From Here to Autonomy

BlogHer '10: My first conference as a working mother

I was chatting with my BlogHer co-panelists last week about our panel: Where's the Line or the Lie: Storytelling, Memoir and Poetic License. I find that I often moderate these more personal-blogging-type sessions at BlogHer, because I started as an identity blogger. I have a natural affinity with those who put it all out there, even if that has not been my reality for five years, since BlogHer began.

I realized, hot damn, I have not posted to this blog in over a month. That's not very bloggy of me. And I and my colleagues will be running a conference built by and for bloggers. I find myself asking, Jory, WTF? Are you still an identity blogger? Do you still see life through the lens of what would make a compelling blog post? The truthful answer is, sometimes.

Sure I've been busy--everybody's busy. Though I must confess the recent disadvantage of pregnancy. I don't cram things in my day anymore, like a blog post or an extra call. I do what's directly in front of my face, get the immediate priorities done, and then call it a day. This has become a physical necessity, one I knew would manifest by my third trimester but chose to not think about...until I noticed things, like how breathless I get when I'm speaking, and how forgetful, and that it's been a month since my last post.

There's a lot of withheld information in my unwritten posts about women, work, and family making; I've thought about this in light of my BlogHer session. Before I was pregnant, I read voraciously about women raising kids and building careers. The only impediment to achieving in both realms, I thought, were others' preconceived notions about women and work--the assumption that once we procreate we're no longer interested in pursuing our careers.

Clearly that's not the case--I know too many women who have achieved even more post-children than pre. Some of the most prolific, and commercially successful, bloggers are full-time moms. While I can't explain why without having been there myself, I do believe it probably has something to do with an efficiency that develops among women who now have two jobs to do: There's no time for questioning your ability; both jobs simply have to get done. Kids need to have their lunches made, just as presentations need to be completed. There's less time to stew and wonder, could I have done that better? Was I less than perfect in that meeting? It's a strange luxury--not having the time to overthink, just to do.

I recall the first BlogHer, when I woke up at 5a.m., arrived at the TechMart at 6am to help post signage and prepare the registration line, and was sick with nerves. Though I was a blogger and can relate to the many pre-BlogHer posts I read by women with social anxieties, my concerns were hardly around who congregated with whom, or what bloggers might blow me off, but rather whether the food was coming out on time, if sponsors got what we promised them, if the sessions were useful. Connecting later with other women over drinks, or even in the hallway on their way to a session, was pure pleasure in comparison.

I realize now that my stress during BlogHer is the kind that lies in the eye of the storm, where anxiety is minimalized to the bare essentials. After BlogHer '05 I cared less about my blog traffic--even stopped monitoring it altogether--or whether I was included in top blogger lists. I was enveloped in a new purpose of creating a space for this community. The act of creation and nurturing something or someone other than yourself immunizes you from seeing the world as a pecking order, or as a series of parties you are not invited to, or as an old-boys network. These constructs melt away; paradoxically, there is less time AND fewer constraints. It's a place of re-invention.

Perhaps, since BlogHer is my "baby" this is not dissimilar to the situation of the working mother.

This year for me will be different. I have a new consideration that is purely physical. I won't likely be able to weather a day of not eating. I won't laugh off suggestions of taking a load off. I'm not concerned about making it to all of the parties, but rather whether I will have the energy to make it to A party. I will literally have to put my feet up at times over the next few days. Perhaps, from this standpoint, I will get to see the event from others' eyes.

But from my own it will be different because I have another job, if you will, that makes some of the rushing, the stressing, the performing a bit absurd. And it will be different because I will be in wonderment at those who have children already, or another baby--literal or figurative--in the making who attack this event like they do every thing else, with no second thoughts.
 

The Rush: An entrepreneur's inevitable making

Becoming a woman wasn't something I looked forward to. Despite having read every Judy Blume book that existed, the thought of sprouting boobs and menstruation terrified me.

When the time came I was getting changed after gym class. I felt "the rush", and I panicked. I threw on the rest of my clothes and ran to my drama class.

About a fourth of the way into the class, right before we were to break into groups to practice a scene, I realized that I couldn't hold off any longer. I had to handle this--this new truth that I was hoping to hold off.

I approached my drama teacher, Mrs. Clooney, not sure of what I was going to say,

"Ummm, I think I just got my period," I said.

She looked at me like I'd just won the lottery.

"Congratulations!" she said. "Why don't you head on down to the nurse's office."

The feminine product I would receive was an albatross--the first of thousands to come over the course of my reproductive life. I wasn't excited or relieved to have made the transition so many of my friends had been anticipating excitedly for themselves. I was scared.

I wasn't fully aware of why I had dreaded this moment. Looking back I think I dreaded all that it implied; namely that I was meant for much headier endeavors, like being an adult, like motherhood. I anticipated choices that I would encounter that I could no longer say were never choices.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We said goodbye to a well-regarded employee last week. He's decided to stretch his enterprising muscle and build a writing practice around his passion for everything related to food. His goodbye was as charming as his many hellos after weekends he spent cooking or experiencing food; he came to the office bearing homemade cannoli--an aunt's unorthodox recipe that just worked. I must confess, I will miss his treats.

He stopped in my office to say goodbye. And while he had no "job" to go to per se, I was excited for him. I recall my own decision six years ago to leave my office position to explore things that beckoned but were yet unclear--when my excitement overshadowed any fears I had about making a living or permanently denting my career. When you've veered too far from your real path, blowing up your current one isn't such a big deal. Leaving my job to start my own amorphous "thing" was no longer a choice but a forgone conclusion.

Still, I knew that anyone on this journey can't help but question himself. Even if he decided to come back to W2 employment, he would be forever changed. He would find it difficult to extract purpose out of jobs he didn't create. Anything that he hasn't generated himself won't be as worthy. He'll want to forever create the recipes, even if his job is to simply follow instructions and make the food.

"Congratulations!" I said, hoping I didn't sound too excited that he was leaving. Fact was, I was excited, for reasons he wouldn't yet understand.

It's so easy to congratulate someone from the other side, like a drama teacher who exclaims to an adolescent girl that she is entering the next, inevitable phase of her purpose. You, the young woman, know that this outcome is likely, yet there's bound to be moments, maybe even months or years, of struggle and false starts. Moments when you think this isn't for me, or that you must be going crazy. There's an intuitive understanding that purpose is in the making, but you fear how much material stuff and identity will have to be let go in the process.

Still, you really can't avoid the rush when it happens. Mrs. Clooney was onto something: You might as well celebrate.

Why I don't care that low numbers of women are receiving VC funding

My first semester in college I went with some sorority sisters to a set-up (these were small parties that paired a sorority with a fraternity, and for which you were often "set up" with a date from that fraternity. The concept seems almost ludicrous to me now, given the potential room for mis-matches, but I digress). One of my pledge sisters asked me if I had a problem "being set up with a black guy."

The question threw me. I'd noticed, shall we say, homogeneity among my corn-fed, flat-accented, Midwestern sisters. But I'd gone to a racially diverse high school where I had African American friends, and interracial dating was quite common.

"Of course not," I said. I was above such foolishness. I silently prayed he was hot.

"Good," my friend said. "I mean, I would do it but my brother (who was white and even in the same fraternity as the black pledge) would kill me. You're so open to stuff like this; I knew you'd be a good sport."

I recall being offended, not for myself, but for my date. Did he know how his supposed peers felt about him? I resented the assumption that by agreeing to go out with someone of color I was somehow agreeing to take one for the team. And I questioned where I'd settled socially. Did these women accept me because they thought I saw the world like them?

I ended up having a fine, but not earth-shattering, time. My date was shy, even a bit standoffish. After my friend's comment I couldn't help but notice that he was the only black man in his pledge class. I wondered if he was aware of comments said behind his back, like the one my friend made, or if he was oblivious. He seemed restrained, even a bit false. He wore the same preppy clothes as his fraternity brothers; the same garden variety frat boy well-worn baseball cap. I also wondered if I was judging him as fake because he seemed "too white". What if he identified as being white? Was there anything inherently wrong with that?

At some point we started talking about our backgrounds, and he shared that he had been adopted as a baby by a white couple. He admitted to me that he didn't "feel" black and even referred to black people as "them." I felt sad. I felt like he was trying to say to me, "See, I really do belong here."

I wanted to tell him, "You don't really want to belong here. Believe me."

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A few weeks ago I read several pieces that evoked anger, empathy, even silliness about the lack of venture-backed women entrepreneurs. Some focused specifically on Silicon Valley, tech-related businesses. One piece indicated "hidden biases" of VCs toward younger, male entrepreneurs who presumably have fewer distractions (read: families, concerns about hygeine) than women to worry about. This later led to discussion in the comments arguing for and against women's innate suitability as primary caregivers. One commenter, Carla Thompson:

...As long as a good-sized portion of the population, both male and female, believe that women are the only gender genetically predisposed to adequately nurturing and raising children, this problem will persist.

I knew that these blog posts were, indirectly and yet directly, about me, but I didn't know how I felt about them. In the end, I felt confused--certainly not inspired by comments of women who, despite biological realities, could claim to have managed it all--there were none of that sort offered. And I couldn't say that I have felt the back hand of bias in these matters. My partners and I had a business with a revenue model that was working in a growing industry and several years of experience to back us--that's what has mattered to our investors. Story told.

Have I felt marginalized as a female entrepreneur in Silicon Valley? Made to feel less worthy of funding because I have ovaries and may put them to reproductive use? No. Can I say that because I haven't experienced bias that there isn't a problem? No.

So I backed away from writing on the topic. I didn't feel I had a strong enough opinion either way.

I asked another female entrepreneur if she had read these recent pieces, and what did she think of them?

"What's to say?" she responded. "None of these writers asked actual female entrepreneurs in the Valley how they've felt."

"What would you have told them if they had?" I asked.

"It's a non-issue. Women can have babies and run businesses. Get over it."

I found myself wanting to verbally sweep my penchant for drama under the rug,

"Exactly," I said. "What's the big deal?"

Why do people make a big deal about these inequities when clearly there are women who are making things work? Why do we feel compelled to constantly pull out the data showing the lack of women being funded when, perhaps, most women simply don't want the life of a tech entrepreneur?

Why do I keep thinking of that set-up, my Freshman year in college?

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Just this week I happened to be back in New York the day that my sister, Julie, did a signing for her new book, The Madame Curie Complex. I've browsed the book and read every review that currently exists on it, but embarrassingly have yet to read the damn thing. When people asked me what the book is about, the PR flak in me comes out:

"It reveals how some of the most acclaimed scientific discoveries made by men were actually made by women," I say, then wait for the oohs and ahhs one reserves for books that out Presidents and get you on Oprah.

Fortunately my sister is amazing at Cliff-noting herself at these events--I need to remind her to stop providing so much value at her readings, lest people think they can learn nothing more by buying her book. And she's entirely too noncontroversial. I realized that I've woefully oversimplified the premise of her book. It really has nothing to do with men taking credit for women's brilliant work, but rather women's brilliant work not being seen as brilliant, because it is women's work.

The Madame Curie Complex is a term meant to describe a standard women scientists often set for themselves (and is often perpetuated by men, to be fair). My sister writes in her book:

"No doubt, [Curie's] work helps to make the case that science is made to be manly rather than being inherently so. But Curie’s myth haunts these pages and the psyches of succeeding generations of women more completely than her real-life example, for it has both empowered and stigmatized women, liberated and constrained them, often at the same time. The historian Margaret Rossiter noted an inferiority complex in women after Curie’s tours of the United States in the 1920s, and for generations the Curie complex has continued to allow men to disqualify women -- and women to disqualify themselves -- from science. Women scientists have felt as though they cannot measure up to Curie, and of course how could they, when this mythical measure of female competence has morphed in the American mind over and over again? It’s like trying to hit a moving target."

It occurred to me: women scientists, women entrepreneurs, same freaking difference. How effing sneaky, Julie, Wrapping your latest work up in a geeky little package to get your science-averse twin sister to not think you were onto her. Isn't the Madame Curie Complex what we women in "male" industries perpetuate when we back away from asserting our femininity? When we undermine it? We look at what we do in the world and say under our breaths, "Yeah big whoop ... did I put the milk back in the fridge this morning?"

Because even when we take on "male" industries, we do it in ways that are seen as much less impressive than men, or we do it just like them--both of which approaches are equally alienating and in many cases ineffective.

There was a point in Julie's talk where she spoke about "the numbers," as in: "Why the big stink? Look at all the women MBA's and women who got into MIT." In science academia women are as well represented, if not more so, than men at top institutions. "We need to stop worrying about the numbers of women in science," Julie said, "Numbers aren't the problem."

But, she pointed out, often women scientists are relegated to "female" forms of science--think of those soft mushy behavioral sciences. After all, as Lawrence Summers would posit, those cold, hard facts are just so difficult for us ladyfolk to grasp. Or our more holistic approach to such serious subjects as science, tech, and business have often been dismissed.

For instance, Jane Goodall was relatively untrained in the traditional (read: male) technique of studying primates. Rather than measure their toenails, count their bowel movements, and call it a day, she watched them and took notes, often in narrative form, and often giving the primates' interactions a storyline. Initially this more intuitive approach was seen as amateurish and dismissible, and yet it's now much more indicative of how scientists today frame this sort of research. Goodall proved the worth of a "female" perspective in science.

I think of my own industry and of BlogHer: We didn't invent computers, or the Internet. We didn't invent blogging; but we provided a larger context for its importance, particularly to women. I guess by some definitions this is a girly-girl approach to technology, akin to Goodall's approach to her science. But is it any less valuable; any less illuminating or fundable?

Do I care if so few women are being funded in Silicon Valley? No. I care that women's approach to business is so underfunded, and hence undervalued. I care that those women who are succeeding in it are seen as doing so DESPITE who they are, rather than because of who they are.

I think of that black man I was set-up with 20 years ago, content, silent, and numb. 

Overcoming the need to be ubiquitous

I tend to be attracted to other entrepreneurs; whether they're running their own ice cream shop or running Google, I love to hear their stories. I just met a former entertainment executive, now business soloist, who reached out after reading the blog. Her energy I found exhilarating and her openness to sharing her experiences drew me in.

There are some dead-giveaway characteristics of people who have taken the leap into either working for themselves or creating a soloist venture; in no particular order:

• You crackle; the mouth cannot keep up with the constant flow of possibilities. Everything reminds you of a potential business opportunity, or someone you should introduce to a contact. You are so immediately connected to your expertise, even as you are developing parts of it that you can postulate and strategize on the spot. The biggest concern is not whether it can be done, but if you've captured all that you've just conjured. You've never had so much to say.

• You sound like Alanis Morissette (sing with me, or just play the harmonica): You're broke but you're busy, you're smart but a newbie, slayed corporate dragons but you need toner, yeahahhh! You speak in seeming contradictions; your reality, to non-entrepreneurs, seems a little nuts. You often hear comments from these people after sharing aspects of your day, "Really? Are you OK?" or "You can always get a job." What they don't get is that while you've never been more scared you've never lived so meaningfully.

• You're multilingual: When you speak to a doctor, he'll share information through a medical prism. Likewise, when people asked you questions in the past, you spoke through the prism of your industry or department (publishing, marketing, online sales, manufacturing). Now you speak through many prisms because you've been opened to them. It's disorienting (as my new friend said at one point: "I feel like I've become stupid.") but it's actually a mind-expansion, not a contraction, that you are experiencing. In this one conversation my friend invoked the music industry, social media community, and a psychic as sources of inspiration and learning.

I resonated with all of her struggles and triumphs: the initial plummet of income coupled with the most personal satisfaction she's experienced in her career; the contradiction of being in charge of her life but completely overwhelmed by things that need to get done. The fear of failure despite the constant buzz of opportunity. 

"I just don't know where the time goes," she told me. "I'll hop on Twitter to check something, and end up on it for two hours. It'll be movie night and I'll end up saying (to my husband) bring soup to me here."

Now THAT I can relate to--the sense of discovery that occurs with entrepreneurism, soloing, this journey. Pieces of information become keys to doors that have to be opened, not tomorrow, but today. You learn of meet-ups, live events, bloggers, trends, and need to pursue these keys, with no guarantee of what they will unlock.

"I would go to the opening of a condom now," my friend said, half-joking.

I have occasional conversations with my partners about events, projects, things we did early on, things we can no longer do, because we need to be focused, and because we'd been down similar roads enough times to know that while no road is worthless, some are better bets than others.

I have no pre-emptive strategy for how not to waste your time, other than to realize that there is no such thing as wasting time at first. It all matters. What I would offer up is to notice when things start to feel like a waste of time, when you have a suspicion that you will feel depleted after attending that monthly mixer--again. When you can't seem to be able to schedule a call with someone who has stopped adding value to your day personally or professionally, but with whom you told yourself way back when you'd stay in touch. When you stop feeling like you are learning from a source of previous inspiration and start to resent it.

Because when uncertainty becomes more an expected friend than something to overcome, and paying your mortgage is no longer the most immediate goal, time becomes increasingly more valuable. You become more protective of it and are less willing to just see what happens by spending it with abandon.

There are times when I yearn for the desire I once had to be everywhere at once. I joke now that I'm getting old. What I really know, though, is that I'm learning to be an entrepreneur.

Who Can Live on Airplane Food Alone? When Life is Up in the Air

Up in the Air, starring George Clooney, as I was sure to relate to the lead character's obsession with airline loyalty program status (see some examples of said obsession on my blog Pause). I did chuckle at the parts where Clooney is comparing loyalty program perks with another road warrior/paramour. I thought to myself, Lord that's how I sound sometimes. Though I have much less of a need to reach the 10 Million Mile Club. That sort of honor would make me feel like I really don't have a life, and at some point in my travels I realized perks were not badges of honor, but simply ways of enjoying the less-than-ideal situation of spending time away from home.

There were parts that unexpectedly resonated with me. The Northern Wisconsin restaurant where Clooney meets his sisters for a rehearsal dinner before his younger sister's wedding was eerily similar to one I went to last year for my cousin's wedding in Wisconsin. The tech conference Clooney crashes with a colleague and a woman who becomes his no-strings attached hookup could be Ad:Tech (loved the inclusion of Young MC here as the nostalgia-inducing act). I've also honed my security screening routine to an efficiency that's less balletic than the film's version, but not dissimilar.

(Spoiler alert: if you are more interested in underlying messages than plot) Clooney's character not only has client engagements while on the road--he is a gifted speaker who talks about how to live "without baggage". His topic justifies the way he lives. His physical home, where he spends only a sliver of his time, looks different than you would imagine a businessman to have: It's spare, almost dorm-room-like in soulessness. It reminded me of an extended stay suite, only more empty. Clearly this character has not invested in, nor cared to have, a personal life. A series of random events makes him aware of this imbalance, and he feels the pain of being disconnected.

I am lucky to have a family and network of friends who stay in my life, but certainly, while single, I had no desire for connection. Perhaps I was a late bloomer; I had different priorities from others my age, who seemed to live for their weekends, were saving up for houses, and wanted life partners. I just wanted a promotion. My work was my connection, and I was good at it, while being less good at relationships outside of work. There were always people around, I was hardly lonely. I assumed that being good at work would address all of the other areas that were being neglected--in due time. This doesn't happen. It happens when you decide it will.

I see many real-life foils to Clooney's character who make work and life work, perhaps not with the balletic efficiency Clooney's character has while packing his bag and embarking on the next business trip, but with far less regret.

Photo Credit

 

Aliza Sherman's confessional post makes me wonder: How Am I As a Boss?

This week Aliza Sherman gets my Entrepreneurial Cojones Award for her post on Work It, Mom, "I was the boss from hell." In this post, Aliza--an entrepreneurial superpower in my book, whose candid take on building a business and a personal life are inspiring--takes on a ghost from her business past: her first business. More specifically, her ineptitude as a manager.

Ten years ago, I was running my first company, and I was in a bad place in my life despite being in an excellent place with my company, at least on the surface. Although I still don’t have a full picture of how my employees at the time saw me, I get bits and pieces as I reconnect with some of them over time, and the picture is not pretty.

Some suitable words to describe me as a boss at that time would be:

    * impatient
    * paranoid
    * angry
    * frustrated
    * bitchy
    * demanding
    * irrational
    * emotional
    * disempowering
    * unpredictable
    * insensitive

Aliza uses this post to apologize for this behavior (something I dream about seeing from bosses in my past, but that's another post), and to point out the stresses in her life that made her a bad boss. The point of this post is not to excuse her behavior, but to allow other entrepreneurial women to understand how some common, and not so common, stresses can lead to bad managing. Frankly, I suspect Aliza is being somewhat hard on herself, but I appreciated this candid, useful piece.

While I don't have the same issues as Aliza did, I could relate to the fact that not all of us go into business for ourselves because we want to be great managers. Usually entrepreneurs go into business to get something done, and they realize they need others to help them do it.

Still, as Aliza says, if you are going to hire people, you must address how you will manage them:

"Being a boss, like it or not, is kind of like being a parent. If you can’t do your absolute best when managing other people, just don’t do it. Find another job. Put someone else in charge. Because bosses can have such deep impacts on the people in their employ, and no one should take that responsibility lightly."

In my current business I've had direct reports and then not. When I was managing I took my role very seriously, but I often felt like a bad mother being on the road and unable to work with my staff as directly as I'd like. I had a discussion with my partners about my best use, and realized that in order for me to fulfill my role in the company I would need to work cross functionally more, and manage less. I still like to catch up with those who were on my team; I feel a special connection. But I no longer oversee their work. Rather than a "mother", I'm an "older sister".

This has had a mixed effect: On the one hand, I'm freed up to manage my work. I don't have to worry about "checking in" with the team. On the other hand, as someone who craved mentoring in my career, I have less opportunity to directly affect their learning. They're doing more than fine without me, but there remains a hankering to be more impactful there. It's a feeling for me similar to being childless. I know it's a choice, not a condemnation, but I also ask myself, is this how it is because I would be a bad mother?