dare to dream

Enchanted anger

Were you surprised by the title of the above article?

Me neither.

We girls learn from a very young age that we shouldn't get angry.

But is it anger that we shouldn't do?

Or rage?

Rage is yelling at our child, maybe even hitting him, when he spills juice on a brand new carpet we can't afford to replace.

Rage is a mother sabotaging her daughter's attempts at life and love when she sees her daughter having opportunities the mother either didn't have, or gave up.

If we have reached the point of rage, but have managed to hold it in (because nice girls don't get angry), we just might be depressed: depression is rage turned inward.

Rage is about losing control, when we say things and do things that we will long regret.

So, rage is definitely out.

But anger?

Oh yes -- definitely in.

Anger tells us something is amiss, that something or someone (possibly our selves) needs to be attended to, that a boundary has been crossed.

Courtesy: istockphoto

Anger is locking ourself in the closet, calling our closest friend, and sobbing about the juice spill, knowing that our 2 year-old is safe because he is banging on the door as we speak.

Anger is recognizing that in any choice made there are trade-offs. That we may be angry with our daughter not because of her but because we have become so Martha-like, we've forgotten that we get to be Martha AND Mary.

When we acknowledge our anger, rage never happens.

There is a wonderful lesson about anger in the film Enchanted.

Innocent Princess Giselle is back-and-forthing with Patrick Dempsey's cynicism and the words, 'You....you....make me so angry', spill out. With this utterance, Princess Giselle has defined a boundary for her self, thus undergoing a rite of passage necessary to becoming more of who she is.

Has your anger recently helped you identify a boundary you didn't know you had?

When we become angry, are we not saying 'no', as Psyche was required to do in her 4th task?

The next time you become angry, will you pause and be grateful for the information your anger is giving you: about what matters to you, about how you want your life to unfold?

When we attend to the anger, what Giselle-like thing can happen in our life?

P.S. If you'd like to read more in praise of anger, there is a powerful essay titled 'Damning the River' in Rachel Naomi Remen's book Kitchen Table Wisdom.

P.P.S. If you ever have something you feel others would find helpful to hear, but tend to be a private person, just send to me your thoughts, and I'll post it as 'Whitney's friend who would like to remain anonymous"...

Related posts:
A down payment on our dream
The Myth of Psyche
Martha and Mary
When we say no
Dreaming or deflecting?

Martha and Mary

Do you remember the biblical story of Mary and Martha, the two sisters who host Jesus in their home? Martha focuses on preparing and serving the meal, while Mary sits at His feet, listening and learning.

Do you also remember that when Martha says to her Guest -- Is it really alright that Mary isn't helping me attend to preparing and serving?, and He responds, Yes, for "Mary hath chosen the good part."

Painting by Minerva Teichert

As a study in feminine psychology, I find this story intriguing.

We generally consider women to be feminine within the context of a relationship, or when we are giving something (resources or recognition) to someone else.

And yet, this story -- which is revered, and believed to be true, by billions of Christians -- gives women permission to listen and learn, to find our self. When we consider the historical context (c. 2,000 years ago when women's roles were far more circumscribed), this 'permission' is even more powerful.

Does this mean that women shouldn't care for and nurture others?

Of course not.

But it does suggest that to develop into our full self we need to do both: say Yes to our relationships (be Martha-like), and Yes to our self (be Mary-like).

What we need more of will depend.

Some of us may need to be a bit more Martha-like.

But if my sample set is any indication, most of us could use a little more Mary.

What about you? Do you tend toward Mary or Martha?

Have you noticed that when we learn to marry Martha and Mary, we are completing Psyche's four tasks, the prototypical female hero's journey?

Related posts:
Say yes to you
Play to your strengths
Psyche's 4th Task: Learn to say no
Why I liked Wicked
Rachel and Leah: Reclaiming our power to dream

The hazards of 'Getting in the Game'

"Throw down your pom-poms and get in the game."  A phrase I heard frequently during the late 80's, early 90's while working on Wall Street.

In one of my very first posts (see below), I boldly implored women to throw down our pom-poms, get in the game, our game, and be the hero of our story.

Photo courtesy of john carleton @ istockphoto

1 1/2 years later, I am astonished that I employed this metaphor.  I knew about being a cheerleader, but as an early days Title IX gal, I've never played competitive sports, and thus had no experience with 'literally' getting in the game.

Ahh, the bluster of inexperience.

Obviously, I knew that football players wear helmets and pads because it's dangerous, you get bumps, bruises, and broken bones.  But I didn't know.

No doubt I had glorified the 'getting in the game' of my life whether at home, work or in the community, not recognizing that this would involve saying no and negotiating conflict, none of which my cheerleading had prepared me to do.

I'm learning, but because I'm not good at it, I can feel pretty beaten up some days.

Photo courtesy groveb @ istockphoto

As I've nursed my wounds by sharing them with my friends, two of them, both of whom are psychologists by training, said something strikingly similar:

Learning to negotiate conflict is an important developmental milestone, one that ultimately enhances and strengthens our relationships.

Did you know this?

I didn't.

Does this mean that if we throw down our pom-poms, and get in the game, when we pick our pom-poms back up, we'll be even better cheerleaders, better heros of support?

Isn't this what Psyche did?  She went on a hero's journey, which required her to learn to say no, so that she could say yes to her relationships.

When have you set boundaries recently?  Said no?  Negotiated conflict?

Hard?

For me too.

Helmet and pads required.

Related posts:
Throw down your pom-poms
It's just a game!  Precisely!
Three cheers for oxytocin
Psyche's 4th Task:  Learning to say no
What I've learned from identifying my heros

Et tu, Whitney?

"It is only when an anomaly is identified....that the opportunity to improve theory occurs." Paul Carlile, Clayton Christensen

In responding to "An 'A' or an 'F' on the Galadriel test?" in which I discussed my love-hate relationship with the Twilight trilogy, Amy politely wondered if I would feel as I do had these books been penned by a man.

Specifically, Amy asked, "Is there more to your view than expecting more of people because we know their beliefs? Does it goes back to your discussion of what it means to be feminine? Perhaps your ideas about women and ambition are broader than you had supposed. That it's not just about large-scale power, but rather any time women move outside of perceived guidelines our society squirms?"

A is for Amy, anomaly, and Amy appears to be absolutely right.

I have read over 25 books by Orson Scott Card, another fellow Mormon. Yet I've never had the kind of visceral reaction to his books, frequent Ten Commandment non-compliance notwithstanding, as I did to Meyers' book.

Do you remember the Bem Sex-Role Inventory's finding that women are only feminine within the context of a relationship and when we are giving something (resources, recognition) to someone else?

And isn't it true, that when women move beyond perceived guidelines (as did Ms. Meyer), we are crossing into a territory in which we are not sovereign, and are thus figuratively taking something from someone else?

Et tu, apply the double standard Whitney?

Lamentably, yes.

What are your thoughts?

Related posts:

An 'A' or an 'F' on the Galadriel test?
Why we are skeptical of Hillary Clinton
Do you need to 'Do it yourself?'
NY Times -- For Girls, It's Be Yourself, and Be Perfect, Too
Throw down your pom-poms
A space for women's voices

An 'A' or an 'F' on the Galadriel test?

I recently read Stephenie Meyer's vampire trilogy, Twilight, Eclipse, New Moon, "the story of 17-year-old Bella Swan who moves to the small town of Forks, Washington to live with her father, and becomes drawn to Edward, a pale, mysterious classmate who seems determined to push her away. But neither can deny the attraction that pulls them together…even when Edward confides that he and his family are vampires."

To say I read these books is an understatement, inhaled or devoured are more accurate.

After picking up Twilight in the Cincinnati airport around 6pm on a Saturday, I began reading immediately, proceeded to read until 3am, and had finished all three books by the following Saturday. My friends that read the books also read them quickly. I couldn't help but use the descriptor "intoxicating", with the realization that the archetype of Western romantic love (girl and boy meet, their attraction is inescapable, their love immutable) continues to be a story that we love and live by.

Apart from not being able to drink deeply enough from these books, which is only marginally relevant to 'dare to dream', the fact that, in the third book, Bella importunes, even begs, Edward to make love to her, is.

I know this appears to be a non-sequitur, but stay with me.

First of all, you may be thinking, "Whitney, this is not unusual, men and women who are in love (and not in love) have sex before they are married all the time. It's a societal norm in the Western world."

And I would answer, yes, that is true, but not if you are a Mormon as I am -- and as is Stephenie Meyer. Mormons believe that a physically intimate relationship is so sacred that we wait until we are married, no matter how strong the attraction. (By the way, it is difficult; hormones are hormones regardless of race or religion).

So here's the 'dare to dream' point.

When I started reading Meyer's books, I knew she had gone to BYU, as had I, and is Mormon, as am I. Because I could identify with her on multiple levels, I was eager to learn from her about daring and dreaming.

So -- to get to her third book, New Moon, and read that Bella wanted to break with a belief that Mormons generally hold dear, rocked my world.

Alternately angry, but mostly sad, I have found myself repeatedly wondering:

1) While we are daring and dreaming -- For our dream to be embraced by a wide audience, do we have to part with cherished values?

2) Once we achieve our dream -- Because Bella's fervent plea didn't take place until the third book, long after Meyer's first two books were NY Times bestsellers, is it possible that once we achieve our dream, more and more influence becomes so irresistible that we can't help but grab onto the ring, and fail our Galadriel test?

Bottom line?

I don't know Stephenie Meyer; I purposely excluded her name from the blog title because I didn't want the focus to be her, but rather our having a discussion about what I think is a crucial question:

As we dream AND once we are achieving our dream(s), is it inevitable that we are corrupted by the power that we want or have? If corruption IS avoidable, how? In other words, how do we avoid going to Rachel's dark side, and pass our Galadriel test?

What are your thoughts?

Do you see this differently?

Can you think of women who have achieved a dream without sacrificing their 'who they are' along the way?

What about women who, having achieved their dream, and already wield considerable influence, continue to pass the Galadriel test?

For those of you that want to explore further the psychology of love, Robert A. Johnson wrote a marvelous book titled We, Understanding the Psychology of Romantic Love that looks at the myths our society has about love, using the story of Tristan and Iseult, and then looks at what love can be. I read this book several years ago, and can't recommend it highly enough.

What I've learned by identifying my heros

Writing about my heros (which you can find at the bottom of this post) was indeed revelatory. Here's why:

1) I was surprised by how much my heros have changed over time -- from Bewitched's Samantha to Peggy Noonan?

2) It was also interesting to observe that my childhood heros were imaginary. A reminder just how much children identify with the imaginary, magical world. I wonder too if I over-agonize about the quantity of television my children consume. I clearly watched television as a child, yet most would consider me a contributing member of society.

Who were your heros as a child? Who are they today? How have they changed?

2) My heros have played a greater role in who I've become than I would have predicted prior to this exercise.

Example A: The fact that I so admired Samantha and Shirley Partridge as a young girl makes it a lot less surprising that I care about mothering well, my many years of "not wanting to have kids yet" notwithstanding.

Given your current vantage point, anything about your childhood heros that surprises you?

Example B: I'm rather astonished that my interest in attending UCLA was piqued because of their cheerleaders; were it not for a providential fluke, I would be a UCLA graduate. Which leads me to wonder what other decisions I've made on the basis of who I admire. Perhaps more importantly, why did I admire them in the first place?

What about you? Any decisions that you've made that now surprise you given how little forethought went in to the decision?

Example C: If I consider a cheerleader a metaphor for a hero of support, I've observed that in some aspects of my life I've internalized this role so thoroughly, it has actually been problematic as I've pursued my career. Sometimes you can be too good at something.

3) On the premise that my childhood heros have helped shape who I've become, I am consequently hopeful that I can become like my current heros, whether Peggy Noonan, Laura Laviada, Galadriel, or India.Arie. That I can, in fact, successfully undergo Psyche's journey, learning to be the ship AND the harbor, the hero of support AND the hero.

Who are your heros today?
What do they tell you about what you are hoping to accomplish?
Who and how you want to be?

****

Below is what I wrote for Matt Langdon's Heros Interviews:

My hero as a young girl was Samantha on Bewitched. She was pert, adorable, and no matter what kind of tangle she found herself in, she could make things better with a wiggle of her nose. I also idolized Shirley Jones, who played the mother in The Partridge Family with whom I became even more enamored when I saw her as the ingénue in the film Oklahoma. As an eight year-old, it was magical to see that the same person could be a mother and ingénue.

In high school, my heros were pretty, popular, feminine cheerleaders. So much so that UCLA became my top college pick because I loved watching their song girls perform whenever they played Stanford in football (my father took us to Stanford football games every fall from the time I was 7-8 years old). Footnote: Stanford was actually my top choice, but I was on the waiting list, whereas I was accepted to UCLA.

My heros today are women who successfully embark on Psyche’s journey: they’ve learned to say no, to exercise choice, to achieve goals without throwing their caring and compassionate selves under the bus. In other words, I see all of these women as living in a both/and world.

These heros include: Peggy Noonan, a Wall Street Journal columnist who made her name as a speechwriter for Ronald Reagan, Laura Laviada, the former CEO and major shareholder of Editorial Televisa, Mexico’s largest magazine publisher (and who I had the privilege of interacting with when I covered the stock Televisa (NYSE: TV), Galadriel in Lord of the Rings, and India.Arie, a musician-singer-songwriter who it would appear loves Stevie Wonder’s music even more than I do. Until very recently, I would have also included Sydney Bristow, the fictional lead in the television show Alias.

What if Madeleine L'Engle hadn't dared to dream?

You have something that IT has not. This something is your only weapon. But you must find it for yourself. Mrs. Which, A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle.

One of my beloved childhood books was A Wrinkle in Time. In re-reading the below passage from Ms. L'Engle's memoir A Circle of Quiet, I couldn't help but wonder, what if she had given up on her ambition, if she hadn't dared to dream?

She writes:

I am often asked how I came to write A Wrinkle in Time.

Even with all the hindsight of which I am capable I can't quite explain it. It was during a time of transition. We had sold the store, were leaving the safe, small world of the village, and going back to the city and the theatre.

While we were on our ten-week camping trip from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back again, we drove through a world of deserts and buttes and leafless mountains, wholly new and alien to me. And suddenly into my mind came the names, Mrs. Whatsit. Mrs. Who. Mrs. Which.

But why did those names come to me just then, and from where? I haven't the faintest idea. I suppose that my writing mind, which is always at work no matter what is happening on the surface level, took over from there. I had brought along some...Einstein, a few other books on cosmology...and...the influence of these books on Wrinkle is obvious. I was also quite consciously writing my own affirmation of a universe which is created by a power of love.

After an early rejection (there were many), "X turned down Wrinkle...saying he loved it, but didn't quite dare do it, as it isn't really classifiable. I know it isn't classifiable, and am wondering if I'll have to go through the usual hell with this that I seem to go through with everything I write...[and yet] this book I'm sure of. If I've ever written a book that says what I feel about God and the universe, this is it. This is my psalm of praise....

...In 1963 (c. three years after the above entry), when I was in Chicago to receive the Newberry Medal for A Wrinkle in Time, a woman who was a fine editor...but who had rejected Wrinkle, said to me, "I know I should have published this book. But I wonder: if I had accepted A Wrinkle in Time, would it have been the right moment for it? If it had been published then, maybe you wouldn't be here now...."

She was a very wise woman.

1. Are you in a time of transition, a "bleak period of your life" as L'Engle describes the period during which she wrote Wrinkle?

2. What activities are you involved in, what books are you reading, that could be furthering your dream?

3. Are you in the unknown right now? How does it feel?

4. If your dream is facing rejection after rejection, is it possible that the timing is not yet right?

5. When you tell your story, in whatever form it takes, what beliefs will you be affirming?

6. For those of you that have read A Wrinkle in Time, think for a moment about protagonist Meg Murry and how her journey parallels that of Psyche's: Meg willlingly undertakes a journey fraught with danger so as to find her father.

7. If you don't dare to dream, what gift to the world that only you can give, might not be given?

Drawing on Nancy Drew to find our voice

Lackluster reviews notwithstanding, there are several reasons to like the film Nancy Drew. Four to be precise, if you subscribe to the view that the best way for women to find their voice is to listen to those that have found theirs.

1) Women were involved in the making of Nancy Drew, from the studio executives, to the executive producers, to the writers. This is no small feat, given that only "15% of the directors, writers, producers and editors working in Hollywood are women", according to Sharon Waxman's NY Times article Hollywood's shortage of female power. The storytellers honored by Oscar quiz supports this finding.

© 2007 Warner Bros. Pictures

2. The film features a female protagonist. This too is unusual. According to a study titled Where the Girls Aren't, which analyzed gender roles in 100 G-rated movies, only 25% of the characters in the sample were female, only 28% of the speaking characters were female. I have a hunch that these percentages would trend even lower for PG films.

3. Nancy "achieves the goal" and "gets the guy", something that many women falsely believe is impossible, even though films are generally replete with male heros who "achieve the goal" AND "get the girl". Which is why I came away so sad after seeing The Devil Wears Prada. Anne Hathaway’s character is thrown into the competitive world of fashion, and she prevails, only to have her loved ones tell her she’s sold her soul to the devil.

4) Nancy's an archetype worth emulating; naturally she's "perfect" -- archetypes tend to be. Not only did I arrive home happy to have spent 1 1/2 hours with a smart, driven, kind, and caring girl, my 6 year-old Miranda arrived home empowered. The following morning when she learned something had been misplaced, she asked for a flashlight and declared "Miranda to the rescue!"

Have you seen Nancy Drew?

What did you think?

P.S. For those of you who live in Boston, on July 28, there's a Girls Night Nancy Drew movie. Thanks to Alyson Jenkins for the heads up!

NY Times: This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It)

"Seeing oneself as acting in a movie or a play is not merely fantasy or indulgence; it is fundamental to how people work out who it is they are, and may become", says Benedict Carey in the recent NY Times article This is your Life (and How You Tell It).

In support of his view, author Carey quotes Dr. Dan P. McAdams, a professor of Psychology at Northwestern, and author of the book, The Redemptive Self: Stories Americans Live By. Says McAdams: "[Our personal] narratives guide behavior in every moment, and frame not only how we see the past but how we see ourselves in the future."

What are the personal narratives that frame OUR pasts, and possibly predict our futures?

Said another way, what are the 1-2 stories that we most often tell about our lives? And how do the stories that we tell ourselves in isolation (by ourselves) differ from the stories that we tell our peers (family/friends) and our charges (children or mentees)?

For example, stories that I tell my charges tend to be well-crafted, and confident. Stories that I share with my peers are less polished recountings of personal experiences, happy and sad. Then there are the stories I tell myself: remember the Oprah Miraval contest...

So here's the question for you: are you happy with the stories that you tell yourself, your peers, your children?

If you were to craft a narrative, using the below quote as your theme, what story would you tell, whether written, painted, scrapbooked, danced, photographed or sung?

God calls you to the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet. Frederick Buechner

P.S. The above painting is courtesy of the NY Times and artist Otto Steininger.

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?

Telling my Wall Street story

Over the past two days, I've spent several hours visiting with one of my dear friends, Sally Harker, who I worked with at Smith Barney in the mid '90s. She could, but kindly won't, share a firsthand account of my impressive lack of bounty early in my career.

As close friends often do, Sally gave me some constructive feedback about my blog. Which was -- you are encouraging women to tell their story without telling yours. And, for all your readers know, you may be daring them to dream, without having dreamt yourself.

Why don't you share what happened when you first moved to New York?

So, in an attempt to walk-my-talk, here goes:

When I graduated from college at 27 (nope -- not a typo), my husband and I were off to New York City, he to pursue a PhD in molecular biology at Columbia, and me to support us.

Beyond knowing that I had no interest in pursuing music (I finally settled on music after changing my major several times and accumulating 180 credits), I had no idea what I wanted to do, nor was I qualified to do much.

To any future employer, my resume (that I put together only after we had arrived in NY) boiled down to: music major + 2nd-tier university + woman = secretary. Indeed, a month after we arrived, I was hired as a secretary at Smith Barney's 1345 Avenue of the Americas office.

As the year progressed and I was less than completely overwhelmed by Manhattan (for the first week I wouldn't go anywhere without my husband or a friend), and I began to understand what Wall Street was, it occurred to me -- I'm just as smart as the folks on the professional track (e.g. investment banking analysts). I may not have a degree from Princeton, and I may not be an engineer, but I can do this.

Further motivation to "do this" came as I realized I was going to need to work for a very long time. My husband's PhD would take 6-7 years, his post-doctoral work 3-4, and if I continued to work at a low-paying secretarial job, we would be at the poverty level for a decade or more.

I had a decision to make -- job or career, make x or 10x.

Opting for the latter, I began to take business courses at night, while trying to figure out how I was going to jump to the professional track, a jump which would be difficult not only because of my lack of pedigree, but because I was a woman. Also, at nearly 30 years old, I was much older than the typical college graduate.

But a break did come in 1992, nearly 3 1/2 years after arriving in New York. And not surprisingly because of a mentor. My boss at Nomura Securities, Cesar Baez, took a chance on me, bridging for me the often unbridgeable divide between secretary and professional.

You know the rest of the story. If you don't, you can read it on the About page. But, in short, when I left Wall Street in 2005, I had accomplished what I'd set out to do -- and more.

Which is why I suppose Sally wanted me to tell my Wall Street story: she knows that I dare to dream, but she wants you to know too.

Have you thought about who you'd like to invite to subscribe to dare to dream?

Are you going to want to figure out what your dream is?

Or do you want to brainstorm about how to make your dream happen?

Storytime

"I am walking for my mom who was my icon and for my girls who are my world," writes my friend Lee Chipman who will be participating in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer here in Boston on May 19-20 in honor of her mother who died of breast cancer last October. Lee is pictured left with her mother Sandy, and her five daughters, Talbot, Ashtyn, McKinlay, Quincy and Emery.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Two reasons.

Because hearing the voices of women who are finding theirs, helps us find ours. And, because, psychologists who study trauma recovery have indicated that when we suffer a loss we must give testimony to someone as a way of working through the loss. In other words, we NEED to talk to one other, telling (and listening to) the stories that make meaning of our lives.

As Lee embarks on a 40-mile figurative hero's journey to eradicate breast cancer, she will be telling a story to herself, her daughters, to her friends. Importantly, Lee, and thousands of women like her, will not undertake this journey alone, for the stories we tell ourselves in isolation often lead to discouragement and failure. Lee's sister from Colorado, sister-in-law from Maryland and her sister, three of Lee's cousins from western Canada, and friends Christine Vick and Amy Moe will walk with her, supporting and encouraging her.

Because I won't be physically walking her, as many of you won't (though you still can), what can I -- what can we -- do?

We can walk with our hearts by making an outright donation (each participant must raise $1,800 which will fund breast cancer research). Or by attending Lee's dessert party in Shrewsbury, MA on March 23 (I will be going -- the donation is $10, though I would pay $50 -- her desserts are that good). Or by buying some of Lee's handcrafted goods (pictured left) or those which have been lovingly donated (go systergy!) about which you can contact her directly at joleechipman@yahoo.com.

Most importantly, I can, we each can, "bear witness" to Lee's story, and to the story of each hero's journey. In the telling, the sHero makes meaning of her life. In the hearing, we make meaning of ours.

As you hear Lee's story, anything you'd like to share with her?

What hero's tale have you heard recently? Have you suggested that it be recorded?

Will you?

A little princess on a hero's journey

After taking the trivia quiz on the number of storytellers honored by Oscar, Katrina Van Overbeke, told me about SeeJane, an organization founded by Academy Award winner Geena Davis. In accordance with SeeJane's mission to improve gender portrayals in children's media, the organization commissioned USC's Annenberg School of Communications to analyze gender roles in over 100 G-rated films. The findings were summarized in Where the girls aren't.

Two highlights from the study are:

Did you know that three out of four characters are boys?

That fewer than one out of three speaking characters (28%) in film (live and animated) are female?

Lest I digress too far, let's go back to what I want to be our key takeaway:

If one of the best ways to find our voice is to listen to women who have found and expressed theirs, and these voices are hard to find, how do we do this?

Here are three suggestions:

1) Re-watch A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I saw this film when it was first released, and just happened across the below review from The Washington Post this morning. It is a beautiful film; here's a girl that is the hero of her story.

Link: ‘A Little Princess’

2) Take a look at this list of questions provided on the See Jane website. As you watch television or films with your children, I think you'll be surprised at just how underrepresented girls are. And it's not just television shows like Pokemon which my daughter happens to love because her older brother watches it. Two delightful bright points are Dora the Explorer and The Little Einsteins.

3) And finally, do you have stories inside of you? Are you telling them? They don't need to be written down -- just start telling stories, your story.

Any other films you'd recommend for young girls? Television shows?

Why we love American Idol

I freely admit it.

I love watching American Idol; I've even blogged about Melinda Doolittle.

But the fact is, my love of American Idol isn't novel or newsworthy; I'm one of 30 million plus.

So here's what I want to know:

Why do I -- why do WE -- love American Idol?

Because it's a hero's journey.

Right before our eyes we see hundreds of thousands hoping to be called to adventure, to be chosen to go on a hero's journey, and to obtain the boon. As we watch (and participate by voting), we find pieces of ourselves mirrored in the contestants, feeling as if we too are on the hero's journey.

Which is one of the reasons that Melinda Doolittle has become the frontrunner.

Sure, she can sing, she can really sing. Whether "My Funny Valentine" or "I'm a Woman", Melinda has unexpectedly moved us. Yet, she doesn't seem to know how good she is.

And so we begin to wonder, if Melinda doesn't know how talented she is, maybe we don't know how magnificent we are.

And if seemingly all-powerful Simon has discovered her, maybe we too will be discovered.

And, most especially, if Melinda, even with her quirks, can be called to adventure, and possibly obtain the boon, maybe we, with our own quirks, can be chosen too.

And isn't that a longing we all have?

Do you agree? Why or why not?

P.S. Whether Melinda wins American Idol or not, she will have been successful. By conquering her fear and insecurity, she chose to move to the center of her own life -- to be the hero of her story.

P.P.S. Our desire to be the one called to adventure (the chosen one) also explains why I was disappointed when I wasn't selected to go on Oprah's Miraval week, no matter how deserving those selected are. Just take a look at the story of Jennifer West.

Yes, in sending in the pOstcard I chose to be the hero of my story. But that longing we have for the spotlight to alight on us, to be chosen -- it runs deep!

Storytellers wanted

Some weeks ago, I shared with you my view that one of the best ways to find our voice is to listen to women who have found and expressed theirs. And yet, these women are difficult to find, whether in our circle of loved ones or in the press.

So, as I watched the Academy Awards this past Sunday, my interest was piqued.

Of the stories told through film this past year – stories that were considered the best in the world by their peers, and that over a billion people on the planet were celebrating - what role did women play in telling these stories?

Let’s take a look.

How many of the nominees for best picture (Babel, The Departed, Letters from Iwo Jima, Little Miss Sunshine, The Queen) were produced by women?

One. The Queen had three producers, two of whom were women. If you want to look at this from a statistical perspective, 20% of the films nominated were produced by women vs. the general world population of 50%+ women.

How many nominees for best original screenplay (Babel, Letters from Iwo Jima, Little Miss Sunshine, Pan’s Labyrinth, The Queen) were women?

Just one. Letters from Iwo Jima was co-written by a woman. At 20%, again under-indexed vs. the overall population. It's also interesting that in neither case was the woman nominated on a stand-alone basis.

How many nominees for best director (for Babel, The Departed, Letters from Iwo Jima, The Queen, United 93) were women?

Zero.

How many nominees for animated feature film were produced by women (Cars, Happy Feet, Monsters)?

Zero.

I could continue, but won't.

I'll just say: Storytellers wanted.

We have a space for women’s voices here.

Please tell us your story.

We want to hear it.

We need to hear it.

Triangulating on our story

Stories gather up parts of us and put them together in a way that gives our lives greater meaning than they had before we told our story. Robert Atkinson

Valerie Atkisson is telling her story in a most marvelous way. A visual artist by training, with a Master of Fine Arts degree from the School of Visual Arts in New York, Valerie has given voice to her story over the past decade by depicting the stories of her ancestors, and ultimately herself, through her artwork.

Of Valerie's Hanging Family History, made of copper wire and rice paper, and which was on exhibit at the D.U.M.B.O. Arts Center, New York City in 2000, author Amy Howell Jameson writes: “each triangle is an ancestor, linked together at the corners, parents connected to children…Valerie’s name is on the triangle at the very top, and she holds her entire known genealogy below her, over 5,000 names."

There is also Valerie’s Matriarchal Line, 1999, portraits painted first on paper, then directly on walls, which traces the stories of her grandmothers, and their grandmothers, with a delightful painting of herself as a young girl. As we dare to dream, we can thank our ancestors, in part, for the unique talents and gifts that help us piece ourselves together.

When asked about the inspiration for her artwork, Valerie writes, “[Growing up] I didn’t feel like I had one place that I was from. There was not a house or place that I could [call home]. But I knew a lot about whom I was from, and I had been to the places that they were from.” (In knowing this, Johnson Home, Trondheim Norway, 2001, a watercolor of an ancestral home, becomes more meaningful for her and for us). Summarizing, Valerie writes:

My art traces my lineage, a journey of generations, going back 2000 years, my identity [having been] shaped piece by piece by these 5,000 individuals.

As you take a closer look at the detail of Hanging Family History, imagine your name, instead of Valerie’s, on the tip-top triangle. How do you feel?

Is there a particular ancestor with whom you identify? Is it because you have a gift or talent in common? Is it a gift you will tap into as you dare to dream?

What stories do you need to tell to make meaning of your life?

Tell your story

Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth. Rumi

Several weeks ago, I stood up in front of a group of friends and shared my feelings about the importance of finding common ground in the community. It was an impassioned, stirring (when not muffled by tears) speech but when I sat down, I wondered – why did I do that? Why did I share my intimate, rather raw, ideas and feelings?

Just days later, my friend Jane, told me she’d had a similar why did I do that? moment. She had just finished writing the manuscript for a book titled I Am a Mother and sent it off to her publisher Deseret Book. In the book, Jane tells true, sometimes uncomfortable stories about herself and her family, all in the service of her message about motherhood. But the price she pays to share this message is opening up her life to, potentially, hundreds of thousands of people. And opening up, whether Jane, or you or me, often cues feelings of embarrassment and vulnerability.

I’m finding though, that opening up -- and feeling vulnerable -- is also a cue that we’re sharing something meaningful, an experience perhaps, or lesson learned. And because we as women instinctively want to help another, we choose to leave our comfortable place, to reveal ourselves, and tell our stories.

And in turn, we help ourselves.

It has been said by a number of psychologists who study recovery from trauma that mourning without empathy leads to madness, and that the person who suffers loss must be able to give testimony to someone as a way of working-through and learning from this loss. We often think of loss of a marriage or a loved one, but there is also the loss of a friend, our spry young bodies, or lost opportunities that need to be acknowledged. We often don’t give voice to these losses because we think they aren’t big enough to mourn. But they are. Just because they are universal doesn’t make them any less individual or personal.

As we give voice to these experiences, whether through words, scrapbooking, painting, song, or other expression, we will experience the catharsis that comes with giving testimony, and our experience gains power, and can influence people's lives, whether the women with whom we are daring to dream, or our daughters.

To date, I have mostly expressed my experiences and made meaning of my life through personal essays and children’s stories, but because of my friend Kathleen's exquisite photography, I find myself more and more drawn to images as a means of telling stories. And, then there are the voice lessons that I am taking...

Have I published anything? Nope. Have I been paid for my stories? No....

....and yes!

In his book, The Gift of Stories, Robert Atkinson writes:

Stories gather up parts of us and put them together in a way that gives our lives greater meaning than they had before we told our story. The ability to see our life as a comprehensible story is a key to our happiness. And, it may well be that we leave no greater legacy than the story of our life.

What better story, whether through word, song, or painting, can we tell our daughters than this: that we have dared to dream and, in doing so, we have discovered more of who we are.

What story will you tell this year?

Will you paint, take pictures, scrapbook, compose a song, write an essay, a poem, write a book like Jane, or start a blog? Or something else entirely?

Do you need to Do-it-yourself?

If you don’t design a culture, you get one you don’t want. Charlie Hughes, former head of Land Rover, North America

I recently interviewed several law firms in connection with one of my consulting projects. After contacting two all-male teams, I spoke to a third, where one of the partners was a woman. Seemingly out of nowhere came the thought – “I don’t want to hire a woman.” I wasn’t concerned about competence. She had come highly recommended, and after speaking to her I was sold.

So why did this thought flash through my mind?

Because I wasn’t sure how I’d interact with her. Given that I can count on one hand the number of female peers I’ve had in the last five years, I haven’t had much practice working with women in a business setting. Worse yet, I was reluctant to share the inevitable attention that comes with being the only woman on a project.

Whoa – stop right there!!

Here I am encouraging the formation of an Intellectual Immigration fund that allows for women to mentor one another, one that is powered by systergy, and “I don’t want to hire a woman?”

As I examined this pesky thought, I remembered a situation in which I’d had similar feelings. We had just hired a new senior analyst at Merrill Lynch. Andrea Weinberg was covering metals and mining stocks and she was much younger than me so I don’t remember feeling competitive. But, I do remember thinking – I don’t know how to interact with her. Do I treat her like one of the guys? Do I reach out and mentor her? What do I do? It seems I had learned the rules of playing on the boy’s playground so well that I had forgotten how to play with the girls.

Which got me to thinking, analyzing, wanting to understand, and realizing that I have two opposing impulses. I deeply care about and want to mentor and empower women. But I also have learned to play in a keenly competitive world where helping someone may mean I put myself at a disadvantage.

The question then is -- can I reconcile the two?

We needn’t go much further than our local movie theatre to understand the leadership style that is most valued in our society. Think about Harrison Ford in Star Wars, Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity, Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible 3. We love the rugged hero – competitive, combative, individualistic.

The traits of these heroes tend to prevail in corporate America, and girls and women are encouraged to adopt these characteristics in order to be successful. However, because women don’t usually instinctively come by these traits, we become even more competitive to prove that we are good enough. So that once we achieve some measure of hard-won success, there can be a piece of us that is reluctant to share our survival techniques (e.g. being the only woman in the room is not only fun, it can actually become a competitive advantage).

But, as demonstrated in the film, based on the book, The Devil Wears Prada, a woman as the rugged, competitive hero doesn’t quite work. Women receive a mixed message: society encourages us to compete like a man, but then condemns us for doing so. In the film, Anne Hathaway’s character is thrown into the competitive world of fashion, and she prevails, only to have her loved ones tell her she’s sold her soul to the devil. Implicit in the story is that for her to get the guy and keep her friends she has to quit the high-powered job. The male hero can prevail AND get the girl. The heroine has to choose: succeed in her ambitions OR get the guy.

My guess is that many women leave the workplace precisely because of this catch-22. It is in large part why I did. A woman enters the business world with her innate leadership style of connecting and caring, but then is encouraged to leave these traits at the door if she wants to succeed. She does so for a time, at least ostensibly, but eventually finds that she values these skills too much to not incorporate them into her work style. She tries to collaborate across departments and mentor junior employees, but her efforts aren’t valued. As a young worker she didn’t have the confidence to go out on her own, but now she does. And so she says: I don’t want this culture any more, I’m going to find a better culture, or create my own.

The irony of this situation is that women are leaving corporate America precisely at a time when our relational skills, those that focus on collaborating and contributing are most in need. Consider Thomas Friedman’s words in the NY-Times bestseller The World is Flat: “Globalization 2.0 was… very vertical—command-and-control oriented [symbolized by the mainframe computer], with companies and their individual departments tending to be organized in vertical silos. Globalization 3.0… has flipped the playing field from largely top-down to more side-to-side [symbolized by the PC and the internet]. This [has] naturally fostered and demanded new business practices, which are less about command and control (traditional male achieving styles) and more about connecting and collaborating horizontally (traditional female achieving styles).”

Did I hire the female attorney?

Yes and no. We hired her firm, but as it turns out we will be working with her partner who happens to be a man.

Did I finally mentor the junior analyst at Merrill Lynch?

Not as well as she I would have liked, but after sort of recognizing what was happening, I made a few clunky attempts.

Did I like "The Devil Wears Prada"?

I LOVED the clothes, but found myself a bit disconsolate when Anne Hathaway’s friends were so critical of her – even after she gifted a very expensive bag to her friend, and especially when she quit her job. I know, I know. It wasn’t her dream job. But what if it had been?

Now, back to my earlier question: Can we reconcile the two impulses? Is it possible to find or create a business culture in which women can thrive and feel empowered to use their innate skills and mentor other women?

I’ve bet my Wall-Street salary on it.

Apart from the Psyche myth (and Jennifer Garner's character in Alias -- sometimes), is there a story in literature or film, in which women succeed at their ambitions and have fulfilling relationships?

Are you already in a business or non-profit situation where you can use your innate skills of connecting, collaborating and mentoring? Tell us more.

Stories we love and live by

The destiny of the world is determined less by the battles that are lost and won than by the stories it loves and believes in. Harold Goddard

One of our family’s beloved traditions is bedtime reading. We snuggle with our children, have real conversations with them (they think they are successfully deploying a stall tactic – we know better), say our goodnight prayers, and then we read stories. We have loved reading Come on Rain by Karen Hesse, a picture book which recounts the anticipation, and then the sheer delight, of a young girl and her friends and their mothers, as they revel and romp in the rain on a hot, humid day. Frindle by Andrew Clements left us agog at Nicholas Allen’s ingenuity, amazed at the power of words. And then there is The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald. We were deeply touched by the magical grandmother’s gentle mentoring of her princess granddaughter.

One story that I hope to share with my daughter soon is the myth of Psyche. This is a story that I love, a story that I believe in. It is one of the few, according to Jungian psychologists Jean Shinoda Bolen and Robert Johnson, that help us understand the psychology of feminine, rather than masculine, development.

Let’s take a look.

Psyche is a mortal woman who wants to find her estranged husband, Eros, God of Love and son of Aphrodite. Aphrodite, whose jealous fit led to their meeting and falling in love in the first place, holds the key to their being reunited: it often happens that whatever has wounded us is instrumental in our healing.

Aphrodite assigns Psyche four tasks, all of which are symbolic of skills she needs to develop. Note that while each task requires her to do more than she feels capable of, and she is initially paralyzed by fear, they are part of a course that Psyche has chosen.

Task 1: Sort seeds

For the first task, Psyche must sort 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.

Sifting through possibilities and establishing personal priorities in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties requires a sorting of the seeds. Sometimes we need to sleep on the problem letting the industrious collective of ants – our subconscious – work things out. As we learn to trust our intuition, clarity will emerge.

Task 2: Acquire golden fleece

Aphrodite next orders Psyche to obtain golden fleece from the rams of the sun, huge aggressive beasts who are in a field, butting against each other. This task also seems impossible, for if Psyche goes amongst the rams, she’ll be trampled. This time, instead of ants coming to her aid, the reeds on the river’s edge call to her, advising her to wait until sundown when the rams disperse so she can safely pick strands of fleece off the brambles the rams have brushed against.

Psyche’s ability to acquire the golden fleece without being crushed is a metaphor for a every woman’s task of gaining power without losing her innate sense of connectedness and compassion. My friend Lori Richards shared these words from Suzanne Brogger:

If a woman can only succeed by emulating men, I think it is a great loss and not a success. The aim is not only for a woman to succeed, but to keep her womanhood and let her womanhood influence society.

Task 3: Fill the crystal flask

For the third task, Psyche must fill a flask with water from an inhospitable stream, etched into a jagged cliff and guarded by dragons. To help her in this seemingly impossible task, the eagle of Zeus, CEO of Olympus, has the ability to see what it wants and plunge from the sky and grab it with its talons.

Psyche’s ability to fill the crystal flask is symbolic of her learning how to set a goal, avoid the pitfalls that will inevitably come, and to then achieve her goal.

Task 4: Learn to say no

For the fourth and final task, Aphrodite orders Psyche to descend into the underworld and fill a box with the beauty ointment. This task is more than the traditional hero’s test, for Psyche is told she will encounter people on her way who will ask for her help, and she will have to ignore their pleas and continue on.

To set a goal and pursue it in the face of requests for help from others is especially difficult for women whose lives are focused on care giving. In completing the task of saying no, three times, Psyche exercises choice. Many women allow themselves to be imposed on and diverted as they set about their goals. They cannot accomplish what they set out to do, or to determine their life course until they learn to say no. I love these words attributed to Oprah Winfrey:

We can’t ever REALLY say yes, until we learn to say no.

As Psyche completes these four tasks, she grows and develops. Yet, despite ALL she achieves, her basic feminine nature remains unchanged. For she never would have undergone this hero’s journey, risking everything, had it not been for a relationship.

Why do I love this story? Why do I want my daughter to live by it?

Because to become who she is – to accomplish all that she was meant to do – she needs to not only love and nurture and care and connect, she needs to know how to sort through and prioritize her possibilities, to learn when and how to obtain power without selling her soul, to keep her eyes on her prize, and to learn to say no.

As she does so, she will say yes to who she really is.

May we each say YES!

What stories do you love and believe in? What stories encourage you to dream? Tell me more.

Your very own voice

Once you have learned to trust your own voice… you have the basic tool to fulfill your dreams. Natalie Goldberg in Writing down the Bones

About two years ago, I started taking voice lessons. This was a big risk for me. Really big. I was a music major in college, but my specialty wasn’t voice, it was piano. I had accompanied hundreds of vocalists performing every kind of music - from classical to Broadway to religious music – and I was good at it. So for me to sing - removed from the safe comfort of my piano keyboard – was terrifying. Especially because even though I could generally sing on pitch, I knew that my vocal talent nowhere near approached my keyboard potential.