From Here to Autonomy

Acknowledging the Professional IS Personal

"We Are operating above the neck whenever we assume that what we think is more important than what we feel. We are operating above the neck when we emphasize data over personal experience. We are operating above the neck when we deify logic and denigrate intuition."  

                                                --Maggie Craddock, The Authentic Career

I was introduced to Maggie Craddock by a mutual friend. We hit it off immediately, and she send me her latest book, "Power Genes" which I ate like it was chocolate mousse. I saved little bites for plane rides and hotel stays and ended up reading tub-fuls in a sitting. When I finished I felt full, but realized that I'd eaten dessert before the meal. I'm finally getting around to the main course and reading her previous book, "The Authentic Career".

Maggie is that rare combination of experienced business leader and psychologist (she left a successful career as a financial industry superstar before receiving clinical training. I love her work, not only because it's a rare example of both real-world corporate experience and clinical expertise, but because it reflects what I see in the best of entrepreneurs--the ability to create a profession from strongly held belief in what is missing in the world. Before becoming an expert, Maggie searched for executive level coaching that could also address the underlying subconscious elements that contribute to professional shortcomings and burnout.

I'm a fan of both therapy and coaching, but never have I been able to "talk shop" with a therapist. Nor have I been able to get past more business oriented solutions when addressing career issues. And yet I've always held a strong belief that the professional IS inherently personal. We are supposed to keep our personal lives out of the workplace, and yet we barf our personal lives onto people unwittingly when we don't address stressors in our lives. Actions ranging from a cruelly castigating an employee to awkwardly fumbling your way through a harmless inquiry by your boss are results of deeper experiences. Perhaps you always struggled to be heard when you were a child in a house of more aggressive siblings. Perhaps you harbor deep-seated resentment of someone who is junior but whose ease with other people triggers you. All of these issues are game for discussion in Maggie's book. In fact, these issues are superficial compared to others that stem from unquestioned beliefs around money and love that we absorbed as children.

I'm just starting to journey in and am intrigued at what I am discovering.

Am I about to end the season of my discontent? Working at 40

Like a moth to a flame I clicked to a story on [email protected] Today entitled "The Discontented Thirties." I didn't do so because I consider myself discontented, but like any type A about to turn 40 (I have a few months), I question. I look at all that I accomplished in my 30s, like turning a life passion into a business, getting married, and having a daughter, and I say to myself "why couldn't I have done that in my twenties?" Of course reading stories like this about young media influentials in their teens and twenties doesn't help to contain the self-criticism.

My ridiculousness aside, the KW article says that of all of the working-age cohorts, those age 30-39 report the most work dissatisfaction. This is the time when many in that cohort are starting families and experiencing work-life balance issues, and when their work responsibilities are increasing. Later, in our 40s, experts opine, we "can get their minds back in the game". And by our 50s, we have more work satisfaction because we are enjoying the benefits of the upper echelons of the corporate ladder.

All of this makes me think of whether I have even more to look forward to in my 40s. My 30s was a mixed bag. I recall entering my 30s gainfully unemployed, meaning the start-up I had worked at went belly-up, and I was enjoying the life of free agency. Enjoying, at least, until I ran out of money. Then I found a job that paid rent but did little else for me. I almost went to grad school and decided to stick it out for another job, where I was paid little, but got to explore a new industry. It was also the decade that I took up blogging, and met my business partners, and started a company. I don't think I could ever look at work the same way again. Work changed from a series of jobs to a mission.

My 30s were fraught with change, and concern about my future, and hard work. And this was the decade that I became an entrepreneur. I don't feel discontented; I feel quite satisfied.

Do Nice Girls Self-Promote?

I got to see a ton of bloggers I haven't seen in a long time at the BlogHer Holiday Party. One, in particular, inspired a post.

She's one of the "old-timers", meaning she's been blogging for more than five years. And like many of the women I met in the early days of BlogHer, she sticks to her knitting--posts a few times a week, uses Facebook and Twitter as tools, is adept in audio and videoblogging. And she considers herself a "professional who blogs," not a professional blogger.

There's a big difference here: Some bloggers put a good deal of their energy into monetizing their blogs and are successful at it--those are professional bloggers. Others use their blogs as a means of building opportunities, but by no means make their living off of them, or are known for them; those are professionals who blog.

My friend falls into this latter group. She earns her living as a consultant, who often helps others build and even monetize their blogs, and her blog content is useful in helping others develop professionally. But her blog itself isn't a revenue driver. And therein lies her problem--she wants it to.

"I see so many blogger/guru types who are successfully building their businesses by selling their books and eCourses on their sites," she said. "I don't think I'm capable of talking up my work in that way."

She was referring to bloggers who have no problem posting requests on their blogs,

"Go check me out here!" …

"Sign up for my teleclass!"

"Go see my piece in Parenting magazine…"

And they have no problem sharing their good news --

"I just made Babble's Top 50 Moms list…"

"I just got a TV deal …"

I understood my friend's dilemma. Her mojo was much more "talk about others' great work" not "talk about my great work." And yet she cannot deny that self-promotional birds get the worm. And she's a media skeptic, like myself. She knows too much about how the promotional sausage gets made to want to serve it up to her beloved readers. Earlier this week I learned that I was included in Working Mother Magazine's Most Powerful Moms in Social Media list (Note: I don't actually provide a link, proof of my neurosis). Normally I don't care for lists; for every one I make there are dozens that I don't, so I maintain any sense of self-worth by not investing too much stock in them. And as a general rule we stay away from them at BlogHer, as some can drip with link-baiting intention meant to inspire more debate than appreciation. But shucks, I knew that my family would get a kick out of seeing my mug up there. And I actually agreed with their inclusion of some of my favorite bloggers, even if not all of my favorites were included. After bullshitting with myself that I was doing this for the love of Momblogging, not out of any self-interest, I posted a link to the story on my Facebook and Twitter page; it took restraint the next morning, when I saw a list of congratulatory comments on my Facebook wall, to not write back to each FB friend personally and apologize for gunking up their update feed with my business. I had to say to myself, "Wait--what the hell is social media for, if not to share your good news?"

So yes, even though I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to build OTHER bloggers' and brands' traffic to insane levels, the thought of applying some of these tactics to my own platform embarrasses me. And if I get a "hit" in the form of a spike in traffic or a congratulatory note I will immediately question whether I provided enough content value to deserve it.

In fact, I, too, have sat with this question around self-promotion. While it's absolutely critical to promote your work and accomplishments to garner recognition and more opportunities, how much self-promotion will have a diminishing effect on your credibility with your readers and community? How much of this concern is really just my issue with feeling my work is not worth promoting if it's about me?

As someone who tends to gravitate toward personal and professional development blogs, I know my share of gurus, through their work and personally. Most of them have embraced the requirement of promoting their work, much the way an actor embraces the need to show up to an audition. It ain't glamorous, but it's a necessary part of sustaining a living. "Here, folks, is a link to my new book. Now back to our regular programming…"

Others have taken the self promotion to a different level. Their accomplishments have become the content.

A subject of their latest blog post may be their latest dilemma: Guys, should I change the focus of my book for the fat deal with Random House?

Or a situation: I was sitting with my friend who shall remain nameless (@Oprah)..."

Or promotion as a favor to someone else who can promote your work later: My pal Magda is the BOMB! Take her teleclass now, tell them I sent you, and get 50% off!!!

This sort of copy always appears in my brain in bright red letters and huge exclamation points, even when it's done tastefully. It's like noise to me and, rather than be alienated by it I tend to tune it out.

I said to my PR-averse friend, "You know, maybe YOUR readers aren't as interested in special offers and announcements."

She didn't buy it: "But I still see plenty of people who fall into the more audacious camp, and they have tons of readers, and they actually make money off of their various projects. I have to wonder if I'm in denial about what it takes to be successful in this increasingly expert-saturated space."

Honestly I don't know the answer to that. Perhaps the challenge isn't learning to become more comfortable with being self-promotional, but rather learning to play within the range of what your community considers acceptable (defined by your own bullshit meter).

That means if you tend to feel uncomfortable promoting your work, endeavor to squeeze in a bit of personal PR thoughtfully and remember: There are some real freaking crazies out there who actually want to read your stuff, see the pics of your trip to LegoLand, take your teleclass. And who are YOU to not deliver?

You see? It's really not about you.

The Imperative of Being Uncomfortable

I've always ducked into and out of my yoga practice as I've made time for it in my life. It's one of the few things about which I'm not ambitious. I don't do it to get to level three, or to one day stand on my hands with my legs crossed. I do it because it's one of the few things in my life that has grounded me. And when I lose grounding I seek it out.

I've been threatening to go to the yoga place in my new neighborhood, which isn't so new anymore. I'd taken a very practical approach to my fitness and joined a gym, where I could work out when I wanted to, how I wanted to. Since having a baby I'd worked my way back to my regular routine of treadmill and weights. The same one I'd developed for myself nearly 20 years ago.

This weekend, after a week of travel, I simply decided: It's time to take a class. I'd glanced at the schedule for one of the two yoga studios near my house and committed to going to a Hatha Level I class Sunday morning.

The studio seemed nice enough--nice light and plenty of room. I took off my shoes at the door like everyone else and placed my mat next to a man in a T-shirt and shorts who was meditating. I did the same, more to fit in than because I was compelled to meditate. More people arrived and the room started to get warm--really warm. Most of the men in the room had taken off their shirts by now. They looked different then men in other yoga classes I'd taken. Most noticeably, they were ripped. Men and women started taking turns at a chin up bar hanging in the center of the room as a warm-up. I don't recall experiencing this … intensity at the beginning of a Hatha Level 1 class.

I noticed a schedule posted across the room and took a quick peek--shit, I was in the wrong class.  I'd already paid and been acknowledged by the instructor. I reasoned with myself that I couldn't just leave. I'd have to spend the next 105 minutes pretending to belong.

The yoga instructor told jokes that most of the people in the room laughed at. I didn't understand them. I was the odd person out, the one that in another context you would turn to and say, "You just had to be there," to understand.

Class officially started with a chant. I felt like I did the few times I went to Church and had to mumble a psalm I didn't know. It seemed to go on forever. The instructor mumbled the name of an asana, and immediately people in the room responded. I only knew the basic poses and stayed in downward facing dog until I could grasp what I was meant to do. Many of the asanas were far beyond my skill level.

I felt stupid, noticeably inept. And I made a realization: It had been a while since I'd felt this way. And for good reason; I usually avoided situations where I was a newbie. But instead of walking out I stayed and performed the asanas as I could, even blatantly stared at the people in poses next to me, then tried to mimic them.

The instructor was gracious, not correcting me any more or less than anyone else in the class, but occasionally helping to refine my posture so that I could get the most out of the pose.

The final pose--Savasana, or corpse pose--was a welcome one. As I lay there I observed that for years now I've spoken to women who have just started blogging who have demurred at attending our conferences, and I say to them, "You have nothing to worry about." Or encouraging new bloggers and companies to simply embrace new ways of being, saying it from a position of already being "an expert". But I forget how hard it is to put faith into something you are not yet the boss of. How hard it can be to generate momentum at the beginning when the end seems as impossible as standing on your hands with your legs crossed.

My body has been hurting all week. I pushed it in ways it hasn't been pushed in a long time. When I left the yoga class I patted myself on the back for surviving and insisted to myself that I wouldn't put myself in that position again. Next time I would go to a beginner class.

But once you've attempted something harder, it's difficult to go back.