From Here to Autonomy

Life of a Secondary Caregiver

"KYE!" My daughter was yelling at me yesterday, pointing upwards. I looked at my husband, not understanding.

"Yes, My Love, SKY!" he said. It was another word in her repertoire, one that I hadn't inspired.

Last weekend, when I put on her shoes I thought she was babbling. And then I realized what she was saying,

"BUT … BUT …"

She wanted me to put on her boots.

"Don't let her wear those socks," Jesse said, as I was putting a lavender pair on her little feet. "She can't walk around in those."

"It's not a biggie," I said, putting them on and then watching Liv slip and slide on the wooden floors.

Months into coming back to work I started to notice the difference, the disconnect. I could no longer correctly guess my daughter's every need as she needed it. I could not figure out why she patted her stomach, or screeched in delight. Daddy knew how to make her laugh, while with my attempts she looked at me, not unamused but perhaps a bit confused. I watched her like a student, waiting for a teacher to explain to me what I was witnessing.

I catch myself saying things to my husband:

"Can I give her this?" I ask, holding a cup of juice. I know he has a system and doesn't want her to drink too much juice at bedtime. And then I ask myself, "Why am I asking for permission?"

"Think we can take off her sweater when she eats?"

"I think YOU can," Jesse says.

I know that when I come in the door it's my turn to be the parent. But sometimes I'm rusty, especially when I'm coming from a business trip. I put my stuff down (forgetting to zip up my purse--big mistake as its contents will inevitably be strewn across the floor once she gets to it). I want to talk about my day. Jesse wants to finish the game he'd started on his iPhone two hours before, when he last had a minute to kill.

I didn't finish an email before getting off the plane, so I open up the laptop. I just need 90 seconds to get it done.

"Are you going to be with her, or are you going to do email?" Jesse asks. He's making dinner.

"This is going to take just a minute." She comes for me with her arms out. The email is going to have to wait.

With a few moments of exception, I've learned to stop trying to fit in emails before dinner. My goal has become to put everything down and have my hands washed before she comes around the corner with her arms up. I love that she's made it difficult for me; before her no one had succeeded.

Today I'm squeezing in a blog post, a few emails, and some online shopping into her nap time. Jesse's just come back from his Saturday bike ride--one of two or three times he gets to himself during the week. He comes in the front door, avoiding the garage door, which can sometimes wake her when opened.

"What time did she go down?"

I tell him what time. And I know it's 30 minutes later than he suggested to avoid her becoming overtired.

"Bummer," he says, walking his bike through the kitchen.

I don't worry about it. She'll get used to these days with Mom. When naptimes are off, when a bottle is forgotten. She knows that I live for this time with her, however imperfect it may be.

My complicated relationship with SXSW: An Overview

Five years ago I attended my first SXSW Interactive conference. I was speaking on a panel--part of a series of panels that BlogHer produced for SX to raise the event's profile among women on the web (and it worked!). That SX I did everything you could at SXSW:

• Sat on a panel about Naked Blogging
• Attended panels
• Held a meet-up where all I can recall was BBQ and drinks in plastic cups.
• Went to others' meet-ups
• Did a book signing
• Sat for a Studio SX interview
• Presented at 20x2
• Stayed at a hotel within the vicinity of the conference center--meaning I booked well in advance. And I had a buddy crash in the room one night.
• Bumped into bloggy peeps in the hallway
• Met people who were doing cool stuff just to do cool stuff

BlogHer had held its first event, but we weren't yet a business--more a project that covered its costs. Venture capital was not even on our horizon yet.

I remember feeling badly that after a whole day of attending sessions I hadn't blogged my experience. In between sessions I looked for outlets to plug in my laptop and then jotted down my notes. I didn't have a modem, and the wireless wasn't good, so I waited to get to my hotel room before posting anything.

I went to the next year's SXSW, which was fun as well. I headed up a panel on blogs and brands--a provocative pairing at the time. There seemed to be more bloggy peeps there, even a few individuals from the corporate side who were digital adventurists. They'd sponsored booths at events like ours and somehow got approval to go to SX. Still, if you weren't a tech startup, it was hard to get the funding.

I also remember that this tool called Twitter dominated everyone's mindspace. I thought that while it was useful to helping me find people at SX it was a distraction to writing my blog.

The next year I skipped SXSW. My company received its first round of venture funding, and I was traveling 80 percent of the time (or so it seemed) to visit with companies who were opening to the blogging/social media space. As much as I loved to see my blog buddies, I reasoned that I could do that as well back at home in Silicon Valley. This just wasn't a must-do.

The following year I wasn't planning on attending SX, but a client asked me to sit on a panel of his--making the trip to Austin that I had once considered a geek excursion a full-fledged business trip. We partnered with another organization to hold a meet-up. Guy geeks, lady bloggers, and social media gurus attended, with flecks of brand people interspersed rather obviously, like tin foil pieces in a soft chocolate chip cookie. One of my clients wanted to bring his boss to our event and asked for a run down in advance, to prepare him for what his boss would encounter. I didn't know what to tell him; this was SX--a place where geeks held court and brands could learn things if they let geeks drink and free associate.

I recall attempting an introduction of a marketer to a Web guru; it was very difficult to do while trapped in a headlock.

Though I was attending officially "on business" I felt a flash of 2005 hit me as I bumped into old friends at the bar. Women who had attended the first BlogHer, back when we had collected $20 at the door and had a Tex-Mex and sangria as our pre-event activity--and everyone attended (no other parties to go to). Back when no one had budget for socializing with bloggers, let alone brand dollars for it. When you just went because it was part of the experience of belonging.

I recall ducking into and out of sessions that year--I had a load of conference calls I had to jump on. Later I went to an offsite session to visit with some clients. It seemed the brands were picking up on SX, but still mainly congregating on the periphery of it.

Other brands, like PepsiCo, had seen the potential for getting in front of many tech influencers and built activations outside of the exhibitor hall. Now you could get a sample of a PepsiCo beverage before heading out to eat wherever there was a shorter line on Sixth street.

The next year I missed SX. I was in Europe on business and thought about cutting my trip short to come to SXSW. But I was also pregnant, and somehow this condition seemed antithetical to the eat/drink-what-you-can and sleep-when-you-can ethos of SX.

This year I wasn't planning on going. I had just returned from maternity leave and was protective of my weekends. But colleagues asked if I was going, and I have had this feeling lately of a new wave of change coming over brands, the community, the whole online ecosystem. I knew that I needed re-infusion, if you will, of the excitement that I felt at my first SX.

Back then, I felt like I had most of the answers, or at least more experience than the people sitting in the audience. Hell, even when I was in the audience I felt like I had more answers. This cockiness had shifted. I wasn't speaking this year, just listening. Pulse-taking.

Some immediate observations:

• SX is now brand marketing boot camp. At most of the parties I hung with brand marketers who were activating at SX, participating on panels, or just meeting their digital marketing obligations and making the pilgrimmage to Austin to hopefully learn by osmosis. I knew that many folks would be there, and saw many more still. I didn't feel that this diluted the techy cred of the event, but rather validated it. Especially witnessing the sponsorships, which were much more integrated into the event--woven into the fabric of SX, if you will, rather than glued on like tacky applique rhinestones.

• Mobile obsession: At one point I caught the insanity of a moment at SX: At a party on a rooftop, with Chris Cornell playing an acoustic set below, sitting at a round table with people I've known in some cases since 2005, and all of us are texting, tweeting, or emailing on our mobile devices. Arriving at the conference center I see people waiting for their coffees, browsing the Web on their phones in the meantime. Some of it seemed a simple indication of the crowd that comes to SX. Some of it seemed obnoxious. And yet, in moments of downtime--driving into town, waiting to meet friends, waiting to be seated for dinner, etc--I didn't know what else to do with myself.

• The people. Even back in 2005, SX was the mother online event--EVERYBODY went to SX. But now EVERYBODY has gotten larger. Add the brands, the agencies, the digital shops, the iPhone app developers, the social celebs, and associated spouses, significant others, and even in a few cases mothers in law/nannies, and you have a sea of people. "Bumping into" people at SX just doesn't  happen anymore; you need to be a lot more deliberate about meeting people. Hence, the texting and tweeting ...

• Content: In 2005 I wouldn't have dreamed of missing session time. I went to sessions because goshdarnit I paid for my plane ticket to SX, I was goig to LEARN something. Or show off all that I knew, pick one. This year, with my desire to be a sponge I attempted to review the agenda and felt like I was drowning in quicksand. There have always been too many sessions at SX--I expected that much. But so many of the sessions struck me as poorly concepted--too niche or too broad. And some seemed to be too commercial--a small digital shop's presentation of their client work.

Now I must caveat here that I took in very little content this year. In some cases I was on my way to a session when a chance encounter or another experience sucked me in. Also I experienced what I hear so often from attendees at my own conference--a desire to have a more personalized experience. A friend of mine runs Tech Set and invited me to her lounge in the convention center. I found myself drawn into what I will call a "Curated Content Experience"--short interviews and activations that she culled for a single sponsor. I took them in as I chose to, while connecting with other bloggers and brands. The environment offered a nice combination of both.

Seeing this sponsored, curated model leads to my next observation ...

• Smarter brand activations: I've got no beef with brand sponsorships--they power my business. Since I spend an inordinate amount of time working with brands on activities that will enhance their relationships with influencers I consider myself somewhat of an expert on this--actually that's false modesty, I AM AN EXPERT on this subject.

SX has certainly run a trajectory similar to BlogHer's, in that a community driven event has attracted brands and initially accepted their dollars with some trepidation and insistence on church-state separation, but has now seemed to loosen up a bit to allow brands to actually impact the experience of the event in a positive way.

I got sweaty in the way only social media event sponsorship people could when I saw the integration of HP's ePrint functionality with SX's mobile agenda app. Don't want to lug that catalog of a printed agenda around with you? Print out the parts that you want, or only the parties if that's preferable.

Later I learned that HP held food trailers outside the event with, you know, REAL FOOD. For when you've had it up to here with drinking alcohol and eating passed greasy party food and nacho buffets. Ummm brilliant! Same to Samsung for allowing SX snobs like me feel like they have a place to put down their swag and scarf chocolate in between sessions. Ditto to PepsiCo for not only providing a lounge at SX but even integrating great interviews/content with established media (Fast Company).

And then there was Mac Daddy sponsor, Tagged, who knew EXACTLY who they wanted to court at SX and provided limo service gratis to members of SMAC (the Social Media Advertising Consortium)--primarily agencies and social media publishers. A fellow named Gary carted me from the airport to my hotel and from the convention center to a session I wanted to attend way the hell off the grid. Which leads me to my next observation.

• Infrastructure issues: So I was one of those fools who booked my hotel in January and had to commute to and from the conference. I'm told I was lucky--some people I encountered were forced to contemplate $500+ hotel rooms and apartments in Lubbock. But as a SX alum I felt very removed from things. And not knowing for certain if I would be able to find a cab/pedicab/shuttle back to my hotel impacted my evening plans. That day that I checked into a hotel off I-35 I wanted to say to the poor gal sharing the elevator with me, "I used to be within a three-block radius of the convention center, y'know! I used to be SOMEBODY!" But now I was like all the other kids from the suburbs, paying my ludicrous fee and bussing my way in to the cool part of town.

One of the van drivers even tried to rip me off--twice! I was told I could pay a one time $50 fee for the van, or $10 for a one off trip. I was lucky to have caught Gary on duty a few times and only needed a ride for my last trip to the convention center before heading to the airport. I handed the driver a $20, expecting $10 back.

"Wow," he said. "Thanks for the tip!" I noticed a sign on the window that indicated tips were appreciated, not required.

"I haven't paid you a tip," I said. "Ten back please." He gave me $10, and I gave him $2. Then, when we got to the convention center some dude with a clipboard says to me, "$10, ma'am," and when I tell him I've already paid, gets uppity with me. "You aren't supposed to pay the driver!" he says.

Of course I secretly love these situations that invite me to show my fangs.

"I'm not giving you anything," I said. "Get it from your driver!"

I walked away as the driver insisted that I hadn't paid--I just paid him a $12 tip.

Wow, I thought, with all the people that are here this year, a whole new form of hucksterism.

I check my luggage at the Hilton, much to their irritation, I surmise, seeing as I didn't stay there, and hail a cab from there. As my driver, who didn't look unlike Sam Elliott, cautiously makes his way through the throng of digital humanity, I strike up conversation.

"It's nuts this year, huh?" I say.

"Nuts?" he replies. "You're getting out of here before the REAL crowds arrive."

Making it Work: Traveling while lactating

I have no expectations of earning any bloggys for this series of posts, in which I share the practicalities of being a working mom of a baby girl. I realize that this solidifies my status as "one of those people" who think that every mundane aspect of parenting deserves to be chronicled.

But I feel strongly about writing about my experience, even if that experience is not that exciting, or doesn't lend itself to engaging prose. I find that as a relatively new mom I slurp up others' anecdotes, as I'm hungry for hearing about how other women manage in what seems to be at times two self-canceling realities: working and parenting. Indulge me, or tune in another time when I am back in working mode...

I had worried about how difficult it might be to return to work. Not the work part, the being away from the babe part. And the pumping part. Actually the transition has been--dare I say--good. Better than expected.

I enjoyed every second I had spent with my daughter on mat leave, but I was jonesing for a schedule. I like having to adhere to a schedule and having dedicated thinking time. Having this space in the day only makes seeing my daughter at the end of it that much more enjoyable.

The pumping is a pain, but everyone at the office is supportive. We've made our supply room the "Pump Room" for the time-being. I duck in and put a sign on the door, requesting 30 minutes of privacy, three times a day. I crank out email and even take calls in there if they are internal. If it's a client call, I take it in my office. 

Travel has been interesting. I started off slow--a day trip down to LA--fly in, fly out. How hard could it be? Still, it was my first, and a new milestone in my time away from child.

"It will be like I'm at the office," I told H-band, only it really wouldn't be. I had a place to pump at the office, and I hardly knew where I would pump in LA. Surprisingly I'd yet to have the dignity-dissolving experience of pumping while perched on the john, the slurping sound of my hands-free Medela echoing off the tiled walls of a public bathroom.

I was grateful that my first business trip since returning from mat leave was a relatively simple one. I carried a purse and my pumping equipment in a second canvas bag. It's been beautiful on the West Coast; I didn't even need to fuss with a coat. I figured, what could befall me other than a flight delay?

The first obstacle was in security. I hadn't even pumped yet, but my equipment bag had to go through a second inspection. Still I got through to my flight. Easy peasy.

I didn't fly into LAX but rather Orange County, a smaller airport, but fortunately it had a Red Carpet Club. All of the enclosed offices had glass walls overlooking the airport--a nice touch, but not for someone looking for a private place to pump. I headed to the women's restroom.

It was a onesie. With no stall. Shit.

I did the math: Meeting in little over an hour; four hours since I'd pumped. I needed to do this--now. I held the restroom hostage, grateful that only one poor soul knocked.

I flew out of LAX, which was much more amenable, meaning I used a stall in the club on the far end of the rest room that had a changing table--just enough space to lay out my gear, strap up, and read email on my Blackberry while pumping.

Amazing how grateful you become for the little things.

But security was a bear.

"What's in your bag, ma'am?"

"A pump. And some milk."

"Security check! We have some milk here."

I walk past the conveyor belt toward another station with different equipment.

"Ma'am, do I have your permission to take the contents out of this bag, or would you like me to do this in private?"

It wasn't like he was asking me to nurse in public."

"Here is fine."

I felt a bit sheepish, as he held up half of one bottle--all that I had managed to squeeze out in Orange County. All this freaking work for three ounces.

"I'm going to put this through a radiation test," the TSA official said.

It failed.

"What does this mean?" I asked, that my milk is radioactive?

"No ma'am. We just need to do another test." He opened the bottle of milk and put what looked like a litmus strip over the top to "test the fumes."  I was free to go.

This week I traveled cross-country for several days. I'd mapped out my meetings and marked in my calendar good times to pump, but I didn't know for certain where--or if--there would be places to take my get up. Even if I could duck into a bathroom at any one of the places I was headed, I wasn't sure I wanted to pump at a client engagement. I looked at my schedule and noted that I was cutting it close between my last meeting and my flight home. I wondered if it would be gauche to pump in the cab on my way to the airport. Are there rules about that?

UPDATE: I opted not to pump in the cab--too messy, and the trip went fine, though I'm quite positive my boobs are confused. I pumped at our NY offices whenever I had a chance, then went for long stretches of nada. Watching what I consider liquid gold go down the drain (I had resolved myself to pumping and dumping, rather than try and figure out how I'd keep my milk fresh for three days) was more painful than I thought. In the early days I fought hard to establish a supply, and for three days my goal was to just get rid of it.

On the way back to CA I managed to pump before my flight, in the club restroom. I appreciated all the free tampons, pads, feminine aids that were available in the rest room, but I would have traded this bounty for a stall large enough to place all of my luggage and pumping equipment, and a surface in the stall to place my stuff.

I had just enough time afterward to grab a snack in the club and make it to my boarding gate. By the time I landed in SF I looked like Dolly Parton from the neck down. 

Mother's guilt begins: Contemplating third trimester travel

A few weeks ago I went to my monthly appointment with my midwife, a gal I've moved heaven and earth (translation: moved to a more expensive insurance plan) to keep. Every few weeks, as I get more and more uncovered lab invoices and anticipate the biggie to come--the hospital bill--I remind myself that I chose this situation. I chose this insurance plan because it includes in its network the hospital where my midwife works, and I really, really like my midwife. She's been in the midwifery business for years, she came very well recommended, and when we met I said to myself--SHE'S the one.

So then, why can I not take her advice?

My monthly checkup was about 90 percent complete--baby's heartbeat is fine, my growth is normal, my pee is normal--when H-band decides to chime in with The Question. The question I'd answered for myself a long time ago, but obviously not to his satisfaction:

"You know, Jory's got a blogging conference in New York in early August she's planning on going to. She's been traveling a lot lately, and this would be her last trip, but I just wonder if it's a good idea."

Midwife asks: "How many weeks will you be?"

"Thirty four," H-band says.

"Thirty three," I correct him, "entering my thirty fourth."

Our midwife doesn't even take a second to think it over, "Oh well, you're not going."

"I'm not?"

"Oh no, not at thirty four weeks."

I throw out my defensive measure--the one I'd been resting on."My airline cut-off is thirty six weeks!"

"Airlines don't know what's best for you," she says launching into a very well-meaning discussion about how it makes perfect sense that I would still continue to think like a business person, since it's how I've derived my identity for so long, and how difficult it can be to start thinking like a mom. But starting now, it was time to think differently, make different decisions.

I think to myself, of course I will, but after the conference.

Mentally I cross off a business trip to Chicago and my high school reunion, which would take place the two weeks before my conference. These are the sacrifices I must make as a mom to be. But no. Not my conference.

****************************************************

Notes entering the third week of travel...

I throw the suitcase on the bed. Jesse hates when I do that--airplane germs he says. That case has been everywhere. The zipper on the left side is broken, has been for a while, but I don't want to look for another suitcase yet. I have honed my packing routine with this one. I know what can fit where. I fear that I won't remember things with a new suitcase. Looking at this one I can tell that I've forgotten things by the thickness, or thinness, of the front pocket. I keep jewelry stashed in secret places in case I forget to pack a necklace, or a bracelet. I decide out of guilt to move the suitcase over to my side of the bed.

I don't need to unpack everything--just the used tops, socks and underwear. The makeup and toiletry bags can stay, and the hairbrush, and the belts--those have been placed on the same side and remain untouched. Some items need to be replenished, like my aspirin case, my Q-tip dispenser, my toothpaste, my business card holder. I refill those immediately--I know that I'll never get to them if I wait until early the next morning; my brain is half on then.

I put out my clothes for the next day and plug in all of my electronics at the charging station, even if they don't need it. The chances that I will forget to bring my cell phone or my iPod are lowered when I charge them together next to the computer. I've forgotten many things before--jewelry, charging cords, medication, deodorant--but never my computer.

I hung some clothes up along my bedroom window weeks ago, at the beginning of the travel jag, to spare me from coming home and having to rifle through items in my closet. They've been placed in the order of when I will need them--cold weather outfits, warm weather outfits, cold again. These items are clean and unrepeated. "Unrepeated" is a highly subjective term. Of course I repeat outfits, but I do try to stick to some criteria:

--Can't wrinkle too easily--not a hard and fast rule, but all things being equal the wrinkleable items stay home.
--Haven't worn the last time I was in that city.
--Seasonable
--Has matching elements that are clean
--Will go with one of the two pair of dress shoes I can fit in my case

This criteria makes choosing my outfits the most lengthy part of my routine. It's like a logic problem you might encounter while taking the GRE: If Jory has four clean sweaters, three blouses, three pairs of slacks, two skirts, three pair of tights (two in gray), three pair of clean dress socks, two belts, three necklaces, can only fit two pair of shoes in addition to her gym shoes, must have five unrepeated outfits for meetings in two climate zones and may not check a bag (I forbid it), how many outfits can she create?

This has been my routine since January.

I open my underwear and sock drawers--thankfully I went hog wild at Victoria's Secret over the holidays and stocked up on enough underwear to outfit me for several months without doing laundry, but I'm nearly out of clean socks. I begin my process of bargaining: If I stretched it and wore these socks two days--not consecutively--and wore gym socks with boots, I could pull this off.

Jesse asks if it makes sense to do a quick load of laundry to free up some socks and fitted T-shirts and I tell him no. We have four or five waking hours left to do something together; I'd rather not spend it in preparation for my next trip in the morning.

I throw in some workout gear. My gym shoes hardly fit in the bag and I question for a minute whether I should even bother working out. I disabuse myself of this notion and stuff them in the front pocket. This is going to make it really difficult to stow my bag in an overhead bin, but so be it.

I have a conference that starts in SoCal Sunday, but I'm going to leave a day earlier to visit with my in-laws, who live down there. I love to plan extra time--a day, a dinner--to see people when I'm in town. I've become better about making the time for it. But this also means more time away, more to pack, another appointment, another weekend away. I remind myself: You planned this.

I ask Jess what he wants to do for dinner--let's make something simple here, he says, since I'm home just tonight. I notice we don't have a lot of options in the fridge, but I don't suggest we go and get anything; I rescind my right to add grocery items to the shopping list for the week when I'm not going to be around. Later, after dinner, I notice Jess has broken into the raspberry sorbet I bought weeks ago. We've established an unspoken rule: No griping about Jesse eating my food when I'm not around to eat it. We can always buy more.

I've taken a similar stance on work-related issues. Things in the office happen, and I can't be asked to sound off on everything, just the biggies. I no longer take umbrage when meetings go on without me, but I do desire connection. I get my reports in early--something that used to be an impossibility but that I've made possible. I check in more. I create tiny threads of connection that are barely perceptible, but that keep me from drifting off into space. Sometimes I swear all I can hear is the sound of my breathing, like I'm in a spacesuit, like Darth Vader. I remind myself I'll be back home soon enough. This is just another mission. And I remember: Once I'm on the moon, I'm at home.

I call my mom from the car. She knows the drill.

"Where are you going?" she says. I haven't told her I was going anywhere yet. I take an ounce of comfort in the fact that the Bay Bridge is far less congested on a Saturday morning, and I'm surprised when I get to the Red Carpet Club at the United terminal and most of the seats are taken. Some are leisure travelers. Most are like me--opening their laptops and getting to work. I actively decide: It's a Saturday. I'm not doing email now. I'm going to blog.

A Travel Resolution: Spending more quality time on the road

I've been thinking a lot about my business travel rituals while I've spent the last week at home on vacation. I hadn't realized I had some, but over the past few years it's become inevitable.

Before we had secured venture funding, travel was done on the founders' dime. As we started to build revenue we had a bit more budget to work with, but mostly it meant finding the cheapest air and hotel rates, hoping to get some freebies from miles, and researching how to get to and from airports using subsidized transportation.

With our office manager's help, I still try to find decent rates where I go, but I realized how much time and precious energy was lost trying to skimp on basic travel expenses. Now I take cabs or order car services and avoid redeyes. It just makes more sense to have more time to work, not commute, and to be effective at meetings, not just show up for them.

I've also made more emotional expenditures. I go to New York often and stay with my sister, which in addition to saving the company from astronomical room rates also grounds me. If I'm not working late I'll read to the kids before bed, or eat with my sister and watch a TV show. When I'm in Chicago I stay with my mother and like to go to dinner. I may have to get back on email afterward, but at least we can catch up over a meal. 

When I'm not with family and on the road I try (try, being the operative word here) to get in some TV or reading at night. I try to work out and read the newspaper in the morning.

I do what I can, but I think there's more to be done. Perhaps I have to think about spending less time with my "other family."

It's a joke, even if twisted, my husband's reference to my "other family". He uses this term to make light of my incessant business trips. When I leave on one he'll often say, "Off to see your other family?" When I call him from the road and tell him I have to make our call short to get some shuteye, he'll say, "Yep, gotta spend time with your other family." He says it lightheartedly, but I know that there's a tinge of regret in there. I know he misses me.

Sometimes I have fun with this "other family". I'll call him, after coming home late from a business dinner on the road and tell him I was out with my other family and calling to check in. Rarely do our conversations last very long, and I attribute this to having more to do before bed or sheer exhaustion. He knows it's not personal--we have better conversations in person than over the phone. But when you spend a lot of time away that's a lot of small talk.

I'm curious to hear about others' travel rituals. How do you stay connected when you are with your other family?

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.

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Are People Who Sleep Less More Successful?

Early in my working life in New York City I read a feature story, I think it was in the Times Business section, about the sleeping habits of top-performing media executives. The common thread among all of them: They slept no more than 5 hours a night. Most slept less. This tendency to not sleep was positioned in this article as a competitive edge, even a requirement to being successful.

I remember feeling discouraged. I had been slogging it out at magazines and was looking for some way to distinguish myself, but I wasn't an early riser. As a teenager I often slept until 10 or 11 in the morning. An early-bird class I had one semester nearly did me in. In college, I dropped the one class I had that began before 10.  I was fortunate to work in an industry where people ambled in between 9 and 10am. I never minded working late.

But the luminaries in this article--many of whom I forget now, interestingly, though I do recall book publisher Judith Regan--often worked long hours. A typical routine: Wake up at 4am; jump on the treadmill (these folks had the money and the space in their Manhattan apartments to have exercise equipment in their homes, something I aspired to have); shower and get dressed; read all of the dailies; and still manage to get into the office before everyone else.

For a while I tried to wake up early--around 6am--to fit in a workout before going to the office, but the effort was short-lived. My body much preferred working out in the evening and the scramble to and from the gym took too much time. I loved to read, but I could never get through all of my material on a subway ride. I figured I was just too inefficient and lazy.

Years later I still wonder how it's possible to hold to this kind of schedule. I work longer days now, but I can't function if I can't sleep at least 6 hours (insomnia notwithstanding). If I have to get up early for a meeting, or to catch a plane, I'll get up; I have to. But it's been only recently that I've accepted that all things being equal, I prefer to sleep in.