The Solomon Factor

My Ten Year Old Hero

I have a new hero. He’s very smart, funny, an exemplary role model, creative and cute to boot. He’s also 10 years old. Yes, Ben Weymiller is my kind of guy.

Few people do things that are so outrageous, so bodacious, so ridiculously huge that it makes me stop, catch my breath and wonder if I, too, can have that kind of impact on the world. That’s what happened when I learned how Ben changed the world.

It seems Ben had a big problem with the lack of rocking chairs Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital has available for families to rock their sick children. The situation truly concerned him—Ben knows the true value of a great snuggle when you’re not feeling well. So the fifth grader decided to do something about it. He started with his own allowance of $45.00 and things kinda got crazy from there.

Next thing you know, Ben’s doing a Rock-A-Thon and he’s got his own fundraising website. This led to his appearance at a fundraising auction at the hospital where he gave a whole lot of people reason to believe in him and his cause. Then the media caught wind of it and told his story, and the major TV networks covered him too.

Having A Bad Day?

There is something that needs to be said out loud and I’ve been holding back thinking that sooner or later I’d get over it. That hasn’t worked, so here goes.

A few weeks ago I did a really crazy thing. I turned on my television. Now I say it was crazy not only because I’m not big on television but also because I heard some really strange things on Larry King Live. It was the night he had several prominent self-help experts talking about positive thinking. At the very end of the segment, Larry asked his panel if they ever had a bad day. That’s when crazy happened. Each person, in their own fashion, said, “No” they don’t have bad days.

Now the way I figure it, these folks are either delusional or in denial. Either way, it’s not a good thing. Never have a bad day??? In a word: Impossible! In two words: Crazy Making!

Okay, so technically, in the land of the ‘very aware’ and the ‘super conscious,’ there are no ‘bad’ days as long as we are growing and evolving from every experience we have. But that’s technically—that’s not what actually happens in the lives of real humans, self-help experts or not.

In real life, we humans seek contrast for the richness and depth it brings to our lives. After all, without up there would be no down; without scarcity there would be no abundance; without indifference there would be no passion. Without bad days there would be no good (days included). Contrast is great for the human spirit: It gets us closer to our goals, helps us clarify our desires and gives us something to bounce back to.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Smack in the midst of elections, Iraq and the economy, the subject of happiness dares to land in the news.  It seems that Martin Seligman, the esteemed (and well-credentialed) father of “learned helplessness,” has recently birthed the Positive Psychology movement. He’s on a mission to study the heights of happiness in the same manner that he explored the depths of depression. It’s about time!

The real news here is that Seligman is ‘outing’ the fact that our preoccupation with happiness lags way behind our cultural fascination with the darker sides of ourselves. It’s true. However perverse, the topic of happiness often gets a bum rap, the equivalent of the cultural kibosh: While depression, doubt and demons are ‘in,’ happiness has decidedly been ‘out,’ having been labeled frivolous, self-indulgent, and trivial. Until now. Maybe.

I see it every day in my own practice: My coaching clients, regardless of their position on the socioeconomic food chain, will spend endless hours dissecting the smallest spot of darkness in their lives while urgently rushing past their most major accomplishments. It’s as though an apology is attached to the unexpected goodness of life and those bright spots are merely an interruption of life’s norm.

In reaction to the trend, (and in rabblerouser fashion, I might add), I actually developed a tongue-in-cheek recipe for living small, depressed and dark. It is downloaded more than any other piece I’ve written this year. Hhmmm.

What is it about us, about the human spirit in general, which has over-prepared us for failure, for depression, for demise? What is it about us that has us silencing our happiness? And what should we do about it?

The Passionate Pursuit of Steve Irwin

Forget that he jumped up and down like a crazy man yelling “Crikey” (okay, so it wasn’t on Oprah’s couch). He was passionate. Forget that he unabashedly skewed our view of wildlife, and purposefully manipulated our relationship to it.  He was passionate.  Forget that his portrayal of almost every animal outside of our gerbil cage was threatening, volatile and dangerous to humans.  He was passionate.

Steve Irwin, Mr. Everyman in Khaki, was the icon for wildlife education and preservation. Perhaps his biggest contribution was his enthusiasm. Millions loved him. Others were more committed to fact than to his fantasy. Fair enough. Steve didn’t seem to care.  His world was the one according to crocs and pythons and Komodo dragons and his razor sharp focus about that world reached deity status. Just check the headlines during this past, most solemn week. Now that’s passion!

We’re told that he brought energy and passion to everything he did— that he didn’t do anything by half. I want passion like Steve Irwin’s. I want the kind of energy that changes a situation by virtue of my commitment to it. I want to be remembered as someone who electrified every situation, who transformed the world’s perception, someone whose energy and sheer lust for life and his purpose became an international industry.

His was the perfect business model: Find something you’re undyingly committed to. Infect the rest of the world with your passion. Convert them to devotees. Turn that passion into a money-making enterprise that literally changes the world and, ultimately, harms no one while doing tons of good. Involve every generation, especially children.  Make it educational while you’re at it.  And make it fun.

I want my version of what he had. Don’t you?

Our Inner Bag Lady

The most recent study on women's relationship to money has concluded that we women have a mortal fear of becoming a 'bag lady'. I knew that. So do most of the women in my life. I count myself among some very savvy, educated, influential and professional women who harbor this anxiety in our secret closet right alongside the imposter syndrome. (It's a similar conversation).

It seems a good number of us are frightened to death that, at some point, we will discover that our pockets are empty with no way to refill them. We know it's irrational thinking. We know that we're the source of our own personal power.  We know that if we did it before (whatever 'it' might be) then we can do it again. None-the-less, we still go to bed at night dreading the thought of waking up penniless, homeless or powerless. (Perhaps they should they have called it the 'less' syndrome).

The study reports that almost half of us have this fear for a number of very logical reasons: because we may live as much as one third of our lives in retirement; because we can't rely on social security anymore; because we outlive men; because divorce rates are astronomical and, finally, because we lack financial education.

But I think the issue goes much deeper than this: While all these explanations may be valid, they're merely symptoms of a bigger phenomenon. If we excavate a bit, we'd learn that the true 'why' behind the 'what' is rooted in the way we women view ourselves in relation to the world. (We can thank the way we were, and still are, socialized for that). If we did a little digging, what we'd likely discover is that little girls (who eventually grow into women who are studied) are still fed the myth of Prince Charming.

Furthermore, we're are acculturated to look outside ourselves for our worth, precluding us from building, strengthening and trusting our inner most core. This 'outside in' focus leaves our sense of self in doubt, unreliable and more than a bit shaky. No wonder we don't trust ourselves to take care of our financial business-consciously or not, we think that either we lack the skills or that someone else will do it for us.

So what dynamic occurs as a result of all this personal dis-empowerment? We end up thinking that the sum of money (whether vast or small) that we earn, save or spend magically appears and, therefore, can magically disappear as though we were not the ones who sourced it to begin with.  In other words, we don't 'own' the power that created the money, we don't feel responsible for it, so it can vanish into thin air just as easily as it arrived. Voilà, we are bag ladies!

I've come to learn that what we do with our money is what we do with our power. Personally, I feel less and less likely to succumb to bag lady status as I build my inner wealth-the internal resources I need to be self-supportive. On the days I'm in doubt? Well, that rolled-to-the-ankle hose, plastic bag frenzy, and overflowing shopping cart pulls right to my curb defying me to send it away. And I do. That's how I deal.  How about you?  How do you douse the doubt?

 

Life Off Balance, On Purpose

A few years back a client of mine gave me a copy of the book, “I Don't Know How She Does It” by Allison Pearson, the story of one woman's attempt to strike the impossible balance between career and family.

The problem was, I was too busy living the tale to read it and I resented my client's not realizing that she was putting just one more thing on my perpetual 'to do list'. I put the book on my nightstand pretending I might actually get to it, and stored it away after a decent amount of time.

Fast forward to this week when I went into overdrive trying to recover from a week's vacation with my two small children. (I had actually deluded myself into thinking that I'd feel relaxed at the end of it, so I needed to recuperate from the disappointment as well). A week away from my business had produced two weeks backlog of work, not to mention hundreds of unopened emails. What little relaxation I'd had was completely erased when I realized what it would take for me to handle it all.

I sat in my office trying to get myself centered and back in balance. The rush of adrenaline from the sheer overwhelm kept knocking me on my butt, and I grew exhausted just reading the long laundry list of things I needed to accomplish. Worst of all, I felt victimized by this list that I, myself, was responsible for writing.

When, I wondered, had my “get to's” turned into “have to's”? When had the desires and joys of my life turned into obligations and resentments? And how would I convert them back?

I'm not sure whether I had an epiphany or a breakdown but, regardless, I had a moment of clarity there on the floor of my office when I remembered that I was the one who had said “yes” to all of these things. This implied that I also had the choice to say “No”. Something had to give and I didn't want it to be my mental health, the well-being of my family or the prosperity of my business. What to do?

What I figured out is that I would need to learn to be off-balance on purpose. Since I couldn't possibly do everything I thought I needed to without relinquishing everything I claim to be important, I would need to relax my standard without compromising my values. It might all get done. Just not today.

I've decided to practice saying “No… for now”. Not for forever. Just for now. If my life is to going to be (by sheer necessity) off balance then I'll intentionally design it that way, on purpose. This will give me a modicum of control (I absolutely need that), and a semblance of sanity. It's not that I don't want to get it all done. It's just that it's impossible. (Oh, that!)

I'd love to know how you decide which things to put down? How do you pick which things to say “No… for now” to? And how do you decide to say, “Yes”? How do you deal with the logistics as well as the fallout? And the feelings that accompany it all?

Passion or Profit?

I recently returned from an international women’s conference where I met with one of the nation’s top marketing strategists. During our meeting I outlined my current business objectives with her. The Cliff Notes version: I am utterly devoted to helping women empower themselves; to helping them step into their own unique style of leadership.

When I signed up for the session it never occurred to me that the focus of my career was up for grabs. I just assumed that since this is my life’s purpose (and greatest passion), we would address the "how" question — not the "if."

Here’s what she said: “You can never go to women first. You’re going to have to back into the market. You can’t be a speaker for women and make the kind of money you’re talking about."

Here’s what I heard: “You must decide if you’re going to stay with your passion and stay committed to women and their issues, or if you’re going to make the money you say you want.”

Now wait a minute. For the past 18 years, I have traversed the country proselytizing the virtues of living on purpose, of using every gift and talent, of being passionate, of following one’s heart in a career. I preach that if you do what you love, etc. etc. Did this mean that everything I’d taught all those years has been pure bull?
As I tried to digest her advice, I began to realize that at this point in my life, I can’t separate my "self" from my business because the latter was born out of the former. Now I was being told I’d need to default to some cultural norm if I wanted profit commensurate with my passion?

The meeting ended. My rant began. I paced and panted like some frustrated animal caged in by the very things that made my life so worth living. I railed about the injustice of it all because, in truth, there were more than a few things this woman was right about: Women do not get paid as much as men. Women listen to men and men listen to men before either listen to women. And I know from too much personal experience that it is often assumed that I will accept lower wages just because I’m a woman (or is it because I’m not a man?).

By the time I returned home, I’d received three calls asking me to speak. All of them were to women’s groups. None of them offered monetary compensation. Was this some kind of message reinforcing this expert’s advice? Or was it a challenge for me to stand up for what I say I believe in?

Then I remembered two things: There is an AND to every leadership conversation. That AND is in bold when it relates to women. Yes, it is true that we earn 76 cents on the dollar. AND what is ALSO true is that just because that’s the way it is, doesn’t mean that’s the way it will be. Just because what I want to do hasn’t been done before doesn’t mean it won’t ever be.

I also remembered who I am. While she may have been the market expert, I’m the expert on me. This wouldn’t be the first time that some professional had held opinion contrary to mine. It won’t be the last.

Passion or profit? I won’t have to make that choice, unless I think I have to. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll follow my path knowing I have a choice. I’ll also let you know (when I find out) if purpose can truly birth profit or if some market trend will determine my destiny.

TAG- You're It!

Recess was my best subject in school. I’d wait all morning for the shrill of the bell that signaled permission to tear out onto the blacktop and search for that day’s best friend. When we tired of jump rope, monkey bars and really bad jokes, we’d inevitably end up playing our all time favorite—TAG.

Reflecting back I now realize that it was one of the first laboratories for my relationships. It was on the playfield that I learned what I’d need for future networking in my business, how to blow off some of the steam that comes with stress, and it is also where I fine-tuned the rules for playing well with other adults.

All those fond memories came rushing back at me when I read in USA Today www.usatoday.com this week that all across the country schools are now banning the game of Tag (and touch football, soccer and dodge ball). Apparently the games upon which I’d been raised are now considered too dangerous for our children. Tag “progresses easily into slapping and hitting and pushing instead of just touching” I learned. Hhmmm. For eons children have been playing contact sports and yes, unfortunately, a scant few even end up injured with broken arms, bruises and dislocated body parts. What a minor price to pay given the rewards these games reap! And while I may not ever want to see my child injured, I’d be more than a little reluctant to take “You’re It!” out of their vocabulary.

I began to think about the message we’re sending our children (and ourselves) by
insulating them; by teaching them that everything can hurt them and by fighting for their limitations. If we don’t teach them early on, then how will they learn to set decent and safe boundaries for themselves? or to negotiate a heated argument? or to physically restrain themselves at the height of the anger and frustration that can accompany competition? In a “Theory of Living” class perhaps?

Every day I work with highly successful, competent and socially aware adults who are, frankly, scared to death to try something, anything, new or to take any risks or to breach their self-made boundaries. They’ve learned somewhere along the way that life is scary, that security is worth its weight and that most chances aren’t worth taking.

Somewhere in mid-life they become aware that they are sad, depressed, angry and fearful. They come to me to undo that damage when they realize that while their lives are safe and secure and neat and predictable, they are bored beyond reason, void of passion and they’re dying their lives instead of living them.

I, for one have surrounded myself with very cool people who have chosen failure over regret—folks who have carefully weighed the scales on some new adventure or event and have concluded that life lived out loud, life in full bloom, beats the heck out of safety any day.

All You Leave is Your Impact

“All you leave is your impact.” That was the thought that lifted me out of a pool of tears and snot yesterday afternoon as I left the hospital having said goodbye to my dear client and friend, Elaine Childs Gowell, www.goodgriefrituals.com. She’d just suffered a massive stroke and I knew it would be the very last time I’d see her alive, If you could call a coma ‘living’.

Had it been anyone else, I would have used the words ‘final farewell’ but I knew that there was nothing final about anything Elaine had ever done. Her loving kindness, empathic spirit, good sense and deep compassion would stay with me until the moment it was me lying in some bed somewhere with any of my unused potential puddled about me.

Elaine is a psychiatric nurse practitioner who wrote several books (grief issues for adults), has traveled the world teaching (healing and shamanism) and has a bunch of initials trailing her name. Watching her lying there with her life force replaced by a morphine drip, I realized that more than the books and articles she wrote or the seminars and speeches she gave, what she’d really leave behind was her passion for people and the impact that had. That was all and it was plenty.

When it’s our time, few will remember what we did or how we did it. What will stay with them is how they felt when they were with us and maybe what they felt when they thought about us. The indelible print is how someone or something made us feel about ourselves—what emotional taste an experience left in our mouths. Somehow the details that caused the dread or delirium fade to the background and all that is left how it impacted us in that moment, and how it carries forth to this day.

I don’t remember what Mrs. Claire Tornay taught me in fourth grade, but I do remember that she went to the wall in her belief in me—that she was the first person ever to tell me I was really smart and that I could do anything I set my mind to—and the doors opened by those feelings she stirred.

I’d suggest that maybe that’s what all this talk about passion is really all about. We want the feeling. We need the feeling. And nowadays many of us are willing to do whatever it takes to make sure it counts because we know, deep in our souls, that when it’s all over all you leave is your impact.

Ambivalant about Ambition?

Not long ago one of my colleagues attended my weekend retreat. At it’s conclusion she told me that while the information was life-altering for her, what really blew her away was her experience of my huge heart and my capacity to empathize, especially given my reputation as being extremely ambitious, a real go-getter.

I was stunned by both her candor and its content. I cringe to think that this fellow professional couldn’t (wouldn’t?) place my capacity to feel in the same equation as my ambition—she, like most of our culture, is of the opinion that to have ambition in the form of fame, fortune or position is absolutely incongruent with what it means to be feminine, what it means to be relationally oriented.

Did she mean I had to choose? I could either be feminine or ambitious? That I couldn’t be both? Or, at least, not at the same time? And as for my so-called reputation— I truly believe we earn those and that we’re in charge of them so if I seem very ambitious it’s because I’m, well, very ambitious. I set the bar very high because I, for one, refuse to die with my song still inside me. I’ve never, even for a moment, suspended my femininity in my quest for success. As a matter of fact, I’d attribute my success largely to my femininity.

Coincidentally, soon after this incident an equally ‘high performance’ colleague suggested I read Anna Fels’ article, Do Women Lack Ambition? in the Harvard Business Review www.hbr.org. Fels, a psychiatrist, cites overwhelmingly conclusive evidence substantiating that this assumption is the cultural norm. Reading the research left me both appalled and relieved; the latter because it is still holds true in 2006 and the former because it validates my own observations.

It’s most likely that this colleague of mine wasn’t even conscious of what she said—that’s how it is with cultural tendencies—they’re so much a part of who we are that we don’t even notice them. Which is what makes them so dangerous, to begin with.