Smart People Talking About One Thing: Women In Charge

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 A back room full of attractive, driven people got together Monday night over platters of roasted cauliflower and beer-braised chicken for an “Essay Club” (less commitment than a book club) about “Women in Charge.” I can’t remember the last time I had a chance to talk at length with smart people about one focused topic, and it was valuable time (reading the assigned essays in advance, the conversation itself, and the thoughts I keep coming back to in the wake of it).

At my end of the table, we had to keeping calling ourselves back to the fact that this is who we are in the conversation: three women with advanced degrees joined by two men who have founded startups and led companies, all of us living in New York City. Life does not suck for us — not even a little bit — when it comes to what and how we’re doing professionally right this moment.

And yet, we worry about why more women aren’t in charge, who is in charge and how to get more of us in those roles. We wonder how we can duck any curveballs about to be lobbied our way in the workplace.

Read the rest of my post over on Medium.

Photo credit: Chris Gold on Flickr

Grapefruit Marges and Other Gifts

I just finished reading a book that multiple friends have been asking me to read for a couple years: The Five Love Languages.

While trying to figure out what my own “love language” is, I’ve been trying to remember what I do to make myself feel loved and cared for (beyond the priorities of sleep, working out, a healthy way of eating and a clean/organized home).

It turns out that my love language is gifts, and I do buy myself gifts when I’m feeling blue, ecstatically happy, celebrating closing a deal or feeling stressed out. And we’re not talking “retail therapy.” I don’t go bonkers on clothes and shoes (though I’d have such a great wardrobe if I did).

No, I either buy myself flowers or take myself out to a special meal or get stuff to make a great dinner and cocktails at home.

Tonight, I made a beehive to the fancy local grocer and picked up some ingredients to make grapefruit margaritas and a bleu cheese, walnut and mushroom tart.

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How do you take care of yourself? Do you have any rituals that are sure to cheer you up or make you happy?

Dreaming in Limbo

I’m having a dream about that second-to-last night you’re in an apartment before you move. You’re excited about your new place – really excited – but something about looking around at the boxes and blank walls makes you incredibly sad and nostalgic for the times you had while you lived here.

In my dream, I’m packing up those last essentials … toothbrush, a few pairs of shoes. In the cleaned fridge remain only a half-full gallon of spring water and the last two eggs in the carton.

My mind is helping me clean house after closing a door I’d, we’d, kept barely open with our foot for months. I was tired of living there alone.

I woke up from the dream to an email response that I was waiting for. And now my dream is calling me back to go sweep one last time, check all the corners and closets, pack up the cat and look around and smile before I back out of the room and close that door.

All These Love Letters

As I walked down the G train platform headed home from Williamsburg, I noticed the busker had done very well judging by the number of dollars fluttering in his guitar case.

A woman was speaking to him. I overheard her saying she booked talent at such and such place and that she’d tell them about him. As I moved further down the platform, behind me I heard her ask him, “What’s your name again?”

NYC Subway Busker

He launched into another song as I found a spot on the platform. His voice was low and soft, the strumming of his guitar a light, silk-like backdrop for sound waves the color of a good chocolate. I didn’t recognize the song but it was beautiful in his voice. After a break in the song, all of a moment, a woman’s voice joined in for the chorus.

I peeked back from behind a column, and it’s the same woman he’d been speaking to when I walked past. And her voice was strong, clear like a bell and deeply melodic. She didn’t ask for permission. She just sang. Across the platform, I caught a man shaking his head and smiling in wonder as he likely thought, “New York, I love you.”

They wrapped up the song together and I looked back again. We, the people on the platform, shared a round of applause for the impromptu duo. The busker smiled broadly and stomped, blown away by the random stranger’s voice. A beat later and he was kneeling down next to where she sat on the bench, exchanging telephone numbers.

As the train on the opposite platform departed, the busker eased into Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.” His new lady friend’s voice joined in again at the chorus, and her voice seemed to agree with the song. Then our train pulled into the station and I boarded thinking, “I love you, New York.”

And I rode home thinking about how many people living here this weekend thought, felt, wrote that same thing.

All these love letters.

The Sweet Potato and the Flexible Heart

Saturday morning with Jordan is my one can’t-break commitment with myself. I take Jordan’s 90-minute yoga class in TriBeCa whenever I’m not traveling. I go as much for the stories he tells during the first 15 minutes as for the workout that follows.

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Photo credit: j / f / photos on Flickr

After his story today, he took us into practice by asking the usual question: “Please let me know if anyone has any injuries or physical issues I can help you with.”

For once, I wanted to pipe up and say, “I have an emotional injury.” I’m going through a rough transition in my life right now and I have some emotional work to do. That’s the stuff I address through yoga. I get on the mat, put my hands on the ground and give my mind the space it needs to wrap around my life. To process.

After seven months of regular yoga (and that after a decade of trying to find a type of yoga I enjoyed), I feel less angry when I didn’t even know I was angry to begin with. I have less stress but also more clarity about areas of my life that have to change.

Jordan shared with us about his time rooting around yesterday on his farm upstate where he’s been growing all manner of vegetables: carrots, beets, squash and tomatoes. With all of those, a farmer can see evidence of their labor as the hints of the vegetable push through the dirt or blossom on the vine.

After almost 100 days in the ground, his sweet potatoes still showed no sign of progress. He’d never grown potatoes before and admitted the sweet potato patch was the hairiest. Snakes and frogs had taken up residence in the overgrowth. Yesterday, he decided to just dig in and root around to see if he could feel anything.

From my yoga mat at my favorite spot in the front right-hand corner of the room, I watched as he reached behind his back and then held up the largest sweet potato I’ve ever seen. He harvested about half the patch yesterday and pulled up 60 sweet potatoes.

He drew for us a parallel between growing potatoes and our yoga practice. One can do yoga for months or years without seeing the real fruits of the work. Sure, your butt might get a little boost and you might feel more flexible.

However, (at least for me) the real results of the daily practice are the feeling of honoring a personal ritual, finding my center and feeling more calm and patient. One may practice for a long spell before feeling and seeing this inward work show itself in our day-to-day lives.

So, I’ll keep practicing. Yoga isn’t all about having a flexible body. It’s also about having a flexible and resilient heart.

Take Me: Street Art in Brooklyn

This is a series of posters plastered on the blocks surrounding Fort Greene Park in my neighborhood (Fort Greene, Brooklyn).

I saw them on an early evening walk tonight. There were at least five more versions, but these were my favorites.

“Take me: Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure my time.”

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“Take me: Neither you nor I are ready to meet.”

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“Take me: The first time I didn’t know you. The second time I did.”

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Everything’s Fine. I Just Ate All of These.

These things are never allowed in my house again.

There’s a reason they only come three to a box! I ate them today. I ate them all.*

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I’d like to say that I would not have done that if I weren’t fighting off a cold (ice cream feels good with a sore throat) but that is a lie. When I have things in the house that are way outside what I generally eat, I typically eat them as fast as possible to get them out of my house. Because that’s a normal thing to do.

Just wanted to share.

* I didn’t eat them all at once. I had one for a snack, one for dinner and one a few hours later for dessert. Are you judging me?! I can hear you, you know.