Category Archives: Women

01.30.17
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#WhyIMarch

A week ago Saturday, I participated in the Women’s March L.A. with two dear friends  from college (one my former roommate) and another long-time local friend. A protest march with 750,000 other people is probably the last thing I’d ever see myself doing. So why did I march?

First, let me establish a few basic things about myself:

  • I have voted in every presidential election since I turned 18 (and for both Democratic and Republican candidates)
  • I don’t hate men (in fact, I’ve been happily married to one for almost 28 years and proudly parented one for almost 24)
  • I am a woman of faith (Christian)
  • I acknowledge and honor the President, and pray for him every day
  • I come from a military family (my son is active duty and my husband and father both retired)
  • I am not completely aligned with either major U.S. political party (I wish there were more moderates in government today)
  • I love my country deeply and I’m proud to be an American
  • Up until Saturday, I have never participated in a march, rally or protest of any kind

So, why did I march? For me, it came from a deeply spiritual place.

A book that has profoundly influenced me is “Faith and Feminism” by Helen LaKelly Hunt. See Alive and Well Women: Our First Grant! Hunt points out that early feminists were women whose faith propelled them to action in areas of human rights, such as the abolitionist movement. The second wave U.S. feminist movement became secularized in the 60s. Elsewhere in the world, however, feminism and faith continue to be more closely aligned.

Through the lives of some early faith-based feminists, Hunt illustrates the “journey to wholeness” which she proposes as a structure for both personal evolution as well as for bridging the religious-secular split in modern feminism as a whole. The five stages of the journey to wholeness are (1) pain, (2) shadow , (3) voice, (4) action, and (5) communion.

My official Women's March button

My official Women’s March button

My journey to the Women’s March started with a growing recognition of pain. I have challenged myself, particularly over the past 10-15 years, to cultivate relationships with a wide spectrum of people representing other religions, ethnicities, gender and sexual orientation. Through these relationships, I have become acutely aware that I largely won the birth lottery.  I was born into a white, Protestant, Republican, middle-class, educated family in the United States of America, and for most of my life I have been blissfully oblivious of this great privilege. Other than some bias I encountered in my professional life as a woman, I have not faced the severe discrimination, mistreatment or hardship, even hatred (some of it on a daily basis) that my diverse circle has forced me to recognize.

During the course of the most recent presidential election and transition, my pain only increased as I witnessed the escalating racist, misogynist, homophobic rhetoric, and saw the effect on people I’ve grown to cherish as friends.   I increasingly sensed this intense pain pushing me toward a doorway to action, demanding a deeper meaning and purpose to my life.   I thought and prayed daily about what Jesus would do, and discerned a growing conviction to use my voice to speak my truth. I wrote about this in Speak Up!.   Finding my voice means finding the courage to tell my story in an authentic way. It’s somewhat frightening writing this post, even having cordial conversations with close friends and family who do not share many of my political views. I worry about damaging or losing those relationships by speaking my mind. I’m learning to see these as opportunities to practice speaking my truth with love, and with respect for other viewpoints.

I have now come to the stage of action. Helen Hunt writes that once we have found our true voice, it’s time then to act and to bring our values into the world in a concrete form. For me, the Women’s March was the first step (no pun intended) in that process. I understand that big shifts are underway in our country as we move from more liberal philosophies and policies to more conservative. I have concerns, but I am not deeply disturbed. This, after all, is what democracy is all about. I pray that these macro shifts bring the intended economic benefits to our country. However, I do feel deep concern that, in the midst of these shifts, there may be severe displacement and hardship on the poor and powerless and our planet. Perhaps we are moving toward a country where the government no longer provides the same level of safety net, in which case I feel called as a Christian to step into the breach. Part of my responsibility as a Christian is to help care for, and defend, the “poor'” which includes a broad range of disadvantaged groups. My biggest fear, however, is that the treatment of certain classes will be worse than neglect; rather, that government-sanctioned or government-led persecution may result. I worry about the erosion of what I believe to be deeply valued democratic principles. My fear of this has only escalated in the week since the inauguration.

And so I marched. It was a day I’ll never forget – a glorious, crisp sunny day in Los Angeles, a brilliant miracle in the midst of several cold, gray days of heavy rain. My college friends came from out of town to join me and another close friend, and we met my niece and grandniece downtown. We wore Wonder Woman accessories. The mood was upbeat and positive, the signs hilarious, heartrending and clever, and a pervasive optimistic hopefulness settled on the huge crowd (and in which I never felt the slightest bit unsafe).

Wonder Women Marchers, along with our 750,000 new friends

Me and my sister Wonder Women Marchers, along with our 750,000 new friends

I didn’t agree with everyone and everything at the March. But my participation represented a show of support for those whose voices may not be heard and who may be in danger. It represented a celebration of my constitutional right to free speech and assembly. It represented expression of a deeply felt conviction that my faith compelled me to show up and speak up. It represented my steely resolve, along with my close-knit group of females beside me, that we will not cede ground that we and other women before us have fought so hard to achieve. I am sad, but not deterred, that some considered the march disrespectful, un-American, unpatriotic, or sacrilegious. For me, it was exactly the opposite. And by the grace of God, look out world, I’m only getting started!

 

 

06.22.16
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Speak Up!

Be_A_VoiceRecent events have caused me to think deeply on how I am called to be a woman of integrity in such a broken world. I find myself weeping over the hatred and violence in our daily news. What am I to say or do in the midst of such overwhelming pain? How can I make a difference? The political discourse has become so nasty that I often keep my thoughts to myself to avoid simply becoming another talking head, or worse, part of the problem. It occurs to me, however, that my voice is my power, and it may be more important than ever that I fearlessly use my authentic voice.

In her book “Faith and Feminism,” Helen LaKelly Hunt uses the story of Sojourner Truth to illustrate the search for voice, as one of the five stages of women’s ‘Journey Toward Wholeness.’ Sojourner Truth was a shy nineteenth century black female ex-slave who changed her name and courageously and effectively spoke out for the abolitionist and early feminist movements. Helen writes that Sojourner Truth’s life teaches us “when we are able to speak our truth we gain a new ‘name,’ a new voice – that is, a new empowered self-concept and identify.” “A search for voice is the search for self.”

Based on my own experience, and countless discussions with other women, I find that we too often experience a reluctance or inability to express ourselves boldly. We compromise to avoid hurting others feelings, or making waves, or appearing too aggressive. We find it easier to bypass the large or troublesome people in our lives rather than engage or confront them. We may have a trusted group of confidantes with whom we share our authentic selves, while putting forth a more guarded, or accommodating, public self with others. Although it is clearly not prudent to share everything with everyone, there are times when it is important to assertively express our true needs, beliefs and opinions.

This has been a lifelong growth area for me. Growing up the shy, youngest child with two older brothers, I had to work hard, in a military family that valued high intelligence and achievement, to be taken seriously. In school, I pushed myself relentlessly to overcome my own self-perception of insignificance, and vividly remember being pleasantly surprised to discover how talented and intelligent I was relative to my peers. I found that I had highly developed interpersonal skills, no doubt attributable to navigating my male-dominated family dynamics. On the other hand, I still carried that small internal voice which caused self-doubt and suppression of expression.

Over time, I grew very comfortable with the sharp verbal sparring favored in my male-dominated workplace and developed a thick skin. I could be a tough negotiator when it came to work-related issues and learned to stand up for my positions. But, to this day I know I often avoid expressing personal opinions contrary to others. I know I gravitate towards people with whom I share similar views, and avoid those who don’t. It’s just easier to share my beliefs with people who agree with me.

However, my inability or unwillingness to speak up only contributes to unbridged chasms (political, religious, etc.) in society, robs me of the opportunity to have healthy robust discussion, and diminishes my moderate, Christian, feminine point of view in society. I risk not being truly known by others, losing self-respect and not asking for what I need or want. I suspect there are countless other temperate voices who are silent for similar reasons.

Even within the church, if I am reluctant to question authority for fear of appearing sacrilegious or disrespectful, I may actually do a disservice to the church. As Helen LaKelly Hunt writes in Faith and Feminism, “if a religious institution does not support an issue that is based upon Christ’s teaching, it’s imperative to challenge the institution, not the teaching.” The early feminists understood this distinction and were instrumental in bringing change to church policies that suppressed, divided and excluded.

In short, my personal search for voice is a journey not only toward my own wholeness but the world’s. I was reminded of this recently when I stayed up until 1:30 AM (way past my bedtime) with two of my book club friends over a glass of wine. We were bemoaning the state of current politics, with two of us feeling it is rather pointless to publicly state our views on social media. My other friend passionately admonished us to speak up. She challenged us to think about chapters in world history where courageous voices made a difference, and conversely where silence allowed hatred, violence or intolerance to triumph.

“God’s wisdom is not a pathway of escape but a road of faithful engagement,” writes Mark Labberton in his book “Called.” “God’s wisdom breaks passivity and leads to action. If we don’t take action, our house is built on sand, even if we profess that it’s built on rock.”   Speaking up is action, with consequences, and we have responsibility to ourselves and to the world to speak our truth in love, respectfully, but with conviction. I may not change entrenched minds with my words, but I should strive to be a seeker and speaker of wisdom, and may then, through example, influence those looking for alternatives to the noisy mainstream talking heads.

Of courage, John O’Donahue writes in “To Bless the Space Between Us”:

“Close your eyes,

Gather all the kindling

About your heart

To create one spark

That is all you need

To nourish the flame

That will cleanse the dark

Of its weight of festered fear.”

Oh Lord, in this time of great strife, give me eyes to see, ears to hear, and give me wisdom and courage in thought, word and deed.

01.21.16
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Some Things Never Change!

Often, the saying is uttered in exasperation to describe a never-ending irritant. But, I recently discovered I am grateful that some things don’t change.

Two dear friends from college visited me this past weekend. Lynne was my first roommate in the dorm, and Devie lived down the hall. I met both of these women when I was eighteen, my adult self still very much a work in progress.

The first day I met Lynne, she came bounding into our dorm room carrying a field hockey stick in one hand and a tennis racket in the other. Before her dramatic, high-energy entrance, I warily scrutinized the photos already hung on her side of the room, which were mostly of pigs. She later clarified that she was a P.E. major (which explained the multiplicity of sporting equipment) and had been in 4-H (which explained the pigs, whom she proudly declared were named Aristotle and Socrates).   Over the course of our college years, I found Lynne to be uproariously funny, whip smart (she later changed her major to biology), with an almost insatiable curiosity, and a great problem solver. She was our unofficial dorm den mother, a natural caretaker with her calm wisdom and ingenuity.

I met Devie in my Art History class. She was physically striking, talented, creative, slightly neurotic, and I found her endlessly entertaining. She was an art major and a gifted pianist. I spent weekends at her Jewish parents’ house, and she was highly skilled at discussing and dissecting (often inventing) problems (hers and mine) until we were both near exhaustion.

Last weekend was the first time in 37 years that the three of us had all been together. Although Lynne and Devie became two of my closest friends during college, after I graduated and continued to law school and then moved to the east coast for a period, I largely lost touch with them until recently. I was curious to see how much we’d changed, both individually and as a trio.

We quickly discovered that the essence of who we each were at eighteen had not changed, and that we eased almost immediately back into our comfortable, safe friendship. Thirty-seven years later, Lynne is a retired science and special education teacher, married to a deaf Native American man, who lives on a chicken farm in Tennessee and is currently building a fence. Devie is an art therapist who is even more beautiful now than in college, works with children and teens in the Bay Area and is still highly conflicted about many things. They both found their callings, perfectly predictable based on their eighteen-year-old selves. They both claimed that my successful legal career was completely foreseeable (even though I began college as an interior design major).

My weekend also wonderfully illustrated teachings from a recent Alive and Well Women workshop entitled “Deepening Connections” in which my friend Cissy spoke about self-compassion. We talked about how we, as women, are often more compassionate with others than with ourselves. We explored the power of female community, and the healing that takes place when we find those friends to whom we can safely confess our self-loathing, our fear, our shame, our needs, and from whom we can receive loving empathy and compassion.

With Devie (far right) and Lynne (middle), back in my world

With Devie (far right) and Lynne (middle), back in my world

After three solid days of each other, in which we laughed (much) and talked (a lot) and even cried (some), Lynne, Devie and I shared how affected we each were by our weekend together, both emotionally and physically. The best that I can describe it, for me, is that I was not changed by this deep re-connection with my old friends, but anchored. An important part of me, deep inside, never lost but perhaps unnoticed, was re-aligned, reinforced. Through speaking our fears, our shame, our needs to each other, and finding the solid core of our friendship still trustworthy and strong, it became a deeply comforting, healing, and spiritual experience of compassion.

It was also great fun for my friends (and for me) to get a glimpse into my current life.   I took them to my yoga class and my favorite brunch restaurant and we walked around my neighborhood. We’ve now decided to make this an annual event. Next year, whether chasing chickens in Nashville or doodling with crayons in Palo Alto, I will be joyfully discovering new friends in my old.

 

10.20.15
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Move over, Venus and Serena! (Two older ladies are passing on the right)

There’s a new tennis doubles team in town. We’re either the new (or old) Venus and Serena, or a state-of-the-art Lucy and Ethel. Too soon to tell. Last week I started tennis lessons with my friend Patti. But after a 10+ year layoff, it’s clear tennis at age 57 is a whole ‘nother game. And it sure ain’t yoga. One session in, I already have tennis elbow. And until yesterday, every muscle in my body hurt. I even discovered one on the bottom of my foot (I’ve never noticed before) that aches.

It all started a few weeks ago, when Patti called to ask if I would take tennis lessons with her. She was looking for an activity to add to her fitness regimen and decided tennis would be a good choice. She and I were both decent players (and good athletes) when we were younger, so we assumed it would be a fun and (relatively) easy sport to pick up again. We brashly began calling ourselves Serena and Venus, and discussed our future doubles championship career.

To start, we settled on a weekly drop-in hour-long group tennis clinic at the local tennis club with Martin, the dashing Argentine instructor my son had when he was younger. We were told that a maximum of eight people were allowed each session, with usually four or five “chill” women about our age showing up. (As I recalled, Martin attracted mostly women to his classes, but that’s a whole ‘nother topic.)

Our first day was exhausting. And that was just finding shoes. Patti and I set off around ten last Tuesday morning for DSW and almost immediately found the perfect shoes.   They were cute, super comfy and matching (hers in blue and mine in black). We giddily took photos together and were all set for our purchases when one of us thought to ask whether the shoes, besides looking good, were actually made for tennis. No, our perfect shoes were “cross-trainers” which (1) did not provide the right ankle support (important at our age), and (2) would make marks on the tennis court (possibly getting us thrown out at the club). OK, fine.

Our perfect tennis shoes that unfortunately weren't made for tennis

Our perfect tennis shoes that unfortunately weren’t made for tennis

Thus began our grand search for the perfect tennis (as in actually playing tennis) shoe. After multiple phone calls, Google searches, two trips to the tennis club and one to Sports Chalet, we each found a comfortable pair of tennis (as in actually playing tennis) shoes that were not nearly as adorbs as our DSW shoes.

Our two trips to the club also reminded us of the need for chic tennis clothes (especially knowing the population likely to show up at Martin’s classes). Wanting to look good while not wanting to spend a fortune, we headed to Marshall’s and found some cute, low-cost, little tennis skirts and tops.   We finally stopped for lunch at two.

The day of our first lesson, Thursday at 10 AM, fourteen people showed up. Martin apologized, explaining that it was a freak occurrence and the eight-person maximum would henceforth be strictly enforced. Thank God, I thought, I don’t want to share court time with all these people.

Martin opened with drills. We lined up and returned balls (forehand and backhand) to Martin, who was furiously hitting them at us. We then ran through obstacles on the sidelines and back and forth between opposite sides of the court. I was irrationally ecstatic to be back on the court and I threw myself into the drills with reckless abandon. I hit! I ran! I dove! When I found myself noticeably pooped, I looked at my watch. It was 10:10. Dear Lord, I still had 50 minutes to go. I then said a silent prayer of gratitude for the twelve other people who showed up, giving me longer to rest between shots.

Our first group competition was “Around the World” which involved hitting the ball inbounds and then running as fast as possible to the other side of the court. I actually won that competition, beating an 8-year-old kid in the finals. But that only fueled my delusional self-perception of youthfulness and invincibility.

We ended with some doubles drills, where Patti and I were partners. There was a competitive element (which always spurs me to stupidity) whereby victorious teams were dubbed “queens” or “kings” until knocked off their throne by another team. Fresh off my earlier “Around the World” victory, I took it upon myself to return a shot extremely well hit down the line on my side of the court. My immediate mental calculation had me easily reaching and returning the ball, thereby keeping our royal hopes alive. I lunged for the ball, suddenly realizing my body was not moving in sync with my brain or my calculations, and next thing I knew, my legs buckled and I went down in a heap, the most spectacular wipe-out of the class.   Fortunately, my only injury was to my ego (although I suspect Martin was secretly impressed with my hustle).

The next morning, Patti (who is older than I am, I should add) called to chat about our tennis lesson and what a blast it was. She said she was tired after class, but was not particularly sore. We talked about our lesson next week, and potentially adding some additional practice sessions.

What I didn’t tell Patti was that I was still in bed when she called, and that I could barely move. My right elbow was throbbing, and the thought of playing tennis again made my brain hurt.

Luckily, a few days later, my body has recovered. I returned to Sports Chalet and bought an elbow brace for my arm. And I think I learned a few lessons (other than tennis) last week:

I’m not twenty anymore (or thirty or forty, for that matter). I need to take things a little slower. I don’t need to win all the competitions. Diving for balls and running all out, all the time, is no longer in my best interests. In fact, it’s pretty senseless.

Warm up first. We sat there on the bench waiting for the class before us and then dove right in before warming up. I have thirty sore muscles to prove it.

Watch my form. My dad was my first tennis instructor, and he was a stickler for good form. I’m sure he was turning over in his grave last Thursday watching me make weird awkward shots with no attention to proper form and motion. I’m sure that’s one reason my elbow is already hurting, as sound practice and motion not only enhances my game but puts less stress on my body.

Have fun. In spite of all the follow-up pain, it was a joy getting back on the court. I’m hoping that, with some age-related adjustments to my game (cough, cough), I can continue to play for years to come, (my dad played into his eighties) and that Patti and I will be more Venus and Serena than Lucy and Ethel.

09.28.15
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The Girls Road Trip

I love road trips. I’ve been on many with my husband and have become quite accustomed to the drill. I recently completed a two-day 800-mile road trip with a couple of female friends.  I knew almost immediately it was going to be a horse of a different color. We barely made it 80 miles when someone needed a bathroom break, we stopped at an outlet mall, and, three hours and untold dollars later, we were finally back on the road.

The start of our Girls Road Trip. All smiles following on boarding and loading.

The start of our Girls Road Trip. All smiles following expedited  loading/onboarding process.

The dissimilarities between husband road trips and girls road trips were striking and amusing. If I were a sociologist, I might explain the cultural, biological and psychological reasons. But I’m not, so instead, I’ll present my, cheeky, light-hearted, and completely non-scientific compare-and-contrast observations.

 

Husband Road Trip Girls Road Trip
Preparation Required Extensive. I prepare detailed itinerary, with destinations, stops and activities; then submit to husband for navigational planning.  I must be ever ready to respond to random “where, when and how” questions (which means committing said itinerary to memory). Minimal. As long as we know where we are headed and what day we get there, we’re good.
Ease of Departure Low. Actual departure typically 2+ hours after estimated time; follows a stressful and complex on-boarding and loading process. Mood out of gate typically tense. High. Actual departure time same as estimate, onboarding process a snap, all in good spirits on embarkment.
Driver open to passenger instructions Minimal. Unless collision with incoming vehicle is imminent, better to keep suggestions to myself Maximum. Driving considered group activity with suggestions (“look a gas station!” “hey, there’s where we turn”) appreciated
Permissible stops Minimal. Mainly to eat or pee (but only if medically necessary) or other planned stops. Maximum. Mainly to eat, pee, Starbucks or shop, but really anything goes.
Sight-seeing stops Usually outdoor or museums (preferably military, not art); NO shopping Usually indoor, maybe museums (preferably art); shopping always
Likelihood of making planned stops Very high. If stops are programmed into itinerary, we will stop at each one, according to schedule.   Even if it kills us. One of the benefits of doing the planning is that we go where I want to go. Mixed. Depends on what “group” wants to do. High likelihood planned stops ditched in favor of shopping. Even if it kills us.
Activities enroute Listening (and singing to) loud music or “can’t miss” sporting events, talking when necessary Talking constantly, with occasional breaks for audiobooks or podcasts
Potential Conflicts A big game (e.g., Navy, 49ers, or Giants) may take precedent over planned activity. (Or I tour while husband listens to game.) Frequent calls from husbands, kids (usually daughters) given high priority and may cause stops or detours.
Syncing with time estimates Usually make up for late start with aggressive driving and total ban on stops. Somehow complete trip within 30 minutes of time estimate What time estimate?
Number of GPS devices used on board At least four – car GPS, Garmin and two iPhones. Oh, and a radar detector. Just one iPhone.   (We don’t know how the car GPS works and no one brought their Garmin)
Overall trip satisfaction High. I get to see lots of things and spend time with my husband. High. I may or may not see much, but I get to shop, talk, and spend time with my girlfriends.

 

08.26.15
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Finding your Rookie Groove….at any age!

Is it possible that we are at our best when we know the least? That is the question posed by Liz Wiseman in her book “Rookie Smarts: Why Learning Beats Knowing in the New Game of Work.”

I recently had the privilege of hearing Liz speak at the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit. As she spoke, I couldn’t help thinking that my life this past month has been a case study in what she terms “Rookie Smarts” (how we tend to think and act when we are mindful that we are doing something for the first time). And apparently, I am never too old to be a “Rookie.”

On August 1, I officially began my new “job” as part-time grant-writer for Alive and Well Women. On paper, I am completely unqualified for the role. I helped write one grant proposal in July. Period. On my first day of “work” I went to a community college class to learn what a grant-writer does (which I thought might be helpful). It didn’t seem too hard….after all, I researched companies and wrote tons of responses to RFPs during my corporate career. How different can it be? And since the nonprofit world is presumably kinder and gentler, I figured raising, say, $400,000 by the end of the month seemed totally reasonable. Rookie mistake!

I quickly learned there is just as much research required in finding grant money as there is in finding corporate project money. The go-to database for searching foundation grants is a paid subscription service, but available for free at certain local libraries. No longer having the deep pockets of (or paychecks from) a Fortune 500 company, I trudged off to the closest library site, which is in a particularly rough neighborhood of Pasadena. After fumbling around for a couple hours on the computer terminal, I signed up for a free one-on-one with a librarian the following Friday.

My new "office" building in Pasadena.

My new office building in Pasadena, also known as the public library.

That Friday, I put on make-up and my best shorts and showed up for my appointment with Darrell at the library. He was a very kind, soft-spoken African-American gentleman who met me in the non-profit research center room, and who I was fairly certain would not care a whit about Alive and Well Women. I was itching to get started on the training, but instead of turning on the computer, he leaned back, looked at me, and asked, “What are you trying to do?” I explained I am co-founder of a nonprofit and need to learn how to use the Foundation database to find grant money. “OK, what is your nonprofit all about?” “What are your goals?” “Who is your target audience?” “How do you expect to accomplish your objectives?” “Do you have a functioning Board?” “Have you received 501(c)(3) status?” Before we ever looked at the computer, we had a 45-minute in-depth discussion about organizational planning, goals, resources, and mission. “The reason I’m asking you these questions is that I want to see how far along you are in your nonprofit, and how well you are able to articulate your vision.” To my utter astonishment, Darrell then shared his positive assessment and detailed thoughts about where he saw the need for Alive and Well Women, which was a stunning confirmation that he actually tracked with my rambling presentation.

It wasn’t at all what I was expecting, but it was exactly what I needed. By the time we finally turned on the computer, we were ready to effectively search for foundations that shared goals with Alive and Well Women. After we compiled a list of hundreds of foundations that were potential matches, Darrell gave me the homework assignment of going through each one of them to narrow the list. “Then I start calling them?” I asked. “Nope, then you do more research,” Darrell said, pointing to the volumes of resources in the shelves behind him.

Since then, I’ve spent countless hours poring over records of foundations, looking for grant limitations that would exclude them from my list, finding their stated mission and goals to see if they align with ours, and then reviewing their Form 990s for additional financial and grant information. The work is tedious and time-consuming, and I haven’t been as efficient as I’d like, and I already know I’d love to hire a intern to help someday, but I also know it is necessary for me to learn. It is almost the end of August, and I haven’t raised a dollar. But, I have become familiar with hundreds of foundations, whittled my list down to 10-15 strong matches, and assembled a good profile of each. In the process, I’ve gained a better sense of how to do research and where to find information. And in spite of my occasional frustration with the pace of progress (I must remind myself that I’ve only committed two afternoons a week – God continues to work with me on patience) I do feel a sense of accomplishment.

According to Liz Wiseman, it’s not what you know, but how fast you can learn. The Inexperienced benefit by being unencumbered by assumptions. We (I’m putting myself firmly in the Inexperienced column) solicit information by asking questions and seeking information. Rookies have a steep learning curve, and often don’t know how hard the work is at the outset. We move in baby steps at first. But rookies achieve quickly because we learn fast (we are desperate!) and are resourceful.   Liz says the learner’s advantage is that we tend to do our best thinking when our challenge level goes up. And, importantly, our satisfaction also goes up.

This past month took me back to various times in my life and career when I was new to jobs or projects or roles. It wasn’t always enjoyable, in fact often stressful, but there was also excitement and contentment in meeting the challenges. Although I don’t have the same level of risk or anxiety associated with being a “Rookie” in my current situation (I’m not worried about losing a job or salary) it is still a sharp learning curve. Liz Wiseman reminds us of the benefits of re-igniting our “Rookie Smarts,” even as leaders or at advanced stages of career or life.  She warns us that when we plateau – when things are smooth, we have all the answers, we get positive feedback, when we’re busy but bored – we start to die. On a learning curve we find the divine, the satisfaction, our greatest joy. We can and should strive to be Rookies…no matter our phase of life!

Notes to self:

  1. Look for opportunities to be a Rookie again.  Put yourself at the bottom of a learning curve. Volunteer for things you’ve never done before or look at things you’ve done before with Rookie eyes. Sometimes backward is the best way forward.
  2. Be open to unexpected mentors (like Darrell at the public library) and learn all you can from them.
  3. Be willing to mentor other Rookies when they need help.
  4. Be aware that Rookie Smart Mode can be stressful, but look at the anxiety as a sign of growth.
  5. Don’t be afraid to think like a Rookie in any situation!
08.19.15
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Alive and Well in Retirement!

This past weekend was the two-year anniversary of my first day of retirement. Looking back, these past two years have been a somewhat inconceivable journey, an education in more ways than I expected.

My last blog post was November 2014. I meant to keep it up, but for a variety of reasons I didn’t have the time or the inclination to post.   Among other things, I was consumed with planning festivities around my son’s graduation from USNA, suffered a major illness in March (pneumonia) that really knocked me for a loop, and then, once recovered, more travels with my husband (a 52-day road trip!).

Along the way, however, I felt a need to be more intentional about crafting a future life for myself. My first year or so of retirement I was purposely open-minded but noncommittal to activities and experiences. I tried new things, discovered activities I unexpectedly love (like yoga) and others that didn’t click as well. I mostly resisted obligations so I would be free to travel with my husband (another thing I found I love). I searched for the right rhythm of time spent alone, with husband, with friends. But with my son now graduated from college and fully launched, I sensed a new phase of my life that could be one of the best yet – if I was deliberate and purposeful about it. When else would I have my current absence of responsibilities (no job, parents or children depending on me) and the time, health, and money to be doing things truly fulfilling?

Mammoth Lakes… a stunning example of why I love our travels

As my husband always says, I have way too much horsepower to not be doing something. But what was that “something”?   Although I didn’t realize it at the time, in hindsight, this kicked off a soul-searching process, in which I examined everything in my life – marriage, family relationships, friendships, faith, leisure, work. I threw things up and arranged and rearranged the pieces in my mind. I thought and prayed about each area of my life and how they would fit into my ideal purposeful life. All this mental activity was overlaid by a relatively new factor in my decision-making – my own mortality – which argued against wasting time and for decisiveness and risk-taking.

A key awareness that came out of this contemplative process was around the question of work. Although not feeling a call to go back to full-time employment, I do miss aspects of my former work life – the structure, camaraderie, challenge, and, honestly, the compensation.   I considered various part-time and contract job options. I thought about writing or blogging as a career. I prayed for opportunities that would address my longing for meaningful work but also allow space for other parts of my retired life that I now cherish. In one of my 1:30 AM brainstorming sessions (I often do my best thinking in the crossover between awake and asleep) a plan materialized. But first I must back up.

In January of 2014, about five months after I retired, I reconnected with my friend Cissy. She and I were in a women’s prayer group many years ago and had kept in casual contact with each other after the group disbanded. Over lunch, I told her I’d long wanted to work with a nonprofit organization after I retired, but was not sure which one or in what capacity. Cissy shared that she wanted to start a nonprofit and asked if I would be willing to help. That invitation started us both down an often-miraculous path resulting in me today being the co-founder (with Cissy) and Board Chair of Alive and Well Women. Our mission is to help women navigate toxic cultural messages about health, beauty and sexuality so we can thrive amidst the multiple stages of the female life cycle. In the past year and a half, we have formed the Board, obtained 501(c)(3) status, and raised enough money to develop our branding and website (which we are in the process of launching).

Alive and Well Women was clearly Cissy’s brainchild. She is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (MFT) and nationally recognized eating disorders specialist. She began offering retreats, workshops and groups in 2007 out of her discovery that community support is the key to healing women’s shame-based relationships with their bodies. Her idea in forming the nonprofit was to allow us to bring the curriculum to women who might not otherwise be able to afford the workshops.

Thus far, I have thought of myself as the person who helped Cissy launch her nonprofit. I was reluctant to commit too much to the effort. Then, during my period of soul-searching, I worked with Cissy on a grant proposal. What I discovered is that grant writing is not much different than responding to RFPs, something I did in my former corporate career, but far more satisfying.

Fast forward to my 1:30 AM Sunday session. What came to me in an inspired flash was that I could be the Grantwriter for Alive and Well Women! That would allow me to work part time (and still have the flexibility to travel), to write, collaborate with Cissy, develop new skills and networks, and potentially earn compensation (if I am successful in winning grant funds). I proposed the new arrangement the next day to Cissy, who was both grateful and encouraging.   The following Saturday I took a class that was offered coincidentally (or not!) through the local community college on grantwriting, which undoubtedly spared me significant trial and error time.

So, I’m off on my new “career”! What I have since discovered, through research and meetings with other nonprofits, is that grantwriting will not be as easy as I first envisioned. Prior to even writing a grant proposal, it takes a fair amount of research to find appropriate funding sources, and then more effort to determine whether potential grants are worth pursuing (as in the corporate world, a big part is who you know so networking is important). Then there is strategy for finding the “mission match” (discovering and demonstrating the complementary goals for funder and recipient). But I am so enjoying the challenge!

And something else remarkable happened along the way. As I have become more emotionally committed to Alive and Well Women, I find myself crafting my own “Alive and Well Women” story. Rather than just being Cissy’s friend who helped start the nonprofit, I am discovering the parts of Alive and Well Women that speak to me in my own life journey and embracing them. I am finding that, for me, I have more passion for issues of women’s empowerment than embodiment. As a result, I have decided to re-focus my blog as a forum to discuss what “Alive and Well Women” means to me in this phase of life. Stay tuned!