of politics (we’re Washington girls, and always will be) and imagine a world where we’re in charge.

And I have never met two people who know exactly who they are, what they are good at, and how to make the world a better place. We’d give you the shirt off our backs, a spot on our couches and as many hugs as you need to erase whatever injustice the world has done to you lately. We are the firefighters, the hostage negotiators, the psychologists and the welcome wagons.

That, unfortunately, is all volunteer work.

She’s done a magnificent job translating it into a career. But I haven’t quite achieved the princess level to her queen. Yet that’s OK. Because she’s the first one to stop everything she’s doing to be all of those aforementioned things, and so much more, to me.

In any case, cake. We are the cake. We are the substance, the flavor, the sponge … the whole experience. The whole thing caves in without us. And we’re not out of some crappy box — oh, no. We come from a boutique bakery. We cost more but you won’t be able to go back to Duncan Hines or Betty Crocker after us.

We’re sweet and moist and sumptuous, and even though a lot of people prefer the icing, icing ain’t worth a damn without us.

Where the hell was I going? Tangents, Goddess. Jeez.

Well, let’s wrap up the sweet-tooth angle. You don’t cut cake with a cookie-cutter. It just doesn’t work. And to try to find the next cookie cutter is just wrong. For what, to cut off the edges that nobody else has? To become just another stale hunk of crap in a display case in some supermarket in some podunk town? Oh hells no.

I don’t know what the hell I should be doing right now. But if insanity is defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome than the last five times around, well, let’s find a straitjacket that fits my pudgy pork roast butt if I lather, rinse and repeat AGAIN.

I’ve said it before, I can manage others just fine. Subordinates, if not superiors. But when is there time left over to manage myself? Never. Except now. Lord give me strength, then, because it’s time for a crash course before I crash and burn the next time around otherwise.

When I started attending church a few years ago, I couldn’t wait to return to my blog and contemplate what I had just learned.

It’s not that I agreed with most — or any — of what I had heard. But I needed to process and reflect. Because while I don’t have a lot of strong opinions in life, the ones I possess are always informed.

John Maxwell is pastoring today at my church. He shared a quote to the effect of what I just typed — “Learn to pause or nothing worthwhile will catch up to you.” (Doug King)

And in the busyness of life, I’m grateful for the opportunity to pause. And this phase of the blog will pass, too. I look forward to recording fun things again. But for right now, I have to let the past catch up with me so that I can take only the best into my future.

John said that, for him, 2011 is a time of planting and not of harvesting. I think I can safely say the same here. 🙂 The past year was my harvest. I was growing weed (metaphorically!) but it was nice to be high on life (pun intended) for the brief period I was allowed.

For me, there’s a lot of re-planting going on. Of looking at the crops I once successfully grew and choosing which of those would bring me the best bounty and the most joy. And of surveying the crops I always wanted to try my hand at. No time like the present to learn, eh?

John analyzes each calendar year and comes up with what he learned. And for 2010, he said he learned that:

1. Reflection turns experience into insights.
2. Adversity allows for intimacy.

I’m grateful for the mental catalog I’ve put together over the years. And while it seems I’ve spent more years planting (‘ho-ing?) than harvesting, it keeps up my spirits that next year will yield the products of whatever I plant now.

And going into his second point, I do get more intimate when the fan is spinning shit all around the room. I was reading my blog last night and trying to do so from the perspective of all the new readers I keep seeing on my IP tracker. (Welcome! *waves*)

No doubt, my personal writings are just giving folks more fodder for whatever opinion they already had of me, whether good or bad. And a part of me wants to take everything down and pretend everything is just peachy. But another part of me is defensive about my experiences and the way they’ve impacted me. Or, in some ways, how they haven’t.

In other words, I’m perfectly fine. I am spiritually healthy. I would not BE that way if I didn’t reflect at (sometimes exhaustive) length.

I realize I lost sight of one of my goals in the past year, which was weight loss. I remember going back to Weight Watchers and telling someone that I had lost three pounds my first week. Their reaction was essentially, “Well, things are about to get nuts, so prepare to forget about that.”

And I regret to say that I did put healthy eating on the back burner. I was OK with it at the time — there was new and exciting stuff coming up. But what the hell was wrong with me that I couldn’t handle both? That should never have been planted in my head, that one could not exist without the other. Rather, I never should have been OK with that suggestion in the first place. I should have fought to have it all.

Oh well. Hindsight. Visiting the past is pretty pointless when it truly has nothing new to offer.

In any case, here I am *not* reaping the rewards of seeds I lost passion about planting. Silly Goddess. It astounds me how much I know at this age and yet how little I implement any of it.

My friend Lady L gave me a bunch of lush plants when she headed north a few months ago. They are all looking very sad without their Momma. Looking back at this journal entry makes me want to head to Home Depot so I can replant them. What worked in her apartment clearly isn’t in mine.

Similarly, even if I don’t replant myself in another part of the country, a change of soil will do me good. No sense planting all these new seeds in a fallow field. I don’t know what this will mean, exactly, but I’m sure I will share it in intimate detail when I figure it out!

Hemingway House garden

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I love this little spot in Key West right beside the Hemingway House. I always figured that when I get married, it should be at the Chapel by the Sea in West Palm Beach. But this is nice too. Being surrounded by three dozen six-toed cats at the southernmost garden altar in the country wouldn’t be a bad alternative. 🙂

I didn’t want to blog about my unplanned job search here, but I can say officially that I’m going to be freelancing. The pay sucks to start. But for the first time in, oh, three years now, I’m REALLY excited about it. I can dust off my brain and use it again. Yay!

Moreover, the only person responsible for charting my growth and progress is yours truly. The only mood swings, weight fluctuations and/or access to barbituates my future is dependent upon are mine.

And it has come up again and again, “So when are you going to do your own newsletter?”

I took a hiatus from the markets to become, oddly, a marketer. So I’m kind of out of touch with domestic assets. But I’ve been glued to MSNBC for a week. (When my mother doesn’t steal the remote and switch the channel to Kathie Lee and Hoda. Barf and sigh.) And it’s just like when I check in on “Young and the Restless” — same characters that have been on there since I was in college … same lack of a plot … just a few more marriages and divorces and kids but overall you can pick up the story pretty quickly.

Anyway, the freelance life. I’m not worried (yet) about my own financial future. Sure I can deplete my wee slush fund pretty easily between chauffeuring my mom all over town for appointments that I have to pay cash for, not to mention life’s little essentials. (Like new clothes. lulz) And maybe some health care for me since I will jump off my balcony if I don’t have access to anti-anxiety meds. (Which I’m taking every two days now. Fucking fuckers fuck fuck FUCK.)

What I’m hoping is that my freelance gigs can become super-lucrative so that I can tell The Man to fuck off for the long run, or else I get a full-time job that doesn’t injure my brain and I can keep up the assignments on the side.

What would be ideal is to do a split shift at a full-time job, so I can spend two or three hours on the freelance and not have to drag my ass home after a long day at the office and THEN have to start my other assignments. I know me. I never did my homework in college and I certainly don’t do it as an adult. When I go home, seriously, fuck the world. Facebook, blog reading and bedtime. Anything else is just a nuisance.

And I never want to be in this position again, of wondering where the money will come from. Multiple streams of income, people. Learn it, live it and learn to love it. I’m lucky not to have kids so that I can do it all, even though I’ve always used the excuse of having Mom underfoot as a reason why I couldn’t.

The few months I was able to pay for two apartments — and ask me how much I want THAT five grand back right now — I was SO productive at home. I had an office with its own bathroom. I worked many late nights in there. It was for the full-time gig at the time, but it was so nice to leave the dark, depressing, roach- and ant-filled office and have a view of the ocean to inspire me while I monitored online classrooms and edited their crappy copy.

This apartment is big but it’s too small for the two of us. And she ain’t going anywhere, let’s face it. I need separate floors if I want to get any freelance work done. Shit, I need separate states. I can’t even blog without 65 interruptions and then I get a “You’re so mean!” when I finally snap and ask her to let me write already.

I’ve been thinking about getting her set up here and then moving to another state for a job. I don’t want to leave Florida but I may have no choice with one of the things I’m pursuing.

Just what I need — another move. Oy.

But if I could get her a shanty down here and get myself a studio loft somewhere else, I’d have Florida to come back to whenever I want it.

I just wish she were independent, you know? That she wouldn’t be sitting in the house six months between visits, waiting for me to take her to Publix or Wallyworld. Even when she lived downstairs, she sat there with no A/C running even though it was hot as balls, so I wouldn’t have to pay for utilities. Which, while well-intentioned, was just stoopid.

I don’t know. I’m really doing the “Let Go and Let God” thing here. Which can probably also be referred to as laziness or denial. But I’m so NOT unhappy about my unintentional freedom. I just want to try to enjoy it as much as I can (although having all this time to shop and try new restaurants SUCKS when the financial kitty is hemorrhaging without it).

I was talking to a new friend not too long ago. She said that I was going to come out on top … even higher than I ever was. And anyone would be a fool NOT to place their bets on me.

I guess that means I’ll turn out OK. If enough people believe it, it has to be true, right?

As one of my boys just told me, stay tuned. My five-year plan may not unfold exactly as I expected, but that’s not to say it won’t work out eventually. I never did plan the near-term. But if that’s what gets me to the paradise I seek, I’m willing to give up temporary wants for the happily ever after I can’t live without. …

While my tenure with three Machiavellian companies in my career did more long-term damage to me than good, it makes me examine what motivates me.

Right now, it’s money. Give me something, anything that pays. But when I’ve gotten some stability, it will be more of a “nice to have” as opposed to “I will work my ass off to get to X dollars a year.”

I think my main motivators, paying the rent aside, boil down to:

1. Recognition
2. Recognition
3. Recognition

I was going to put “success” and “fear” on that list. But when I think about the best employment situations of my life, success was really only defined by promotions (new title for the resume, yo!) and pat-on-the-back e-mails that came out of the bloody blue.

My favorite leader was Dave. Everybody knows that. Nobody can/will hold a candle to him. And it is Dave whom I seek in everyone I talk to these days — will they know how to handle me the way he did? Will they know when to give me boundaries and when to break down barriers so I can run through them?

What really defined my respect and awe of Dave boiled down to this: I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me.

That’s it.

That is the secret of my success right there — that I never, ever wanted someone to tell Dave that I did something out-of-line or wrong or simply less than perfect.

Dave was a man of few words. But he was a man of action.

For example, we launched a Web portal together. That thing was a bitch and even though it was fully a team effort, I lost a LOT of sleep and free time over that thing … both before it launched and afterward when it needed to be maintained and improved.

Out of his own pocket, Dave arranged a ceremony honoring me and the other two key players. He gave us each a bottle of fine wine from his personal collection, and an amazing display of flowers apiece. He said a few words and made sure that the “swinging dicks” of the company knew exactly who had taken the reins of the Next Big Thing.

That was just him, though. A couple years later, when I no longer worked for him (and I could never truly forgive the company for forcing me to make that decision, although HE encouraged it because it truly was in MY best interest to move on), he funded a holiday party for his department when the company was too broke to do anything for the rest of us.

He invited me to join them, and I know there is a blog archive of it somewhere, because I was always to be part of his work family. I remember crying on my own time, thinking how lucky I had been to have had nearly three years of being his direct report.

I also knew that the best homage to him was to become as much like him as I could. And anybody who doesn’t like my style is insulting him. And that’s worth an ass-whoopin’ right there because that man walks on water as far as I’m concerned.

Sure, we do have our differences. I’m more of a hands-on manager than he was. I front-load a lot more in the way of information, training and support. But his “love note after the fact” approach worked for me. Sure, I got the occasional, “You published THAT?” but for the most part, if I went to him with, “Here’s what’s wrong and here’s how I’m gonna fix it,” 9 times out of 10 I got a heartfelt. “Great. Thanks!”

But that’s the point — I never whined or complained to him or about him. I got his style, he got mine and we figured out how to be on the same side and reach the same goals. Sure, I wanted to clock him some days. But even when I did, I had his back. I think it just made me try harder to make my point when I didn’t get my way. 🙂

This entry is also inspired by BusinessWeek, this time for its writeup on Managing the Idea Monkey.

There are two takeaways from that article:

1. “A scared monkey is an unproductive monkey.”

2. “Bored monkeys are not only unhappy monkeys but also potentially destructive ones.”

I’ve been plenty scared and bored throughout my career. I was neither with Dave. I would likely still be in that position today had it not changed so dramatically and my heart been so downright broken by it all.

Or maybe not. Maybe it took being scared out of my everloving mind at the Den of Iniquity and bored to pieces otherwise to make me long to go back to the ridiculous hours and not-commensurate-enough pay.

But what I’ve lacked since then is passion. Passion for the team, passion for the mission, passion for the content and the leaders and the sustainability of the product line. I’ve had enthusiasm. Hell, I’ve had devotion when it comes to some of the people who surround me. But holistically, no. I’m sad to say not so much. Initially, yes. But it fizzles. Perhaps it always does.

Once again, I should be looking for work today. 🙂 But alas, I need to be sure I’m healed and that my heart is ready. That’s how I am with personal relationships and that’s how I need to be with my life’s work. Because while jobs and men come and go, my passion is mine to give away. I’m not going to do it unless I’m getting something back for it. And really, is a little recognition that hard to give when you’re getting someone’s whole heart in return?

OK, so I should be job-hunting instead of catching up on my reading while I wait to take mom to a dental appointment that I spent two days on the phone trying to wrangle with a low-cost clinic. But I caught this BusinessWeek article on 12 Signs Arrogance is Running Your Company, and it gave me pause on those dozen points.

I won’t rehash the article. But I will say that the “Not Invented Here” syndrome is epidemic. Whether it’s a department or a division or even throughout a company, it’s amazing how my industry scoffs at what “everyone else” is doing. Yet we all steal from each other, ultimately. No one holds a patent on ideas; it’s just not a good idea if it comes out of, say, my mouth. But if someone else nearby makes it work, well, then that changes everything.

A couple of weeks ago, my beloved colleagues and I went to a Greek restaurant for lunch. The server was probably in her mid-50s. She told us about her son who studied here in the States for a degree in architecture. But he had to go back to Greece to join the army.

We all know how bad things are in Greece. Well, from 30,000 feet, we “know.” But the country is poor and getting poorer. Nobody’s working. Incomes are at rock-bottom. Ireland’s “Celtic Tiger” is going to look like a cakewalk in comparison to what’s unfolding over there.

Our server said that she worked so hard her whole life, to put her son through school. And she’s still working her fingers to the bone because neither one of them has gotten anywhere.

What she said, though, will stick with me for life. “I wasted my ‘pretty years.'”

She was beautiful, I think. She had to be a real stunner in her day. Gorgeous milky-white skin and pale blue eyes in striking contrast to her dark hair. She was sweet and courteous and sounded like she was singing an aria as she conversed with my friend who’s also fluent in Greek.

I was texting with a friend this morning who is on the lookout for her next opportunity, too. And I passed that phrase along, that these are our own pretty years. And anyone who does anything to age us even faster than Mother Nature intended has no place in our lives.

I read another article that I’m too lazy to find right now, that unemployment doesn’t mean people lose their “oomph.” (I’m sure it was also in BusinessWeek.) I think that’s true. I think we lose our oomph long before the pink slip arrives. The challenge is to get it back before you get a pitchfork to your ass as you’re being steered toward the door. Of course, for me, the real challenge is to not run out of money before the next job appears. I’ll generate oomph on command then. 😉

Stay pretty, my friends. Exhaustion, frustration and disappointment are reversible. Frown lines — ex-Botox, and even that is only temporary — are with you forever. And frankly, I’d like to live a long and healthy life, and being happy is the only way I’m going to see that wish come true.

One of those articles that I will kick myself if I don’t bookmark. The checklist for leaders in effectively balancing caring and candor is worth the read alone.

John Maxwell: “Balancing Care With Candor”

My only issue with the article is that it doesn’t (and probably just can’t) address the “leaders” who THINK they care. Yet anyone with a functioning frontal lobe can see straight through it.

You can’t fake caring. I’ll admit I sometimes have problems with candor when it’s needed. But I’ve always found that when I genuinely care about the person and/or their progress, it’s actually pretty easy to have the tough conversations.

Leadership neither has to be a disaster nor a challenge to dread. For me, frankly, it’s the easiest part of the job. Even with the toughest nuts, all it takes is a consistent track record of their leader being right to convince them that they can either get on the bus or get out of the way.

For me, it’s a leader either being consistently wrong, or otherwise being difficult when difficult is not called for, that makes me jump out of the way and start my own route.

My career has been nothing short of a “Revenge of the Nerds” sequence. I never WANTED to be in the Alpha Beta or the Pi Delta Pi groups. I despise “authority” and I loathe assholes who think they DESERVE to be on top because of who they think they are … what some title or credential says they are. Give me my membership in the Tri-Lambs any day. Let me take the reins of the “outer circle” and let us collectively outshine everybody we encounter.

As John Maxwell said in his article, “Candor without care creates distant relationships.” Which explains why, in nearly every job I’ve had, I’ve defected from the inner circle voluntarily. I got chastised for the time I spent nurturing my staff at one job; I got scolded regularly for befriending the staff (NOT my direct reports, mind you) at another job.

I get that it’s lonely at the top. But I stay in line when I’m feeling happy, nurtured and supported. But there’s also a certain amount of give-and-take when it comes to gaining your staff’s trust. I do believe it’s possible to hold the party line while giving them insight into what makes you personally tick. In fact, I don’t trust any of my leaders until they share with me a frustration with the status quo or a battle they can’t seem to win but keep fighting anyway because they believe in it.

The problem with any organization is that there are people either trying to stay in, or enter, the inner circle. And that means giving up some information to the highest of the high court that betrays someone else. And consistently, save my time at Ye Olde Employment Establishment, that information (true or exaggerated or downright fictional) is treated as valuable.

In other words, and I’m looking at the Den of Iniquity on this one, information is power. Even if it’s completely false. Because it indicates loyalty to the company. And I’m all for being loyal to the company. But you can still be loyal to the company and the management and still be puzzled by their policies and behavior. It’s OK to question things. This isn’t 1940s Germany, for fuck’s sake.

Anyway, my good friend and mentor gave me some wonderful perspective last night. True leadership is about the transfer of skills and knowledge. Some leaders (I believe we call them “managers”) manage from 30,000 feet. They don’t get involved. They are, at best, a coach on the sidelines.

There is a use for this. When I’ve supervised graphic designers and programmers and other people whose work boggles my mind, I’m the one who says, “Your show. I’m the executive producer. You tell me what you recommend.”

But when I’ve trained writers and editors — note the word “trained” here — I’m more of a quarterback, my friend said. I get on the field and show people where to run the ball. I know good copy and I know it so well that it goes against my principles to NOT show someone what can be done with it.

And that time investment nearly always pays off. Because while you can’t teach people how to think, you can certainly show them how YOU think.

I know I’m a good leader. While I still have lots to learn, I would match my skills against the best in the business at my age. Where I fall short is managing my managers. I don’t play games and I don’t want to rush their stupid fraternities or sororities. I tell people they’re being mean when they’re being mean.

I smile through a lot of shit but I will implode when it comes time to compromise my personal values. I champion the underdogs when I feel they deserve a chance.

I do not revere the “golden children” just because of their fortunate status. As a matter of fact, I think most golden children are just dicks who had better not get too egotistical about their temporary good fortune.

And that has consistently gotten me ousted from the inner circles of the world and, sadly, from the jobs themselves. But you know what? No matter how angrily I wake up (and today was one of those days), I fall asleep quite easily knowing that while the person in the mirror has a few more worry lines than before, she’s still a face I can look at and say, “Well, Self. Things may suck right now but I stayed true to you. We will sleep well tonight.”

And while I know plenty of managers who don’t deserve the good nights they enjoy, I do know that the real leaders of the bunch — at all levels of an organization — lose too much sleep over the gap between being authentic and being successful.

I think you can have both. I have yet to PROVE it, but I think authenticity is the only way to be a true success.

Best. Epitaph. Ever

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Bertha Roberts’ epitaph would be fitting on my own life. I made the mistake of revisiting the Ghost of Caterwauling Past. Many of the old entries are out of order, but the raw emotion is ripping my heart to shreds. Sick AND tired, I was … and remain.

The marathon-dating of years past doesn’t bother me. I’m rather proud that I seemed to have a new guy every two weeks. Go, me. 😉 But the hostile workplace I described, while never replicated to the exact detail, has cropped up again and again.

And I am so proud of myself for never believing what others said about me. Sure, I wonder why I fail to thrive in most environments. But it’s never for lack of trying. In fact, in every instance of “failure,” my heart had been stomped out of my chest cavity long before I hit the bricks.

I see the same complaints from back then cropping up now. And I consider the sources.

Rather than analyze and agonize to death, I’ll just say that I’m a square peg who keeps trying to shove her pudgy pork roast ass into round holes where it doesn’t belong.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my next career move. Sure, it’s contingent upon getting an offer. But while my former pastor is continually beating it into my head that I need to find “faith friends,” I finally said I have those … all over the world. It’s faith EMPLOYERS I need a better selection of.

I worked for a miserable pack of atheists for a brief time. And most of my paycheck-signers would have a roof collapse on them if they dared to enter a house of worship. In fact, the people who are helping me now are fellow God followers.

Sure, I am not the holiest of thou and will never claim to be. But there is something to be said for people who fear God and respect their fellow man. I mean, the real Christians. Not the hypocrites. We all know they are out there. 🙂

No, I’m talking about the faithful. Those who see the bigger picture. Those who don’t gossip behind everyone’s back and insult them to their faces. Those who WANT their employees to succeed … to not be threatened by their talents or their connections but rather to tap into their employees’ potential.

I have NEVER been threatened by an employee. And I have made it my practice to hire people smarter than me. You know why? Because I have a LOT to teach them. And I want them to come up to my level … so that I can go to my next one.

Of course, there’s always the risk (and reality) of hiring your replacement at half the price. Ask me how I like them apples.

But sour grapes aren’t in my fruit bowl. Because imagine the combined power of the willing to learn with the willing to TEACH.

Brian Houston at Hillsong Church in Australia had a GREAT quote that I can’t let go of: “Leader’s goal: Teach people how to COLLIDE with their purpose, rather than FALL on their feet, or CRASH in their failure!”

In other words, instead of setting people up for failure, leverage their strengths. Here’s the wonderful thing about ideas — there are always new ones. Why not get fresh blood into your circle, teach them all you know, and let them help you to attack the problems you’re charged with solving with their fresh eyes?

It works both ways, whether up the food chain or down. And it’s hard to be the one in the middle with dramatically different relationships in both directions.

I’m not saying everyone’s worth saving. They’re not. Sometimes you do have to part ways. But everyone deserves a fighting chance … NOT a fight every day of their lives.

Anyway, I say all of this to say that in my next boss (and it may just be myself), I want a man or woman of faith. Fuck it — a man of faith. My track record sucks with women anyway. And if I’m my own boss, I KNOW I’m in for a real bitch. 🙂

I don’t have to sit in the pew next to my future supervisor. But to have full faith and confidence that those I’m working so hard to support have MY back too (and not a bullseye, “Kick me” sign or a switchblade on it or in it) would be a genuine gift from God.