Pause

Option 1: Work more; Option 2: Work less; Option 3 ...

Kris at The HR Capitalist caught my attention with his post, "Being a Star - Either Put In More Hours Than Others, or Start Eliminating Stuff (But Stop Whining)...." He says:

Work/life balance is a choice.  You won't be able to be your version of Bono with work/life balance as your goal.  More and more, I run into super sharp people who are amazed at the entitlement culture of talented folks who say they want to be stars, but won't put in the time to outwork others and are outraged when told that's what it takes.

If you are not inclined to put in more hours, Kris says, "you need to start eliminating things that you don't think matter, the things you can get away with not doing, not being involved with at work."

This is the choice of anyone seeking success, but notably of the entrepreneur. As my company has grown, my time management strategy as evolved--or devolved as the case may be:

• Phase 1--The first date that won't end: You have a crush on all the excitement that your business is providing for you in life and unwittingly give it all the time that it needs. Other things need to happen, like sleep, so you just add more work hours to your day and keep plugging after dinner, or after your spouse knocks off for bed. When opportunities present themselves, you drop everything.  For instance, someone you've wanted to meet with for some time wants to connect for breakfast at 7:30 a.m. the next day in New York City, and you are in San Francisco. No problem! Sure you don't feel great after taking a red-eye, but you make it there. And you've set up other back-to-back meetings to get the most out of your time. By the time you are back at the airport you realize you might not have mentioned your whereabouts to your spouse but know he'll understand. And you know that this phase can't last forever, but you must take full advantage of every opportunity now, while you have it.

• Phase 2--The Trade-offs: You realize that other things--hobbies, friends, wellness--are being impacted, but hopefully now you are experiencing some growth and cannot imagine losing momentum in order to stop and smell the roses. Also, expectations have been set. Clients on the East Coast expect that you will be available during the wee hours of the morning on the West Coast; you've told them to call you if they wanted to talk--anytime; they're just taking you up on your offer. All those opportunities that you have been pushing for are now happening; and you must be there to implement them. You can't imagine having others do it during such a delicate, relationship-building phase. You plan to eventually build replicable, delegatable processes, but you must trail-blaze for how.

You try to fit it all in, but even with extended hours you can't. So you compromise on everything except your business. You skip those biannual physical exams, you whittle that full workout into a few sit-ups before bed, you spam an eGreeting card to your address book this year instead of sending individually written cards. That quality time you book nightly with your spouse or the kids is spent responding to email while sitting next to him on the couch. You don't have to meet with people in-person today, so you forgo showering and getting dressed--time is money, people! The first time you skip these things it feels bad; the second time you can justify it as something you're sacrificing "for now", the third time you've re-identified yourself: "I guess I'm just going to be 10 pounds heavier." "I've never been much of a home cook." "I'm just not a neat person." "I'm the kind of person who always has to be doing something." ...

You start to fear that your tradeoffs are becoming more and more visible. You look older. You have creaky knees and your neck hurts. You indiscriminately hand people not associated with your business, like your drycleaner, your business card. You develop this glassy look that signals to your domestic partner that you are assessing what else you need to get done today, not listening to his suggestions for what to have for dinner. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you update them on your calendar and on your competition.

• Phase 3--Signs of wear and tear: You have much to show for your hard work--both good and bad. You are still pushing hard; forget about cruise-control. But you can speak confidently about the future of your business.

Through accidental situations, like delayed flights and malfunctioning electronics, you find yourself with small pockets of unscheduled time and have no idea what to do with it: Pick up a newspaper and at least familiarize yourself with the happenings in the world, pet your cat, or call people? You realize you don't know where to start and defer to doodling in your notebook. You go to the dentist and they declare you're in for a year of orthodontics due to stress-induced jaw alignment issues. You understand the urgency but just don't know how you can fit that sort of thing into your schedule at this time. Pain is also very time consuming--feeling it, preventing it, containing it. You plan another appointment in several months--hopefully enough lead time to plan around it. You later realize that you do have a conflict but you do nothing. Maybe the other party will cancel. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you have nothing to say. You say, "Hanging in, and you?

People call you successful and you wonder, "How so?" Even if you are, you are so used to the act of building momentum that you don't know what success feels like. Perhaps you've overcome it and it's now trailing behind, and you just feel something dragging. You assume it's another problem to attack. You remove your anniversary dinner from your calendar and enter "figure out dragging issue" in its place.

But back to HR Capitalist's two options: Accept that you are going to have to put in the time, or start taking things off your plate. The frustration of a later-stage entrepreneur who's had a few years to cycle through both options is "what else?"

One could say Option 3 is aspire to less. Let's just say for the sake of argument that this was even possible for the entrepreneur, that we could temporarily suppress this unquenchable ambition and could actually make a logical decision to dial it back a bit. I argue that our natures would kick back in, and we would become crazy about something else.

My friend and former coach Kimberly threw something out to me that was similar to Kris's advice, but offered in a way that I could actually consider.

"I'll bet you could back off about 10 percent and no one would even notice," she said.

"But I would notice," I said.

And I thought about that. There are types of effort: level one being "9-5" effort, level two being extraordinary effort, and level three being "Why are you afraid that level two won't suffice?" effort.

I am willing to consider level 2 may be effective.

Blogging 3.0: Now, with more feeling

We sat in the cafe, a seemingly informal Sunday coffee date with a friend, but not as casual as I expected. We'd gone to a yoga class before and were now sipping lattes and picking on pastry (I had a bagel).

My friend has become very established in the social media consulting space over the past three years. Her life had changed significantly since we met at the bus stop located between our two homes. She had left her job to pursue career and nonprofit consulting opportunities. I had just left my job to consult in the social media space. I told her about blogging and she must have been ready to learn about it, because she took it on, to the point where she now speaks and trains people in it.

I had told her, for the umpteenth time, that things were changing for me. I was going to take my blogging seriously again. As seriously as I could anyway, considering I no longer had the stretches of time I used to to blog, and as seriously as I should, considering my role as a thought leader in the social media marketing space. The feeling of discomfort I've had about my blogging was like a sock that I put on early in the day that had something in it. I could feel something small in between my toes, but I just didn't have time to take off my shoes and deal with it. I've just kept walking with this thingie in my shoe. And over time I got used to the thingie, used to the annoyance, and yet I could feel it with every step.

I told my friend that I was going to revitalize my writing by redesigning my blog; she was only too happy to help. She'd started coaching independent proprietors, typically creatives, who were building social media strategies for their businesses. I had helped to build strategies for my business, and our clients' businesses, but had not built a strategy for myself.

My friend's questions were deceptively difficult.

"Who do you want to reach with your blog ... and don't say everybody."

"But men and women read Pause."

"I'm sure they did, but if you had to identify THE person that would be interested in your blog it would be ..."

"People interested in, you know, what I write. There isn't an age, per se ..."

Very difficult stuff.

"I noticed you've taken down your blogroll. You should get it back up."

I scoffed at this initially, guiltily. The truth of the matter was that I had taken down my blogroll because I hadn't added anything to it since 2005, back when I worked for myself and took the time to methodically check my feed readers. I used to make it the first thing that I did in the morning, but then the company started to really take off, and I woke up to emails and early morning meetings with people on the East Coast. I rescheduled my reading to afternoons, but gradually found that by 10 pm I was still finishing proposals, catching up on email, or checking into a hotel and desperately wanting to sleep.

"Do people still care about blogrolls?" I was embarrassed hearing myself, as I thought about the myriad times I shared with people who asked me, a few years ago, how to get started blogging. And my standard answer, "Read. You must read."

My friend started to ask me about what bells and whistles I would place on my new, revitalized blog. Save for my Twitter feed, all of my blog bling and traffic-generating features were circa 2006. I have a Facebook and Twitter account, which have grown through no effort other than accepting the invitations that have come my way. I don't have any philosophical issue with pursuing friends, fans, or followers, but more a fear of commitment. I recall days when I would spend hours trying to hack at a line of code in an old version of TypePad that screwed up my Typelists. I recall reading my posts many times before posting, just to make sure the punctuation was correct, and responding privately to every comment I received. I remember being vigilant about tagging and tracking back, working well into the night to make my beloved piece of internet real estate as inviting as possible.

Now, I kick aside cobwebs on the front porch. I feel embarrassed about the old furniture. I want desperately to be social, but don't want to invite anyone over, lest they see the tattered curtains.

"Where have I been all this time?" I said to my friend.

"You've been on the other side of things."

"The out of touch side?" I thought to myself.

I realized that I've let the blog go by choice. And I haven't added much to it because I haven't determined who I want to be as a blogger. I used to love being fairly naked, though I don't feel quite as liberal as I once was. Old age, maybe? Or maybe a few too many run-ins with people who later questioned me, or were even hurt. And running a business that involves others adds a layer of responsibility I haven't figured out how to navigate. So I've stayed away, sometimes angrily, like a victim who complains that her hands are tied. Sometimes with fear that I couldn't write powerfully like I used to. Sometimes I just don't know what I want to say.

A funny thing happened on my entrepreneurial journey: I became OK with just getting it done. Not talking about what else needed to be done, or about what I would do when I got there. I just did it. I still think about things I'd like to do, like spend a day watching TV, or going to Brazil. But I don't wonder what am I meant to do. I haven't answered the question, but my life is working on it. It's a paradigm shift that renders the many book proposals and soul-searching blog posts useless now.

Still, there are reasons why I want to continue blogging. Back to the thingie in my shoe: I spend an awful lot of time pondering where this industry as a whole is going, but I haven't really spent time getting re-addicted to using social media. I don't update my profile, or follow people. I read what others aggregate and send my way, but not what I discover. I've stopped thinking this was bad; I just would like to re-engage. I don't have more time for this and will have to be realistic about my output, but I don't need to be uber-consistent. It's not about the traffic. This will keep me thinking.

Stay tuned.

On hugging and professional PDA

I'm a hugger, and I never thought that much about it. When I'm at parties and meet people for the first time, I hug them before I leave. I see people I know on the street, I hug them. When I'm seeing people in business settings that I know well I hug them. It only just occurred to me recently that we don't all have the same criteria around when we should hug in the office, especially if it's a male-female interaction.

I was recently visiting with clients that I know well. I've worked with one of my contacts for three years now. He makes it out to San Francisco every few months, and it's always good to talk social media with him. I know him well enough to know he's planning his wedding, which takes place in a few weeks.

When I saw him and his co-worker I approached arms out. I had just come back from BlogHer in Chicago, where I had been used to hugging, even kissing people on the cheek. I forget that while me and my business pal are friendly, he's not so much a hugger. Upon reaching out for him, he swerved for the shoulder-to-shoulder hug, looking off to the side. I accidentally whacked him in the face with the hand I reserve to clutch and pat my huggee on the back.

To prove I'm becoming more like my mother every day I reverted to her method of pain reduction and reactively grabbed his face, because somehow grabbing someone's face makes whacking them hurt less. Just when he was probably thinking, "please don't touch me any more than you already have."

I've stopped kissing people on the cheek except when I'm in NYC, and even then I assess the target. Probably the dumbest thing I ever did was this May when, despite all the hubbub about swine flu, I went to a friend's wedding in Mexico, came back with a raging cold, and still insisted on making my way to New York for a conference and some meetings. I visited with another professional pal who asked me what I've been up to.

"Just got back from Mexico," I said, then started hacking uncontrollably.

"Oh really?" he said, trying to not look overly concerned. As I left, I grabbed the poor man, who was relocating to an office in another country, hugged him and provided a cheek-to-cheek airkiss.

"Besta luck!" I said.

I envisioned what he was saying to himself silently, "Typhoid freak, please leave."

In Relationship Therapy with my Blog

I just read a post on Mike Manuel's Media Gorilla Blog called "Why Blogging Has Become Harder". I don't usually read posts that are not business-related anymore, but I was drawn to it, especially this passage:

The truth is, last year was an amazingly good, but challenging year for me at Voce. We won several big accounts. We grew our team. We formalized partnerships (and forged new ones). We innovated. And where we could, we shared what was working. And amidst all of this, I must admit, I felt an increasing need (really, a responsibility) to focus whatever extra attention, energy and know-how I had on my projects, my clients and my teams.

As a result, I went dark online.

But here’s the other truth: My insularity was also influenced by my frustration with the signal to noise ratio, especially around social media consulting. When everybody’s talking and acting like they’re the experts, the last thing I wanted to do — really, the last thing I could do — was to try and show my expertise by shouting the loudest or talking the longest. That doesn’t help anyone, plus, you know, I don’t want to be that guy...

I commented on Mike's post, realizing that I had more to say than just what I had posted:

Mike, I had a similar Come-to-Jesus moment looking back at my blog during my first real vacay in years and realizing how little I’ve contributed to my digital legacy, and yet it was a time when I’ve done more speaking and educating on social media and marketing. It depressed me that my blog bling was outdated (I couldn’t even quite remember how to change it!) and that my meatiest recent piece was on wearing tight jeans. I used to geek out on social media, even get sweaty writing about it! But alas, the more work we have In Real Life, the less time I’ve had to participate online. I’m going to endeavor to get re-involved–how else do people put their money where their mouths are? But in different fashion than in 2005. I actually have a JOB other than reading blogs and writing four hours a day. It should be interesting.

This has been my struggle for the past few years. Even at the BlogHer Conference, when I'm surrounded by women who spend enormous amounts of time on their blogs, and women who are just opening to this life-altering pursuit, I feel alienated. I can only hear their stories and nod, knowing that at one time I could relate. Today, I just help pay for the booze. I know there's more to it, but when I'm just sitting on my ass, or am doing what my blog tagline indicates--"sitting still"--I become Annie Dillard, wistful for the writing life.

Mike's right, there is much more flotsam out there on the Web, and it's difficult being able to follow it so closely that you can say something that hasn't already been said in a comment on TechCrunch, let alone in a fully-fleshed blog post. Some of us have removed the obstacles of other commitments by designating our best thoughts to Twitter, just getting them out there, unroasted, before we overthink them or they fade away. Back when I had a non-start-up job, I used to jot down ideas, then work on them at night, going to bed minutes after clicking "Publish." Now, I struggle at night to catch up on email.

But you know, a lot of this is beginning of the year resolution making, a lot of talk. If I were in therapy right now, my shrink would insist that I stop talking about my blog like it's not in the room with me. I have to address it directly. Here goes:

Blog, it's true, I know it. I haven't been seeing you as much. And because of that I'm ashamed and stay away. It gets harder to come see you because every time I come back I see signs of my neglect. TypePad has added so many new features I don't recognize your dashboard anymore. I struggle to add and remove Typelists. I push publish again and again, and still no change. I know that I'll need to go deeper, into your source code, to truly make changes, but I struggle with the commitment. The commitment I once had, when for hours I would explore every last feature you had, upload images, even have H-band create new headers for categories, when you were my everything, I've saved for other pursuits, like ensuring payroll.  

It seems, I became so excited about you that I took it to a macro level. I needed to help others enjoy what I enjoyed when I began to write every day. It started with a conference, then grew to something that exceeded any part-time effort. I still kept posting to you, but by then I had a business to run, and you could no longer be the receptacle of personal takes on my business pursuits, because now there were others besides H-band whose privacy I needed to protect. People like employees and investors.

Yes, there have been others, but you knew about the print gigs--I even wrote about them here--and the affair with Fast Company. I promise you, JackMyers.com is strictly professional, and of course I have to blog on your sister, BlogHer.com, from time to time. You have to be realistic. Sometimes she even links back to you.

While I cannot promise that I will be back to visit everyday, I will think of you more. I'm not sure what our relationship will look like. When you were raised to help me sort out what I was passionate about, and you did just that. Perhaps now you can help me stay on what I'm passionate about. I can ask you the questions I can't elsewhere. Just know that, while most of your traffic consists of Google Searches on the word "sex", and people who are wondering what I've been up to since high school, I still value you. You've documented me at my best and my worst, been the place I've gone to in good times and frankly horrible ones. I'll be back.

Be patient with me. I'm still working through this phase, where I commute and travel a lot and, you know, work. There's a lot of exciting stuff to share with you about the people and companies I get to meet, but I haven't yet figured out how to share this stuff with you. I promise to work on that. I'll remember to call, or at least post, more regularly. I also promise to visit Mom more often. 

The Severance

  I met my husband in a personal development seminar. His significant other had suggested he go, and to save their relationship he thought he should. I went because my company sent me. We had no intention of meeting "the one," at that seminar and we didn't date for years after that. People ask me if I knew back then that we'd be married. All I can remember, I'm afraid, was his hair.

I had been sitting behind him for a good portion of the time, and I remember wishing that my hair would spiral like his did when in a ponytail.

Now, I was never a Fabio-loving type. I never harbored fantasies of running my hands through my lover's long, luxurious hair. But something about this man's ponytail was very much a turn on. The jeans and the Converse, on the other hand, just screamed to me, college bait, and, well, I always dated older men.

Two years later, when we bumped into each other at a party and he asked me out, H-band was wearing expensive black shoes, a funky dress shirt, and the same spiraling ponytail. On our first date I had to ask him, "Did you ever have short hair?"

"Years ago," he said. "But I started to grow it out after high school. For all of my adult life it's been long."

I knew that H-band, who was not even B-friend yet, was born and raised in a beach town outside San Diego. I imagined a little boy, a more deflated version of Little Hercules, running around naked like a little Tarzan with his soft flowing hair. I imagined his hair was--like Big Hercules' long locks--his strength, his past. A past I never dared to alter. As we started dating I commented occasionally on his facial hair, but never, ever, did I so much as hint at a trim when it came to his long mane. Frankly, I couldn't imagine him without it.

Which explains the wide-eyed look when H-band declared over the holidays, "I'm thinking of cutting my hair."

But then I thought, "H-band thinks of owning a Maserati too; that doesn't mean that he will."

But then H-band turned 30, and our very dear friend--his former flame--Jen passed away at an age that was too young to not send life-questioning reverberations through all of her friends. H-band began looking into salon windows and wondering if his head was too small for short hair. Finally, this week he said to me in passing,

"You planning to be in the city on Friday?"

"I could be. Why?"

"I'm gonna do it," he said. "It's time. I made an appointment; I'd like you to be there when it happens."

I wondered, am I attending a haircutting, or a bris?

In Memoriam: Craig Cline, The Accidental Guru

I hadn't spoken to Craig in a couple months, which was strange for us. Back when we worked together we had lunch together nearly every day. Usually he checked in via email, or called with some interesting tidbit about someone we used to work with. Since he'd moved on to consulting independently, and I'd left my full-time job to work on projects, and then BlogHer, our communication was sporadic.

When he called he sounded tired--not unusual for Craig Cline. He often slurred his speech or let his sentences trail off out of a laziness of sorts. I'd gotten to know Craig after a stroke he'd had about six years ago and suspected that his speech and movement were a result of his near-death experience. He emerged from it with an efficiency; a refusal to overexert. The resulting conversation was flat, almost stoic, though his words were often loaded with meaning.

"You OK?" I said.

"I have a cold," he said. I was surprised that he didn't want to elaborate. That's what Craig and I provided for each other--elaboration--a desire to dig into subjects more deeply than we could with others.

I've written about how Craig and I met, though I named him Calvin in my most public writing to spare him any damage my work may cause to him professionally. Looking back, I see none of the cover-up was necessary; Craig was apolitical and not concerned about fallout like I was. He never said anything about people that he wouldn't say to their face, but he only offered his thoughts if you asked. I suppose that's why we got along so well: I always asked.

Learning Lessons of Self Worth at Pottery Barn

"Oh don't be such a martyr!" my friend said when I told her I was thinking of not having a bridal registry, "You've bought gifts for other people for how long now? It's your turn."

I've written about getting what's due me in bridal booty by having a gift registry--fiance or no--by the time I was 35. Now that I'm in the position of being a socially-sanctioned recipient of bridal gifts I question the practice.

What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, people want to give us stuff--engagement gifts, shower gifts, wedding gifts. People feel badly for taking up my time, "when I must be so busy with the wedding!" People send me names of caterers, dressmakers, pastry chefs, even when I don't ask for them.

No one died; we're not incapacitated; nothing tragic or unexpected has happened, so the overly independent and disconnected part of me wonders, why do people care so much?

Leave a Memory After the Beep

Just a few short months ago, it was unusual to hear the crackle of my parents’ old-fashioned answering machine, which went on after the fifth ring when nobody was home. My mother bought the machine when I was ten, or younger. And the recording is just as old:

“You have reached the Des Jardins. No one is here to take your call right now, but if you leave a message we will get back to you as soon as possible.”

I’ve heard it maybe 20 times over the course of 15 years—not often. It seemed like someone was always home, usually my Mom, but on the rare occasion she wasn’t, my Dad would pick up. And on the rarer occasion that they both were out, I’d hear that old machine message and hang up before the end of the recording.

I’ve been hearing the machine a lot more since Dad’s been gone. No doubt, Mom’s been wanting to get out of the house more. Just the other day I heard a new message on the old, crackly machine:

“Hi, it’s Joy. I’m not here; leave me a message.”

The Co-Dependent Blogger's Dilemma: To Comment or not to Comment

Back when I worked for a national women's Web site I apparently rubbed my boss the wrong way for many reasons, but one that stuck out was my email etiquette.

"You don't say who you are referring to," she said. She, being an old fart from traditional media, preferred to have all email in proper epistolary format, starting with "Dear" and ending with my name at the end.

I thought that it was unnecessary, particularly when people wanted a simple affirmation about something, but trying desperately to remain in Old Fart's favor, I followed suit. If I received a message from her like this:

Dear Jory,                                                                                                                     

Are you able to make our meeting at 3:30 today?"

                                              --Old Fart

I would reply:

Dear Old Fart,

Yes

--Jory

I felt badly when I kept it to only one word. Would she think I rushed to respond without thinking about her question? Would she think I was being rude? I thought about responding in a sentence: "Dear Old Fart: I will be at the meeting at 3:30. Sincerely, Jory Des Jardins.." but couldn't bring myself to do it. Something about this requirement smacked of an inability to adjust to the wired world. Email was designed to make messaging efficient. You knew who email was from simply by looking at the From line. You knew what it was about by looking at the Subject line. End of story.

Still, the damage had been done. Old Fart set me on a path of insecurity--one on which I've questioned my digital response skills. Anxiety that plagues me--the blogger--even today.

What Do You Mean, 'We'll See?': Why Do People Bail?

Finally, a piece in Real Simple magazine that I could relate to. Don't get me wrong; I love the magazine and often vow to put it's advice to good use, but I never seem to get around to it. It's almost too practical--for people who always ask themselves questions like, what else could I be doing with this gum wrapper? Or, How can I maximize the time I wait in traffic? The opportunities arise to make use of this information and I remain my usual, impractical self.

Still, this piece on dealing with friends who bail all the time piqued my interest, not only because I have friends and business associates who are notorious bailers, but because I thought I could brush up on bailing better.