From Here to Autonomy

Femalities: A breakdown of SXSW and a lot of other stuff from a woman's point of view

Don't know what it is--the fact that I've just emerged from a weekend at SXSW, it was International Women's Day on Friday, I got snubbed by a "prominent" male investor/entrepreneur that in the virtual world I respected, though in person not so much--but I am feeling my womanness of late. And no, guys, it's not because it's that time of the month. If anything, it's the world who's experiencing a hormonal shift.

A digital analyst that I bumped into at SX in the lobby of the Hilton asked me what struck me as the big story at SX. I gave him a safe answer that belied the unbelievable growth the BlogHer Network has experienced on mobile platforms </shill for my company> and realized there's a better, more encompassing answer: WOMEN.

You know, those people at SX who like to hug, code, and grab coffee. They've been at SX before (we partnered with SX in '06, developing programming for them around women and have been involved as attendees or board members </shill my business partner> since). They're not really that new in the space. Like content marketing they were around in the Web 1.0 days too, but there are new distinctions that folks seem to be making, in part because, like Facebook, some broke out and went public.

Yes, we don't need to say Sheryl SANDBERG or Marissa MAYER out here. Everyone knows who you are talking about when asked, "What'd you think about Marissa's decision?" or "Lean In, you agree with Sheryl?" It may have been International Women's Day on Friday, but it seems the celebrating here in Austin was delayed for the official launch of "Lean In" instead.

Even my ungeeky friends have reached out and asked me, "So do you think this Lean In stuff is valid?" For the record (and since I was supposed to represent BlogHer on a CNN panel to discuss this Friday, but the topic was bumped to today and we talked about DOMA and Justin Bieber instead) I want to put what I thought was a damn well-conceived opinion out there, to the two of you reading my blog:

I love what Sheryl has done with her platform as resident SV untouchable badass to highlight the issue of women and work. It seems that when women who haven't taken companies public try to do so, the media responds with a tad less enthusiasm. And while I understand the criticism of some of the fembloggers who feel that Sandberg's privileged background makes her an unreliable advocate for those of us who actually have to work, I think someone had to get this conversation started. My hope and intention is to invite others to the conversation who have lived in fear of being fired and feel they have to fake leaning in, or who don't have the resources to lean in without keeling over from the exhaustion of having a full-time career and being a caregiver.

I don't believe that women have an ambition problem. When it comes to having a family and high-powered career they have a power problem.

I attended Jessica Coen's Interview of Anne-Marie Slaughter and felt for the first time in a long time like a pig in shit at a SX session. My people! And I saw plenty of men in attendance at her panel. One even approached me after I asked Anne-Marie my question (Do you think men are equally at risk of having difficulty on-ramping back into the workforce after being at home raising the kids?) and told me how he managed the transition. Finally I can come back from SX with some takeaway for my amazing Stay-at-Home Husband.

And I attended a panel led by John Gerzema that walked us through the research done for his book The Athena Doctrine--which provides powerful examples of men and women who have manifested massive change in the world by adopting feminine qualities such as flexibility, intuition, generosity, and empathy. Gerzema argues that it is the embracing of feminine traits (defined as feminine via a global survey of thousands) that is required to be effective in today's political, economic, and societal realms (and to the "professor" who took issue with Gerzema's omission of his female research partner--who did not co-author the book--on the cover: Consider the maleness of your body language and accusatory tone and Gerzema's open, accepting, perhaps FEMININE response to your attack. Personally, I prefer that he have my back).

And I capped off a long day having dinner with some crazily inspirational women who got where they are (at the top echelons of their companies and running their own) via a killer cocktail of chutzpah, yes, but also of being tireless connectors and interpreters of what the rest of us are going to care about in the future. None of them had the asshole personal interface that I experienced on Saturday, as mentioned earlier that I experienced from an investor entrepreneur who speaks a whole lot about the need to empower women entrepreneurs, just so long as he doesn't actually have to SPEAK or LOOK at any of them at SX. I must say, I've attended countless investor meetings with all-male VCs, tech conventions with mostly male attendees, board meetings with mostly male members, and never have I felt disrespected like I did when I encountered this person and said hello. (To place in Evernote in a file I've reserved for notes on a book I one day intend to write that explores the correlation of assholeness with effectiveness as a visionary. Sadly there often is one, but I'd like to make a case that there doesn't have to be).

I hung out in pubs with men and women who talked about their kids as much as their work projects and who had thoughtful commentary on Marissa Mayer's decision to reverse Yahoo's remote work policy (for the record I'm in the "she's a CEO first" camp. In the future I hope she will address the MANAGEMENT problem that led to the degradation of morale among the remote workers and re-institute flexible work policy.)

Last night, I didn't sleep, and for the first time in a long time, something other than an infant kept me up all night. I had a realization, borne of this combination of aforementioned events, that women are on the cusp of big reckonings. I can feel it pulling me out of my 5-year blogging slump.

I remain true to my belief that being a woman doesn't keep you from getting VC funding--a shitty business plan and weak management team do--and entrepreneurism is accessible to all (Steve Blank, whom I finally got to meet in person at SX, I continue to bow to you). But there continues to be a lack of respect for things female. Note again, I didn't say WOMEN, I said for things/traits female. I think that is going to change. And pretty soon.

The Storyteller: and how finding my "word" helped me embrace entrepreneurism

Years ago (and I mean YEARS--back in 2001), I was referred to Kimberly Wiefling as a coach by a dear friend. I was in my 20s and working at a dying tech startup and silently panicking about what to do with myself. I'd moved from New York to San Francisco to work at this startup, and now that it was in a death spiral, with the excitement of taking a company to acquisition or IPO dried up, I felt like a fish out of water. My career in publishing was back in New York, I reasoned, but over the past two years I'd built a life on the West Coast, one I wasn't sure I could sustain.

And I wasn't sure I could go back to NYC and just pick up where I'd left off, either. The startup life had changed me somehow. I couldn't go back into a job mindlessly;  I needed to figure out what the next thing for me would be.

I fell into a default mindset that I must have developed when I was a child and told myself that if I just excelled in class (and later in life, at work) opportunities would start coming to me. The problem was there was no longer a class (or a job) to excel in. I would have to create an opportunity out of thin air. How terrifying.

My first meeting with Kimberly was a bit disarming. Rather than give me a game plan she asked me questions--lots of them. In my panic to create options for myself I'd started applying to business schools and was studying for the GMATs.

"So, why are you applying to B-school?" she asked.

My response, as memory serves, "It will make me more marketable."

"More marketable for what?"

I had no idea. Now, to be clear, Kimberly was not trying to persuade me to not go to B-school. But she was helping me to see a pattern. I was applying to graduate school for the third time--it was my default every time I was at a career crossroads. I chose a new occupational identity and applied to a graduate program as a way of appearing in-motion. Never did I explore what really motivated me.

After 90 minutes of questioning Kimberly got me to a new place that felt more comfortable than the one I was attempting to cram for. A new word emerged; one that felt good but that I hadn't accepted before: Storyteller. I don't recall how we got to that word, given I had moved on from my writing career (or so I thought!) And I had no idea what I would now do to honor this truth about myself, that I was, in essence, a storyteller. But it quelled the panicky voices in my head that told me I needed to reinvent myself again. It bought me time.

More than a decade later, I remain entrenched in startups (having started one myself in 2005 with two co-founders). But I still honor that word--storyteller--and realize it has helped me access my true talent within my chosen field. For a while I took the term quite literally and blogged and wrote for magazines, but later, after meeting my partners and seeing-through opportunities that came my way in partnership, I saw new ways to use my passion for storytelling.

For instance, in the early days of my startup, I and my partners needed to excite sponsors, advertisers and investors of the power of blogs and social media. Storytelling was the best way to capture their understanding. Growing our team, working with partners, and building the business required building and telling a story--a story powerful enough to recruit others into helping us grow. When seeking partnerships, I'm attracted to others' business stories, sometimes even more than I am interested in their actual businesses.

I'm asked all the time how I knew I was "ready" to be an entrepreneur. The real answer: I didn't know. I just knew what I could bring to the table as an entrepreneur. If you are considering an entrepreneurial venture, or any change in your career, consider your "passion" word; basically, what you take with you in every iteration of your career.

Obviously we all need to continue to learn and grow in order to take on new challenges. But consider the thread that remains intact throughout each chapter of your career--a compliment you continually get from co-workers; a type of task you love to take on, even if at a more advanced level with each job; the business stories you like to follow in your newsfeed that don't necessarily relate to your current work.  These are clues to the next step. For me, my word helped me to better embrace the entrepreneurial life.

Don't Hate me Because I Leave the Office at 4pm

It was such a provocative headline on Inc.com I just had to check it out: "Sheryl Sandberg Leaves Work at 5:30. Why Can't You?"  Provocative, I suppose, to women who work full time, on their own or on someone else's business, and who at some point in their careers wanted more in their work day than just work. Women like me, who clicked on the headline in her news aggregator, wondering, "and just how does she do that?"

The Inc. Magazine piece cites a video for Makers.com, a video project on AOL, in which Sandberg says:

"I walk out of this office every day at 5:30 so I'm home for dinner with my kids at 6:00, and interestingly, I've been doing that since I had kids..."

The messages in the Inc. article were: "Hey if Sheryl can do it, so can you!" and, don't kill yourself working the long hours you think you need to to be successful--studies show there's a diminishing return after 40 hours per week. The piece was actually very thought-provoking, though I must confess I was hung up on the part about Sheryl Sandberg leaving the office at 5:30. Here's why.

The time of day we let ourselves put our work down, while important, does not confirm whether we have work-life balance. While I have burned the midnight oil with the best of them in my earlier startup days, I leave the office at 4pm now. I do this because I have a three-highway commute that takes over an hour each way and I want to make it home for dinner with my husband and 19-month old daughter, at 5:30. (Before we had her I never ate dinner before 8 or 8:30.) But I wouldn't exactly accuse myself of being a "balanced" female entrepreneur.

Sure I get a dose of family time. As the full-time working parent it's my job--and my desire--to take on the caregiving at night and give my daughter a bath, get her in jammies (yes, jammies), read her a book or ten, brush her teeth, and rub her back while she talks to the stuffed animals in her crib. By 7:30 p.m. she's usually asleep. At this time I break out the laptop and work for another two or three hours. And while I don't live in her home and can't confirm, I suspect Sheryl Sandberg does too.

This schedule, adds considerably more time to that 40-hour work week, though I don't point this out to complain. These additional hours at the end of my day are not strenuous or difficult. But the hours I spend traveling are. These are weeks when having dinner with my family is out of the questions, and I suspect this is the case for Sheryl Sandberg too. I suspect that, like me, she travels a good amount of the time, judging by the YouTube videos I see of her at TEDWomen, or the World Economic Forum and considering the global nature of Facebook's business. I applaud Sandberg's insistence on being home with her children during a "typical" work day. But I must check the press who don't qualify her statement with the reality of female entrepreneurs: most days ain't typical.

There's also an unspoken dynamic that should be addressed before we paint a picture of balance and success being SO accessible: power equals freedom; and power usually takes a lot of hours to earn.

Sandberg is the second ranking executive at a powerful company, with the power to address company culture. Women entrepreneurs who are just starting out are often at the mercy of their customers, their advertisers, their VCs. In order to grow their power and the power of their companies they must be in front of the right people, in the right places, often at highly inconvenient times. Before I had my daughter I made it a point to not let geography or time zone be an issue; I simply showed up. You can question whether or not I had to, but I'll argue that many women starting businesses would say there is no choice.

As one female CEO once said to me when I told her that I brought my husband and daughter to a conference, hoping that by bringing them I would get to spend time with them in the mornings and before my daughter's bedtime (which I didn't): "After a few years I just realized I wasn't going to get to make it all work out. The kids would have to stay at home; and I would have to be apart from them. I couldn't make both worlds work together."

Leaving the office at 5:30 is not having the best of both worlds; it's making the most of the world we're in.

You could argue that Sandberg's success makes establishing balance easier than it is for other women. I recall an interview I did for BlogHer with Lisa Belkin back in 2008. We talked a bit about the B word--balance--and why it was such a bugaboo. And not just because, as current professional wisdom holds, balance and excellence are rarely inclusive. I mentioned an article I read in The New York Times early in my professional career that showed how little successful media executives slept. The article depressed me because it made me think that in order for these folks to stay on top they had to maintain an almost superhuman schedule, working until 1 or 2 a.m. and then waking up at 5 a.m. to work out, read the papers, and drink something probiotic before promptly starting work. In the case of the women profiled, there was little to no mention of their family lives.

Belkin argued the contrary, that very senior women had the resources to help them achieve balance. They had housekeepers, assistants, perhaps even personal chefs and drivers, to help clear away the domestic friction between their personal and professional lives. I have to believe this is true.

I love that Sheryl Sandberg leaves work by 5:30 to have dinner with her family by 6 p.m. But I doubt she's heating up the leftovers or cracking open cans of Chef Boyardee to fit it all in. She's got help; just like I do.

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 Knowledge@Wharton 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.

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.

Baking Meditation

I've been on vacation all week, spending time with family, doing not much. Wednesday I embarked on baking a pie.

I was proud of myself. I spent time researching recipes the week before. I prepped ingredients in advance, which I've never done in the past. I took more than a second to think about things that have gone wrong in previous attempts--I have chronically weak pie dough--and chilled my ingredients accordingly. I even bought a Kitchen Aid mixer so that I could better beat the dough.

As I was peeling apples I realized I had been spending hours working on this one pie. I don't recall having spent hours doing anything in a long time. Even with work, I do things in pieces--a few emails before jumping on a call. Or pulling together a deck while I wait to board a plane. I don't recall the last time I actually MADE something tangible--something non-digital.

I noticed, while I was rolling dough that I was actually nervous. I have a general anxiety around making things--food, crafts, anything requiring sewing. I don't know which came first, my ineptitude, or the fear of ineptitude, but I get more nervous making things than I do about, say, doing my taxes.

But on Wednesday I took the time--as much as was needed--to do the job right. I dug in as if making this pie were the only think that needed to be done, and it had to be done well.

The Artist as Entrepreneur

Apologies in advance to Lisa Milgram, who told me this parable. I have embellished a bit:

There was a man who used to love to fish on his boat. It was a small boat--no frills, a rowboat. He fished every day for his supper. And every day, he caught something to feed his family. One day, an Old Man floated by on his rowboat and observed the first man fishing.

"You know," The Old Man said, "You're really good at fishing! Have you considered starting a fishing BUSINESS! You could buy three more of those boats, train some fishermen, and make money."

The fisherman thought about it for a while. He loved fishing and wasn't sure he knew how to start a fishing business. But perhaps he should make more money doing what he loved by starting this business.

A week later he caught enough fish that he could sell them and buy a second rowboat. He rented out the rowboat to a fisherman, who gave him a portion of his proceeds from his catch. A month later the fisherman could afford to buy another rowboat. And a month later he bought yet another rowboat and hired yet another fisherman.

But sadly the fisherman was unhappy. He never could just sit in his rowboat anymore and fish. There were always things he had to do, like keep track of the earnings of the other fishermen, who didn't have quite the passion for fishing that he did. They just fished to feed their families. When he fished he caught more fish than they could combined. He had to teach the other fishermen new tricks, and had to keep them motivated. He often sat with them in their rowboats and encouraged them. He taught them to love fishing.

Eventually, his fishermen got quite good. Sometimes they caught more fish than the original fisherman did on his best days, back when he fished alone. Years into having his fishing business, the fisherman became quite successful. He was surrounded by dozens of expert fishermen who loved him for helping them to support themselves--and teaching them to love fishing.

The fisherman was happy that he had a thriving business, but he knew that he was unfulfilled because he no longer enjoyed the simplicity of being a master of something that he loved to do.

One day, he set out on his own to fish. It had been a while. He sat out there a long time and caught nothing. In the distance he could see another rowboat. It was weathered and old. As the rowboat got closer the person inside of it started to look familiar. It was the Old Man who, years ago, had encouraged the fisherman to start a fishing business.

"Morning," the man said. "Do you remember me?" the fisherman said. "A long time ago you suggested that I start a fishing business, and I did just that. I have a very successful business, and many successful fishermen working for me."

"Congratulations!" the man said. "But if you are so successful, why do you look so sad?"

"I'm sad because this is the first time I've gone out to fish on my own in years. I'm no good at it anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever should have started my fishing business, or if I would have been happier fishing on my own."

The man began to laugh. "I suggested that you start a fishing business not because I think you should be a businessman all of your life. I suggested it so that you could fish for the rest of your life, and be happy."

The fisherman started to understand. His business wasn't designed to keep him from fishing, but to give him the freedom to fish without having to do it for any other reason but the joy of fishing. The fisherman knew that the only thing for him to do now was sit in his boat. And wait.

When a manager can't let go of the glory: What's an employee to do?

One of the ironic outcomes of my current maternity leave, during which I've had no semblance of a schedule or focus on my career--has been more time to talk with friends about their careers. Just call while I'm nursing and voila, we can have a somewhat lengthy, spontaneous conversation.

That was the case the other day with a good friend of mine. She called to check up on me, the "new mommy", and found herself, instead, sharing her employment woes and getting my unsolicited career coaching. For me, talking about other people's jobs is a recreational activity; and I seem to have a talent for sucking these details out of people.

My friend had been at her new job for three months. She was excited to get her position, especially after being unemployed for a long time. She had taken a multi-year "hiatus," from the job market, during which time "social media" became watch words, and those with solely "traditional" marketing expertise learned not to admit it. This job was a mixed blessing; it immersed her in the digital marketing realm from which she could leverage jobs in the future, but with a much reduced paycheck and seniority. Despite its shortcomings, this latest job seemed a perfect fit, combining her agency experience with a business development role.

I knew there was more to my friend's story when I asked her about the new job, and she said it was "fine." Three months is a pivotal time during a new job. It's a point of sink or swim, when inherently you know whether you are on a path to greatness, or need to get the hell out of dodge, or will just be a cog in a machine of relative mediocrity. None are inherently bad, if they fall in line with an expectation.

My friend elaborated: She was aware that she'd be reporting into a managing director, but she wished she'd done more diligence on this person in advance. He was the quintessential lone wolf, and very political. Now I've learned to stop demonizing people for being political for the same reason I can't fault people for breathing. Earlier in my career I would have made it my business to ignore the political rumblings and goings-on at my job, but pretending that they don't exist and not reacting to political undertones might get you fired, or worse, stuck in the purgatory of career stagnation.

Moving on: Three months into the job, my friend was crystal clear that her new boss was going to hamper her progress at her job. Though my friend was hired to progress certain accounts, these accounts had been landed by her boss, and he wasn't going to just let her manage them. In essence, he'd agreed to let his new report drive the new car but refused to hand over the keys. He wouldn't provide her with the resources, contacts, and ultimately the trust she needed to do her job well. Once, when the company's CEO came to her for information on a client, which she innocently provided, her boss admonished her for going over his head. Though she had come to the company with 25 years of work experience, she was now afraid to speak at meetings for fear of saying something impolitic, or something that might undermine her impossible-to-please boss.

"I feel like I can't win," she told me. If I don't do the job that I was hired to do, he'll fire me, but if I do the job I was hired to do really well, he may fire me for that. I'm doomed to maintain a status quo that keeps him comfortable."

My friend had assessed the reality of her situation quickly and, I believe, accurately. Now, she said, she needed to determine whether the situation could be improved, and if it couldn't be improved, was it one that she could live with.

Pregnancy Journal, Week 36: Working with my feet up

A friend of mine called me from New York. We talked for a while about his new job--I may be one of the few people who enjoys discussing with my friends the intricacies of their day to day work.

He asked me, so how are you?

I had to preface my response with a disclaimer,

"Nothing's wrong," I said. "But things are different." My friend probed to determine if I was unhappy.

"Nope," I said. "I'm just getting used to this change." I felt inarticulate, like when I had nightmares as a kid and my mom came into my room and asked me what I was afraid of, and I didn't know. One time I told her, "I'm feeling something skinny; a skinny string." I still get the sensation, but I don't know what it means.

By "change" I think I mean all that has shifted since becoming pregnant. For years I've been told about how the focus of energy shifts when you become a parent. I've held off on my decision to have children knowing this shift occurs. 

But even knowing that I am supposed to slow the centrifugal force that has tied me to a grinding schedule for so long, I find that I still give myself a spin or two to stay in motion, even during times of physical exhaustion. I wonder if I do this out of habit; being in motion is all that I know. Or because the slowdown scares me; all this momentum, what would it take to start up again? What if I fall in love with slow? What if slow feels like a skinny string?

A trusted friend--a powerhouse, even to other powerhouses--tells me that her desire to work, to achieve, didn't change when she had her son, but her reason for working did.

"I did everything because of him," she said.

Some might bristle at that thought, especially since working women are encouraged to have their careers "for themselves". But some of us have been working "for ourselves" for a very, very long time, at the risk of having no perspective and losing the meaning behind what we do. For me, the thought of working for someone else is liberating; it opens possibilities. It bends the rules I set in my mind of the way work must be.

Still, the rules run deep. My business partner said to me last week that if I may not want to bother commuting these last few weeks before the baby is born. Makes sense: an hour-long commute (on a good day) is hardly safe or desirable should I go into labor a few weeks early. After five years of working together (two of those virtually) she knows the work will get done anywhere. But I struggle to take her up on her suggestion. I've always valued physical, tangible presence. Presence is being in motion.

Another co-worker suggested that I use the couch she has in her cube--something she's integrated into her space for extreme back issues. I thanked her and wondered, when would I think to put my feet up? My first job out of college, when my boss traveled I'd sneak cat naps in her office. Why was it so much easier to acknowledge exhaustion when I was 21?

At the BlogHer conference I promised my colleagues and husband that I would put my feet up regularly. It took my husband physically guiding me back to my hotel room 14 hours after I started the day to do what I'd promised. As I sat there, propped by pillows, feet up against the wall, tired and restless, I lamented that it was still so early--I was leaving first thing in the morning and still hadn't seen or done everything I'd wanted to do.

I am hardly a sadomasochist or born with more energy than others. I just don't know otherwise. I suppose I will learn. And I will learn how to channel that energy where it needs to go. And rather than look upon these offers of support suspiciously, I will learn to put my feet up and note that there are moments that we work and moments that we work FOR.

And that skinny string that keeps us tethered to a life in which we've done very well won't break.