Beverly Ryle

Respect Yourself

Bev — Thu, 10 May 2012 12:00:06 +0000

It was the beginning of rush hour, and the Green Line train was almost full, forcing us to stand. As soon as we boarded I grabbed the bar on the back of the seat nearest me and adjusted my stance to absorb the jerk which I knew would follow as soon as we started.

I noticed a man sitting in the aisle seat a few rows back, and two things about him immediately grabbed my attention. One, he was sitting with his back ramrod straight, and two, he was ex-military, wearing a black corduroy baseball cap embroidered in red and yellow letters that said “Marine Veteran” and a badge that read “Vietnam Veteran” above the pocket of his denim jacket.

His self-assurance was fascinating, yet I also found his eyes-front posture intimidating because of the oversize aviator sunglasses that hid half of his handsome face, making it impossible to read his expression. I aimed my gaze over his head and out the window and wondered what he’d experienced in that war that was more humiliating to those who fought in it than any other in America’s history, and how it had shaped him.

I dance around my living room to the Staples Singers’ hit song, “Respect Yourself.” There’s a line in it that says it all: “If you don’t respect yourself ain’t nobody gonna give a good cahoot—”

The badges he wore told me that he’d come out of it with a personal sense of pride and purpose. But what about his spirit? Was the stern expression on his face the result of habit, discipline or residual bitterness?

I got my answer when he stood up to get off at Prudential and my husband turned to me and joked, “Take the seat, Gramma.”

The Marine smiled and offered, “Don’t worry, in my neighborhood they call me O.G.—Old Guy.”

“What do they call the old ladies?” I asked.

He gave me a serious look. “Oh, we wouldn’t do anything like that. I grew up in Chicago. We have more respect than that.”

Respect was exactly what he exemplified, and all of us could learn from it. No matter how devastating a loss or humiliation has been, we can always, like this former Marine, find visible ways to demonstrate the respect we have for ourselves, even in defeat.

As the current economic downturn, combined with demise of jobs due to the workquake (a seismic change in the nature of work itself), continues, hardly a week goes by when I don’t hear of some corporate professional who has worked long and hard only to be let go a few years short of retirement.

Or I learn about someone whose career was flowing along beautifully until the dip, who was suddenly thrown out of work and is now at a loss as to what to do.

Or I watch a once highly paid expert turn herself inside out to take a job far beneath her abilities.

Or I see the owner of a retail business struggle in a losing battle to hang on to an identity he has had for twenty-five years.

I would like to tell these people that their personal best, their dedication and their service counted, just like it did for the Marine, and that the defeat they suffered was because of circumstances beyond their control.

If they can get that, really get it, perhaps they’ll begin not to take it so personally, and they’ll be able to stand tall and act boldly.

What might that look like?

Wear something on your person that symbolizes self-respect. I wear a bracelet made by Nepali women with the word “Namaste,” (“The spirit in me respects the spirit in you”) to remind me to make a conscious effort throughout the day to practice kindness to others and myself.

Dress with care, even if you’re not going anywhere. Use care with your physical appearance to help prop-up your self esteem. The ex-Marine I met on the T was wearing casual clothes, but his outfit was so carefully put together it had the dignity of a full dress uniform. There are days we all need the feeling of inner authority that comes from well-chosen apparel.

Get out of the house. Seek out people who have had similar challenges and are actively working on claiming back their lives. I don’t know how the Marine turned things around for himself, but I’m quite sure that sharing his experience with others was part of the mix (e.g., the Combat Paper project).

Be of service. Become part of something bigger than your own personal problems. Volunteer for a service organization whose mission you respect, take action on a political issue that affects the quality of life in your community, initiate a neighborhood cleanup project, visit a homebound elder or a sick friend. Nothing is better at giving you the glow of feeling good about yourself than using your time and talents for the benefit of someone else.

Tell the story of your own personal victories, even the small ones, to encourage people in your immediate circle, and then gradually, perhaps through social media or a blog, extend the reach of the positive reinforcement you have to offer to people beyond your immediate circle. One of my clients shares her adventure in transforming her professional life in a blog called All Fives.

If all else fails, there’s one more thing. I can’t imagine the ex-Marine doing this, but it never fails to work for me when I feel totally defeated by what life has thrown my way.

And that’s the truth!

Spring Cleaning

Bev — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 12:00:54 +0000

During the first week of spring, the temperature dipped into the twenties, the daffodils lay prostrate on the walk, and I devoted an entire day to cleaning out my files.

I usually purge them in January to get a fresh start on the year, but I had failed to do so, not only this past January, but also in January of 2011.

So it was time—past time. Too much paper never sorts itself out. The trivial and the important were jammed together, both in the cabinet and in my head.

I soon realized that my neglect to use organization as a strategic planning tool (see Wildly Organized) was symbolic of an ambivalence about where I am in my professional life.

I’d been dragging my feet on cleaning out my files because I knew it would force me to deal with endings and face up to the disconnect between where I say I want to put my time and energy and where I actually do.

I love my work and am grateful for having achieved a level of mastery in it. It is both a creative outlet and source of identity. It provides me with the opportunity to contribute to the professional growth of talented, caring people whose trust I cherish and whose company I enjoy.

Yet I have other goals—writing, being a mother and a grandmother, becoming a citizen of the world—which I can’t devote as much time to as I would like, given that I am now over the crest of 65.

I had to take the time to do an audit of what was in those overstuffed folders, and in my conflicted thinking, as well, so that I would have the hard data necessary to make wise choices.

I’m tempted to say that the practice of intentional selectivity is a gift of age, but as I think about it, it seems to me that the rapid pace of our culture makes it an essential practice at any age.

It comes into play just as much for the young working mother, who feels as if she’s constantly running uphill, alternating between having it all together and falling into a heap, as it does for a working grandmother.

Like a bulging file cabinet, an overstuffed life has practical consequences. We get frustrated because we can’t find what is most important to us in any particular moment, or worse, we lose it! The sheer volume obscures our priorities.

The first step when there’s no space left is to stop adding to the pile, which puts you in a holding pattern—where I was before I finally committed to sorting through it all.

But eventually, if you’re going to move forward, you’ll need to begin taking away the things that deplete you so that you can put back more of what enriches you.

I could see that my real work would be not just sorting through piles of paper, but deciding what to retain and what to release, based on what I see as my life’s purpose. I had to bring my records up-to-date with what is most meaningful to me right now.

I already knew what that was. Next to my computer is a photograph of a milkweed pod caught in the moment of bursting open to disperse its seeds. The picture perfectly symbolizes who I want to be in this phase of my professional and personal life, and the work ahead for me is simply to organize my day-to-day living around this guiding principle.

At the end of my organizing day there were two large cardboard boxes of mixed paper for the recycle bin. The files hung loosely in the cabinet with enough room between them for easy access to their contents, and the drawers opened and closed smoothly.

Next to the seed photo, I placed a short list of follow up actions to complete my process.

If someone had taken before and after pictures of my office, it would have appeared as if little had changed. But a great deal happened inside me as a result.

Now, when I enter my office I feel open, ready and even excited about what will come next in my life because I’ve made space for it.

Yes Men Transformed

Bev — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 12:00:34 +0000

In Free Agent Nation, Daniel Pink suggests watching two films to get an idea of how the world of work has changed since the middle of the twentieth century.

The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1956) is about a public relations executive, the Organization Man of the 1950s.

Jerry Maguire (1996) is the story of a West Coast sports agent who navigates today’s freewheeling entrepreneurial culture.

But what struck me on the snowy afternoon that I watched these movies back to back was not so much how the culture of work has changed, but how much it has remained the same.

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the fine art of covering one’s behind with doubletalk better articulated!

When gray-flannel-suited Tom Rath, a World War II veteran, is hired by a New York corporation, he very quickly becomes very adept at office politics.

One of his first assignments is to give his opinion of a “dreadful” speech written by the CEO of his company. His wife thinks he should just say what he thinks, but he explains that corporate life is “a tricky business.”

One thing I’ve learned already is that you have to protect yourself in the clinches. The thing to do is to feel your way along.

When they call you in to give a report like this you begin with a lot of highly qualified contradictory statements and watch your man’s face to see which one pleases him. For instance you can begin by saying “There are some wonderful things in this speech,” and then you pause for second or two. If that seems to make him happy then you go on, “I have only a few minor alterations to suggest.” But if he looks a little startled on the word wonderful you switch and say but on the whole I don’t think it comes off.

If you’ve been smart enough about it you can wind up telling him exactly what he wants to hear.

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the fine art of covering one’s behind with doubletalk better articulated! How can it possibly be productive for a senior executive to have his own thinking echoed back at him? And how can abandoning his own self-respect ever serve an employee well in the long run?

His wife astutely calls all of this “mass nonsense” to which Tom gravely counters, “When a job’s all you’ve got, you have to play it the way everyone else does.”

Which is also the way that Jerry Maguire plays it. As the “master of the house call,” he knows just how to court favor with his roster of star athlete clients—until he is forced out of the agency he helped to build and loses all but one of them to his former protege who becomes his arch rival.

Caught between the corporate game and their own value systems, both Jerry Maguire and Tom Rath descend into dejection, and it is this that ultimately makes their stories hopeful and satisfying.

Both men ultimately succeed because they are able to break free of the imprisoning grip of self-protection and allow themselves to be challenged by people who care about them—Tom by admitting to his wife he has a son he has never seen from an affair he had during the war, and Jerry by allowing his one remaining client to confront him over his emotional distance from the single mother he married so he wouldn’t be alone.

Both men open up to their own vulnerability and in doing so become courageous in claiming what is really important to them in their professional and personal lives.

For Jerry, this happens when he finally has the kind of big win he used to have before he lost his touch, but realizes that he no longer has the woman who believed in him when he had nothing to share with her.

For Tom, being truthful about his illegitimate son at the risk of losing his wife opens the way to his being honest with the man he works for, not only about the speech, but also about his need to make his family a higher priority than his work.

Ultimately, because these two men are able to face their internal struggles head on, they become authentic leaders of their own lives (especially the messy parts) and more successful as human beings than they ever would have been as yes men.

Worry—Again!

Bev — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 10:00:49 +0000

I usually begin thinking about a column a few weeks before I sit down to write it, but the month of January flew by so quickly and the approach of the deadline for this month threw me into a panic.

How could I possibly attend to the client work on my calendar, prepare for a strategic planning summit a week from now, and write a newsletter?

The more I stared at the calendar, trying to find open space, the more inaccessible a topic seemed. I not only couldn’t think of anything to write about—I also couldn’t remember anything I’d written in the eight years I’ve been producing this newsletter!

I figured I could do something about the latter, so I went to my website to look through the archives, and I happened on a column I wrote in July of 2009. It was just what I needed!

Here’s a part of what I read:

Since there is so much anxiety these days (still true), I decided to take a closer look at it by reading Edward Hallowell’s book, Worry.

According to Hallowell, worry actually has a valuable purpose. It’s there to alert us to danger and prompt us to take protective action. Unfortunately, being human, we have a tendency to let our imagination run away with us and create perceptions of danger that are not real.

Which is why Samuel Johnson, a consummate worrier himself, said back in the 18th century, “Worry is the disease of the imagination.”

By putting structure in place, you can be prepared for worry when it inevitably shows up. Worry is a constant traveling companion, but it must be kept in the passenger seat. You can’t let it get behind the wheel.

Those of us who are trying to find new models for employment security in the 21st century need to work at letting our imagination work for us, not against us. The imagination must be free to innovate, create and produce, for these are the essential building blocks of the new era of work.

We simply can’t afford to let worry turn into, “Ruminations—relentless, repetitive thoughts [that] eat away at our well-being and good judgment” (Hallowell), for a sense of well-being and good judgment are the things we need most when dealing with a challenge. We need to worry enough, but not too much.

After reading it, I decided to corral my runaway feelings using the sequence of steps that Hallowell calls EPR—evaluate, plan and remediate.

First, I evaluated what was on my calendar, and what was going on inside me and concluded that I did not have time to write a new column from scratch and trying to do so was not a reasonable expectation for me to put on myself. People talk all the time about dealing with others who place irrational demands on them, but less often about how they do do the same thing to themselves.

Then, I made a plan to deal with both the time crunch and my anxiety. Looking through my old columns to trigger ideas was the first step in that plan, even if I couldn’t have named it as such when I started out.

Finally, and most importantly, I took action—in Hallowell’s word, I took steps to remediate the situation. I wasn’t exactly sure what “remediate” meant, so I looked it up (thesaurus.com—another step in my plan) hoping a better understanding would help me get myself back on track.

It wasn’t there, but under related words, I found the word “mediate” which was very helpful in directing the choice I needed to make. I could find a middle ground between re-running an old column and writing a new one from scratch. I could intercede on my own behalf (what a concept) so I wouldn’t be over-stressed by the task at hand.

Here’s what I would do:

I would update the 2009 column to fit the current circumstances in my life.
I would set aside a few hours right away to get my new thoughts on paper before they slipped away and I had to go through the whole worry thing again to retrieve them.
I would share with all of you my humanness in forgetting the words of wisdom I freely offer to others and the delight of reading my own words and being as enriched by them as if I were seeing them for the first time!

Black Hole

Bev — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 12:00:42 +0000

Long ago, I vowed never to write another column about resumes, but something a client said to me a few weeks after being laid off by the Fortune 200 company where she had worked for over fifteen years changed my mind.

“I don’t want anymore black hole resumes,” she said emphatically.

For her to be able to speak with such clarity, even while recovering from the shock of being let go, was a cause for celebration. It was a huge step forward because in taking it she was rejecting the idea of another job in favor of work, as a consultant, free agent, business owner.

To fully embrace self-employment she will need to give up the false sense of safety associated with being an employee (which lingers, for no logical reason, even when you’ve just lost your job!) and replace it with a faith in her own capacity to generate work and create her own infrastructure of support.

In astronomy, a black hole is defined as an area in space whose gravitational pull is so strong that its escape velocity is greater than the speed of light. Since nothing can go faster than the speed of light, that means that nothing that goes in can ever come out.

We use the term metaphorically to describe a place where things disappear without a trace—how many billions of resumes have disappeared into the job-search black hole of bureaucratic systems that swallow up individual initiative?

My client has a wealth of initiative. She worked her way up from an administrative role to a senior team position; mastered, on her own, complex processes and technology; uprooted and re-established herself to work on projects all over the world; and in-between, restored a Victorian home.

Her decision not to seek another corporate position feels like a huge leap. When she speaks of being a consultant or starting her own business, she talks about it as if she were describing entering another world.

Yet in a very real sense she has been functioning as a free agent all along—moving from project to project, quickly acculturating herself to new sets of players and places, using what she has learned from one assignment to add value to another.

There is a huge leap here but it has nothing to do with her ability to excel as an entrepreneur. It has to do with security.

Which leads me to politics, and how sick to my soul I am of hearing politicians in both camps talking about “creating jobs,” as if we still lived in the age of 9 to 5 manufacturing, as if people could count on being employed by any one company for more than a few years at most, as if free agents didn’t already outnumber those who work for corporations.

Why aren’t any of the candidates talking about ways to shift the focus of law and policy from the corporation to the individual, about how government can help create opportunities for self-employment, about workplace policies, especially around health insurance, which allow for mobility.

In 2001, Daniel Pink expressed these thoughts in his groundbreaking book, Free Agent Nation, and yet now, over ten years later, after a financial crisis that has exacerbated fundamental changes in the nature of work that are as transformational as the shift from agriculture to the industrial era starting in the early 1800s, we’re still hearing nothing but job-jabber from our presidential candidates.

The people who claim they can lead us into the future are living in the past.

My client doesn’t need a job to be created for her. But it would help affirm her decision to hear the voice of a leader who is courageous enough to define reality the way she has in making the decision not to waste her energy by pouring it down a black hole.

Court Street Thrift Boutique

Bev — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 21:57:42 +0000

I am writing this on the Friday morning after Thanksgiving. Because I like to finish one holiday before leaping ahead to the next, I am making this a quiet day, a space to reflect on what this annual feast, now so narrowly focused on eating and football, really means.

The actual history of Thanksgiving is far more complex, both messier and richer, than the story everyone knows about the Pilgrims inviting the Indians to dinner.

We hear very little about how the Pilgrims stole seed corn from the Nauset Indians of Cape Cod a few days after they arrived, or the fact that the land around Plymouth had already been cleared and cultivated by Pokanokets who had been wiped out by disease shortly before the newcomers arrived, or that when Native American neighbors came to help the Pilgrims they usually showed up naked!

We cheat ourselves when we settle for an oversimplified view of history because the arrival of the Mayflower in Plymouth represents a nitty-gritty struggle for survival which is as relevant today as it was for the residents of Plymouth in the 1620s.

In the economic turmoil of our times the same steps apply: ask for help, build a community, and start a business (which is another way of saying create something out of nothing).

I recently visited the Mayflower II, moored in Plymouth harbor, on a cold, raw, rainy day, and afterward, while looking for a place to get a hot beverage (and reflecting that the Pilgrims had not had that privilege), I happened to park in front of the Court Street Thrift Boutique.

Venturing inside, I discovered a thriving enterprise—a twelve-room house filled with creatively displayed used clothing, furniture, kitchenware and holiday decorations.

I was immediately welcomed by a courteous volunteer (who offered a level of customer service far exceeding what I received shopping for a MacBook Air).

She showed me the layout of the store and explained that all proceeds went to support domestic violence programs run by the South Shore Women’s Resource Center.

It was then that it struck me that the people who need their services have much in common with the Pilgrims.

When the Mayflower left in April, 1621, the Pilgrim women and children standing on Cole’s Hill watching it depart faced a world full of uncertainty and peril.

The women and children of domestic abuse also experience danger, fear and hardship. They too have watched their former lives disappear, and have had to start over with only such possessions they could carry with them.

The Pilgrims survived through the good will and generosity of strangers, the Native population, and they were able to sustain themselves by forming a strong community of mutual support and initiating an entrepreneurial endeavor, Plimoth Plantation.

Almost four hundred years later the spirit of the First Colony lives on at Court Street which offers a helping hand to victims of domestic abuse and sustains itself by a community business.

Whatever employment or unemployment situation you find yourself in this Christmas season, whatever you hope to accomplish in your professional life the coming year, I hope you will pause for a moment to think about the best of what the Pilgrims modeled and how their spirit is being perpetuated only a short distance away from the harbor where they landed.

In the economic turmoil of our times the same steps apply: ask for help, build a community, and start a business (which is another way of saying create something out of nothing).

If they can do it, so can you.

Drop the Shock and Awe

Bev — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 12:00:11 +0000

Every event or conversation that upsets or displeases us is made up of two components: what actually happens in real time, and what our head does with it afterwards. We have little or no control over many of the difficult things which occur in our lives, but we can change our response to them.

A good starting point in keeping our minds from spinning out of control is to learn how to “drop the shock and awe.” We do this by making a choice not to be surprised—once again—by behavior that we know from past experience is consistent with a particular person.

Because we already know what to expect, we can eliminate, or at least shorten, the time we spend trying to build a case for why we find another person’s thinking, words or actions unacceptable.

Sometimes, when I hear clients talk about all the draining interpersonal dynamics at work, I wonder how they get anything done!

For example: a man takes his lunch to the park on a lovely spring day, and just as he is settling down on a bench in the sun and unwrapping his sandwich, a pigeon lands a few inches away and proceeds to do what pigeons do. Infuriated, he screams at the bird and storms back to his office.

What happened was only the work of one brief moment in time, but his outrage over it robs him of his lunch hour, spoils the rest of his afternoon, and is still with him that night at the dinner table when he tells his wife about what happened.

Surely, anyone living in an urban environment has had enough experience with pigeons to know what to expect of them, but he reacts as if it were a personal affront.

And we all do this, repeatedly, diverting our energy from the work at hand and keeping us from feeling good about our accomplishments.

One of my clients recently left a consulting practice to take a position with a rapidly growing nonprofit where she hopes to use her knowledge to improve strategic planning and communication.

Although she was well aware of her staff’s resistance to the new ways of thinking she brings to the organization, she immediately started to react when the inevitable happened and one of her suggestions was subtly sabotaged in a passive aggressive way.

She remembered my advice to “drop the shock and awe” and emailed me, before she got hooked into anger, to ask how she should respond.

I replied, “How much energy do you want to give this?”

“5% of zero,” she wrote back, and went on with the rest of her day.

Sometimes, when I hear clients talk about all the draining interpersonal dynamics at work, I wonder how they get anything done!

Making the choice not to get side-tracked or slip into feeling sorry for ourselves because of what a colleague or boss is doing or not doing offers us the freedom to live more productive and satisfying work lives.

Every incident that comes up is a opportunity to experiment with a new approach. We already know how to do outrage at them—why not try gentleness with ourselves?

After all, who suffered the consequences of what happened in the park—the man or the pigeon?

Yes, there are very real conflicts in the workplace, but self-leadership means choosing not to create a lot of drama in ourselves about them so that they don’t become debilitating.

It means that you just get out your handkerchief, so to speak, and wipe off the seat and accept that pigeons poop.

Professional Dysfunction

Bev — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 19:43:04 +0000

I’ve been aware for some time now that what causes my clients the most pain in their professional lives is not the weight of their responsibilities, the heavier workload due to the economic downturn.

What leads to frustration, sometimes despair, are those difficult or even hostile exchanges with specific people in the work environment, often the boss. These interactions play out in predictable patterns which one of my clients recently described in great detail.

The scene was all-too-familiar: her boss kept calling her again and again, each time with a new demand, neither asking nor caring how the interruption would affect what she was currently working on, expecting her to be able to shift gears immediately, insisting that everything was urgent. It was making her numb.

Where there is professional dysfunction (and it abounds), we are incapable of changing the other person, but we can change our part in the dance.

While it wasn’t hard for her to see what was happening or how it was affecting her, she was at a loss as to know what to do about it. She felt stuck in a situation that was sapping her motivation, energy and confidence, and she could see only two possibilities, to continue to suffer or to resign, both of them unacceptable. The conflict had become about her, the victim, and her boss, the victimizer, and there was no place to go except down a slippery slope or out the door. No wonder she felt paralyzed!

But what if her situation was actually not black-and-white, but gray, and there was a middle ground?

What if, as hard as it might be for her to admit, both parties had a part in creating it?

What if instead of seeing herself and the difficult person as solo performers who periodically collided, she could realize that the two of them were actually dance partners who hadn’t yet learned how not to step on each other’s toes?

If she could begin to see the painful interpersonal situation not as something that was being being perpetrated on her but as an opportunity to claim more freedom of movement, leadership authority and self-respect, a whole new world would open up to her.

This is this cornerstone of the work I do with clients.

I began by having her move back from the brink of reacting habitually, e.g., bitching to others, but not confronting the situation directly, or wallowing in regret and self-recrimination.

Reacting to a situation blocks out possibilities, and if she could stop doing it, she would find that she had more choices than she could have ever imagined. She could then create and execute a reasoned response which preserved her position, values and dignity.

In telling me about how her boss would constantly bombard her with new priorities, all of them having to be done yesterday, she admitted, “I know what’s coming as soon as I see the caller ID on the telephone display.”

I suggested she might use this information for her own benefit and protection by asking herself, “Can I handle a call from this person right now? Am I up to it?” If the answer was no, the solution was simple: don’t take the call.

We also discussed her tendency to take it all on and how she could ask early on in the conversation whether the new task being laid on her was to take precedence over the one she was currently engaged in and point out that a consequence of switching gears abruptly would be that it would take more time to restart.

As she began to see how she could exercise choice over when she allowed herself to be interrupted, and to shift the decision-making responsibility to her boss where it belonged, she took back leadership over herself.

Where there is professional dysfunction (and it abounds), we are incapable of changing the other person, but we can change our part in the dance.

When we can get beyond feeling beat up, badgered and bullied, and respond from a place of knowing who we are and the value we bring, we make our professional lives healthier, one incident at a time.

More Often Than Not

Bev — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 12:00:56 +0000

I regularly work with clients who have creative goals—making pottery, writing poetry, actually using the sketch pad they’ve purchased or been given as a gift. Sometimes these aspirations come up almost apologetically: “Of course, it’s not practical and I have so little time, but what I’d really like to be doing is—”

Frequently they come to light in an exercise where clients write stories about experiences in their lives which gave them a deep sense of personal satisfaction, e.g., this description of a drawing class written by a woman who manages construction projects: “I loved how I felt when I was doing these drawings. There was a connection between my soul and the paper.”

Occasionally, the need to put hands to clay or pen to paper has become so important to a client that the failure to be able to do it become the focal point of our discussion. This is always exciting to me because it is an unconscious recognition of the link between the artistic urge and transforming a work life.

In my clients’ frustration I hear the struggle to claim the creative space which is essential to a genuine transition. The challenge for them (and for me) is to actuate these seemingly non-productive, impractical pursuits to serve the longer term goal of professional fulfillment.

Honoring your own creativity is the bridge from a dead-end job or burnout to a role in which you thrive. It is also essential to your professional survival.

How do those of us who have to get all our work done before we can play make time and space for things which nurture originality and innovation, especially as work demands keep piling on?

If you’ve been schooled as a corporate professional to consider anything without direct impact on the bottom line as frivolous, where does feeding your creativity fall as a priority—below a round of golf?

There are, however, voices crying out in the wilderness of our automated, outsourced, stagnant economy, and they’re telling us that our employment security depends on our creative skills.

In A Whole New Mind, Daniel Pink writes, “We must perform work that overseas knowledge workers can’t do cheaper, that computers can’t do faster, and that satisfies aesthetic, emotional, and spiritual demands.”

He then makes suggestions to help us cultivate the right brain attributes associated with being an artist—design, story, symphony, empathy, play, meaning.

Seth Godin, in his book, Linchpin, speaks to the difference between doing your job (what you are told to do) and practicing your art (taking personal responsibility) and warns that we can no longer afford to be afraid to be artists. “The economy is ruthlessly punishing the fearful, and increasing the benefits to the few who are brave enough to create art and generous enough to give it.”

Honoring your own creativity is the bridge from a dead-end job or burnout to a role in which you thrive. It is also essential to your professional survival.

RESISTANCE
But even if you accept the case for making creative activities a regular part of your life, there will still be roadblocks. We often find it difficult to give to ourselves what we most want to do.

I watched myself struggle with this before I sat down to write this column. I couldn’t wait to have a free morning to write, and yet instead of getting to it, I did every chore in the kitchen I could think of, including sanitizing the sponges!

I can tell I’m in procrastination mode when I want to be writing but I’m watering the plants or pulling out the vacuum, a chore I normally delegate to my husband.

What I’ve learned from watching myself is that neither forcing myself to write (I end up re-working the first paragraph 20 times) nor making up excuses why I can’t works. I have to find a middle way.

For me that comes in the form of beginning, not with the task of completing a column or an essay, but with something smaller. I give myself permission to make incremental progress, enter a few notes, fiddle around with no serious intent and see what comes up, reread a piece I haven’t looked at in months.

It’s similar to what I do when it’s freezing cold outside and I don’t want to take my usual daily walk. “Just to the end of the street,” I say, and it usually becomes a longer outing and I always come back refreshed by the brisk air and change of scene.

Recently I heard this middle way perfectly described by a client who is interested in teaching therapeutic poetry. When I asked her how she was doing with her goal of working on her poetry, she told me she was setting aside 15 minutes a day to write, “more often than not.”

The way I see it, nurturing our creative desires with the intention of doing them, even for small chunks of time—more often than not—has the potential for re-shaping our lives.

Owls Head

Bev — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 12:00:02 +0000

People who vacation on Cape Cod would probably find it strange that someone who lives here would leave in July.

Nor would they be likely to see the connection between their arrival and my need to get away.

Initially our annual mid-summer escape was motivated by the desire to leave our tourists behind and become tourists ourselves.

We have come, however, like many others, to love the meandering coastline of Maine, with its rugged coves, smooth-as-glass inlets, and sailboat-dotted harbors.

We have grown particularly fond of the panoramic, almost three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of Penobscot Bay from Owls Head Light. It has become for us a must-go-to-whenever-we’re-there destination.

This year we made it the last stop, a place to pause to take in the beauty of the natural world before turning our backs on the sea and facing the five-and-a-half hours of highway ahead of us.

Some places never disappoint, and when you know this, it adds to the joyful anticipation of returning.

When the marriage to work eclipses the marriage to self, we fall into “a false form of maturity, which is actually a form of nonparticipation, of not seeing, not hearing and not imagining.”

I could feel my excitement grow as we followed route 73 beyond the restaurants and shops of Rockland.

Passing through the sparsely populated neighborhoods of modest homes to the center of the town of Owls Head (which consists of a general store and the smallest, most charming post office I’ve ever seen), and finally out past the boatyard to the entrance of the state park, my heart soared with gratitude for once again being able to come to this sacred place.

We parked the car and walked uphill through pines framing the brilliant, sparkling blue of sea and sky. A steep cliff edged with swaying daylilies, Queen Anne’s lace and dried grasses dropped off on our right, and on the left a flight of stone steps took us to the promontory where the lighthouse sits.

When we arrived, there were several others on the small path that encircled the base of the light, so I retreated to a rock nearby to honor my reverence by sitting cross-legged in openness and silent reflection.

Seconds later, I felt as if I’d been shot from a cannon back into the world of cubicles, computers, and clients, as the gentle off-shore breeze carried what seemed like a never ending business conversation to ears of everyone standing within a fifty yard radius. A middle age executive, posing as a tourist, had destroyed the moment by reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

BLESSING OR CURSE
This could easily become a diatribe about the general lack of courtesy in public cell phone use, which, truth be told, is what occupied my thoughts for a good portion of the trip home.

In fact, even before we left the light, I’d already decided I would get even by writing a column about the offender—a significant step back from my first impulse, which was to tackle him from behind in the hope that the peace-shattering instrument in his hand would pop out, bounce down the rocky cliff, and be swallowed up by the sea.

But the real question is not about where cell phone use should and should not be permitted, but rather, do we use technology in a way that is respectful of ourselves as well as others? Does it improve our lives or distract us from fully living it?

THREE MARRIAGES
In The Three Marriages, poet David Whyte explores what he calls the three marriages which we commit to in our lifetimes—to a partner, to work or a vocation, and to ourselves, the “hidden marriage to a core conversation [within].”

Our task in life is to integrate, not balance, these three marriages, for as Wythe warns, “To neglect one … is to impoverish them all, because they are not actually separate commitments but different expressions of the way each individual belongs in the world.”

The behavior of the man on the cell phone at Owls Head clearly indicated that his marriage to work had come, at least in that moment, to dominate his life. His surroundings, rather than providing self-renewal, were a backdrop, like the view out the window of an office or conference room.

Ironically, it’s likely that he needed the renewal the vista offered more than he needed to reassure the client he was speaking to of his availability, which he did multiple times during the conversation.

After all, he hadn’t climbed the stairs to the light just to make a phone call! And yet when he got there he was unable to give his undivided attention to himself.

In the best definition of burnout I’ve ever read, Whyte explains the condition as the state in which “we erect a barrier inside ourselves which lets things out” but blocks our capacity to allow anything back in. We cut off our ability to receive, to be fed and truly refreshed just when we most need it.

When the marriage to work eclipses the marriage to self, we fall into “a false form of maturity, which is actually a form of nonparticipation, of not seeing, not hearing and not imagining.”

P.S. When I got back to the office there were four emails from a client engaged in the final stages of a negotiation.

By this time I had stopped obsessing about the cell phone interruption, and, grateful that I was able to choose the better portion, I replied unapologetically that I’d been away for a few days, unplugged.

For I know that I serve my clients best when I regularly draw from my own well.

The Labyrinth

Bev — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 12:00:31 +0000

Growing a lawn, as opposed to isolated clumps of grass, is a problem on a sand bar, which is a good description of outer Cape Cod, where I live.

After years of trying without success, this Spring my husband announced that he was giving up, and he was going to put down mulch because he was sick of mowing dirt.

I have a strong preference for the natural look, so I balked at the idea of covering what little green we have with brown—or worse yet, red—mulch.

We compromised on ground cover and shrubs in the front, but what to do on side of the house remained unsettled until I had a wild idea in the middle of the night—we could build a labyrinth.

A labyrinth is an ancient symbol for wholeness. It combines the circle and the spiral into a meandering but purposeful path representing a journey to one’s own center and back again into the world.

By surrounding himself with like-minded people, he has made the work of creating work for himself enjoyable rather than burdensome.

I first experienced a labyrinth on vacation some years ago in Lewes, Delaware. Across the street from the inn where we were staying there was an old church with what looked at first to me like a circle of weather-worn headstones. When I went to explore it, I discovered a twisting and turning path leading to the center of the circle and back out by the same route.

I walked it without really knowing what I was doing, yet I felt there was something valuable in the experience.

When I began to think about my own labyrinth, I went first to the Internet where I found images, designs, instructions, and stories about how other people had organized and executed a labyrinth building project. There was a lot of information which guided our process and helped us maneuver around obstacles.

As I shared my idea with others, more resources surfaced, including a book a friend had purchased as a tool to educate children about labyrinths which proved to be very helpful.

There were times, however, when people thought we were crazy.

I’m sure the young man who waited on us at the garden center when we were trying to decide what to fill the pathways with, pebbles, stone dust, or shells, by listening to what it sounded like to walk on each, is still telling his fellow employees about that weird couple who wanted to build a path that went in circles!

And the stonemason who watched us sit on various rocks with our legs crossed until we finally selected a piece of red Pennsylvania fieldstone to use as a meditation seat in the center of the labyrinth is probably still shaking his head.

One of the sites I checked pointed out that laying the stones for even a modest labyrinth (ours has half the complexity of the labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral and required well over five-hundred stones) can be a major task, so after the large pallet of rocks arrived, my husband and I invited friends to come and help us put them down to mark the borders of the paths (see photos here—and thanks to our friend Gwynne Guzzeau for the slideshow). What would have taken us hours was accomplished in less than forty-five minutes, and the work was both fun and mutually enriching.

What has this to do with career, you ask?

The three basic steps we followed to make it happen apply equally well to work search.

Seek out an innovative solution.
Use information-gathering to help refine your idea and plan a strategy.
Build a community to help you execute your plan.

Talented people with excellent employment records are having as much difficulty finding a job in fields which have dried up as my husband was trying to get grass to grow in sand.

One of my clients, a skilled technical writer, had to face the fact that, despite his best efforts at traditional job-search, nothing was taking root because there are far fewer jobs available and there is a glut of candidates vying for them.

He took the time to reflect on the breadth of his interests and experience using the model presented in What Color is Your Parachute? and supplemented it with exercises I recommend in my book.

He was able to identify a consistent theme, support for social causes, and began to use his research skills for himself to explore how his writing abilities might fit into the non-profit world.

Eventually he had an aha moment, like the one I had in the middle of the night when I thought of the labyrinth—he would try grant writing.

Once he had a clear vision of a solution in mind, he put a plan in place to learn as much as he could about grant writing, and he enlisted the help of his network community in making connections within organizations that support causes he feels passionate about.

By surrounding himself with like-minded people, he has made the work of creating work for himself enjoyable rather than burdensome.

He is now interning at both a large social service center and a small environmental advocacy organization and has been invited to participate with other staff in grant development training.

Just as we built our labyrinth one stone at a time, he is building credentials one grant at a time. “I feel really, really on track and in my authenticity,” he recently shared with me in an email. He’s walking his career labyrinth.

Cape Cod Ice

Bev — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 20:17:42 +0000

Sometimes I’ve just had it with the absurd extremes marketing goes to and I have to stand up and say, “Enough!”

In the window of a convenience store near my house there is a sign which announces, “Cape Cod Ice Sold Here.”

The Cape offers many wonderful things—clam chowder, lobsters, glorious beaches, and cranberries, to name a few—but no one ever returned from a vacation here saying, “I can’t wait to go back next year for some more of that fabulous Cape Cod ice.” Give me a break!

I have nothing against marketing per se. The connection between a product and how it is presented can be useful, but only if it is genuine.

I love the Cape Cod Baseball League because it started here, has stayed here and thrives here, and I don’t hesitate to recommend tours of the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory because, even though the company was bought out by Anheuser-Busch in 1985, it was started by local entrepreneurs.

I don’t even have a problem with using the magic words “Cape Cod” to promote salt water taffy made in Los Angeles or beach plum jelly canned in New Jersey because old timers here still tell stories about taffy pulls and I am able to watch countless beach plum bushes progress from blossom to fruit on my daily walks.

But sometimes marketing goes too far. If everything is special, nothing is, and we’re left with the kind of sameness you find in big city airports where the concourse shops are all the same and the only way you can tell where you are is by the sports team logos on the sweatshirts and baseball caps (which are, ironically, often promoting some franchise without deep roots in the city, like the poor Expos who after thirty-five years in Montreal suddenly became the Washington Nationals six years ago).

I have nothing against marketing per se. The connection between a product and how it is presented can be useful, but only if it is genuine.

In gloomy economic times when finding work is more difficult, you have to do everything possible to market yourself effectively. There is, however, the risk of trying too hard.

When you feel a sense of urgency or a lack of confidence, the way you present yourself can be awkward at best and counterproductive at worst.

I see this in clients who just have to come up with the perfect elevator speech and the correct answer to interview questions, or who resist going to networking events because they fear they won’t be able to say the right thing to someone they meet there.

It’s natural to feel uneasy in such situations, and it’s appropriate to do some work to prepare.

But following a script means that the spiel dominates and you, the talented, vibrant, interesting person that you are, get lost.

Consider what happens when someone who dreads public speaking memorizes every word of a talk. It may make them feel more comfortable, but in choosing to deliver what they have to say by rote, they miss out on the opportunity to energize their audience with a spontaneous remark or connect with them in a more meaningful and direct way.

We know instinctively when someone is giving us a presentation that has been memorized. The difference between a real conversation and an elevator pitch is palpable.

Instead of agonizing over what you are going to say, reflect on three or four things which connect you to the role you’d like to fulfill.

The things about you that are real—like the chowder and the cranberries her—can be shared with ease and good energy, the same way you’d give a friend the highlights of your summer vacation.

Use simple phrases which can be illustrated with sound bites from your own rich history.

For example: “I love working with data and numbers. I found this out early in my career when I was part of a team that computerized telephone records. Later I had the lead responsibility for developing data management procedures for a major corporation. Now, not surprisingly, I’m thinking I’d like to be involved with the digitization of medical records.”

Aim for making every word such an authentic description of your best stuff that there’s no need to memorize it.

Telling people who you are with comfort and conviction is the best possible way to make a natural connection.

The world is craving for things that are one-of-a-kind and real. They are at a premium, and this is your chance to provide them.

As Dave Barry once observed:

Gatorade is now making water. I know this because I saw a Gatorade commercial that asks an intriguing question: “What if Gatorade made water?”

Of course, when I say that they “make” water, what I mean is that they do not make water. There’s no need to actually make water, because there’s water all over the planet—water in lakes, water in rivers, water falling from the sky, water in your home plumbing system, water escaping from your home plumbing system, causing your ceiling to collapse when you’re away on vacation, water just everywhere.

What the bottled water companies do is get some of this water, put it into bottles, give it a brand name, sell it to consumers, then smack themselves in their corporate foreheads and say, “We can’t believe we’re getting away with this! Do you think they’d buy air? How about dirt?”