I'm sure that every parent who read Angelina Jolie's powerful essay in Tuesday's New York Times hugged their own children just a little bit closer. Almost every parent feels that deep sense of connection to their children, but they also feel something more all-encompassing - a deep sense of purpose. A parent might have the world's worst boss, but they tough it out in order to provide financially for their children. You might suffer a two-hour, one-way commute to work if the neighborhood in which you live is in a highly coveted school district that provides access to the special programming needs for your child. These are the choices that you make for a life lived with purpose.
As someone who is married and child-free, I used to think that all of my friends with children, living lives deprived of sleep/sex/money while raising your little ones, had it easy.You have a living, breathing reason to get out of bed every morning (and in the middle of the night, sometimes). You may hate your job/boss/commute, but you love your child, and so with that deep sense of purpose you suck it up and smile when that pint-sized person hugs you and calls you daddy/mommy. Purpose puts you on a flight with a five-year old so that you can visit Disney World and lunch with the princesses. Purpose makes you put on a pair of cargo shorts and become the den mother to your daughter's Brownie troop. Purpose makes you dash out of the house on Sunday mornings in order to get your 4-year old to the Sunday school class that she adores. Purpose, literally, puts you behind the wheel of an unflattering minivan so that can play chauffeur for your three kids and the grind of Saturday sports clinics/swim practices/ballet lessons/karate classes. Want to question your existence?? Try finding the time!
For the first 20 years of my life, I was consumed with getting into the right college and then getting into graduate school. My purpose, then, was about making my parents proud of me and having fun with my friends. But, what happens when you don't have any purpose? Well, it ain't pretty, I can tell you that. It's a bit like walking through a fog, a very dense fog.
The first time I felt this was when I was in seminary. I was single, in my early twenties, and I was discovering that a career in the clergy wasn't for me, while all around me were dozens of my classmates who were happily vibrating with purpose. I had some serious purpose-envy! I felt hollow and lost, and as my old college friends began to find their professional footing and started pairing off, my life felt more episodic and chaotic than ever. They were planning conferences and weddings and what was I doing? From there followed what looks like a parabola, with peaks of purposeful periods followed by steep valleys where I was left pondering the meaning of my life. When I met the man who is my husband, I don't know what I was more excited for - finding a man I loved who loved me, or having someone in my life who needed me. I had a renewed since of purpose in my life, but was it enough?
Over the past year I've grappled, again, with this question of purpose, so instead of looking at my friends who are parents, I looked, instead, to my unmarried and child free friends. For them, purpose takes many different pathways. Some have found their purpose in their job, working in fields that serve to benefit their community. A dear friend of mine who was trained as an actor chose to become a registered nurse, allowing him to heal body, mind and soul. Another friend is working to find the link between rogue proteins and the diseases they may cause in order to find cures for everything from heart disease to Alzheimer's. Other single friends of mine devote their free time to volunteering with outreach groups who assist those who need a helping hand, or serving on boards of nonprofit groups that seek to solve the crises of hunger or domestic violence or early education. And some find their purpose in taking care of their aging parents.
So where had I gone wrong in my search for purpose? I had assumed that purpose would just come to me, that there would be husband/children/family and, aha!, there would be my purpose. But to live life with purpose means that you live life ON purpose. Finding your purpose is not random, as I had thought. It is, instead, opening yourself to that deep feeling of love and joy that connects us each to one another. I do have purpose in my life. It might not look like it does in anyone else's life, but that's the thing about purpose - it is as unique as we are.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Jock vs Genius: Does the High School You Really Make a Difference?
One of my not-so guilty pleasures is watching a bit of escapist TV from my high school years. More frequently than I care to admit, I'll check in on the gang at Bayside High on "Saved by the Bell". There's Lisa Turtle, the ebony fashion plate and gossip; Kelly Kapowski, the cheerleader and object of desire extraordinaire; A.C. Slater, the muscle-bound hunk who made his cheesy brand of misogyny look adorable; Ms. Spano, the brainiac and uber-feminist; Screech Powers, the nerd whose heart belonged to Lisa Turtle, even after Tori Spelling's guest stint as Violent, the Nerdette; and, of course, the blond haired Adonis, that smirking, acid-wash denim wearing charmer, Zack Morris. These kids ruled the halls of Bayside, well, at least from 1989-1993, and while the actors who played these characters grew up, with some becoming porn stars (Screech), and others becoming Las Vegas strippers with a heart of gold (Ms. Spano), with the power of TV and TBS in particular, their "Saved by the Bell" alter egos live on 5 days a week.
For those of us well past our own high school years, it's interesting, to me, how much who we were in high school informs who we are as adults. I can look at the thirty-something mom rocking the booty shorts in Starbucks and wonder if she was the high school homecoming queen or the most popular girl. And maybe that faux celebrity attempting to stretch her Fifteen Minutes was the creepy girl who roamed her high school halls friendless and is still yearning for attention and validation.
This is more than just a fun past time, though. Sometimes these high school dramas extend to the adult workplace. In fact, one of the most epic battles I've ever seen, between a manager and her right hand man, looked more like a high school cafeteria brawl than a disagreement between two professionals.
Let me set the scene: The manager was over-the-top efficient, and a practitioner of what I will call Blackberry Jujitsu, blazing back lightening fast emails and responses, with her thumbs flying across that wee keyboard. She arrived early and left late, and in between she left her office only for meetings. There was no lunch for her, rather, she was on a regimen of multiple little meals, eaten methodically at her desk. Conversations were terse and pointed affairs, and were kept as short as her close-cropped hair. Her right hand man was her complete opposite. His conversations with office mates and clients were languorous and organic. Lunches were eaten away from the office, and there were even 15 minute walks thrown in to get the blood and ideas flowing. He arrived on-time and he left late only when there were deadlines to be made. And, while he had a Blackberry, he preferred to let the first barrage of emails and responses go out from his boss, and then, when the waters had calmed, he'd chime in and get the information that was needed.
At first, their styles appeared to complement each other, like good cop/bad cop. The right hand man was collegial and made fast friends of everyone from the mail room bunch to the CEO. And when his manager sent one of her screaming emails to one of the staff, it was her right hand man who smoothed over her off-putting tone and made the offended party feel valued. But over time, his manager became suspicious of his intentions.
Educationally, the manager and her right hand man were similar, and while the argument could be made for gender issues fueling their different styles, a rather important piece of the puzzle resides in their high school days.
The manager had spent her high school days as one of the outsiders - working with the theatre people, going to hear garage bands in seedy bars, wearing black jeans and black t-shirts on every occasion. She was ostracized and bullied for her style of dress and for her weirdo associations. She was "Carrie" without the witchcraft. Her right hand man, though, had been popular in an effortless sort of way. He'd been a social gadfly, hanging out with all of the cliques, while still maintaining several close friendships. He sang in the choir and played sports. He'd not only known acceptance, but he'd known it on an epic scale. Any wonder, then, that later on in life, these two would clash?? If you think about it, this fight had been brewing since high school.
Sound ridiculous?? You bet it is! But how many of us have been there?
Try this experiment: At your next staff meeting, I want you to look around the table, and watch, really watch, and listen to them. Remember that old Toastmaster's tip where you should imagine everyone naked in order to calm your nerves before delivering a speech? Well, imagine them with their old high school gear! See the 40-year-old senior partner who doesn't look you in the eye and spends the whole meeting glued to his Blackberry as that 16-year-old sporting his Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt and military surplus shop field bag. And take a long enough look at his long-suffering admin and you might see the shy and mousy 18-year-old girl who dutifully tried to get all of her classmates to sign her yearbook, even though none of them was her friend.
OK, so this method hasn't received the institutional seal of approval of a Myers Briggs, but it's a hell of lot more fun - I'm just saying:)
For those of us well past our own high school years, it's interesting, to me, how much who we were in high school informs who we are as adults. I can look at the thirty-something mom rocking the booty shorts in Starbucks and wonder if she was the high school homecoming queen or the most popular girl. And maybe that faux celebrity attempting to stretch her Fifteen Minutes was the creepy girl who roamed her high school halls friendless and is still yearning for attention and validation.
This is more than just a fun past time, though. Sometimes these high school dramas extend to the adult workplace. In fact, one of the most epic battles I've ever seen, between a manager and her right hand man, looked more like a high school cafeteria brawl than a disagreement between two professionals.
Let me set the scene: The manager was over-the-top efficient, and a practitioner of what I will call Blackberry Jujitsu, blazing back lightening fast emails and responses, with her thumbs flying across that wee keyboard. She arrived early and left late, and in between she left her office only for meetings. There was no lunch for her, rather, she was on a regimen of multiple little meals, eaten methodically at her desk. Conversations were terse and pointed affairs, and were kept as short as her close-cropped hair. Her right hand man was her complete opposite. His conversations with office mates and clients were languorous and organic. Lunches were eaten away from the office, and there were even 15 minute walks thrown in to get the blood and ideas flowing. He arrived on-time and he left late only when there were deadlines to be made. And, while he had a Blackberry, he preferred to let the first barrage of emails and responses go out from his boss, and then, when the waters had calmed, he'd chime in and get the information that was needed.
At first, their styles appeared to complement each other, like good cop/bad cop. The right hand man was collegial and made fast friends of everyone from the mail room bunch to the CEO. And when his manager sent one of her screaming emails to one of the staff, it was her right hand man who smoothed over her off-putting tone and made the offended party feel valued. But over time, his manager became suspicious of his intentions.
Educationally, the manager and her right hand man were similar, and while the argument could be made for gender issues fueling their different styles, a rather important piece of the puzzle resides in their high school days.
The manager had spent her high school days as one of the outsiders - working with the theatre people, going to hear garage bands in seedy bars, wearing black jeans and black t-shirts on every occasion. She was ostracized and bullied for her style of dress and for her weirdo associations. She was "Carrie" without the witchcraft. Her right hand man, though, had been popular in an effortless sort of way. He'd been a social gadfly, hanging out with all of the cliques, while still maintaining several close friendships. He sang in the choir and played sports. He'd not only known acceptance, but he'd known it on an epic scale. Any wonder, then, that later on in life, these two would clash?? If you think about it, this fight had been brewing since high school.
Sound ridiculous?? You bet it is! But how many of us have been there?
Try this experiment: At your next staff meeting, I want you to look around the table, and watch, really watch, and listen to them. Remember that old Toastmaster's tip where you should imagine everyone naked in order to calm your nerves before delivering a speech? Well, imagine them with their old high school gear! See the 40-year-old senior partner who doesn't look you in the eye and spends the whole meeting glued to his Blackberry as that 16-year-old sporting his Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt and military surplus shop field bag. And take a long enough look at his long-suffering admin and you might see the shy and mousy 18-year-old girl who dutifully tried to get all of her classmates to sign her yearbook, even though none of them was her friend.
OK, so this method hasn't received the institutional seal of approval of a Myers Briggs, but it's a hell of lot more fun - I'm just saying:)
Friday, February 25, 2011
The Great Recession: Working for a Living
I've been taking frequent walks down memory lane, lately, back to an exciting time in my working life called the late 1990s. Maybe you remember them, too. Those were the days of video arcade machines in the break room, late-night pizza parties sponsored by your super-cool, jeans-wearing 20-something boss. These were the workplaces of the future, where job titles became less a description of what you do, and more a mission statement for who you wanted to be. There was no such thing as "overtime", because work was a precious, creative thing to be treasured and enjoyed, not a thing to be completed by 5pm and then picked back up again at 9am the next day. Work and play merged into this confused man-child, subsisting on a diet of lattes, sugar-free sodas, and Yoo-Hoo!
This was a workplace culture imported from Silicon Valley and its outposts of coolness - Seattle and Portland. You couldn't pick up a Business Week or a Wall Street Journal without reading about this new, collaborative way of doing business. Employers reacted, using an a la carte approach to add a few modest touches to recreate the young Internet start-up vibe - relaxed dress codes, flexible work hours, pet-friendly office space, and opportunities to work from home. But then it all stopped. First came the dot-com bust, and then an American tragedy that brought terrorism to our shores. Americans gained perspective and tried to find time for work and family. Work-life balance became the new buzzword and, aided by new gadgets, like our Palm Pilots and some new-fangled thing called a Blackberry, we were creating a movement where moms and dads could answer a pressing question from their boss while attending their child's little league game.
And then came the current financial meltdown. For those of us still fortunate enough to have a full-time job, the workplace is just that - a place where work is done. Lofty aspirations have been pushed to the fringes while we fight to make sure we have coverage by the company's health plan. Phrases such as "the end of the day" gained traction because the bottom line supersedes all else. We are stuck in jobs that may simply end, or, worse, may go on forever in a soul-sucking slow-motion. We are, in fact, working for a living.
For some of us, this all comes as a great shock to our systems. Our liberal college educations prepared us for a world where classes on the impact of Walt Disney on the feminizing of girls, or the role of romance novels in the courtship rituals of the western industrialized world would be valued. We attacked the math and science majors as lacking in imagination, when, in fact, they were developing actual skills with a market value. We assumed that the jobs of our dreams would be out there, waiting for us, and we found them, or we created them.
But for a lot of us, work has never been anything more than a means by which to put food on the table, clothes on your back, and a roof over your head. The hagiography of the 1990s work place was, to them, merely a grand delusion and a bit of corporate smoke and mirrors. The new reality of working life isn't so new to them. Maybe we'll never get back to those Halcyon days of your pet pooch in the cubicle, or 3:00am chats around stale cups of Starbucks in your conference room. Maybe there'll never be flannel shirts and flip-flops worn in an office again, but heck, that wouldn't be so bad now, would it? I mean, an office that smells like feet isn't likely to be missed! I'm just saying:)
This was a workplace culture imported from Silicon Valley and its outposts of coolness - Seattle and Portland. You couldn't pick up a Business Week or a Wall Street Journal without reading about this new, collaborative way of doing business. Employers reacted, using an a la carte approach to add a few modest touches to recreate the young Internet start-up vibe - relaxed dress codes, flexible work hours, pet-friendly office space, and opportunities to work from home. But then it all stopped. First came the dot-com bust, and then an American tragedy that brought terrorism to our shores. Americans gained perspective and tried to find time for work and family. Work-life balance became the new buzzword and, aided by new gadgets, like our Palm Pilots and some new-fangled thing called a Blackberry, we were creating a movement where moms and dads could answer a pressing question from their boss while attending their child's little league game.
And then came the current financial meltdown. For those of us still fortunate enough to have a full-time job, the workplace is just that - a place where work is done. Lofty aspirations have been pushed to the fringes while we fight to make sure we have coverage by the company's health plan. Phrases such as "the end of the day" gained traction because the bottom line supersedes all else. We are stuck in jobs that may simply end, or, worse, may go on forever in a soul-sucking slow-motion. We are, in fact, working for a living.
For some of us, this all comes as a great shock to our systems. Our liberal college educations prepared us for a world where classes on the impact of Walt Disney on the feminizing of girls, or the role of romance novels in the courtship rituals of the western industrialized world would be valued. We attacked the math and science majors as lacking in imagination, when, in fact, they were developing actual skills with a market value. We assumed that the jobs of our dreams would be out there, waiting for us, and we found them, or we created them.
But for a lot of us, work has never been anything more than a means by which to put food on the table, clothes on your back, and a roof over your head. The hagiography of the 1990s work place was, to them, merely a grand delusion and a bit of corporate smoke and mirrors. The new reality of working life isn't so new to them. Maybe we'll never get back to those Halcyon days of your pet pooch in the cubicle, or 3:00am chats around stale cups of Starbucks in your conference room. Maybe there'll never be flannel shirts and flip-flops worn in an office again, but heck, that wouldn't be so bad now, would it? I mean, an office that smells like feet isn't likely to be missed! I'm just saying:)
Monday, January 3, 2011
Re-Entry
As the ball dropped, or the Snooki, if you were so inclined, kicking 2010 out into the cold, a lot of us also said goodbye to that end of the year oasis called the holidays. Those two weeks have become our salvation - a time for sleep, catching up with friends, and taking things more slowly. But, as I lay staring at yet another awful '80s movie playing on cable, I knew not only that every day put me one day closer to the end of my vacation, but that, in a way, I was looking forward to the return of my routine. Now, I'm not a masochist by nature, but an excess of anything pleasurable can be, well, excessive!
During my typical work week, there's a ritualistic order to everything - make coffee, read emails, meet with clients, do conference calls, complete projects. It all zips along at a comfortable and familiar hum until I look up and the day is done! But the days during vacation seem to be made of taffy - stretching out, and seeming to lengthen beyond their 24 hours. In place of checking things off of my to-do list, I found myself in a state of indecision and confusion at 11am in my pyjamas as Hoda and Kathie Lee were signing off, wondering what the day's date was and having an internal negotiation as to whether showering before breakfast could be called "optional."
So now, here I am, Day One of my return to work and to a reality filled, once again, with a continuous loop of email messages, church meetings, volunteer commitments, and me, wondering, once again, just when, exactly, the next vacation will be!
I'm just saying!
During my typical work week, there's a ritualistic order to everything - make coffee, read emails, meet with clients, do conference calls, complete projects. It all zips along at a comfortable and familiar hum until I look up and the day is done! But the days during vacation seem to be made of taffy - stretching out, and seeming to lengthen beyond their 24 hours. In place of checking things off of my to-do list, I found myself in a state of indecision and confusion at 11am in my pyjamas as Hoda and Kathie Lee were signing off, wondering what the day's date was and having an internal negotiation as to whether showering before breakfast could be called "optional."
So now, here I am, Day One of my return to work and to a reality filled, once again, with a continuous loop of email messages, church meetings, volunteer commitments, and me, wondering, once again, just when, exactly, the next vacation will be!
I'm just saying!
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