dare to dream

Rightsizing our dream: Rebecca Nielsen

When I spoke at Fusion, a women's group here in Boston, Rebecca Nielsen asked the question, "What happens when you have a dream (career), but then you make room for another dream (motherhood), making the prior dream an impossibility?

Good question, I thought, and asked her to guest blog.

Rebecca is the mother of eight-month-old twin girls, and was previously a Senior Director with UnitedHealth Group. She obtained her MBA from Harvard Business School in 2002, and an AB in History and Literature from Harvard College in 1998.

Below she shares her experience, and gamely answers my tough questions:

Years ago I set a goal to run the Red Cross. I then determined that attending business school and gaining management skills in the private sector were important steps to qualifying myself to lead a major NGO. When I called my college chemistry professor for a letter of recommendation to business school, he replied, "Rebecca – I don't envision you in business. I see you running the Red Cross."

I had to smile.

I shared that dream on my business school application and in my entrance interview. After each class I kept a journal of how my education in brand management, strategy, controls or finance would serve me in the non-for-profit arena – and I kept the dream tangible: someday I would run the American Red Cross. After business school I spent five years working in the healthcare industry developing general management skills.

Fast forward to the present: I am now a full-time mother of beautiful twin baby girls. Swept up in this dream – which is more purposeful and joyful than I expected – I think more about catching up on sleep than fundraising for disaster relief. However, I heed Langston Hughes' caution about dreams deferred, and welcome the chance to reflect on this goal. I've planted some stakes in the ground as I start this process of reassessing: I savor this time with my girls and I want to spend the bulk of my time with my children for years to come.

So, what about the dream?

Although I now have competing dreams that need to make room for each other, I am still enthusiastic about making strides in both – but not necessarily at the same time. Within days of receiving the invitation from Whitney to write this blog, I learned of the passing of my aunt. She enjoyed a rich family life and accomplished remarkable professional goals. She did it in stages. When her youngest child started kindergarten, she started writing. In the years that followed, she published twelve books. The fodder for some of her most notable works came from experiences with her children.

I anticipate that there will be a season in my life when I will chase my dream of running the Red Cross, and that my experiences as a mother will provide valuable fodder and perspective in championing humanitarian relief. My dream may need to be right-sized as I won't have a traditional management resume – but I am not disheartened. If I am not in a position to lead an established NGO, I will be able to serve on non-profit boards, volunteer in humanitarian relief on a local level, and follow my parents' example of devoting time to an extended humanitarian mission abroad. I may need to become a non-profit entrepreneur, and bootstrap my own effort to make a difference. Although my goal may change, its essence – to use my skills to champion humanitarian relief – is still within reach.

***

Q (Whitney): any questions you would pose to women after having written this?

A (Rebecca): Because of our life circumstances, some of our dreams may become less achievable. When is it right to let go, and when do we need to keep striving? Can the process of working towards a dream be enough of a reward in and of itself?

Q: How long would you say that it took you to right-size your dream? Has this been in the works since you graduated in 2002?

A: I've always wanted to have a family: when I formulated the goal to run the Red Cross, I just felt extremely bullish about finding a way to do both. I anticipated that after several years of mothering I would dust off my resume and charge into the non-profit world. However, exiting the business world with the birth of my children has prompted some reevaluation.

While I still feel the enthusiasm for making a contribution in humanitarian relief, I am more accepting of the fact that I may need to apply my skills in less conspicuous ways. As a career counselor told me once, the likelihood of my being the head of the Red Cross is weak at best, even if that were my only goal -- but the likelihood of my making a meaningful contribution in humanitarian relief is within my control.

Q. As you've ostensibly closed the door on one dream, what dream have you opened the door to since becoming a mother? What dream is now possible that wasn't before because of your business and mothering experience?

A: I feel that I am becoming a more complete person. I remember the relief I felt after coming home from the hospital with our girls, that at last, after 31 years, I could channel the bulk of my energies into something besides my own personal, academic and professional development. My life -- to large extent -- is these two little women, and I find that in letting them be my focus, I like myself better and trust myself more.

Q: You said you kept a journal on how you could prepare for the Red Cross... what if you were to keep a journal today -- for even just a month -- recording how your mothering experience can help you to continue to prepare to run the Red Cross. While I agree with you that it is more out-of-reach than it was, I'm not sure that it is entirely.... So would love for you to just imagine and explore a bit.

A: That's a great idea -- I'm up for it. I think I will recast the goal a bit, i.e. "how is what I am doing now preparing me to make a significant contribution in the realm of humanitarian relief?"

I'd be happy to report back at the end of August with my findings.

***

What dreams have you had that you needed to right size? How did you do it?

I was struck by Rebecca's comment that it was a relief to channel her energies into something other than herself. Psyche would certainly appreciate her sentiment. What are your thoughts?

Have you thought about keeping a journal that outlines how what you are doing in your life right now will help you achieve your dream? Before you say "nothing", think again.

How could Rebecca bring her girls along as she dreams?

Related posts:
What is your dream?
Explore your possibilities
Salon-style systergy
Doorsteps, doors and dreams

Scribble Press: Helping our children tell their story

When I was in Mexico last month, my friend David Luhnow told me about his sister-in-law Anna's store Scribble Press, a place where children can write, illustrate and publish their very own books.

Why was I so taken by their concept?

Because Scribble Press helps us help our children move to the center of their story.

To dream, not deflect -- to be the hero.

For example, Anna shared with me that several children had recently made meaning of their adoption by writing and illustrating books that were then bound before their eyes.

What events do your children need to make meaning of?

What do you need to make meaning of?

If you are going to be in Los Angeles this summer, and want to encourage your children to be the hero of their story, then run, don't walk, to Scribble Press.

In the meantime, take a moment to go to kirtsy and click through on the link Scribbling our children's way to self-esteem. I can't think of a better way to say Atta Girls -- Darcy and Anna!

Related posts:
NY Times: This is if your life (And how you tell it)
Dreaming or deflecting?
Children and the call to adventure
Soundtracks: Finding our voice, telling our story
It takes courage to tell our stories

Exploring possibilities and presidential politics

On Saturday evening, my 11 year-old David announced, I think I'll watch the presidential debates.

You will?

My husband and I have talked about the upcoming election intermittently (upon telling our 7 year-old the basics of the democratic and republican platforms, she's already declared herself an Independent), but presidential politics isn't really part of our family's everyday patter.

Until yesterday.

Perhaps because early Friday morning, with the country astir over the Iowa caucuses, I thought -- wouldn't it be fun to attend a Mitt Romney town hall in advance of the New Hampshire primary, and wouldn't it be fun if David went with me. I'd never been to a political rally, neither had he, why not make this whole presidential campaign more tangible?

Photo courtesy of Emily Anthon

David was immediately 'in', so I called my friend Emily who is having the exhilarating experience of working on Mitt Romney's campaign (every presidential campaign is no doubt thrilling -- talk about some genuine head-butting); I asked Emily where and when and we were off.

So often I imagine doing something, especially something spontaneous, but rarely do I actually do it. I (perhaps you are too) am primed to stop at imagine, whether it's because I don't want to try something I'm not good at. Or in this case, be impractical? After all, why date an idea, if I'm not going to marry it?

So let's look at what happened simply because we went to New Hampshire for a few hours.

1) I practiced moving from imagining to exploring, an important aspect of daring to dream, and, in turn, opened the door to David exploring his possibilities.

2) David not only came along, and is more interested in debate than ever, he has a picture of himself with a presidential candidate: images can wield a powerful effect, positively or negatively, else the advertising industry would be out of business. David also tells me this photo will garner some oohs and aahs from his surprisingly (because we live in MA) conservative 5th grade classmates.

Photo courtesy of Emily Anthon -- I tried to take a decent picture, which is why they are looking at me, Emily gratefully got the shot

3) Presidential politics is now more real to us. David wanted to watch the debates, and when we wouldn't let him stay up to watch the democratic debate, thanks to Tivo, he watched it this morning.

Will this experience be pivotal for either of us?

Odds are no.

But isn't it true that the more we explore our possibilities, the more possibilities there are.

When have you recently listened to your gut, and not only imagined, but also explored?

Have you gone back and done a what if I hadn't, considering how your future changed because you explored?

P.S. There's a fun entry written by Elizabeth Williams sharing her experience of attending the democratic Iowa caucus. It just makes it all so more real, doesn't it? She's got great jewelry too.

Related posts:
Doorsteps, doors and dreams
Rock-climbing and rethinking our competence
imagine and Explore
Getting back in the saddle of our possibilities
What IF?

Doorsteps, doors and dreams

"You're leaving again Mom. You're never here," said my 11 year-old David, as I was walking out the door to the March of Dimes benefit that my friend Jane was emceeing.

My hair was done, make-up on, clothing donned, but I asked anyway:

"Do you want me to stay David?"

"You won't Mom, so I won't ask."

"Are you sure?"

"Go mom."

I got in the car, immediately called my husband who supplied characteristically good advice, "Trust your gut", I turned the car around.

Walking in the door, changing into my pajamas, watching TV together, having David know that I'd put him first, and MY knowing that I'd put him first....

Lovely Jane understood.

***

Several weeks later, one of my mentors encouraged me to bring my children along as I 'dare to dream' and 'know my neighbor', or as my children call it 'dare to know your neighbor.' Because he gave me several pieces of advice, many of which I quite preferred, 'bring your children along', was noted, and forgotten.

Until one of my girlfriends gave me the same advice.

Three times in three weeks. Three different people.

Hmmm.

Is it possible that even as I attend to my children's emotional well-being at a basic level (probably better than basic), I'm excluding them from a large piece of myself, and in effect, leaving them on the doorstep of my dreams?

Courtesy of Tomaz Levstek via iStockphoto

Were I to include them more -- what would happen?

It had crossed my mind to take David to the March of Dimes benefit. Too young. He won't want to go. Too much work for me. And 11 is probably too young. But next year?

When I asked him if he would come to something like this, his answer was yes.

By taking David, we'd spend time together, I'd get to see him in a tuxedo AND we could support both Jane and The March of Dimes.

Opening the door to our children's dreams, even as we open the door to ours.

An elegant, both/and solution; Psyche would no doubt be approve.

***

As we involve and engage our children in the dreaming process, they will definitely learn from us (some good, some bad), but what can we learn from them? How do their strengths help us?

What can we learn from Susan Minot's Evening about including our children?

When have you involved your children in your dream, whether planning or executing, or both?

How did you feel? How did they?

Related posts:
Children and the call to adventure
Susan Minot's Evening
Parenting and the hero's journey
Pscyhe's 4th Task: Learn to say no
Enough

Asking for what we want

About a week before Christmas, my daughter Miranda asked me if the two of us could go see The Nutcracker.

She seems to want more mom-daughter time of late. Perhaps because she's getting older, perhaps because she feels 'work time' is displacing 'mom time'. (My friend Stacey has encouraged me me to share the challenges of my recent on-ramping. There are many; one day I'll go into more detail.)

For now, it's enough to know that one of the challenges is -- my children liked having mom around more, and now that I'm around less, they miss me. So I wasn't all that surprised that Miranda suggested a girls' night out.

What did surprise me was her ability to articulate so easily what she wanted. Because -- I just don't know that many women (including myself) who ask for what we want all that well.

Think about it.

When was the last time that a woman you know (or you yourself) asked simply and directly for something?

No martyrdom, no manipulation, etc., etc, -- just stated their want (without making it a need) and asked.

That's what I thought.

In Anna Fels' article titled Do Women Lack Ambition?, she writes that our cultural ideals of femininity do not include women asking for resources, whether those resources involve time, money, praise. If we do ask, we feel selfish, and others are likely to believe us to be selfish as well.

This Christmas there were many lovely gifts given and received (including my Blackberry Curve), but taking Miranda to see The Nutcracker (as my mother did me), and hearing her ask for this outing, without even a nanosecond's worry that she would be jeopardizing her femininity, was without a doubt, among the best gifts.

When was the last time that you were direct about what you wanted? For example, just today, when I wanted something I'd left in the car, instead of asking my husband, "Will you go out to the car and get me x", I said "Are you going out to the car?"

Do you know an adult woman who ask for what she wants -- and gets it? What can we learn from her?

What can we do to encourage our daughters to continue asking, and believing they'll receive?

P.S. Is this one happy girl or what?

Related posts:

Rachel vs. Leah: reclaiming the power to dream
Throw down your pom-poms
Psyche's 3rd Task: Fill the Flask
NY Times article: For Girls, It's Be Yourself...
Psyche and choice

Children and the call to adventure

My 11 year-old son David recently got a 100% on his geography test.

I was thrilled.

In part, because I've handed my own ambition to him (if he looks good, I look good), but it was more than that.

David had studied, and because he'd studied, he knew the Asian countries and capitals cold. In light of a conversation we'd had just a few weeks prior, this was quite important.

Here's the redux.

"David, you got an 18 out of 24 on your Wordly Wise exam. I don't quite understand how you can be so articulate and not do well on vocabulary tests."

"Mom, a B+ when I'm just winging it is pretty good."

"You're right David, it is pretty good."

Photo courtesy of Marcelo Wain

But David, "winging it" and "pretty good"?

"How are you going to do the good you were meant to do with "pretty good" as your watchword? The world will be just fine if you don't do that good, but will you be?"

What I didn't say, but thought, because this interchange was not entirely about him (one of the burdens of being the oldest child), was this:

If I dare and dream, and dream and dare some more, only to have my children Not dream, or they dream, but haven't the competence needed to make their dream happen, then what?

So, am I pleased that my son is learning about capitals and countries?

Absolutely.

But his learning to be competent, to prepare for his call to adventure, to do the good he was meant to do -- makes my heart sing.

P.S. My son has read and approved the publication of this post.

What can we as parents do to help our children feel a sense of responsibility to build on what we've given them (while forgiving us for our not-so-good) to make the world a better place?

Is framing their life as a hero's journey helpful?

How do we keep a vision of the "good our children are meant to do" top-of-mind?

Is the angst I'm feeling pretty typical for moms of 11 year-old boys? Or should I be more concerned, and re-read Madeline Levine's The Price of Privilege?

Related posts:

The hero's journey
The hero's journey and accountability
Mum's the word
Google's lesson on dreams vs. expectations
Seeing with new eyes

Of Corvettes and Porsches

Several weeks ago, my friend Lorna shared with me that while still in her early 20's, she bought her dream car, a red Corvette.

Her dad helped her finance the purchase, but I was surprised nonetheless.

Though I've "wanted" a Porsche Carrera for over 20 years, I've never really been serious about buying one. I've never even test-driven one, unless you count the time I drove around the block of the car dealership several times before losing my nerve.

You may be thinking, of course you didn't buy it -- Porsches are a luxury car and they aren't exactly kid-friendly.

But, you know what?

There were several years of Wall Street bonuses, and no children until my mid-30s.

And I didn't buy one.

I wonder why.

Lorna offhandedly said something which I think is quite important.

"I looked really good then."

There are many possible takeaways from her comment, and by the way, she continues to look fabulous, actually more fabulous now, because of who she is.

But my key takeaway was this.

Lorna bought a Corvette.

Because Lorna believed she deserved to own a Corvette.

Because Lorna (as did her father) believed she was Rachel.

For some, not all, no matter how successful we become, we occasionally have to remind ourselves that Leah needs to take a backseat.

When I buy my next car, will I buy a Porsche?

I don't yet know, but if Rachel has her way, I will.

Can you think of something that you really, really wanted to do, try or buy, and you did? How did you feel?

Is there something you want to do today that you haven't done? Why?

According to the Bem Sex-Role Inventory, a woman is considered feminine only when she is providing resources (time, money, praise) to someone else. How does this societal belief influence your decisions?

To what extent are we gatekeepers for our children's dreams? What would we need to do to fling open the gate?

My friend's daughter will go away to college next year.

Her daughter is bright, hard-working, well-rounded, and could have gone pretty much anywhere, but elected to go to Brigham Young University (my alma mater, by the way), a university that many would consider a second-tier 'safety' school.

The decision has been tough for both.

For Daughter, because she wants Mom to be proud, and the 'safety' school wasn't Mom's first choice.

Source: Growing, Growing by Ashley G

For Mom -- for all moms -- I wonder if it's tough because we are afraid, feel fear?

The fear that we inevitably feel at the start of a hero's journey as we prepare to walk through the unknown?

Except that when it's our children, not us, the fear is heightened because we desperately want them to become more of who they are, and yet we realize that because it is their journey, not ours, we are supposed to be bystanders.

And could it be that this fear makes it nearly impossible for parents not to try and tell their children where to go, what to be?

Knowing my friend and her daughter, had Mom insisted, required, even simply asked Daughter to go to a different school, Daughter would have.

Mom wanted to ask -- oh, how she wanted to.

But she didn't.

She instead courageously walked into her unknown, so that her daughter can walk into hers, and be the hero of her story.

In this unknown, Daughter -- and Mom too -- will no doubt find more of who they are.

Why else might it be difficult to send our children off on their journey?

Could it be possible that our children have become our dream keepers, and so we've become attached to a specific outcome for their lives -- Do you remember the NY Times article about Esther Mobley, and Susan Minot's Evening?

Why does allowing our children to walk through their unknown, allow us to walk through ours?

Lonely? How can you be lonely? You’ve got yourself, haven’t you? If you ever lose yourself, then you’ll really be lonely. Joseph Delaney

Whenever I attend PTA meetings I seem to volunteer for something.

A big something.

Last year, I volunteered to chair the Cultural Enrichment Committee; this year I'm also the Hospitality Chair.

Here's how things unfold.

The PTA president asks for volunteers.

Amidst the ensuing, and uncomfortable silence, my brain starts to run the script: good mothers volunteer at their children's school; over the years, I have volunteered far less than most because of my work schedule; I want to be a good mother; I want others to think I'm a good mother.

Impulsively, dare I say compulsively, I volunteer.

Five minutes later, I regret it.

Have you ever said yes when you really wanted to say no?

Photo courtesy of Steve Santore aka Valentinian

Learning to say no, and thus exercise choice is Psyche's fourth and final task.

Before she can be reunited with Eros, Psyche must descend into the underworld to fill a box with beauty ointment. This journey is especially difficult because she encounters three people whose pleas for help she must not heed.

Setting a goal and pursuing it in the face of requests for help from others is especially difficult for women whose lives are focused on care giving. And yet, as we say no, we are learning to set boundaries, to exercise choice, and, paradoxically, can more capably say yes to relatedness and nurturing..

In his book The Power of a Positive No (thanks to Anna Giraldo-Kerr for her great summary), William Ury, writes:

I learned...[the importance of saying no] early on in my career from the...extraordinarily successful investor Warren Buffett. Over breakfast one day, he confided in me that the secret to creating his fortune was his ability to say No. "I sit there and look at investment proposals all day. I say No, No, No No, No, No--until I see one that is exactly what I am looking for. And then I say Yes. All I have to do is say Yes a few times in my life and I've made my fortune." Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

One more time, and with feeling -- Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

For women these thousand Nos are particularly nettlesome, as they require us to move from an either/or mindset to both/and to do what Ury describes as "marrying the two must fundamental words in the language: Yes and No. Yes is the key word of connection (Psyche embarks on a hero's journey to say yes to Eros). No the key word of protection (Psyche says no to others to say yes to her self, her loved ones)."

"The secret to standing up for yourself and what you need without destroying precious relationships is to marry the two."

This is no easy task.

It wasn't for Psyche.

But isn't it worth saying no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

So that you can capably say yes to you, your relationships, your dream?

P.S. Yes, I am going to honor my commitment to chair the Hospitality Committee, but I'm going to take a page out Psyche's book and delegate.

Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on...children than the unlived life of the parent. Carl Jung

Have you considered the possibility that in pursuing our dreams, we open the door to our children pursuing theirs?

The film Evening, based on the book by Susan Minot, makes the case that we do.

On her deathbed, Ann Grant (played by Vanessa Redgrave as seen in the photo to the left), flashes back to her early twenties (younger self - Claire Danes), a time during which Ann believed she could get the guy and achieve her goal. However, as the film progresses, we learn that Ann's life, in Jung's words, was unlived. She not only didn't get the guy, she twice married badly, and her singing career never amounted to much.

Constance (Redgrave's real-life daughter Natasha Richardson, also in the photo above) tries to live her mother's unfulfilled dream of having a happy marriage. Ostensibly she has, though her demeanor suggests otherwise, and she's completely neglected the following of her bliss. Meanwhile, younger sister Nina (Toni Collette) has tried to follow her bliss (well, her mother's bliss). But, four failed careers later, including a stint as a go-go dancer, bliss remains elusive, as do meaningful relationships.

When Ann, the mother, left her life unlived, her daughters unwittingly tried to live it for her, and became the keeper of their mother's dreams, rather than of their own.

I don't think it had to be that way.

When Ann is asked to single out a moment when she was truly happy, she vividly recalls a rehearsal for a singing gig some 30 years ago. As Ann sang, 5 year-old Constance sat on the lap of Ann's accompanist.

Why was she so happy? Because, in that moment, she was attending to her relationships AND to her dream.

Attending to both is certainly harder than attending to one or the other.

But if in doing so, we keep our dreams so that our children can keep theirs, isn't it worth it?

Have you seen Evening? What was your take?

Any idea what the unlived life of your parents is/was? Does it in any way explain your own dream?

Are you attending to your dream? If not, what can you do to start? If you are, Atta Girl!

P.S. Yesterday, I read an interesting analysis of the female characters in the book Birdwing and the film Ratatouille. Take a peek.

On the last day of Pompositticut Farm Day Camp, my daughter came home wearing a tie-dye t-shirt she'd made, eager to do more.

At the risk of my being a trifle embarrassed, I'd like to share with you what happened over the next five days.

Friday, July 6, pm
Miranda: Mom, let's buy a tie-dye kit.
Me: Ok, but not today, we'll buy the kit tomorrow.

Saturday, July 7, pm
Miranda: Mom, we have the kit, now let's do the tie-dye.
Me: But we don't have any t-shirts. It's 7pm; this'll have to wait until Monday.

Sunday, July 8, am
Miranda: Mom, can't we do something? Like mix the dye, and watch the how-to DVD?
Me: (Unenthusiastically) Yes, yes, you can mix the dye. Ok, I'll watch the DVD with you.
Miranda: Mom, isn't this fun watching the DVD (she's lounging in my lap)?
Me: Yes, it is fun (we contentedly smile at one another).

Monday, July 9, pm
Miranda: Mom, can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: Nope. We need to pre-wash the t-shirts. Tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: Mom, the t-shirts are washed; can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: (Groggily, reluctantly) Ok.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: (Squeezing the dye onto the t-shirts) Mom, you're doing a good job of helping me.
Miranda: (While I'm driving her to camp) Isn't tie-dye fun? (Exuberantly) You can make anything with tie-dye!!

Comprehension. Understanding.

Had it been up to my daughter, she would have purchased the tie-dye kit, the t-shirts, AND done the tie-dye project on Friday evening.

In other words, she would have done her dream right then -- do and/or dye.

But she couldn't, because for 6 year-olds, parents are the gatekeepers of dreams.

To be fair, to ourselves, and, more importantly, to our own parents, none of us are trying to be mean, or even difficult, we're just trying to make it through our own lives.

But children don't, and developmentally, can't know that.

Rather than seeing their parents' reluctance as being about their parents, they interpret it to mean something about them -- they can't, shouldn't...

Replay this script thousands of times throughout their (our) childhood, and by the time we're adults, we've become genuine, certified, "nothing gets past our gate" gatekeepers.

We are so good, that getting past the gate of our doubting self, may indeed require a dare.

I'm going to dare.

Will you too?

The next time our kids want to do a project (child-speak: dream), and we just don't have it in us that day, can we say I'm exhausted tonight, but I really want you to do this, I like that you are thinking resourcefully, creatively, and cannot wait to see what you will do?

Instead of taking 4-5 days to get to their dream, how about 2-3 days? Remember -- baby steps.

Let's observe how we're interacting with the children in our lives. Are there any clues about what might be keeping us from our dreams?

And when we do learn from children (at their expense), why not tell the story of what they've taught us about how to dream? P.S. The above photograph is courtesy of Miranda and her two tye-dyed shirts, and my learning how to upload a photograph onto the blog.

Have you ever wondered why we get morning sickness when we're pregnant?

Lots of theories, and no conclusions make my friend Sally's theory all the more intriguing. As the fetus starts to grow, Sally has suggested that our body issues an "intruder" alert, and begins to attack, just as the body does with germs, viruses, even organ transplants: morning sickness is a casualty of war.

Those of you with a scientific bent may be cringing, but stay with me.

As I've visited with a number of executives this week, people with whom I dealt while working on Wall Street, I've wondered -- is it possible that morning sickness is a metaphor for what we undergo pscyhologically/emotionally when we dare to dream?

Let me explain.

When I was last here in Mexico City, I was Whitney Johnson, Merrill Lynch equity analyst, a woman who, with an upgrade or downgrade of their company's stock, could affect these executives' net worth. Naturally it was in their best interest to be nice to me.

Today -- two years later -- as I visit with these same executives, I have set my former identity and attendant power aside.

What is my identity now? What do I do in this new role? Will I be received?

To be clear, I made this choice. I freely dared to dream, to find a new piece of my self. It is unnerving, discombobulating, and pit-in-the-stomach-ing, nonetheless.

Which is precisely why I find morning sickness as a metaphor for dare-to-dream so compelling. Morning sickness can be almost unendurable for a time. However, as we cradle our newborn baby, the months of sickness seem but a small price to pay for the miracle of bringing a child into the world.

Isn't this what happens, admittedly on a smaller scale, when we dare to dream?

As we set out to discover a new piece of ourselves, we may feel that we are losing something in the process, and it is profoundly discomfiting, even nauseating. But once we've found that new piece, becoming more of who we are, it has indeed been a small price to pay.

As you are undertaking something new, do you find yourself uncomfortable, unnerved, sick to your stomach at times?

When you make room for a new piece of yourself, do you feel diminished or more of who you are?

Pop Quiz:

If one of your children came home from school with a report card that said:

Math A
Geography A+
Social Science A
English C
French A

What would you think?

What would you say?

During a presentation titled Women at their Best: Authentically Engaging Strengths for Maximal Contributions, Professor Laura Morgan Roberts of Harvard Business School, indicated that we will perfunctorily say "Good job" in Math, Social Science, English, and French, but spend far more time trying to understand why the C in English, and formulating a plan for improvement.

In her words, "we will only see the C".

Is this true for you?

It certainly is for me.

Dr. Roberts expounds by saying that for every negative thing we say, we need to say three positive things to offset or cancel out the negative; within a marriage (I suspect with our children as well), the ratio increases from 3:1 to 5:1.

Just one example.

I still remember my first day of 8th grade at a new school in Almaden, California -- we were in the band room -- when Mark Weber saw me looking at him, and he said to me, "What are you looking at ugly?"

It's now been more than 30 years, and I have been told many times, by my husband in particular, that I am attractive. Do I remember any details surrounding the compliments? Nope. Not a one. But the memory of Mark Weber remains vivid.

And so the question:

How can we be the hero of our story, really making a difference for ourselves, in our families, communities, workplace, the world, if all we remember are our deficits? We can't.

BUT, Dr. Roberts asserts, if we will play to our strengths, we can.

She defines strengths as:

1. Our innate talents;
2. The competencies we've developed;
3. What we believe (our principles);
4. Our identities (gender, race, ethnicity, religion).

When we know what our strengths are, we have a better sense of self, we're more secure, more likely to validate and encourage others.

When we play to our strengths, we will become the hero of our story, and encourage others be the hero of theirs.

Playing small doesn't serve the world, said Martin Luther King, Jr.

Well then, let's play big.

What are your innate talents?

What are your competencies? In other words, what have you become good at because you've spent a lot of time doing it?

What do you believe? What have you been willing to stand up and be counted for?

What is your gender, race or religion -- and how have these pieces of who you are shaped you?

"I don't like you mom. You're terrible!", my 10 year-old son blurted out when I told him to turn off the TV.

Well David, I thought wryly, given that I was trying to write about how wonderful mothering is, sometimes I don't like being a mom. Because not only is it hard, our society says it values mothering, but it really doesn't.

In fact, some of you may remember when I said women in the U.S. are pampered and affirmed.... Well, stay-at-home moms, aren't even affirmed. Not really. No wonder they struggle to get to the daring and dreaming.

Let me give you an example.

My friend Jane Clayson Johnson shares in her book I Am a Mother that when she set aside a high-powered career in television journalism to focus on her children, she wasn't particularly surprised when colleagues asked her "Are you going to be just a mom?"

But Jane was surprised when women who had successfully reared four, five, even eight children, would introduce themselves by saying "I'm just a mother." It was the self-deprecation, in particular, that impelled Jane to put pen to paper. She wanted to affirm mothers, to encourage herself and each of us to declare "I am a Mother".

I'd like to to add my voice to hers -- mothering does matter. Mothering in the broadest sense -- nurturing, encouraging, wiping away a tear; being a hero of support, a safe harbor. And it matters, not just because our children and society need our encouragement, but because -- as women -- nurturing and connectedness are part of who we are.

Now, you may be wondering -- is David still mad at me?

He's not. Before he went to bed, he said, "Mom, sometimes you are kind of hard on me, but I do love you."

Well David -- sometimes being a mother is kind of hard -- but I always love being your mother!

Tom Peters, management guru, has written, “there is little disagreement about what businesses must become: less hierarchical, more flexible and team-oriented, faster and more fluid.... One group of people has an enormous advantage in realizing this necessary new vision: women.”

I agree with Tom Peters, but there is a rub.

During the play that our family was in, when there was downtime, I found myself observing how the children entertained themselves.

Two vignettes, in particular, come to mind:

One of my 6-year old daughter Miranda playing with her Gameboy (remember she has a 10-year old brother whom she adores and emulates), surrounded by several boys, either playing with, or tutoring her.

The other vignette is a group of girls aged 6-10 who, having no interest in playing Gameboy, had invited Miranda to set up a make-believe home/beauty salon.

Which is why there's a rub to Peters' argument.

While it is true that businesses, and even the world, need women's collaborative expertise, Tom Peters seems to be making an a priori assumption -- that girls and women are technologically savvy.

Based on the recent NY Times article, Computer Science Takes Steps to Bring Women to the Fold, and my own personal experience, we aren't, nor do we necessarily want to be.

I think I know why.

Technology, in the broadest, most generic sense, is often about gadgetry, the gee-whiz factor, an end, in itself, rather than a means to an end: how can I harness this technology to get done what is important to me, which is connect with others. Remember Psyche's journey: she went on her hero's journey -- of figuring out the world -- because of her relationships.

But when technology works on behalf of relationships, we become fascinated, even enamored.

Take blogs for example.

And Mac stores. These are not stores just about gadgetry, they are about getting jobs done that are important to us.

And Webkinz -- those unremarkable stuffed animals that our daughters can love and cuddle with in the real world. AND for whom they must also care for in the virtual world.

Sure, it's a craze.

But if it it gives our daughters the tools they need to dare - and do - their dreams, I'm just a bit crazy about Webkinz myself.

Have you found yourself wanting to make something happen, whether for scrapbooking, a community project, or starting a small business, but you just didn't have the technological expertise? And so you had to oursource, or worse yet, you just didn't do it?

What if you did have the expertise? How much better would you troubleshoot?

Any other ideas about jobs our daughters can do, and will want to do, using technology?

Just last week, my 10 year-old son David participated in his school's science fair.

As I listened to him explain his "how salt affects water freezing" findings to the mother of one of his classmates, I had one of those moments that parents get every once in awhile, which was: "My child really IS going to know things and do things and be things that will amaze me."

Imagine my surprise the next day when I learned that David had only gotten a 79 on his project.

He was surprised too.

So surprised, and angry, and hurt, that he had a really bad day. It didn't matter that he would have gotten a 92 had he included a bibliography, and finished various intermediate assignments on time; the headline number was 79.

David was so devastated that my husband and I had some decisions to make.

Validating his feelings (angry, sad, frustrated) was a no-brainer. But beyond that, what would the party line be? Were we going to say the teachers hadn't been fair because the strengths of the report mitigated the weaknesses? And what of going to school the next day? He wanted to stay home. Should we let him?

Or did we simply need to say -- we know you're sad, we love you, we know it's hard, but "Johnson's don't give up"?

As we lived through what felt like a pivotal twenty-four hours in our son's life, or at least in our lives as parents, I wondered -- are the children in our society not dreaming and doing because, even as we tell them how capable they are, we don't require accountability?

Meaning, because we don't require accountability, aren't we really saying they aren't capable? Because if we really believed they could pick themselves up when they are down, we wouldn't swoop in. And as we bail our children out, when they are alone, rather than telling themselves -- I can succeed on my hero's journey, I have a contribution to make -- are they instead saying -- I can't succeed, because even my own parents don't think I can?

What's interesting about our family's science fair saga is that many would call me a pushover parent (my kids included), but that day, I wasn't. I was clear, absolutely, certainly clear that just as we couldn't take the accountability for his grade away from him, we couldn't let him stay home.

And so after pep talks from both my husband and I about getting back on the horse -- and a small little bribe of -- we can buy a donut on the way to school -- he willingly went. Happily, during the course of the day, his sadness, and discouragement melted way.

I will confess that I am not one for whom parenting comes easily; it seems to for some. And yet I somehow felt that in requiring accountability of our son when he so desperately wanted to be let off the hook, we had parented well.

And, perhaps more importantly, it seemed that our son may now be just a little bit more capable of succeeding on his hero's journey -- not because we said so -- but because he knows so.

Have you recently required accountability of your children or of those over whom you had responsibility? Was it difficult? Why? Why not?

Do you agree with my hypothesis, that we can't really affirm unless we also require accountability?

Do you find that it's easier with some of your charges than others to hold them accountable? (I do -- the more alike me my child is, the more difficult).

Whenever I want to be really kind to myself (something I wish I would want more often), I splurge for a shampoo and style.

Some might call this extravagant.

Perhaps it is.

But given the sense of well-being I have when I leave the salon, it always feels to me like money well-spent.

Especially because, on my latest visit to the salon, it occurred to me that there's a lot that a shampoo and style can teach us about mentoring, and mentoring is integral to daring to dream.

Take the shampoo, for instance.

There aren't a lot of things more self-nurturing than relaxing back in a chair, knowing that capable hands are about to wash my hair, and gently massage my head.

When done well, doesn't mentoring have the same salutary effect? We are figuratively in the charge of competent, and loving hands. As mentors, we, ourselves, are these hands.

After the shampoo, comes a set or style.

When I finally open my eyes after a delightful catnap, I am always struck by my hairdresser's ability to transform what was unkempt, pulled-back-into-a-ponytail, more-often-than-not unwashed hair, into something rather fetching.

Again, there's a comparison to be made. Isn't it true that our most beloved mentors are those that see something magnificent in us that we can’t yet see, and are our see-er, until we can be our own?

And finally there's the quid pro quo, or the give for the get.

Before leaving the salon, I pay and leave a tip. I'm happy to do so because I feel and look great, and the hairdresser is, in turn, happy to be paid.

Though we usually think of a mentoring relationship as assymetrical -- the mentor gives, the mentee receives, I would argue that the most fruitful mentor-mentee relationships do involve some type of quid pro quo.

And it's not necessarily money.

For example, with the children in our lives, our relationship is by definition a mentor-mentee relationship, and then some. But my truth be told, it is much easier to really invest in my kids when for the give, there is some get.

Whether they are obeying me, being kind to one another, making me look good in front of other people (I know, I know -- we all try SO hard not to feel this way, but alas we do), or they are wrapping their arms around me -- and your kids are wrapping their arms around you -- and saying, "I love you mom." In short, if we need some type of get, even with our children, in a mentor-mentee relationship, we absolutely do.

Why is all of this so important?

Because we only really dream when we are together.

And what better metaphor for what we can achieve through systergy, than a salon, shampoo and a style?

When was the last time that you did something nurturing or kind for yourself?

Can you think of someone who sees something wonderful in you? What is it they see? Can you do that for someone else?

When you consider your most satisfying mentoring moments, what were you giving? What were you getting?

Why is it that when we isolate ourselves we don't dream, but when are are together, we do dream?

For those of you who didn't see Sara Rimer's "For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too", one of The New York Times most e-mailed and blogged about articles this week, here's the link.

Link: For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too - New York Times.

There are so many quotable quotes in this article. I'll highlight four:

1. To anyone who knows 17-year-old Esther Mobley, one of the best students (Esther is a standout in AP Latin, honors philosophy/literature, an actress, and president of her church youth group) at one of the best public high schools (Newton North High School just outside of Boston) in the country, it is absurd to think she doesn't measure up. But Esther herself is quick to set the record straight -- 'First of all, I'm a terrible athlete...'

WJ commentary:
Do you remember Anna Fels' article "Do women lack ambition?" Quoting Fels, "Women refuse to claim a central, purposeful place in their stories, eagerly shifting the credit elsewhere and shunning recognition." Esther's comment that she's a terrible athlete seems to be her way of sending the message that she really is feminine (e.g. by giving recognition away to anyone but herself) when society would say that her achievements and ambition suggest otherwise.

2. While it is now cool to be smart, it is not enough to be smart. You still have to be pretty, thin, and hot...effortlessly hot.

WJ Commentary:
The need to be hot seems to me like overcompensation. As if girls will be forgiven for being smart and capable if they are uber-feminine. In the case of Esther and her friends, they seem to be equating sexy with feminine.

3. I would rather be considered too assertive and less conventionally feminine than be totally passive and a bystander in my life....[Someone I] admire [is] Cristina (Sandra Oh) on Grey's Anatomy who stands up for herself and is gorgeous and wears cute lingerie.

WJ Commentary:
Can you imagine a man saying, "I'd rather be considered too kind and less conventionally masculine" and in the same breath tell you he really likes Arnold Schwarzenegger's tenderness in the film "True Lies?" I can't either.

4. In Esther's application to Smith, her father wrote a letter, explaining that when Esther was a baby, they had gone to his wife's 10th college reunion. He described the alumni parade as an 'angelic procession of women in white, decade by decade, at every stage in the course of human life...I still remember holding Esther as I watched those saints go marching by..and thinking I want Esther to be in that number'.

WJ Commentary:
To what extent are we as parents the keeper of our children's dreams? Do we want our children to measure up to some mistaken standard (perhaps a standard our parents/society set for us which we are now perpetuating)? And in so doing, are we inadvertently raising our daughters to believe that they are Leah rather than the Rachel they knew they were as young girls?

Enough of my pontificating, do you agree or disagree with my commentary? Why? Why not?

Any thoughts on how this article would have been different had the storyteller been a man rather than a woman? Would it have been written?

What have you watched or read or listened to lately, vis-a-vis women's hopes and dreams, that gave you pause?

When you have capably completed a task, and were inevitably congratulated, did you try to deflect attention away from you by saying "It was nothing," or maybe pointing out something that you aren't good at?

Any thoughts on how we can change the standards by which we measure our children, and perhaps more importantly, ourselves?

Finally, what can we do to dream our own dreams, and teach our children to dream theirs?

In response to my prior entry Storytellers wanted, Matt Langdon, shared with me an article by the Australian journalist, Anne Summers.

Link: Time to make the shoe fit - Opinion - theage.com.au.

In addition to her making the point that there are relatively few women in politics (as in the media), I was riveted by her comment that "we trivialize women in the public eye, obsessing over their appearance."

How many times have I asked one of my female friends, "what are you going to wear?" It would never occur me to ask a man that.

More importantly, does my mindset play out in my behavior toward young girls, and what can I do to change?

Maybe the next time my daughter wants to dress how she wants to dress (which is everyday), and not allow me to doll her up (I love smocked dresses), I can remember Anne Summers' comment, and keep my mouth shut -- and not even be wistful.

Yes, her clothes need to be clean, and yes I want her to be modest (read: wear clothes that allow us to focus on her, her personality, not her body). But beyond that -- does it matter? I certainly don't obsess over my son's appearance. And maybe that's what my 6-year old daughter is really trying to convey:

"Mom, don't obsess about my appearance. I'm a person just like my brother, not an object -- a person who thinks, who matters, who has something to contribute to the world, not because of how I look, but because of who I am."

The big question is -- if I can begin to focus on her and not her appearance, will she and all our daughters need to rethink their competence as they get older, or will they just already know they're competent?

And if that can be true, Leah will never have to leave the building.

Because she never entered.

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself. Alan Alda

Caterina Bandini, the former lead news anchor at Channel 7 in Boston, has just embarked on a hero's journey.

Her call to adventure? The birth of twin daughters Olivia and Kate.

Link: From the TV anchor desk to the crib: Caterina Bandini talks openly about her toughest assignment - The Boston Globe.

As I read this Boston Globe interview, I couldn't help but think of the myth of Pscyhe who undertook the hero's journey -- and remember it wasn't because she was thirsting for adventure, but out of love for her family.

Do you remember her first task?

Sort the seeds.

Psyche must sort through a huge jumble of corn, barley and poppy seeds into separate piles before morning. The task seems impossible – and is impossible – given her timeframe, until an army of ants comes to her aid, and helps her sort the seeds.

Caterina Bandini has a similar task. Having left her former life, she must now sort and sift through possibilities, establishing personal priorities in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties. In other words, she is sorting the seeds. And, if she's willing, the industrious collective of ants – her intuition – can help her establish her priorities and clarity will emerge.

Faced with the daunting task of sifting through possibilities, Ms. Bandini, like Psyche, may be experiencing some fear (likely exacerbated by lack of sleep, possibly even post-partum depression), at the start of her hero's journey.

But just as Psyche eventually sorted the seeds, so too can Caterina sift and sort, eventually settling on the possibilities that are both right for her family (which is why she embarked on the journey in the first place), and for her.

Her remark "I know I made the right choice for my babies. I know I made the right choice for my husband. But there are days when I wonder, did I make the right choice for me?" suggests she's off to a good start.

We wish you well.

And Caterina, always remember -- It's your story. Be the hero.

Have you recently had a turn of events that is requiring you to sort and sift through possibilities?

Once you've gotten all the information you can, what does it feel like to just wait -- and trust -- that you will eventually figure out your best course of action?

The mentor’s spirit is that productive liberating power that heartens us to….develop into our best selves, [the] who we were born to be. Marsha Sinetar

Now that it’s been almost two weeks, I’m ready to share.

In late 2005, I started taking voice lessons because I wanted to find my literal (and my figurative) voice. Though I am quite competent on the piano, I am neither gifted nor trained vocally. But the quest merits the effort, and thus, I persist.

My lessons were moving along swimmingly until my teacher announced that there would be a vocal recital in April. So keen was I to participate that when the e-mail announcement came around, I impulsively hit the “reply to all” button, notifying my teacher and all her students that I wanted to participate.

But guess what?

When I arrived at my next lesson, she was

Parenting and the hero's journey

My friend's daughter will go away to college next year.

Her daughter is bright, hard-working, well-rounded, and could have gone pretty much anywhere, but elected to go to Brigham Young University (my alma mater, by the way), a university that many would consider a second-tier 'safety' school.

The decision has been tough for both.

For Daughter, because she wants Mom to be proud, and the 'safety' school wasn't Mom's first choice.

Source: Growing, Growing by Ashley G

For Mom -- for all moms -- I wonder if it's tough because we are afraid, feel fear?

The fear that we inevitably feel at the start of a hero's journey as we prepare to walk through the unknown?

Except that when it's our children, not us, the fear is heightened because we desperately want them to become more of who they are, and yet we realize that because it is their journey, not ours, we are supposed to be bystanders.

And could it be that this fear makes it nearly impossible for parents not to try and tell their children where to go, what to be?

Knowing my friend and her daughter, had Mom insisted, required, even simply asked Daughter to go to a different school, Daughter would have.

Mom wanted to ask -- oh, how she wanted to.

But she didn't.

She instead courageously walked into her unknown, so that her daughter can walk into hers, and be the hero of her story.

In this unknown, Daughter -- and Mom too -- will no doubt find more of who they are.

Why else might it be difficult to send our children off on their journey?

Could it be possible that our children have become our dream keepers, and so we've become attached to a specific outcome for their lives -- Do you remember the NY Times article about Esther Mobley, and Susan Minot's Evening?

Why does allowing our children to walk through their unknown, allow us to walk through ours?

Lonely? How can you be lonely? You’ve got yourself, haven’t you? If you ever lose yourself, then you’ll really be lonely. Joseph Delaney

Whenever I attend PTA meetings I seem to volunteer for something.

A big something.

Last year, I volunteered to chair the Cultural Enrichment Committee; this year I'm also the Hospitality Chair.

Here's how things unfold.

The PTA president asks for volunteers.

Amidst the ensuing, and uncomfortable silence, my brain starts to run the script: good mothers volunteer at their children's school; over the years, I have volunteered far less than most because of my work schedule; I want to be a good mother; I want others to think I'm a good mother.

Impulsively, dare I say compulsively, I volunteer.

Five minutes later, I regret it.

Have you ever said yes when you really wanted to say no?

Photo courtesy of Steve Santore aka Valentinian

Learning to say no, and thus exercise choice is Psyche's fourth and final task.

Before she can be reunited with Eros, Psyche must descend into the underworld to fill a box with beauty ointment. This journey is especially difficult because she encounters three people whose pleas for help she must not heed.

Setting a goal and pursuing it in the face of requests for help from others is especially difficult for women whose lives are focused on care giving. And yet, as we say no, we are learning to set boundaries, to exercise choice, and, paradoxically, can more capably say yes to relatedness and nurturing..

In his book The Power of a Positive No (thanks to Anna Giraldo-Kerr for her great summary), William Ury, writes:

I learned...[the importance of saying no] early on in my career from the...extraordinarily successful investor Warren Buffett. Over breakfast one day, he confided in me that the secret to creating his fortune was his ability to say No. "I sit there and look at investment proposals all day. I say No, No, No No, No, No--until I see one that is exactly what I am looking for. And then I say Yes. All I have to do is say Yes a few times in my life and I've made my fortune." Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

One more time, and with feeling -- Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

For women these thousand Nos are particularly nettlesome, as they require us to move from an either/or mindset to both/and to do what Ury describes as "marrying the two must fundamental words in the language: Yes and No. Yes is the key word of connection (Psyche embarks on a hero's journey to say yes to Eros). No the key word of protection (Psyche says no to others to say yes to her self, her loved ones)."

"The secret to standing up for yourself and what you need without destroying precious relationships is to marry the two."

This is no easy task.

It wasn't for Psyche.

But isn't it worth saying no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

So that you can capably say yes to you, your relationships, your dream?

P.S. Yes, I am going to honor my commitment to chair the Hospitality Committee, but I'm going to take a page out Psyche's book and delegate.

Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on...children than the unlived life of the parent. Carl Jung

Have you considered the possibility that in pursuing our dreams, we open the door to our children pursuing theirs?

The film Evening, based on the book by Susan Minot, makes the case that we do.

On her deathbed, Ann Grant (played by Vanessa Redgrave as seen in the photo to the left), flashes back to her early twenties (younger self - Claire Danes), a time during which Ann believed she could get the guy and achieve her goal. However, as the film progresses, we learn that Ann's life, in Jung's words, was unlived. She not only didn't get the guy, she twice married badly, and her singing career never amounted to much.

Constance (Redgrave's real-life daughter Natasha Richardson, also in the photo above) tries to live her mother's unfulfilled dream of having a happy marriage. Ostensibly she has, though her demeanor suggests otherwise, and she's completely neglected the following of her bliss. Meanwhile, younger sister Nina (Toni Collette) has tried to follow her bliss (well, her mother's bliss). But, four failed careers later, including a stint as a go-go dancer, bliss remains elusive, as do meaningful relationships.

When Ann, the mother, left her life unlived, her daughters unwittingly tried to live it for her, and became the keeper of their mother's dreams, rather than of their own.

I don't think it had to be that way.

When Ann is asked to single out a moment when she was truly happy, she vividly recalls a rehearsal for a singing gig some 30 years ago. As Ann sang, 5 year-old Constance sat on the lap of Ann's accompanist.

Why was she so happy? Because, in that moment, she was attending to her relationships AND to her dream.

Attending to both is certainly harder than attending to one or the other.

But if in doing so, we keep our dreams so that our children can keep theirs, isn't it worth it?

Have you seen Evening? What was your take?

Any idea what the unlived life of your parents is/was? Does it in any way explain your own dream?

Are you attending to your dream? If not, what can you do to start? If you are, Atta Girl!

P.S. Yesterday, I read an interesting analysis of the female characters in the book Birdwing and the film Ratatouille. Take a peek.

On the last day of Pompositticut Farm Day Camp, my daughter came home wearing a tie-dye t-shirt she'd made, eager to do more.

At the risk of my being a trifle embarrassed, I'd like to share with you what happened over the next five days.

Friday, July 6, pm
Miranda: Mom, let's buy a tie-dye kit.
Me: Ok, but not today, we'll buy the kit tomorrow.

Saturday, July 7, pm
Miranda: Mom, we have the kit, now let's do the tie-dye.
Me: But we don't have any t-shirts. It's 7pm; this'll have to wait until Monday.

Sunday, July 8, am
Miranda: Mom, can't we do something? Like mix the dye, and watch the how-to DVD?
Me: (Unenthusiastically) Yes, yes, you can mix the dye. Ok, I'll watch the DVD with you.
Miranda: Mom, isn't this fun watching the DVD (she's lounging in my lap)?
Me: Yes, it is fun (we contentedly smile at one another).

Monday, July 9, pm
Miranda: Mom, can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: Nope. We need to pre-wash the t-shirts. Tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: Mom, the t-shirts are washed; can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: (Groggily, reluctantly) Ok.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: (Squeezing the dye onto the t-shirts) Mom, you're doing a good job of helping me.
Miranda: (While I'm driving her to camp) Isn't tie-dye fun? (Exuberantly) You can make anything with tie-dye!!

Comprehension. Understanding.

Had it been up to my daughter, she would have purchased the tie-dye kit, the t-shirts, AND done the tie-dye project on Friday evening.

In other words, she would have done her dream right then -- do and/or dye.

But she couldn't, because for 6 year-olds, parents are the gatekeepers of dreams.

To be fair, to ourselves, and, more importantly, to our own parents, none of us are trying to be mean, or even difficult, we're just trying to make it through our own lives.

But children don't, and developmentally, can't know that.

Rather than seeing their parents' reluctance as being about their parents, they interpret it to mean something about them -- they can't, shouldn't...

Replay this script thousands of times throughout their (our) childhood, and by the time we're adults, we've become genuine, certified, "nothing gets past our gate" gatekeepers.

We are so good, that getting past the gate of our doubting self, may indeed require a dare.

I'm going to dare.

Will you too?

The next time our kids want to do a project (child-speak: dream), and we just don't have it in us that day, can we say I'm exhausted tonight, but I really want you to do this, I like that you are thinking resourcefully, creatively, and cannot wait to see what you will do?

Instead of taking 4-5 days to get to their dream, how about 2-3 days? Remember -- baby steps.

Let's observe how we're interacting with the children in our lives. Are there any clues about what might be keeping us from our dreams?

And when we do learn from children (at their expense), why not tell the story of what they've taught us about how to dream? P.S. The above photograph is courtesy of Miranda and her two tye-dyed shirts, and my learning how to upload a photograph onto the blog.

Have you ever wondered why we get morning sickness when we're pregnant?

Lots of theories, and no conclusions make my friend Sally's theory all the more intriguing. As the fetus starts to grow, Sally has suggested that our body issues an "intruder" alert, and begins to attack, just as the body does with germs, viruses, even organ transplants: morning sickness is a casualty of war.

Those of you with a scientific bent may be cringing, but stay with me.

As I've visited with a number of executives this week, people with whom I dealt while working on Wall Street, I've wondered -- is it possible that morning sickness is a metaphor for what we undergo pscyhologically/emotionally when we dare to dream?

Let me explain.

When I was last here in Mexico City, I was Whitney Johnson, Merrill Lynch equity analyst, a woman who, with an upgrade or downgrade of their company's stock, could affect these executives' net worth. Naturally it was in their best interest to be nice to me.

Today -- two years later -- as I visit with these same executives, I have set my former identity and attendant power aside.

What is my identity now? What do I do in this new role? Will I be received?

To be clear, I made this choice. I freely dared to dream, to find a new piece of my self. It is unnerving, discombobulating, and pit-in-the-stomach-ing, nonetheless.

Which is precisely why I find morning sickness as a metaphor for dare-to-dream so compelling. Morning sickness can be almost unendurable for a time. However, as we cradle our newborn baby, the months of sickness seem but a small price to pay for the miracle of bringing a child into the world.

Isn't this what happens, admittedly on a smaller scale, when we dare to dream?

As we set out to discover a new piece of ourselves, we may feel that we are losing something in the process, and it is profoundly discomfiting, even nauseating. But once we've found that new piece, becoming more of who we are, it has indeed been a small price to pay.

As you are undertaking something new, do you find yourself uncomfortable, unnerved, sick to your stomach at times?

When you make room for a new piece of yourself, do you feel diminished or more of who you are?

Pop Quiz:

If one of your children came home from school with a report card that said:

Math A
Geography A+
Social Science A
English C
French A

What would you think?

What would you say?

During a presentation titled Women at their Best: Authentically Engaging Strengths for Maximal Contributions, Professor Laura Morgan Roberts of Harvard Business School, indicated that we will perfunctorily say "Good job" in Math, Social Science, English, and French, but spend far more time trying to understand why the C in English, and formulating a plan for improvement.

In her words, "we will only see the C".

Is this true for you?

It certainly is for me.

Dr. Roberts expounds by saying that for every negative thing we say, we need to say three positive things to offset or cancel out the negative; within a marriage (I suspect with our children as well), the ratio increases from 3:1 to 5:1.

Just one example.

I still remember my first day of 8th grade at a new school in Almaden, California -- we were in the band room -- when Mark Weber saw me looking at him, and he said to me, "What are you looking at ugly?"

It's now been more than 30 years, and I have been told many times, by my husband in particular, that I am attractive. Do I remember any details surrounding the compliments? Nope. Not a one. But the memory of Mark Weber remains vivid.

And so the question:

How can we be the hero of our story, really making a difference for ourselves, in our families, communities, workplace, the world, if all we remember are our deficits? We can't.

BUT, Dr. Roberts asserts, if we will play to our strengths, we can.

She defines strengths as:

1. Our innate talents;
2. The competencies we've developed;
3. What we believe (our principles);
4. Our identities (gender, race, ethnicity, religion).

When we know what our strengths are, we have a better sense of self, we're more secure, more likely to validate and encourage others.

When we play to our strengths, we will become the hero of our story, and encourage others be the hero of theirs.

Playing small doesn't serve the world, said Martin Luther King, Jr.

Well then, let's play big.

What are your innate talents?

What are your competencies? In other words, what have you become good at because you've spent a lot of time doing it?

What do you believe? What have you been willing to stand up and be counted for?

What is your gender, race or religion -- and how have these pieces of who you are shaped you?

"I don't like you mom. You're terrible!", my 10 year-old son blurted out when I told him to turn off the TV.

Well David, I thought wryly, given that I was trying to write about how wonderful mothering is, sometimes I don't like being a mom. Because not only is it hard, our society says it values mothering, but it really doesn't.

In fact, some of you may remember when I said women in the U.S. are pampered and affirmed.... Well, stay-at-home moms, aren't even affirmed. Not really. No wonder they struggle to get to the daring and dreaming.

Let me give you an example.

My friend Jane Clayson Johnson shares in her book I Am a Mother that when she set aside a high-powered career in television journalism to focus on her children, she wasn't particularly surprised when colleagues asked her "Are you going to be just a mom?"

But Jane was surprised when women who had successfully reared four, five, even eight children, would introduce themselves by saying "I'm just a mother." It was the self-deprecation, in particular, that impelled Jane to put pen to paper. She wanted to affirm mothers, to encourage herself and each of us to declare "I am a Mother".

I'd like to to add my voice to hers -- mothering does matter. Mothering in the broadest sense -- nurturing, encouraging, wiping away a tear; being a hero of support, a safe harbor. And it matters, not just because our children and society need our encouragement, but because -- as women -- nurturing and connectedness are part of who we are.

Now, you may be wondering -- is David still mad at me?

He's not. Before he went to bed, he said, "Mom, sometimes you are kind of hard on me, but I do love you."

Well David -- sometimes being a mother is kind of hard -- but I always love being your mother!

Tom Peters, management guru, has written, “there is little disagreement about what businesses must become: less hierarchical, more flexible and team-oriented, faster and more fluid.... One group of people has an enormous advantage in realizing this necessary new vision: women.”

I agree with Tom Peters, but there is a rub.

During the play that our family was in, when there was downtime, I found myself observing how the children entertained themselves.

Two vignettes, in particular, come to mind:

One of my 6-year old daughter Miranda playing with her Gameboy (remember she has a 10-year old brother whom she adores and emulates), surrounded by several boys, either playing with, or tutoring her.

The other vignette is a group of girls aged 6-10 who, having no interest in playing Gameboy, had invited Miranda to set up a make-believe home/beauty salon.

Which is why there's a rub to Peters' argument.

While it is true that businesses, and even the world, need women's collaborative expertise, Tom Peters seems to be making an a priori assumption -- that girls and women are technologically savvy.

Based on the recent NY Times article, Computer Science Takes Steps to Bring Women to the Fold, and my own personal experience, we aren't, nor do we necessarily want to be.

I think I know why.

Technology, in the broadest, most generic sense, is often about gadgetry, the gee-whiz factor, an end, in itself, rather than a means to an end: how can I harness this technology to get done what is important to me, which is connect with others. Remember Psyche's journey: she went on her hero's journey -- of figuring out the world -- because of her relationships.

But when technology works on behalf of relationships, we become fascinated, even enamored.

Take blogs for example.

And Mac stores. These are not stores just about gadgetry, they are about getting jobs done that are important to us.

And Webkinz -- those unremarkable stuffed animals that our daughters can love and cuddle with in the real world. AND for whom they must also care for in the virtual world.

Sure, it's a craze.

But if it it gives our daughters the tools they need to dare - and do - their dreams, I'm just a bit crazy about Webkinz myself.

Have you found yourself wanting to make something happen, whether for scrapbooking, a community project, or starting a small business, but you just didn't have the technological expertise? And so you had to oursource, or worse yet, you just didn't do it?

What if you did have the expertise? How much better would you troubleshoot?

Any other ideas about jobs our daughters can do, and will want to do, using technology?

Just last week, my 10 year-old son David participated in his school's science fair.

As I listened to him explain his "how salt affects water freezing" findings to the mother of one of his classmates, I had one of those moments that parents get every once in awhile, which was: "My child really IS going to know things and do things and be things that will amaze me."

Imagine my surprise the next day when I learned that David had only gotten a 79 on his project.

He was surprised too.

So surprised, and angry, and hurt, that he had a really bad day. It didn't matter that he would have gotten a 92 had he included a bibliography, and finished various intermediate assignments on time; the headline number was 79.

David was so devastated that my husband and I had some decisions to make.

Validating his feelings (angry, sad, frustrated) was a no-brainer. But beyond that, what would the party line be? Were we going to say the teachers hadn't been fair because the strengths of the report mitigated the weaknesses? And what of going to school the next day? He wanted to stay home. Should we let him?

Or did we simply need to say -- we know you're sad, we love you, we know it's hard, but "Johnson's don't give up"?

As we lived through what felt like a pivotal twenty-four hours in our son's life, or at least in our lives as parents, I wondered -- are the children in our society not dreaming and doing because, even as we tell them how capable they are, we don't require accountability?

Meaning, because we don't require accountability, aren't we really saying they aren't capable? Because if we really believed they could pick themselves up when they are down, we wouldn't swoop in. And as we bail our children out, when they are alone, rather than telling themselves -- I can succeed on my hero's journey, I have a contribution to make -- are they instead saying -- I can't succeed, because even my own parents don't think I can?

What's interesting about our family's science fair saga is that many would call me a pushover parent (my kids included), but that day, I wasn't. I was clear, absolutely, certainly clear that just as we couldn't take the accountability for his grade away from him, we couldn't let him stay home.

And so after pep talks from both my husband and I about getting back on the horse -- and a small little bribe of -- we can buy a donut on the way to school -- he willingly went. Happily, during the course of the day, his sadness, and discouragement melted way.

I will confess that I am not one for whom parenting comes easily; it seems to for some. And yet I somehow felt that in requiring accountability of our son when he so desperately wanted to be let off the hook, we had parented well.

And, perhaps more importantly, it seemed that our son may now be just a little bit more capable of succeeding on his hero's journey -- not because we said so -- but because he knows so.

Have you recently required accountability of your children or of those over whom you had responsibility? Was it difficult? Why? Why not?

Do you agree with my hypothesis, that we can't really affirm unless we also require accountability?

Do you find that it's easier with some of your charges than others to hold them accountable? (I do -- the more alike me my child is, the more difficult).

Whenever I want to be really kind to myself (something I wish I would want more often), I splurge for a shampoo and style.

Some might call this extravagant.

Perhaps it is.

But given the sense of well-being I have when I leave the salon, it always feels to me like money well-spent.

Especially because, on my latest visit to the salon, it occurred to me that there's a lot that a shampoo and style can teach us about mentoring, and mentoring is integral to daring to dream.

Take the shampoo, for instance.

There aren't a lot of things more self-nurturing than relaxing back in a chair, knowing that capable hands are about to wash my hair, and gently massage my head.

When done well, doesn't mentoring have the same salutary effect? We are figuratively in the charge of competent, and loving hands. As mentors, we, ourselves, are these hands.

After the shampoo, comes a set or style.

When I finally open my eyes after a delightful catnap, I am always struck by my hairdresser's ability to transform what was unkempt, pulled-back-into-a-ponytail, more-often-than-not unwashed hair, into something rather fetching.

Again, there's a comparison to be made. Isn't it true that our most beloved mentors are those that see something magnificent in us that we can’t yet see, and are our see-er, until we can be our own?

And finally there's the quid pro quo, or the give for the get.

Before leaving the salon, I pay and leave a tip. I'm happy to do so because I feel and look great, and the hairdresser is, in turn, happy to be paid.

Though we usually think of a mentoring relationship as assymetrical -- the mentor gives, the mentee receives, I would argue that the most fruitful mentor-mentee relationships do involve some type of quid pro quo.

And it's not necessarily money.

For example, with the children in our lives, our relationship is by definition a mentor-mentee relationship, and then some. But my truth be told, it is much easier to really invest in my kids when for the give, there is some get.

Whether they are obeying me, being kind to one another, making me look good in front of other people (I know, I know -- we all try SO hard not to feel this way, but alas we do), or they are wrapping their arms around me -- and your kids are wrapping their arms around you -- and saying, "I love you mom." In short, if we need some type of get, even with our children, in a mentor-mentee relationship, we absolutely do.

Why is all of this so important?

Because we only really dream when we are together.

And what better metaphor for what we can achieve through systergy, than a salon, shampoo and a style?

When was the last time that you did something nurturing or kind for yourself?

Can you think of someone who sees something wonderful in you? What is it they see? Can you do that for someone else?

When you consider your most satisfying mentoring moments, what were you giving? What were you getting?

Why is it that when we isolate ourselves we don't dream, but when are are together, we do dream?

For those of you who didn't see Sara Rimer's "For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too", one of The New York Times most e-mailed and blogged about articles this week, here's the link.

Link: For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too - New York Times.

There are so many quotable quotes in this article. I'll highlight four:

1. To anyone who knows 17-year-old Esther Mobley, one of the best students (Esther is a standout in AP Latin, honors philosophy/literature, an actress, and president of her church youth group) at one of the best public high schools (Newton North High School just outside of Boston) in the country, it is absurd to think she doesn't measure up. But Esther herself is quick to set the record straight -- 'First of all, I'm a terrible athlete...'

WJ commentary:
Do you remember Anna Fels' article "Do women lack ambition?" Quoting Fels, "Women refuse to claim a central, purposeful place in their stories, eagerly shifting the credit elsewhere and shunning recognition." Esther's comment that she's a terrible athlete seems to be her way of sending the message that she really is feminine (e.g. by giving recognition away to anyone but herself) when society would say that her achievements and ambition suggest otherwise.

2. While it is now cool to be smart, it is not enough to be smart. You still have to be pretty, thin, and hot...effortlessly hot.

WJ Commentary:
The need to be hot seems to me like overcompensation. As if girls will be forgiven for being smart and capable if they are uber-feminine. In the case of Esther and her friends, they seem to be equating sexy with feminine.

3. I would rather be considered too assertive and less conventionally feminine than be totally passive and a bystander in my life....[Someone I] admire [is] Cristina (Sandra Oh) on Grey's Anatomy who stands up for herself and is gorgeous and wears cute lingerie.

WJ Commentary:
Can you imagine a man saying, "I'd rather be considered too kind and less conventionally masculine" and in the same breath tell you he really likes Arnold Schwarzenegger's tenderness in the film "True Lies?" I can't either.

4. In Esther's application to Smith, her father wrote a letter, explaining that when Esther was a baby, they had gone to his wife's 10th college reunion. He described the alumni parade as an 'angelic procession of women in white, decade by decade, at every stage in the course of human life...I still remember holding Esther as I watched those saints go marching by..and thinking I want Esther to be in that number'.

WJ Commentary:
To what extent are we as parents the keeper of our children's dreams? Do we want our children to measure up to some mistaken standard (perhaps a standard our parents/society set for us which we are now perpetuating)? And in so doing, are we inadvertently raising our daughters to believe that they are Leah rather than the Rachel they knew they were as young girls?

Enough of my pontificating, do you agree or disagree with my commentary? Why? Why not?

Any thoughts on how this article would have been different had the storyteller been a man rather than a woman? Would it have been written?

What have you watched or read or listened to lately, vis-a-vis women's hopes and dreams, that gave you pause?

When you have capably completed a task, and were inevitably congratulated, did you try to deflect attention away from you by saying "It was nothing," or maybe pointing out something that you aren't good at?

Any thoughts on how we can change the standards by which we measure our children, and perhaps more importantly, ourselves?

Finally, what can we do to dream our own dreams, and teach our children to dream theirs?

In response to my prior entry Storytellers wanted, Matt Langdon, shared with me an article by the Australian journalist, Anne Summers.

Link: Time to make the shoe fit - Opinion - theage.com.au.

In addition to her making the point that there are relatively few women in politics (as in the media), I was riveted by her comment that "we trivialize women in the public eye, obsessing over their appearance."

How many times have I asked one of my female friends, "what are you going to wear?" It would never occur me to ask a man that.

More importantly, does my mindset play out in my behavior toward young girls, and what can I do to change?

Maybe the next time my daughter wants to dress how she wants to dress (which is everyday), and not allow me to doll her up (I love smocked dresses), I can remember Anne Summers' comment, and keep my mouth shut -- and not even be wistful.

Yes, her clothes need to be clean, and yes I want her to be modest (read: wear clothes that allow us to focus on her, her personality, not her body). But beyond that -- does it matter? I certainly don't obsess over my son's appearance. And maybe that's what my 6-year old daughter is really trying to convey:

"Mom, don't obsess about my appearance. I'm a person just like my brother, not an object -- a person who thinks, who matters, who has something to contribute to the world, not because of how I look, but because of who I am."

The big question is -- if I can begin to focus on her and not her appearance, will she and all our daughters need to rethink their competence as they get older, or will they just already know they're competent?

And if that can be true, Leah will never have to leave the building.

Because she never entered.

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself. Alan Alda

Caterina Bandini, the former lead news anchor at Channel 7 in Boston, has just embarked on a hero's journey.

Her call to adventure? The birth of twin daughters Olivia and Kate.

Link: From the TV anchor desk to the crib: Caterina Bandini talks openly about her toughest assignment - The Boston Globe.

As I read this Boston Globe interview, I couldn't help but think of the myth of Pscyhe who undertook the hero's journey -- and remember it wasn't because she was thirsting for adventure, but out of love for her family.

Do you remember her first task?

Sort the seeds.

Psyche must sort through a huge jumble of corn, barley and poppy seeds into separate piles before morning. The task seems impossible – and is impossible – given her timeframe, until an army of ants comes to her aid, and helps her sort the seeds.

Caterina Bandini has a similar task. Having left her former life, she must now sort and sift through possibilities, establishing personal priorities in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties. In other words, she is sorting the seeds. And, if she's willing, the industrious collective of ants – her intuition – can help her establish her priorities and clarity will emerge.

Faced with the daunting task of sifting through possibilities, Ms. Bandini, like Psyche, may be experiencing some fear (likely exacerbated by lack of sleep, possibly even post-partum depression), at the start of her hero's journey.

But just as Psyche eventually sorted the seeds, so too can Caterina sift and sort, eventually settling on the possibilities that are both right for her family (which is why she embarked on the journey in the first place), and for her.

Her remark "I know I made the right choice for my babies. I know I made the right choice for my husband. But there are days when I wonder, did I make the right choice for me?" suggests she's off to a good start.

We wish you well.

And Caterina, always remember -- It's your story. Be the hero.

Have you recently had a turn of events that is requiring you to sort and sift through possibilities?

Once you've gotten all the information you can, what does it feel like to just wait -- and trust -- that you will eventually figure out your best course of action?

The mentor’s spirit is that productive liberating power that heartens us to….develop into our best selves, [the] who we were born to be. Marsha Sinetar

Now that it’s been almost two weeks, I’m ready to share.

In late 2005, I started taking voice lessons because I wanted to find my literal (and my figurative) voice. Though I am quite competent on the piano, I am neither gifted nor trained vocally. But the quest merits the effort, and thus, I persist.

My lessons were moving along swimmingly until my teacher announced that there would be a vocal recital in April. So keen was I to participate that when the e-mail announcement came around, I impulsively hit the “reply to all” button, notifying my teacher and all her students that I wanted to participate.

But guess what?

When I arrived at my next lesson, she was

Psyche's 4th Task: Learn to say no

Lonely? How can you be lonely? You’ve got yourself, haven’t you? If you ever lose yourself, then you’ll really be lonely. Joseph Delaney

Whenever I attend PTA meetings I seem to volunteer for something.

A big something.

Last year, I volunteered to chair the Cultural Enrichment Committee; this year I'm also the Hospitality Chair.

Here's how things unfold.

The PTA president asks for volunteers.

Amidst the ensuing, and uncomfortable silence, my brain starts to run the script: good mothers volunteer at their children's school; over the years, I have volunteered far less than most because of my work schedule; I want to be a good mother; I want others to think I'm a good mother.

Impulsively, dare I say compulsively, I volunteer.

Five minutes later, I regret it.

Have you ever said yes when you really wanted to say no?

Photo courtesy of Steve Santore aka Valentinian

Learning to say no, and thus exercise choice is Psyche's fourth and final task.

Before she can be reunited with Eros, Psyche must descend into the underworld to fill a box with beauty ointment. This journey is especially difficult because she encounters three people whose pleas for help she must not heed.

Setting a goal and pursuing it in the face of requests for help from others is especially difficult for women whose lives are focused on care giving. And yet, as we say no, we are learning to set boundaries, to exercise choice, and, paradoxically, can more capably say yes to relatedness and nurturing..

In his book The Power of a Positive No (thanks to Anna Giraldo-Kerr for her great summary), William Ury, writes:

I learned...[the importance of saying no] early on in my career from the...extraordinarily successful investor Warren Buffett. Over breakfast one day, he confided in me that the secret to creating his fortune was his ability to say No. "I sit there and look at investment proposals all day. I say No, No, No No, No, No--until I see one that is exactly what I am looking for. And then I say Yes. All I have to do is say Yes a few times in my life and I've made my fortune." Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

One more time, and with feeling -- Every important Yes requires a thousand Nos.

For women these thousand Nos are particularly nettlesome, as they require us to move from an either/or mindset to both/and to do what Ury describes as "marrying the two must fundamental words in the language: Yes and No. Yes is the key word of connection (Psyche embarks on a hero's journey to say yes to Eros). No the key word of protection (Psyche says no to others to say yes to her self, her loved ones)."

"The secret to standing up for yourself and what you need without destroying precious relationships is to marry the two."

This is no easy task.

It wasn't for Psyche.

But isn't it worth saying no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

So that you can capably say yes to you, your relationships, your dream?

P.S. Yes, I am going to honor my commitment to chair the Hospitality Committee, but I'm going to take a page out Psyche's book and delegate.

Susan Minot's Evening

Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on...children than the unlived life of the parent. Carl Jung

Have you considered the possibility that in pursuing our dreams, we open the door to our children pursuing theirs?

The film Evening, based on the book by Susan Minot, makes the case that we do.

On her deathbed, Ann Grant (played by Vanessa Redgrave as seen in the photo to the left), flashes back to her early twenties (younger self - Claire Danes), a time during which Ann believed she could get the guy and achieve her goal. However, as the film progresses, we learn that Ann's life, in Jung's words, was unlived. She not only didn't get the guy, she twice married badly, and her singing career never amounted to much.

Constance (Redgrave's real-life daughter Natasha Richardson, also in the photo above) tries to live her mother's unfulfilled dream of having a happy marriage. Ostensibly she has, though her demeanor suggests otherwise, and she's completely neglected the following of her bliss. Meanwhile, younger sister Nina (Toni Collette) has tried to follow her bliss (well, her mother's bliss). But, four failed careers later, including a stint as a go-go dancer, bliss remains elusive, as do meaningful relationships.

When Ann, the mother, left her life unlived, her daughters unwittingly tried to live it for her, and became the keeper of their mother's dreams, rather than of their own.

I don't think it had to be that way.

When Ann is asked to single out a moment when she was truly happy, she vividly recalls a rehearsal for a singing gig some 30 years ago. As Ann sang, 5 year-old Constance sat on the lap of Ann's accompanist.

Why was she so happy? Because, in that moment, she was attending to her relationships AND to her dream.

Attending to both is certainly harder than attending to one or the other.

But if in doing so, we keep our dreams so that our children can keep theirs, isn't it worth it?

Have you seen Evening? What was your take?

Any idea what the unlived life of your parents is/was? Does it in any way explain your own dream?

Are you attending to your dream? If not, what can you do to start? If you are, Atta Girl!

P.S. Yesterday, I read an interesting analysis of the female characters in the book Birdwing and the film Ratatouille. Take a peek.

Tie-dye, daughters and dreams

On the last day of Pompositticut Farm Day Camp, my daughter came home wearing a tie-dye t-shirt she'd made, eager to do more.

At the risk of my being a trifle embarrassed, I'd like to share with you what happened over the next five days.

Friday, July 6, pm
Miranda: Mom, let's buy a tie-dye kit.
Me: Ok, but not today, we'll buy the kit tomorrow.

Saturday, July 7, pm
Miranda: Mom, we have the kit, now let's do the tie-dye.
Me: But we don't have any t-shirts. It's 7pm; this'll have to wait until Monday.

Sunday, July 8, am
Miranda: Mom, can't we do something? Like mix the dye, and watch the how-to DVD?
Me: (Unenthusiastically) Yes, yes, you can mix the dye. Ok, I'll watch the DVD with you.
Miranda: Mom, isn't this fun watching the DVD (she's lounging in my lap)?
Me: Yes, it is fun (we contentedly smile at one another).

Monday, July 9, pm
Miranda: Mom, can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: Nope. We need to pre-wash the t-shirts. Tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: Mom, the t-shirts are washed; can we do the tie-dye now?
Me: (Groggily, reluctantly) Ok.

Tuesday, July 10, am
Miranda: (Squeezing the dye onto the t-shirts) Mom, you're doing a good job of helping me.
Miranda: (While I'm driving her to camp) Isn't tie-dye fun? (Exuberantly) You can make anything with tie-dye!!

Comprehension. Understanding.

Had it been up to my daughter, she would have purchased the tie-dye kit, the t-shirts, AND done the tie-dye project on Friday evening.

In other words, she would have done her dream right then -- do and/or dye.

But she couldn't, because for 6 year-olds, parents are the gatekeepers of dreams.

To be fair, to ourselves, and, more importantly, to our own parents, none of us are trying to be mean, or even difficult, we're just trying to make it through our own lives.

But children don't, and developmentally, can't know that.

Rather than seeing their parents' reluctance as being about their parents, they interpret it to mean something about them -- they can't, shouldn't...

Replay this script thousands of times throughout their (our) childhood, and by the time we're adults, we've become genuine, certified, "nothing gets past our gate" gatekeepers.

We are so good, that getting past the gate of our doubting self, may indeed require a dare.

I'm going to dare.

Will you too?

The next time our kids want to do a project (child-speak: dream), and we just don't have it in us that day, can we say I'm exhausted tonight, but I really want you to do this, I like that you are thinking resourcefully, creatively, and cannot wait to see what you will do?

Instead of taking 4-5 days to get to their dream, how about 2-3 days? Remember -- baby steps.

Let's observe how we're interacting with the children in our lives. Are there any clues about what might be keeping us from our dreams?

And when we do learn from children (at their expense), why not tell the story of what they've taught us about how to dream? P.S. The above photograph is courtesy of Miranda and her two tye-dyed shirts, and my learning how to upload a photograph onto the blog.

Morning sickness metaphor

Have you ever wondered why we get morning sickness when we're pregnant?

Lots of theories, and no conclusions make my friend Sally's theory all the more intriguing. As the fetus starts to grow, Sally has suggested that our body issues an "intruder" alert, and begins to attack, just as the body does with germs, viruses, even organ transplants: morning sickness is a casualty of war.

Those of you with a scientific bent may be cringing, but stay with me.

As I've visited with a number of executives this week, people with whom I dealt while working on Wall Street, I've wondered -- is it possible that morning sickness is a metaphor for what we undergo pscyhologically/emotionally when we dare to dream?

Let me explain.

When I was last here in Mexico City, I was Whitney Johnson, Merrill Lynch equity analyst, a woman who, with an upgrade or downgrade of their company's stock, could affect these executives' net worth. Naturally it was in their best interest to be nice to me.

Today -- two years later -- as I visit with these same executives, I have set my former identity and attendant power aside.

What is my identity now? What do I do in this new role? Will I be received?

To be clear, I made this choice. I freely dared to dream, to find a new piece of my self. It is unnerving, discombobulating, and pit-in-the-stomach-ing, nonetheless.

Which is precisely why I find morning sickness as a metaphor for dare-to-dream so compelling. Morning sickness can be almost unendurable for a time. However, as we cradle our newborn baby, the months of sickness seem but a small price to pay for the miracle of bringing a child into the world.

Isn't this what happens, admittedly on a smaller scale, when we dare to dream?

As we set out to discover a new piece of ourselves, we may feel that we are losing something in the process, and it is profoundly discomfiting, even nauseating. But once we've found that new piece, becoming more of who we are, it has indeed been a small price to pay.

As you are undertaking something new, do you find yourself uncomfortable, unnerved, sick to your stomach at times?

When you make room for a new piece of yourself, do you feel diminished or more of who you are?

Play to your strengths

Pop Quiz:

If one of your children came home from school with a report card that said:

Math A
Geography A+
Social Science A
English C
French A

What would you think?

What would you say?

During a presentation titled Women at their Best: Authentically Engaging Strengths for Maximal Contributions, Professor Laura Morgan Roberts of Harvard Business School, indicated that we will perfunctorily say "Good job" in Math, Social Science, English, and French, but spend far more time trying to understand why the C in English, and formulating a plan for improvement.

In her words, "we will only see the C".

Is this true for you?

It certainly is for me.

Dr. Roberts expounds by saying that for every negative thing we say, we need to say three positive things to offset or cancel out the negative; within a marriage (I suspect with our children as well), the ratio increases from 3:1 to 5:1.

Just one example.

I still remember my first day of 8th grade at a new school in Almaden, California -- we were in the band room -- when Mark Weber saw me looking at him, and he said to me, "What are you looking at ugly?"

It's now been more than 30 years, and I have been told many times, by my husband in particular, that I am attractive. Do I remember any details surrounding the compliments? Nope. Not a one. But the memory of Mark Weber remains vivid.

And so the question:

How can we be the hero of our story, really making a difference for ourselves, in our families, communities, workplace, the world, if all we remember are our deficits? We can't.

BUT, Dr. Roberts asserts, if we will play to our strengths, we can.

She defines strengths as:

1. Our innate talents;
2. The competencies we've developed;
3. What we believe (our principles);
4. Our identities (gender, race, ethnicity, religion).

When we know what our strengths are, we have a better sense of self, we're more secure, more likely to validate and encourage others.

When we play to our strengths, we will become the hero of our story, and encourage others be the hero of theirs.

Playing small doesn't serve the world, said Martin Luther King, Jr.

Well then, let's play big.

What are your innate talents?

What are your competencies? In other words, what have you become good at because you've spent a lot of time doing it?

What do you believe? What have you been willing to stand up and be counted for?

What is your gender, race or religion -- and how have these pieces of who you are shaped you?

Mothering matters

"I don't like you mom. You're terrible!", my 10 year-old son blurted out when I told him to turn off the TV.

Well David, I thought wryly, given that I was trying to write about how wonderful mothering is, sometimes I don't like being a mom. Because not only is it hard, our society says it values mothering, but it really doesn't.

In fact, some of you may remember when I said women in the U.S. are pampered and affirmed.... Well, stay-at-home moms, aren't even affirmed. Not really. No wonder they struggle to get to the daring and dreaming.

Let me give you an example.

My friend Jane Clayson Johnson shares in her book I Am a Mother that when she set aside a high-powered career in television journalism to focus on her children, she wasn't particularly surprised when colleagues asked her "Are you going to be just a mom?"

But Jane was surprised when women who had successfully reared four, five, even eight children, would introduce themselves by saying "I'm just a mother." It was the self-deprecation, in particular, that impelled Jane to put pen to paper. She wanted to affirm mothers, to encourage herself and each of us to declare "I am a Mother".

I'd like to to add my voice to hers -- mothering does matter. Mothering in the broadest sense -- nurturing, encouraging, wiping away a tear; being a hero of support, a safe harbor. And it matters, not just because our children and society need our encouragement, but because -- as women -- nurturing and connectedness are part of who we are.

Now, you may be wondering -- is David still mad at me?

He's not. Before he went to bed, he said, "Mom, sometimes you are kind of hard on me, but I do love you."

Well David -- sometimes being a mother is kind of hard -- but I always love being your mother!

Women, Technology and Webkinz

Tom Peters, management guru, has written, “there is little disagreement about what businesses must become: less hierarchical, more flexible and team-oriented, faster and more fluid.... One group of people has an enormous advantage in realizing this necessary new vision: women.”

I agree with Tom Peters, but there is a rub.

During the play that our family was in, when there was downtime, I found myself observing how the children entertained themselves.

Two vignettes, in particular, come to mind:

One of my 6-year old daughter Miranda playing with her Gameboy (remember she has a 10-year old brother whom she adores and emulates), surrounded by several boys, either playing with, or tutoring her.

The other vignette is a group of girls aged 6-10 who, having no interest in playing Gameboy, had invited Miranda to set up a make-believe home/beauty salon.

Which is why there's a rub to Peters' argument.

While it is true that businesses, and even the world, need women's collaborative expertise, Tom Peters seems to be making an a priori assumption -- that girls and women are technologically savvy.

Based on the recent NY Times article, Computer Science Takes Steps to Bring Women to the Fold, and my own personal experience, we aren't, nor do we necessarily want to be.

I think I know why.

Technology, in the broadest, most generic sense, is often about gadgetry, the gee-whiz factor, an end, in itself, rather than a means to an end: how can I harness this technology to get done what is important to me, which is connect with others. Remember Psyche's journey: she went on her hero's journey -- of figuring out the world -- because of her relationships.

But when technology works on behalf of relationships, we become fascinated, even enamored.

Take blogs for example.

And Mac stores. These are not stores just about gadgetry, they are about getting jobs done that are important to us.

And Webkinz -- those unremarkable stuffed animals that our daughters can love and cuddle with in the real world. AND for whom they must also care for in the virtual world.

Sure, it's a craze.

But if it it gives our daughters the tools they need to dare - and do - their dreams, I'm just a bit crazy about Webkinz myself.

Have you found yourself wanting to make something happen, whether for scrapbooking, a community project, or starting a small business, but you just didn't have the technological expertise? And so you had to oursource, or worse yet, you just didn't do it?

What if you did have the expertise? How much better would you troubleshoot?

Any other ideas about jobs our daughters can do, and will want to do, using technology?

The hero's journey and accountability

Just last week, my 10 year-old son David participated in his school's science fair.

As I listened to him explain his "how salt affects water freezing" findings to the mother of one of his classmates, I had one of those moments that parents get every once in awhile, which was: "My child really IS going to know things and do things and be things that will amaze me."

Imagine my surprise the next day when I learned that David had only gotten a 79 on his project.

He was surprised too.

So surprised, and angry, and hurt, that he had a really bad day. It didn't matter that he would have gotten a 92 had he included a bibliography, and finished various intermediate assignments on time; the headline number was 79.

David was so devastated that my husband and I had some decisions to make.

Validating his feelings (angry, sad, frustrated) was a no-brainer. But beyond that, what would the party line be? Were we going to say the teachers hadn't been fair because the strengths of the report mitigated the weaknesses? And what of going to school the next day? He wanted to stay home. Should we let him?

Or did we simply need to say -- we know you're sad, we love you, we know it's hard, but "Johnson's don't give up"?

As we lived through what felt like a pivotal twenty-four hours in our son's life, or at least in our lives as parents, I wondered -- are the children in our society not dreaming and doing because, even as we tell them how capable they are, we don't require accountability?

Meaning, because we don't require accountability, aren't we really saying they aren't capable? Because if we really believed they could pick themselves up when they are down, we wouldn't swoop in. And as we bail our children out, when they are alone, rather than telling themselves -- I can succeed on my hero's journey, I have a contribution to make -- are they instead saying -- I can't succeed, because even my own parents don't think I can?

What's interesting about our family's science fair saga is that many would call me a pushover parent (my kids included), but that day, I wasn't. I was clear, absolutely, certainly clear that just as we couldn't take the accountability for his grade away from him, we couldn't let him stay home.

And so after pep talks from both my husband and I about getting back on the horse -- and a small little bribe of -- we can buy a donut on the way to school -- he willingly went. Happily, during the course of the day, his sadness, and discouragement melted way.

I will confess that I am not one for whom parenting comes easily; it seems to for some. And yet I somehow felt that in requiring accountability of our son when he so desperately wanted to be let off the hook, we had parented well.

And, perhaps more importantly, it seemed that our son may now be just a little bit more capable of succeeding on his hero's journey -- not because we said so -- but because he knows so.

Have you recently required accountability of your children or of those over whom you had responsibility? Was it difficult? Why? Why not?

Do you agree with my hypothesis, that we can't really affirm unless we also require accountability?

Do you find that it's easier with some of your charges than others to hold them accountable? (I do -- the more alike me my child is, the more difficult).

Shampoo, style, and systergy

Whenever I want to be really kind to myself (something I wish I would want more often), I splurge for a shampoo and style.

Some might call this extravagant.

Perhaps it is.

But given the sense of well-being I have when I leave the salon, it always feels to me like money well-spent.

Especially because, on my latest visit to the salon, it occurred to me that there's a lot that a shampoo and style can teach us about mentoring, and mentoring is integral to daring to dream.

Take the shampoo, for instance.

There aren't a lot of things more self-nurturing than relaxing back in a chair, knowing that capable hands are about to wash my hair, and gently massage my head.

When done well, doesn't mentoring have the same salutary effect? We are figuratively in the charge of competent, and loving hands. As mentors, we, ourselves, are these hands.

After the shampoo, comes a set or style.

When I finally open my eyes after a delightful catnap, I am always struck by my hairdresser's ability to transform what was unkempt, pulled-back-into-a-ponytail, more-often-than-not unwashed hair, into something rather fetching.

Again, there's a comparison to be made. Isn't it true that our most beloved mentors are those that see something magnificent in us that we can’t yet see, and are our see-er, until we can be our own?

And finally there's the quid pro quo, or the give for the get.

Before leaving the salon, I pay and leave a tip. I'm happy to do so because I feel and look great, and the hairdresser is, in turn, happy to be paid.

Though we usually think of a mentoring relationship as assymetrical -- the mentor gives, the mentee receives, I would argue that the most fruitful mentor-mentee relationships do involve some type of quid pro quo.

And it's not necessarily money.

For example, with the children in our lives, our relationship is by definition a mentor-mentee relationship, and then some. But my truth be told, it is much easier to really invest in my kids when for the give, there is some get.

Whether they are obeying me, being kind to one another, making me look good in front of other people (I know, I know -- we all try SO hard not to feel this way, but alas we do), or they are wrapping their arms around me -- and your kids are wrapping their arms around you -- and saying, "I love you mom." In short, if we need some type of get, even with our children, in a mentor-mentee relationship, we absolutely do.

Why is all of this so important?

Because we only really dream when we are together.

And what better metaphor for what we can achieve through systergy, than a salon, shampoo and a style?

When was the last time that you did something nurturing or kind for yourself?

Can you think of someone who sees something wonderful in you? What is it they see? Can you do that for someone else?

When you consider your most satisfying mentoring moments, what were you giving? What were you getting?

Why is it that when we isolate ourselves we don't dream, but when are are together, we do dream?

NY Times article: For Girls, It's Be Yourself...

For those of you who didn't see Sara Rimer's "For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too", one of The New York Times most e-mailed and blogged about articles this week, here's the link.

Link: For Girls, It’s Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too - New York Times.

There are so many quotable quotes in this article. I'll highlight four:

1. To anyone who knows 17-year-old Esther Mobley, one of the best students (Esther is a standout in AP Latin, honors philosophy/literature, an actress, and president of her church youth group) at one of the best public high schools (Newton North High School just outside of Boston) in the country, it is absurd to think she doesn't measure up. But Esther herself is quick to set the record straight -- 'First of all, I'm a terrible athlete...'

WJ commentary:
Do you remember Anna Fels' article "Do women lack ambition?" Quoting Fels, "Women refuse to claim a central, purposeful place in their stories, eagerly shifting the credit elsewhere and shunning recognition." Esther's comment that she's a terrible athlete seems to be her way of sending the message that she really is feminine (e.g. by giving recognition away to anyone but herself) when society would say that her achievements and ambition suggest otherwise.

2. While it is now cool to be smart, it is not enough to be smart. You still have to be pretty, thin, and hot...effortlessly hot.

WJ Commentary:
The need to be hot seems to me like overcompensation. As if girls will be forgiven for being smart and capable if they are uber-feminine. In the case of Esther and her friends, they seem to be equating sexy with feminine.

3. I would rather be considered too assertive and less conventionally feminine than be totally passive and a bystander in my life....[Someone I] admire [is] Cristina (Sandra Oh) on Grey's Anatomy who stands up for herself and is gorgeous and wears cute lingerie.

WJ Commentary:
Can you imagine a man saying, "I'd rather be considered too kind and less conventionally masculine" and in the same breath tell you he really likes Arnold Schwarzenegger's tenderness in the film "True Lies?" I can't either.

4. In Esther's application to Smith, her father wrote a letter, explaining that when Esther was a baby, they had gone to his wife's 10th college reunion. He described the alumni parade as an 'angelic procession of women in white, decade by decade, at every stage in the course of human life...I still remember holding Esther as I watched those saints go marching by..and thinking I want Esther to be in that number'.

WJ Commentary:
To what extent are we as parents the keeper of our children's dreams? Do we want our children to measure up to some mistaken standard (perhaps a standard our parents/society set for us which we are now perpetuating)? And in so doing, are we inadvertently raising our daughters to believe that they are Leah rather than the Rachel they knew they were as young girls?

Enough of my pontificating, do you agree or disagree with my commentary? Why? Why not?

Any thoughts on how this article would have been different had the storyteller been a man rather than a woman? Would it have been written?

What have you watched or read or listened to lately, vis-a-vis women's hopes and dreams, that gave you pause?

When you have capably completed a task, and were inevitably congratulated, did you try to deflect attention away from you by saying "It was nothing," or maybe pointing out something that you aren't good at?

Any thoughts on how we can change the standards by which we measure our children, and perhaps more importantly, ourselves?

Finally, what can we do to dream our own dreams, and teach our children to dream theirs?

An Australian storyteller

In response to my prior entry Storytellers wanted, Matt Langdon, shared with me an article by the Australian journalist, Anne Summers.

Link: Time to make the shoe fit - Opinion - theage.com.au.

In addition to her making the point that there are relatively few women in politics (as in the media), I was riveted by her comment that "we trivialize women in the public eye, obsessing over their appearance."

How many times have I asked one of my female friends, "what are you going to wear?" It would never occur me to ask a man that.

More importantly, does my mindset play out in my behavior toward young girls, and what can I do to change?

Maybe the next time my daughter wants to dress how she wants to dress (which is everyday), and not allow me to doll her up (I love smocked dresses), I can remember Anne Summers' comment, and keep my mouth shut -- and not even be wistful.

Yes, her clothes need to be clean, and yes I want her to be modest (read: wear clothes that allow us to focus on her, her personality, not her body). But beyond that -- does it matter? I certainly don't obsess over my son's appearance. And maybe that's what my 6-year old daughter is really trying to convey:

"Mom, don't obsess about my appearance. I'm a person just like my brother, not an object -- a person who thinks, who matters, who has something to contribute to the world, not because of how I look, but because of who I am."

The big question is -- if I can begin to focus on her and not her appearance, will she and all our daughters need to rethink their competence as they get older, or will they just already know they're competent?

And if that can be true, Leah will never have to leave the building.

Because she never entered.

Sort the seeds

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself. Alan Alda

Caterina Bandini, the former lead news anchor at Channel 7 in Boston, has just embarked on a hero's journey.

Her call to adventure? The birth of twin daughters Olivia and Kate.

Link: From the TV anchor desk to the crib: Caterina Bandini talks openly about her toughest assignment - The Boston Globe.

As I read this Boston Globe interview, I couldn't help but think of the myth of Pscyhe who undertook the hero's journey -- and remember it wasn't because she was thirsting for adventure, but out of love for her family.

Do you remember her first task?

Sort the seeds.

Psyche must sort through a huge jumble of corn, barley and poppy seeds into separate piles before morning. The task seems impossible – and is impossible – given her timeframe, until an army of ants comes to her aid, and helps her sort the seeds.

Caterina Bandini has a similar task. Having left her former life, she must now sort and sift through possibilities, establishing personal priorities in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties. In other words, she is sorting the seeds. And, if she's willing, the industrious collective of ants – her intuition – can help her establish her priorities and clarity will emerge.

Faced with the daunting task of sifting through possibilities, Ms. Bandini, like Psyche, may be experiencing some fear (likely exacerbated by lack of sleep, possibly even post-partum depression), at the start of her hero's journey.

But just as Psyche eventually sorted the seeds, so too can Caterina sift and sort, eventually settling on the possibilities that are both right for her family (which is why she embarked on the journey in the first place), and for her.

Her remark "I know I made the right choice for my babies. I know I made the right choice for my husband. But there are days when I wonder, did I make the right choice for me?" suggests she's off to a good start.

We wish you well.

And Caterina, always remember -- It's your story. Be the hero.

Have you recently had a turn of events that is requiring you to sort and sift through possibilities?

Once you've gotten all the information you can, what does it feel like to just wait -- and trust -- that you will eventually figure out your best course of action?

An artist of encouragement

The mentor’s spirit is that productive liberating power that heartens us to….develop into our best selves, [the] who we were born to be. Marsha Sinetar

Now that it’s been almost two weeks, I’m ready to share.

In late 2005, I started taking voice lessons because I wanted to find my literal (and my figurative) voice. Though I am quite competent on the piano, I am neither gifted nor trained vocally. But the quest merits the effort, and thus, I persist.

My lessons were moving along swimmingly until my teacher announced that there would be a vocal recital in April. So keen was I to participate that when the e-mail announcement came around, I impulsively hit the “reply to all” button, notifying my teacher and all her students that I wanted to participate.

But guess what?

When I arrived at my next lesson, she was