dare to dream

Knowing what to overlook

My 9 yr-old daughter bounded into our bedroom this morning, announcing that she has two projects on the docket for today.  The first is a habitat with rocks and soil in a re-purposed lizard tank (think fish tank but for land creatures).  The second is to make animals out of homemade play-doh and paint them.

As I listened to the unveiling of her plans, the only thing I could really focus on was that her fingernails were dirty, and needed to be cut before we go to church.

Seriously.

I did finally push out of my mouth something like "What great initiative Miranda! Sounds like a terrific project!"  But this was not my first or even screaming-to-be-said thought.

When we interact with adults, and even other people's children, we make a concerted effort to emphasize the good over the bad, carefully timing any bad.  Yet we often, even compulsively, and clumsily point out what isn't right with our children.

Wrote William James, "the art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook."

I'm thinking that if I want to rear children that know how to dream, and be a person around whom others will feel it's safe to dream, it would behoove me to work on overlooking the bad, underscoring the good.

I will eventually mention that my daughter needs to trim her nails, because good grooming is important. But the timing difference -- a delay of just two hours -- is key.

What and when to overlook.

May we be wise.

Saying our name

Can you say your name?  Or would you rather stay unknown?  Stevie Wonder

When I voted this week, the poll worker looked up at me and said, 

"Whitney Johnson -- what a pretty name."

I get that compliment with some frequency, but I didn't use to.

When I was about ten, my parents were late to pick me up from the library.  After calling and asking the librarian to tell me they'd be late, not realizing I was within earshot, she said, 'Whitney -- what kind of a name is that?"

Not too many days later, I launched a 'Call Me Suzanne' campaign, complete with signage on my closet door. As you may have surmised, the campaign was a bust.  Everyone continues to call me Whitney, or some derivative thereof.

Sticks and bones may break my bones, but names....

You remember the rest of the couplet.

Patently untrue, isn't it?

Any words that people use to name us, or more generally speaking, to label us, deeply affect our identity.

In the The Zookeeper's Wife, Diane Ackerman's non-fiction work about one of the most successful hideouts during World War II, shares the following:

Polish emigre Eva Hoffman, writes movingly about the psychic earthquake of having to shed her name:   'Nothing much has happened, except a small, seismic mental shift.  The twist in our names takes them a tiny distance from us -- but it is a gap into which the infinite hobgoblin of abstraction enters.'  Suddenly her given name and her sister's no longer existed, even though 'they were as surely us as our eyes or hands.'  And the new names were 'identification tags, disembodied signs pointing to objects that happen to be my sister and myself.  We walk to our seats, into a roomful of unknown faces, with names that makes us strangers to ourselves.'

Our name, our identity -- our who we are.

How do we feel when someone remembers our name?  When someone calls us by name?  When someone asks us to link to them on LinkedIn with a personal note?

Many have credited Bill Clinton's remarkable political success to his interpersonal intelligence, his ability to read people, to remember their names.  I wouldn't be surprised if many feel the same about Barack Obama.

And what of the labels we affix to others?

Every day we see something impressive or magnificent in those around us. Some we know well, some we don't.  Do we tell them what we think?  Do we give them the gift of our words, helping to make their identity less abstract, more concrete?

If we were to put a slight twist on the names or labels we currently give to people, what kind of mental seismic shift might occur?  For them?  for us?

Sticks and stones may break our bones, but names...

...will always help us?  Heal us?

Much better.

What is your name?  Do you like it?   Do people use your name?  If you are a woman and married, and took on the name of your husband, how did your identity shift?  What about the other labels that make up your identity?

Have you reinforced your identity by purchasing your domain name?  If it's too expensive to buy www.annjohnson.com because someone already owns it, why not buy annjjohnson.com?

Have you bought domain names for your children?  Instead of buying stock or savings bonds for their next birthday, why not buy them domain names?

Have you named your dream?

Affirming our 'I'dentity

My friend Aaron recently went to a book-signing for Julie Andrew's book Home:  A Memoir of my Early Years, had two copies autographed, and was kind enough to gift me the second copy.

Now for those of you that don't know Aaron -- he's 6' 6", and a former college football player, making his fondness for Julie Andrews all the more darling.

Even so, I was far more appreciative than I could express.

This gift wasn't just a book, it was an affirmation of my 'I', my 'I'dentity -- my self, as it were.

Perhaps you recall that when I was three I saw The Sound of Music for the first time.  It was this film that prompted my discovery of music and the piano, and one of my earliest, perhaps most important childhood dreams -- that of becoming a concert pianist.

Did he, could he, have known all of this?

Likely not.

This past week my friend Stacey Petrey gave a similarly thoughtful gift in hosting another More Women Networking luncheon at the Harvard Club here in Boston.

She knows we appreciate her organizing the luncheon.

But I don't think she quite comprehends, nor can she, just how much of a gift this luncheon actually was.

For, just like Aaron, Stacey gave a gift to our 'I's.

So much of our lives are about shoring up our roles as caregivers, nurturers, connectors.  How wonderful it was to have two hours focused on our identities, our selves.

Empowerment of women?  Perhaps.

The well-being of More Women?

Without a doubt.

Has someone given you a gift recently that you were moved by, far more than you had anticipated?  Were they unexpectedly affirming a nascent or forgotten piece of your self?

When was the last time you spent a few hours focused on your 'I'dentity?

Related posts:
Tell your soundtrack story:  Of childhood and Christmas
An artist of encouragement
Mary and Martha
Pew Research Center "Fewer Mothers Prefer Full-Time Work" 
Bounty

Tell your soundtrack story: College, culmination of childhood dreams

If you are here for the first time, you may want to skim through Tell your soundtrack story:  Part I before reading further.

Important music during my 20's seems to largely represent the culmination of childhood dreams, prior to pursuing different dreams.  I've tried to capture this experience in a children's book which Mallika Sundaramurthy has illustrated; I will share the book with you at a later date.

Clip 1:  I am playing Lizst's, Concert Etude in D-flat Major, "Un sospiro" as part of my senior piano recital (for my posterity -- entire program is below).  This recital was a significant milestone: it allowed me to be the hero of my story, rethink my competence, and tell an audio story for my posterity.  It was also a stepping stone, as I symbolically closed the chapter on a childhood dream, prior to starting my career chapter in New York.  I owe a debt to Dr. Paul Pollei for pushing me and preparing me to pull this off -- a huge debt.  A reminder of the importance of our mentoring others.

Clip 2:  I am playing the piano, but this time as part of Brigham Young University's big band Synthesis performing at the renowned Montreux Jazz Festival.  Even a short listen will reveal I don't have the same confidence playing jazz as I do classical.  But in some ways, I am even more proud of this recording because it signalled a departure from reading music to improvising, providing me with another opportunity to rethink my competence.

Two more lessons learned as it relates to 'dare to dream'.

Saying our dream out loud -- As a freshman classical piano student, when I heard Synthesis perform which included Sam Cardon and Kurt Bestor, I later made the pronoucement in front of a large group of women at my church (the Relief Society) that I was going to play in Synthesis.  Given my skills at the time, the pronouncement was pretty laughable.  What dream do you need to utter out loud?

Mentors were key to achieving this dream -- Without my piano teacher, Steve Erickson, who now plays with the U.S. Air Force, and the encouragement of Jeff Campbell, an amazing musican who now teaches at the Eastman School of Music, who was gracious enough to never remind me just what an amateur I was.

Clip 3:  Nancy Wilson with Cannonball Adderley performing The Old Country.  This was the kind of music I aspired to play, and still love to listen to.  You can buy here. And listen below.

Clip 4:  I've written extensively about my Wall Street story, but I haven't spoken much of my spiritual/personal life during that decade.  Eternal Day was set to music by D. Fletcher, performed by D. Fletcher on piano, Alison Eldredge on cello, and Ariel Bybee, vocals.  When you hear it, perhaps you'll understand how church every Sunday was always complete with D. Fletcher at the organ with nary a word spoken. . For more on spiritual journeys, you may want to read Neylan McBaine's article, Seeds of faith in city soil.

Do you have spiritual or secular stories that need to be told?  And better yet, stories that marry the two?

P.S. Thank you to Neal Robison for helping me with the clips. Check out the blog of his darling wife Macy.

Related posts:

Tell your soundtrack story:  Part II

Tell your soundtrack story:  Part III

Giant baby steps

Telling my Wall Street story

Boston Globe Op-Ed:  Romney, Mormons and Me

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

What I learned about seeing from my glasses

I recently bought glasses.

Having never needed nor worn glasses, this was a big deal.

But my choice to get my eyes checked, and buy glasses on my birthday, left me wondering.

It's good to again read fine print, but of all the things that I could do on my birthday, why would my focus shift to eyeglasses?

Surely there was a bigger picture.

In buying glasses, was I acknowledging that even as my physical eyes deteriorate, I am seeing myself -- my who I am, my competence -- better than ever?

Further, are my glasses a tangible reminder of how important it is to me to mentor, to be a see-er of the magnificence in others, until they can see the magnificence in themselves?

And the answers to these rhetorical questions are --

Yes and yes.

I couldn't have given myself a better present.

What do you see more clearly today than you did last year, five years, ten years ago?

Who can you be a see-er for while she/he learns to see for themselves?

Mentoring for a moment

In late August, lovely Barbara Torris responded to my question -- "Who are your heros?".

Imagine her surprise when, last week, one of her heros, Russell Kirsch, the man who invented the square pixel in cameras, and taught computers how to "see", called to thank Barbara for her blog.

There was something quite wonderful about their interchange, but I can't quite figure out what -- will you think with me for a moment?

When Barbara wrote about Russell Kirsch, wasn't she giving a gift of her self?

Is there someone that you admire -- that is very much your hero -- to whom you can say thank you?

Whether the person responds or not, in our expression of thanks, we not only clarify what we value, our gratitude reminds us that we are not the center of everything, but a part; that we are connected. (Note: though Peggy Noonan didn't respond to my 'fan mail' two years ago, in setting forth what I admired about her, I clarified how I aspire to be.)

When Russell Kirsch responded to Barbara Torris, wasn't he receiving her gift?

Who admires you? Someone you know well, not at all, younger (probably), the children in your life? Anything you can do to receive this gift freely given?

Gift given, gift received.

Yes, yes, but it feels like there is something more....

In the Identifying my heros entry, I posed the question, "given that my childhood heros (Samantha Stevens, UCLA cheerleaders) have shaped who I've become, is it possible that my current heros (e.g. Peggy Noonan, Laura Laviada) can shape who I will yet become?"

If this is indeed true, then isn't it also true that when Russell Kirsch responded to Barbara Torris, he increased the odds that she will become what she aspires to be?

And finally, when we respond to someone who admires us -- aren't we actually saying that we see something magnificent in her that she can’t yet see, and that we are here, in this moment, to be her see-er until she can be her own?

I'm not a betting woman, but I sure do like these odds.

Whose hero are you?

Will you mentor her for a moment?

I recently went rock climbing for the first time.

Scaling the face of a rock was so far outside my comfort zone that I suspected there was something to be learned about daring and dreaming.

Lesson #1 -- Surround ourselves with heros of support
When Whitney C, our host, asked a group of us who wanted to go rock climbing the next day, I immediately raised my hand. In a quieter moment, my husband expressed surprise and delight; he had fully expected I would stay behind. Five years ago, his prediction would have been accurate. Fear of heights, falling, looking clumsy. Yep, I would have opted out.

Are we surrounding ourselves with people who want us to be the hero of our story? People who, when they see us doing things differently than we have in the past, moving from the sidelines of our life to the center, encourage us? Are we, in turn, heros of support?

Photo courtesy of Kyle Hirsch

Lesson #2 -- Systergy bridges us from imagine to explore
I wanted to climb, but I was scared. Laurel, who had agreed to belay me, not only made sure there was so little slack in the rope that if I lost my footing I wouldn't fall more than a few inches, she continually shouted out "atta girls".

When we want to explore, and showing up is a feat in and of itself, being able to place ourselves in the capable hands of another, often bridges us from imagine to explore. Knowing that Laurel, and her husband Devon, were committed to helping me and the other neophytes in the group was a gift.

Photo courtesy of Seth Neilson

Lesson #3 -- Exploring helps us rethink our competence
Once I’d reached my summit, I was truly proud. By exploring, I had conquered (at least for the moment) my fear of climbing, looking clumsy, and especially of heights.

It is, however, interesting to me that while I love going fast (perhaps because speed is somehow emblematic of ambition), I don't love heights (symbolic of perspective?). When we go fast, we can only see to the horizon; when we go up, we see so so, so, much more. Could it be that our possibilities, indeed our magnificence, albeit glorious, frighten us just a wee bit?

What have you tried recently that you were afraid to do?

Why were you afraid?

Even if you were fairly clumsy, as I was rock climbing, how did you feel afterward?

What role did the people around you play?

What similarities do you see between belaying and mentoring? Parenting?

Are you ever overwhelmed by your own possibilities of who you are and what you can accomplish?

I am. Perhaps I'll try sky diving next.

Matt Langdon over at The Hero Workshop recently interviewed me for his Hero Interviews.

He asked only two questions:

Who was your hero as a child and why?

Who are your heros today and why?

If you can believe it, I hadn't ever asked myself these questions, certainly not in a compare and contrast format.

My answers were surprising (the title is your hint), and thus revelatory, and I can't wait to share with you what I've learned.

In the meantime, who are your heros?

It was several years ago, but it seems like yesterday.

About a month before Merrill Lynch management was to decide on bonuses, my boss reviewed my various performance metrics, including, among others: did my stock calls make money for our clients, were the clients happy with my service. When he got to the metric "# of phone calls and/or meetings with clients", a number which was 40% higher than the average, he said:

“That's great, but isn't the number of client contacts high because it's fun for you?" The implication being: "I don't know that I need to compensate you for your client interactions (even though it helped drive revenue for the firm) because you're a woman -- and women like to talk on the phone and socialize."

Source: JIFormales, Flickr

With nearly three years of hindsight, here's what I wish I would have said:

“John (that's not his real name), I do like what I do. Correction. I love what I do. I love servicing our clients, and in many instances, I am genuinely fond of them. Aren't you glad that what I "love to do" generates revenue for the firm? Now, let's talk about bonuses for this year..."

In fairness to "John", his attitude is widespread and pervasive. And not just among men.

Let me illustrate by asking you the following two questions:

When you stay at a hotel, how much on average do you tip the bellmen/valets?

How much, on average, do you tip housekeeping?

Said another way, do you pay a lot more to the people (usually men) carrying the luggage that you don't need carried, opening the door you don't need opened, and retrieving the car you could get yourself, than you do to the people (usually women) who clean your room, something that you very much want to be done, and don't want to do yourself?

Now for a "not walking the talk, mea culpa" story:

When I was in Mexico last month, after the bellman hoisted my suitcase (which I could have lifted myself) into the back of a cab, I apologized (apologized!) because I didn’t have any cash on hand for a tip. Just hours before, as a housekeeper put the finishing touches on my room, I thought “I don’t need to pay her; she likes doing what she’s doing."

She likes to make my bed, pick up my towels?

That's not what I said last summer when the person cleaning our family's cruise ship cabin was a man.

We tipped him well, very well.

Hmmm.

Here's my take:

Because nurturing and caring for others tends to be a strong suit for women (I would argue it's innate), when a women gives/helps/mentors, we easily slip into a mindset of "she's doing this because she likes to, and therefore doesn't need to be compensated".

What's sad is... when she (we) aren't compensated for our work, we wonder -- did I not do good work? I'll try and do better next time. Worse yet, do we think -- is what I'm doing not important? Does what I know how to do not matter to society? If it doesn't matter to society, should it matter to me?

And what's especially sad is that when we're in this dump of a place, even a double-dog dare may not be enough to get us to dream.

So, let's change. Not a chump change. Or a small change.

But a big change.

A big wad of cash change.

Some suggestions:

1) The next time one of us goes to a hotel, let's leave a tip for housekeeping. It will be hard. Let's do it anyway.

2) When one of our female friends (or not) offers to provide us with a service – like cutting our hair – and she wants to undercharge, or do it for free, let's tell her we are going to pay market because we value her skill, her work and her time. Note: If money is an issue in the short-term, what about a barter arrangement?

3) Finally, when a woman renders a service, before deciding whether to pay, or how much to pay, let's ask ourselves: If a man were to provide this service to me, would I expect to pay him? If so, how much would I pay?

I'm ready for a big wad of cash change -- how about you?

Rock climbing and rethinking our competence

I recently went rock climbing for the first time.

Scaling the face of a rock was so far outside my comfort zone that I suspected there was something to be learned about daring and dreaming.

Lesson #1 -- Surround ourselves with heros of support
When Whitney C, our host, asked a group of us who wanted to go rock climbing the next day, I immediately raised my hand. In a quieter moment, my husband expressed surprise and delight; he had fully expected I would stay behind. Five years ago, his prediction would have been accurate. Fear of heights, falling, looking clumsy. Yep, I would have opted out.

Are we surrounding ourselves with people who want us to be the hero of our story? People who, when they see us doing things differently than we have in the past, moving from the sidelines of our life to the center, encourage us? Are we, in turn, heros of support?

Photo courtesy of Kyle Hirsch

Lesson #2 -- Systergy bridges us from imagine to explore
I wanted to climb, but I was scared. Laurel, who had agreed to belay me, not only made sure there was so little slack in the rope that if I lost my footing I wouldn't fall more than a few inches, she continually shouted out "atta girls".

When we want to explore, and showing up is a feat in and of itself, being able to place ourselves in the capable hands of another, often bridges us from imagine to explore. Knowing that Laurel, and her husband Devon, were committed to helping me and the other neophytes in the group was a gift.

Photo courtesy of Seth Neilson

Lesson #3 -- Exploring helps us rethink our competence
Once I’d reached my summit, I was truly proud. By exploring, I had conquered (at least for the moment) my fear of climbing, looking clumsy, and especially of heights.

It is, however, interesting to me that while I love going fast (perhaps because speed is somehow emblematic of ambition), I don't love heights (symbolic of perspective?). When we go fast, we can only see to the horizon; when we go up, we see so so, so, much more. Could it be that our possibilities, indeed our magnificence, albeit glorious, frighten us just a wee bit?

What have you tried recently that you were afraid to do?

Why were you afraid?

Even if you were fairly clumsy, as I was rock climbing, how did you feel afterward?

What role did the people around you play?

What similarities do you see between belaying and mentoring? Parenting?

Are you ever overwhelmed by your own possibilities of who you are and what you can accomplish?

I am. Perhaps I'll try sky diving next.

What do Bewitched, Alias and The Lord of the Rings have in common?

Matt Langdon over at The Hero Workshop recently interviewed me for his Hero Interviews.

He asked only two questions:

Who was your hero as a child and why?

Who are your heros today and why?

If you can believe it, I hadn't ever asked myself these questions, certainly not in a compare and contrast format.

My answers were surprising (the title is your hint), and thus revelatory, and I can't wait to share with you what I've learned.

In the meantime, who are your heros?

Valuing what women do

It was several years ago, but it seems like yesterday.

About a month before Merrill Lynch management was to decide on bonuses, my boss reviewed my various performance metrics, including, among others: did my stock calls make money for our clients, were the clients happy with my service. When he got to the metric "# of phone calls and/or meetings with clients", a number which was 40% higher than the average, he said:

“That's great, but isn't the number of client contacts high because it's fun for you?" The implication being: "I don't know that I need to compensate you for your client interactions (even though it helped drive revenue for the firm) because you're a woman -- and women like to talk on the phone and socialize."

Source: JIFormales, Flickr

With nearly three years of hindsight, here's what I wish I would have said:

“John (that's not his real name), I do like what I do. Correction. I love what I do. I love servicing our clients, and in many instances, I am genuinely fond of them. Aren't you glad that what I "love to do" generates revenue for the firm? Now, let's talk about bonuses for this year..."

In fairness to "John", his attitude is widespread and pervasive. And not just among men.

Let me illustrate by asking you the following two questions:

When you stay at a hotel, how much on average do you tip the bellmen/valets?

How much, on average, do you tip housekeeping?

Said another way, do you pay a lot more to the people (usually men) carrying the luggage that you don't need carried, opening the door you don't need opened, and retrieving the car you could get yourself, than you do to the people (usually women) who clean your room, something that you very much want to be done, and don't want to do yourself?

Now for a "not walking the talk, mea culpa" story:

When I was in Mexico last month, after the bellman hoisted my suitcase (which I could have lifted myself) into the back of a cab, I apologized (apologized!) because I didn’t have any cash on hand for a tip. Just hours before, as a housekeeper put the finishing touches on my room, I thought “I don’t need to pay her; she likes doing what she’s doing."

She likes to make my bed, pick up my towels?

That's not what I said last summer when the person cleaning our family's cruise ship cabin was a man.

We tipped him well, very well.

Hmmm.

Here's my take:

Because nurturing and caring for others tends to be a strong suit for women (I would argue it's innate), when a women gives/helps/mentors, we easily slip into a mindset of "she's doing this because she likes to, and therefore doesn't need to be compensated".

What's sad is... when she (we) aren't compensated for our work, we wonder -- did I not do good work? I'll try and do better next time. Worse yet, do we think -- is what I'm doing not important? Does what I know how to do not matter to society? If it doesn't matter to society, should it matter to me?

And what's especially sad is that when we're in this dump of a place, even a double-dog dare may not be enough to get us to dream.

So, let's change. Not a chump change. Or a small change.

But a big change.

A big wad of cash change.

Some suggestions:

1) The next time one of us goes to a hotel, let's leave a tip for housekeeping. It will be hard. Let's do it anyway.

2) When one of our female friends (or not) offers to provide us with a service – like cutting our hair – and she wants to undercharge, or do it for free, let's tell her we are going to pay market because we value her skill, her work and her time. Note: If money is an issue in the short-term, what about a barter arrangement?

3) Finally, when a woman renders a service, before deciding whether to pay, or how much to pay, let's ask ourselves: If a man were to provide this service to me, would I expect to pay him? If so, how much would I pay?

I'm ready for a big wad of cash change -- how about you?