dare to dream

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 Harker'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 + 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 [email protected].

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!