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Encounters: The Aviator, or what I want to be when I learn to play

2009-11-07T15:39:25-08:00

(Caption: Our view of Big Sur)

I met Kareem because we needed a contract script writer--badly. Copywriting was not Kareem's only career strength, and not exactly a career passion, but the project was temporary, and he had just come from a digital agency with too much experience on his resume to get picked up immediately in a downsizing economy.

Prior to meeting Kareem I'd spoken on the phone to another writer with an agency background. She was ready and eager to jump into our project. Shortly, after being briefed about the aggressive deadlines and requirements of the client, she reconsidered and backed away, mid-script. We were supposed to shoot the following week.

In ideal circumstances, we strive for a sane approach to project management, where we plan such things as scriptwriting and shooting schedules way in advance, but being in this Webby world we're in, projects are often inked close to launch. Some people thrive in this kind of environment, some fight it and give in begrudgingly, some reject it outright. I needed to see how Kareem would react early, before hiring him.

I was brutally frank in our interview. Our "co-created" project with Brand X was exciting stuff, but it was not without client oversight and last-minute changes. I said something that I wish I hadn't,

"I need someone who's comfortable with user-generated content that's not all user-generated...I mean, it is, but with an eye toward the brand... not that they want to influence the script, of course...it must be authentic, but brand-friendly..."

I decided to look up from staring down at Kareem's extensive resume; he remained smiling and calm.

"Yes, I think I understand," he said. He told me of several on-set projects he'd done as a creative director. The personalities he'd encountered, the seemingly contradictory directives. It was clear to me that, from a production standpoint, he'd seen it all, and he understood the dichotomous nature of client work--something that often relied on a paradoxical act of creating authentic connection. He didn't bristle when I told him we were shooting next week and still needed scripts to submit for approval. And these scripts depended on the availability of his script subjects, whom had yet to be selected, let alone contacted.

"No problem," he said.

The following week, he arrived for a briefing meeting with snacks for the team. Shortly thereafter, scripts written and approved, he arrived at the set early with props that our producer had trouble procuring. Everyone who had arrived on-set had been briefed by him and was ready to go. He got along famously with the camera crew and director. Later, when the rough cuts were complete he adeptly knew where to cut and even how to retroactively make guests look more comfortable than they actually were. Client requests that may have overwhelmed another writer/producer were creatively integrated with no complaints.

After our final shoot he suggested we go grab some coffee. Already I was trying to think of how else we could work with Kareem until a more suitable position opened up for him.

It was a hot day; I sipped ice-coffee in an air-conditioned Starbucks. He asked me, "Do you fly much?"

Seeing as I tend to fly every, or every other, week, I answered in the affirmative.

"Have you ever flown in a single turbo prop?"

I thought of the little puddle jumpers I sometimes flew in to get from Chicago to Cinncinnati, or SF to Palm Springs. But Kareem was talking REALLY small. Like airplanes as small as my car.

In Kareem's spare time, he loved to fly. In fact, he's been an instructor off and on; in fact he met his wife, Taylor, when she was learning to fly. He showed me some pics of his plane, which elicited an immediate "Wow!"

"It's hard to explain to people," Kareem said. "Most people who learn that I own a plane think I must be filthy rich or something. It's really not like that. Owning a plane is like owning an expensive car, only it's probably much, much older and requires more maintenance."

I've never had an interest in aviation, but to hear Kareem explain to me the differences between commercial and private air travel, the government lobbying that was going to punish the non-millionaire plane owners, even how JFK Jr. should have read his instruments to calculate the horizon, was fascinating to me. He and Taylor would take quick trips to places like Mendocino or Oregon, have lunch, and fly back home, for fun.

"You should come up with us sometime," he said. I agreed, thinking that, rather, I should have my husband, Jesse, join them sometime. Absolutely, they should take HIM up with them.

Over the next few months, Kareem met Jesse, and I met Taylor, and we all got along famously, and the once-mentioned flying trip was mentioned again. Having this trip come closer to reality I realized I was a bit fearful--of what I'm not sure. Kareem's knowledge was unquestionable, as was his experience. I worried about getting sick, or getting vertigo in such a small plane. But Jesse was determined to go, and determined that I go with him. We set a date.

The week before our trip Kareem asked me to send him mine and Jesse's collective weight so that he could calibrate the amount of fuel that would be necessary. This question made me wonder just how stable a piece of machinery is that needs to be calibrated according to my weight. Would it matter if I fudged mine by five pounds?

The day of the trek was gorgeous, even by Californian standards. The visibility was perfect, the sun warmed the 70-degree air in the East Bay. We drove Kareem and Taylor to the municipal airport and parked next to the plane. Our car had more room than their turbo prop.

I felt a bit useless as Kareem and Taylor began what I guessed was their standard plane prep: removing the cover on the plane together, then Taylor packing the cargo space while Kareem inspecting all the bolts and pieces to the wing, even going underneath the plane, lying on his back. Next, he inspected the engine. All I could think was, would I even know how to do that with my car?

Jesse asked various questions about the engine, his voice and Kareem's starting to sound like the teacher's in the Peanuts cartoon ("Wha-wha-WHA-wha....). All I could gather was that the engine was relatively new, compared to the plane itself. Kareem's voice came back to comprehension when I heard him utter the following to Jesse:

"...you and Jory are going to be flying the plane." I tried to breathe easy, thinking to myself, OK we would each get to ride shotgun for a leg, but that was it." He couldn't really expect us to fly this thing.

I was starting to get excited as we taxied toward the runway. Kareem's voice was recongnizable but barely comprehendable as he spoke airplanese to ground control. A lot of numbers were said so quickly I couldn't make out what he was referring to.

"I'm telling them where I am intending to take off and at what angle," is my translation of what Kareem explained to us. We all had our headsets on; I decided not to muck up critical airwaves with any ridiculous questions. So I sat there silently next to Taylor, breathing deeply.

The takeoff was magnificent. We floated higher and higher. Kareem's voice never rose above an easy, conversational tone. He uttered a few more unintellible things into his mike, to ground control, and then turned to face me and Taylor, in back.

"Notice that this plane can still go without me steering it all the time," Kareem said. "That's how planes operate. They know how to fly straight once you set them on a course."

I thought, thank you for the demo, Kareem, now would you please put your hands BACK on the controls, please?

But that didn't happen, Kareem turned to Jesse, "OK Jesse, time for you to fly." He shared some fundamental information about how to climb, how to descend, and keeping a course, then left Jesse to his own devices.

We decided to go to San Luis Obispo, where there was a nice lunch spot at the municipal airport, and a great beach nearby. Kareem walked me through how he calculated a time to descend, all while Jesse steered the plane. Once, when we hit some choppy air, he took over. The plane shook rather abruptly and freefell briefly twice. I gasped. Kareem calmly called ground control and in airplanese let them know of the chop. I looked over at Taylor, wondering if perhaps she might have barfed on herself. No luck. She sat there placidly.

Shortly afterward Kareem landed. I was expecting more drama, given the choppiness of the air, but we left it at about 3,000 feet and landed perfectly.

Over lunch we talked about the ride. Kareem and Taylor explained how they typically plug in their iPod and listen to music together, in silence, while in the air. They went out nearly every weekend. I laughed about how luxurious it must be.

"This is what we do," Kareem said. "This is how we spend our time and money." This resonated with me. What I think he meant was, we don't do this so that we can say we have an airplane and fly to San Luis Obispo for lunch. The destinations are secondary. We do this because we love flying.

I wondered to myself, what was my form of flying, something that I shared with Jesse that, perhaps, one was better at than the other but that both of us loved to do. That we relied on doing together. We have a few candidates that rotate in and out. But I think we need to pick one as the primary activity, as a focal point that the others may revolve around. Especially with so much of my life on the road, it's easy to be a dilettante. I wanted me and Jesse to be as masterful at our thing and as in-synch as Kareem and Taylor were in the air.

I was hoping Kareem would forget his offer of having me fly on the way back, especially since Jesse had requested flying back along the Coast, which, along with a headwind, would mean a longer flight." As we climbed Kareem prepared me with a quick lesson on the controls. I recalled a time when I'd heard that tone of voice of his earlier, when we were on-set, and he was coaching one of the more nervous guests on our video show. He never had to tell her to relax, he just encouraged her when she did things right, similar to what he was now doing with me.

"You're doing great Jory ... you know what? I think I want to go a bit closer to coast, why don't you take us that way?"

I wanted to look out the side window and get a passenger's view, one that I tend to prefer when embarking on new journeys, but I could see that wasn't an option. And my competitiveness compelled me to fly at least as long as Jesse did.

Don't get too fixated on the instruments, Kareem said. Rather, see where I wanted to go and stay focused on that. The dashboard obfuscated my full view of the horizon, so I initially steered by staring at our compass heading. Once I was comfortable, I looked at the coastline in front of me. I felt like I did when I was a child on my Dad's sailboat, on our way back to the harbor, and he gave me the tiller: "See that building," he'd say, pointing to the Chicago skyline, "go thataway." I'd look at the compass heading and microposition constantly to stay on that mark, waiting for him to take over as we got closer to shore. I just didn't want to screw this up.

"OK, Jory, let's take it down to 5,500 feet."

A few minutes later, "Now 4,500."

And on we went, until Kareem took control again and I could see our speed as it appeared next to motionless buildings out the side window.

Option 1: Work more; Option 2: Work less; Option 3 ...

2009-11-04T17:26:18-08:00

Kris at The HR Capitalist caught my attention with his post, "Being a Star - Either Put In More Hours Than Others, or Start Eliminating Stuff (But Stop Whining)...." He says:

Work/life balance is a choice. You won't be able to be your version of Bono with work/life balance as your goal. More and more, I run into super sharp people who are amazed at the entitlement culture of talented folks who say they want to be stars, but won't put in the time to outwork others and are outraged when told that's what it takes.

If you are not inclined to put in more hours, Kris says, "you need to start eliminating things that you don't think matter, the things you can get away with not doing, not being involved with at work."

This is the choice of anyone seeking success, but notably of the entrepreneur. As my company has grown, my time management strategy as evolved--or devolved as the case may be:

Phase 1--The first date that won't end: You have a crush on all the excitement that your business is providing for you in life and unwittingly give it all the time that it needs. Other things need to happen, like sleep, so you just add more work hours to your day and keep plugging after dinner, or after your spouse knocks off for bed. When opportunities present themselves, you drop everything. For instance, someone you've wanted to meet with for some time wants to connect for breakfast at 7:30 a.m. the next day in New York City, and you are in San Francisco. No problem! Sure you don't feel great after taking a red-eye, but you make it there. And you've set up other back-to-back meetings to get the most out of your time. By the time you are back at the airport you realize you might not have mentioned your whereabouts to your spouse but know he'll understand. And you know that this phase can't last forever, but you must take full advantage of every opportunity now, while you have it.

Phase 2--The Trade-offs: You realize that other things--hobbies, friends, wellness--are being impacted, but hopefully now you are experiencing some growth and cannot imagine losing momentum in order to stop and smell the roses. Also, expectations have been set. Clients on the East Coast expect that you will be available during the wee hours of the morning on the West Coast; you've told them to call you if they wanted to talk--anytime; they're just taking you up on your offer. All those opportunities that you have been pushing for are now happening; and you must be there to implement them. You can't imagine having others do it during such a delicate, relationship-building phase. You plan to eventually build replicable, delegatable processes, but you must trail-blaze for how.

You try to fit it all in, but even with extended hours you can't. So you compromise on everything except your business. You skip those biannual physical exams, you whittle that full workout into a few sit-ups before bed, you spam an eGreeting card to your address book this year instead of sending individually written cards. That quality time you book nightly with your spouse or the kids is spent responding to email while sitting next to him on the couch. You don't have to meet with people in-person today, so you forgo showering and getting dressed--time is money, people! The first time you skip these things it feels bad; the second time you can justify it as something you're sacrificing "for now", the third time you've re-identified yourself: "I guess I'm just going to be 10 pounds heavier." "I've never been much of a home cook." "I'm just not a neat person." "I'm the kind of person who always has to be doing something." ...

You start to fear that your tradeoffs are becoming more and more visible. You look older. You have creaky knees and your neck hurts. You indiscriminately hand people not associated with your business, like your drycleaner, your business card. You develop this glassy look that signals to your domestic partner that you are assessing what else you need to get done today, not listening to his suggestions for what to have for dinner. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you update them on your calendar and on your competition.

Phase 3--Signs of wear and tear: You have much to show for your hard work--both good and bad. You are still pushing hard; forget about cruise-control. But you can speak confidently about the future of your business.

Through accidental situations, like delayed flights and malfunctioning electronics, you find yourself with small pockets of unscheduled time and have no idea what to do with it: Pick up a newspaper and at least familiarize yourself with the happenings in the world, pet your cat, or call people? You realize you don't know where to start and defer to doodling in your notebook. You go to the dentist and they declare you're in for a year of orthodontics due to stress-induced jaw alignment issues. You understand the urgency but just don't know how you can fit that sort of thing into your schedule at this time. Pain is also very time consuming--feeling it, preventing it, containing it. You plan another appointment in several months--hopefully enough lead time to plan around it. You later realize that you do have a conflict but you do nothing. Maybe the other party will cancel. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you have nothing to say. You say, "Hanging in, and you?

People call you successful and you wonder, "How so?" Even if you are, you are so used to the act of building momentum that you don't know what success feels like. Perhaps you've overcome it and it's now trailing behind, and you just feel something dragging. You assume it's another problem to attack. You remove your anniversary dinner from your calendar and enter "figure out dragging issue" in its place.

But back to HR Capitalist's two options: Accept that you are going to have to put in the time, or start taking things off your plate. The frustration of a later-stage entrepreneur who's had a few years to cycle through both options is "what else?"

One could say Option 3 is aspire to less. Let's just say for the sake of argument that this was even possible for the entrepreneur, that we could temporarily suppress this unquenchable ambition and could actually make a logical decision to dial it back a bit. I argue that our natures would kick back in, and we would become crazy about something else.

My friend and former coach Kimberly threw something out to me that was similar to Kris's advice, but offered in a way that I could actually consider.

"I'll bet you could back off about 10 percent and no one would even notice," she said.

"But I would notice," I said.

And I thought about that. There are types of effort: level one being "9-5" effort, level two being extraordinary effort, and level three being "Why are you afraid that level two won't suffice?" effort.

I am willing to consider level 2 may be effective.

Encounters: The Chatty Hygienist

2009-10-31T17:15:36-07:00

I imagine in her line of work you get used to hearing yourself speak. I could hardly muster an "uh uh" with the suction thingie she had hanging out of the right corner of my mouth.

"Sorry, Hun," she said, when she accidentally pulled on the suction tube and yanked my head like I was a fish on a hook. Generally I was pleased with her work. She didn't believe in a patient feeling any pain.

"You feel anything you let me know," OK?

"Uh huh."

This line made me nervous; it opened the possibility of feeling pain, even if only for a second. She said every few minutes, "You are being so good. Really you are." I didn't think I needed that kind of validation anymore, at my age, but it made me feel good. I guess I still like to earn lollipops.

As she worked she talked. About everything. Her thirty seven years in dentistry, a career choice she'd made around the time I was born. Her trailer home and love of NASCAR. Her husband. How much more she made when she was working with patients than when she was doing admin work. Her husband's disability status and how she feared it made him depressed.

There was a picture on the counter behind her on which I fixated while she drilled: a beautiful woman smiling at the camera while her patient looked askance. Her middle part and fluffy hair made me think it was an older photo, circa 1981. She noticed me looking.

"There we are," she said."Me and him."

There was a moment when I jerked reflexively from a hit nerve; not anything tear-inducing. She stopped to give me another shot. During the first shot of novocaine that she had administered about an hour before I had tensed up, even though I didn't feel any pain. I could still feel the needle going in, and just the thought of it made me nervous.

I never used to get nervous when I went to the dentist as a kid. Despite the cavities, the braces, the pulled teeth. There was an implicit trust of professionals. They couldn't hurt me. I went through procedures a little bored. But too much has happened since then. Root canals, filling replacements, more extractions, a bridge. I now know what's going on--even if I can't feel it. I expect pain, if not now then later.

She had asked me early on, "You nervous?"

"Uh huh."

"Yeah, I can tell from your saliva. It's ropy."

"Wiwee?" I filed this fact under random thing to share with my husband, as we liked to wow each other with this kind of trivia: ropy saliva = nervousness.

"Yeah. But you've got nothing to be nervous about. I've been doing this longer than these other guys have been alive." These other guys were the dentists that hired her.

I realized that my entire body was tense. I tried to release it in parts, thinking if I let my whole body relax at once while she was lasering my gums I might throw her off and she'd cut my lip or lacerate my face.

She talked as she cauterized the intentional wounds she'd created. I was amazed at how comfortable she was having relatively intense conversations with people who couldn't provide any verbal cues of concern or interest. I learned more about her husband; he did things for her, like heated the car every morning before she left for work and made her lunch. He wasn't working any more, but even when he did he was doing stuff like that.

A thought came to my mind while she spoke of her husband, whom she clearly still adored after 30 years of marriage: I consider myself a good wife, but was I someone that could commit to these sorts of gestures? I've committed myself to many things: email, my morning Starbucks, paying bills. But I haven't committed to much outside my own benefit. What would it be like to wake up and have your first task of the day be for someone else?

"You feeling that?"

"Mmmmmm ... naw wiwee."

This was enough to stop her immediately. She continued to chat me up while I wondered, has she stuck the needle in yet? I realized she had by the taste of bitter Novocaine that trickled toward the back of my tongue, bitter I couldn't feel. I looked at the table to her right and saw empty single-use vials of Novocaine, at least five. She'd been administering it before I needed it. Now I understood--I was bored and amused by design. By the time she had made it through NASCAR I was relaxed--and numb. The part of her conversation that captured me, about her husband, distracted me during the most surgical part--the part I had dreaded most.

Another strange thought came to my mind, as this woman worked with such precision on my teeth and my mind, for which she was paid $20 an hour more than when she handled the front desk: how oddly we compensate people. I did the math and wondered if it was enough.

Learning to surf at work

2009-10-21T13:39:42-07:00

When I was in Mexico earlier this year, I loved getting up in the morning, walking along the shore, and then body surfing the waves of the ocean--all before breakfast. H-band taught me a few tricks to riding waves that I never had an opportunity to practice in the relatively tame waters where I grew up. He could spot a wave coming from several hundred yards out.

"Here we go," he'd say, and I'd assume the position: Back toward the endless expanse of water, eyes focused on the shore, one arm out in front of me and one behind. When the wave approached, at just the right time H-band would yell, "Start swimming!" and I'd frantically freestyle-stroke like I was trying to escape a great white. About 70 percent of the time the wave would wash over me, and I'd emerge from the water with my hair in my face, disoriented. "Nope," H-band would say, "you didn't catch that one." The other 30 percent of the time I would feel this sensation of being lifted up and forward, and I would emerge yards ahead in the shallow water. That was catching a wave.

I never quite understood what made a wave surfable--they all looked pretty big to me, but H-band could tell if one would crash too soon to ride, or if it would grow. I look at what I navigate on a daily basis--namely, a business--and wonder, "How good am I at riding waves?"

No wave is the same. While there is a general direction they take, some swell disappointingly early; some bring a surprising sensation of warm or cold. Every day is fraught with some variation, even if it is moving in the same general direction of growth. Some days the meeting is cancelled--a small swell that dies too soon; or some breaking news in the blogosphere cancels out the regular business of the day--a deceptively large swell that pulls everything in the vicinity to the shore, exhausted.

The same thrill of predicting waves and riding them to my advantage compells me to get a handle on these random events that over time do not seem so random. Chaos becomes the norm, becomes cyclical, like waves. So why can't I spot them, estimate how powerful they will become, and then let them propel me forward, or wait them out while pursuing bigger, more meaningful, ones?

All I can do at the moment is wake up each day and assume the position: back to the ocean, eyes ahead, arms ready to paddle, paddle, paddle.

Blogging 3.0: Now, with more feeling

2009-10-14T15:15:47-07:00

We sat in the cafe, a seemingly informal Sunday coffee date with a friend, but not as casual as I expected. We'd gone to a yoga class before and were now sipping lattes and picking on pastry (I had a bagel).

My friend has become very established in the social media consulting space over the past three years. Her life had changed significantly since we met at the bus stop located between our two homes. She had left her job to pursue career and nonprofit consulting opportunities. I had just left my job to consult in the social media space. I told her about blogging and she must have been ready to learn about it, because she took it on, to the point where she now speaks and trains people in it.

I had told her, for the umpteenth time, that things were changing for me. I was going to take my blogging seriously again. As seriously as I could anyway, considering I no longer had the stretches of time I used to to blog, and as seriously as I should, considering my role as a thought leader in the social media marketing space. The feeling of discomfort I've had about my blogging was like a sock that I put on early in the day that had something in it. I could feel something small in between my toes, but I just didn't have time to take off my shoes and deal with it. I've just kept walking with this thingie in my shoe. And over time I got used to the thingie, used to the annoyance, and yet I could feel it with every step.

I told my friend that I was going to revitalize my writing by redesigning my blog; she was only too happy to help. She'd started coaching independent proprietors, typically creatives, who were building social media strategies for their businesses. I had helped to build strategies for my business, and our clients' businesses, but had not built a strategy for myself.

My friend's questions were deceptively difficult.

"Who do you want to reach with your blog ... and don't say everybody."

"But men and women read Pause."

"I'm sure they did, but if you had to identify THE person that would be interested in your blog it would be ..."

"People interested in, you know, what I write. There isn't an age, per se ..."

Very difficult stuff.

"I noticed you've taken down your blogroll. You should get it back up."

I scoffed at this initially, guiltily. The truth of the matter was that I had taken down my blogroll because I hadn't added anything to it since 2005, back when I worked for myself and took the time to methodically check my feed readers. I used to make it the first thing that I did in the morning, but then the company started to really take off, and I woke up to emails and early morning meetings with people on the East Coast. I rescheduled my reading to afternoons, but gradually found that by 10 pm I was still finishing proposals, catching up on email, or checking into a hotel and desperately wanting to sleep.

"Do people still care about blogrolls?" I was embarrassed hearing myself, as I thought about the myriad times I shared with people who asked me, a few years ago, how to get started blogging. And my standard answer, "Read. You must read."

My friend started to ask me about what bells and whistles I would place on my new, revitalized blog. Save for my Twitter feed, all of my blog bling and traffic-generating features were circa 2006. I have a Facebook and Twitter account, which have grown through no effort other than accepting the invitations that have come my way. I don't have any philosophical issue with pursuing friends, fans, or followers, but more a fear of commitment. I recall days when I would spend hours trying to hack at a line of code in an old version of TypePad that screwed up my Typelists. I recall reading my posts many times before posting, just to make sure the punctuation was correct, and responding privately to every comment I received. I remember being vigilant about tagging and tracking back, working well into the night to make my beloved piece of internet real estate as inviting as possible.

Now, I kick aside cobwebs on the front porch. I feel embarrassed about the old furniture. I want desperately to be social, but don't want to invite anyone over, lest they see the tattered curtains.

"Where have I been all this time?" I said to my friend.

"You've been on the other side of things."

"The out of touch side?" I thought to myself.

I realized that I've let the blog go by choice. And I haven't added much to it because I haven't determined who I want to be as a blogger. I used to love being fairly naked, though I don't feel quite as liberal as I once was. Old age, maybe? Or maybe a few too many run-ins with people who later questioned me, or were even hurt. And running a business that involves others adds a layer of responsibility I haven't figured out how to navigate. So I've stayed away, sometimes angrily, like a victim who complains that her hands are tied. Sometimes with fear that I couldn't write powerfully like I used to. Sometimes I just don't know what I want to say.

A funny thing happened on my entrepreneurial journey: I became OK with just getting it done. Not talking about what else needed to be done, or about what I would do when I got there. I just did it. I still think about things I'd like to do, like spend a day watching TV, or going to Brazil. But I don't wonder what am I meant to do. I haven't answered the question, but my life is working on it. It's a paradigm shift that renders the many book proposals and soul-searching blog posts useless now.

Still, there are reasons why I want to continue blogging. Back to the thingie in my shoe: I spend an awful lot of time pondering where this industry as a whole is going, but I haven't really spent time getting re-addicted to using social media. I don't update my profile, or follow people. I read what others aggregate and send my way, but not what I discover. I've stopped thinking this was bad; I just would like to re-engage. I don't have more time for this and will have to be realistic about my output, but I don't need to be uber-consistent. It's not about the traffic. This will keep me thinking.

Stay tuned.

Why I hate Oakland

2009-10-11T17:29:46-07:00

It started the day we got a ticket for parking in front of our house. Apparently we were parked the wrong way, despite the fact that the street is really only one lane, despite the fact that all the other cars on our street were parked in the same direction as ours, despite the fact that we'd parked our car that way, as did our neighbors, for over 5 years.

Then came the ticket for our new car, parked in front of our house, which the ticket said, had an expired registration. Guess the person who issued the ticket couldn't see the temporary registration in the front window.

We contested both of these, H-band having to leave work to do so. And they let the second one go, at least we thought they did. We never heard back after contesting. Though we just received notice that we're in violation of the law and will now have to pay double or my credit will be affected, or the car will be impounded, or worse.

The next ticket came when I went to the doctor and saw there was no parking meter for my spot. I didn't see one nearby, so I simply parked and went to my appointment. I came back and found some gal writing me a ticket. There was a meter she said, pointing down the hill, more than one block away. All the meters work this way now. If I wanted to contest the ticket I could.

This week, as I started to write my check to the city of Oakland, I found myself losing it. In the "for" line I wrote "ridiculous parking ticket". And then I wrote a note on the back about how pissed I am at the city for doing whatever it can to squeeze revenue out of its inhabitants. I voided the check. I have more room on this blog.

Encounters: People who don't live in "phases"

2009-09-12T12:19:55-07:00

A very close friend insisted that I meet a woman she'd just met. She just had a feeling we'd get along. After many fits and starts--business trips, cancelled opportunites and challenges getting into the city at the same time--we finally managed to be in the same place at the same time. I'm all for serendipitous encounters, but I've made far less time for these encounters than I used to.

I recall the salad days of the Dot Com bomb, when we had plenty of time and nothing to lose from meeting people who may or may not be helpful to us. I met people on searches, some similar to my own, and could listen to them talk about their endeavors for the sake of listening. Years later, with a small business to help run, time was at a premium. I've learned a new skill lately of folding in these occasional encounters with official business meetings.

This friend of my friend's was traveling far out of her way to meet me. She'd moved to the Bay Area not long ago and had some challenges navigating suitable places to park in the city. I could have gone to her, I thought, feeling a tad guilty.

Over coffee (or an iced latte; it was a hot day) we talked about what we were up to. Clearly our mutual friend thought to put us together for a reason. I knew that my coffee date was working on her third book. I guessed that my friend hoped I would be a potential reviewer of it when it was ready, or could help her with a blog promotion strategy. As she spoke, I realized she hardly needed my help. She'd practiced medicine as an OB/Gyn for years, then decided to follow her passion for art. After creating a national following (she shows in galleries across the country), she thought to expand on her passion for writing. She is now working on her third book, which had received competing bids from multiple publishing houses. She didn't need my help with online promotion; her growing online community was thriving. She had a staff to help her maintain it. Three years ago she had a daughter, and her husband, a Harvard MBA, had stopped working to explore his own possibilities and now spent his days at their home near the ocean.

I thought to myself, she has everything she wants. What can I possibly do for her? Perhaps, it became increasingly apparent to me, it was SHE who would help me.

I've maintained that certain things have not been possible because I was or was not in a phase that could make them feasible. For instance, no kids--that's not the phase I'm in. No more writing; I ended that phase with the business. And yet this woman drinking coffee before me had overlaid phases, abandoning some, or fading some out just slightly while focusing on another. But she never made decisions to abandon any one phase unless she wanted to.

She'd also refused to think that her past could define what was possible in her future. Being a doctor didn't rule out being an artist or a successful author about things unrelated to medicine. Having multiple careers didn't rule out being a mom, or starting a Web community, or taking long breaks to figure out the next thing. She struck me as fearless.

As we talked I saw our commonalities too. We were both driven people, but, speaking for myself, being driven with no direction leaves one to wonder, what's next? My coffee date was turning 40 and had done everything she'd set out to do. So what does one do when there's nothing left to prove to oneself?

I'm reminded of another friend of mine from college, who now lives in a part of the country I rarely visit, working in an industry I know little about. She and her husband have done well; they have a nice home. And while they are crazy about their nieces and nephews, they have no desire currently to have children of their own. This makes them very different from their peers. This friend loves interior design and has created a gorgeous personal refuge for herself and her husband. "I like spending time at home," she told me. It makes sense, since she travels constantly. She's not yet 40; she has years of work life ahead of her, if she chooses. What comes next?

"You know," she said to me. "I don't have anything left to prove." She sounded relieved and confused at the same time.

Then there's my friend the matchmaker--the one who insisted that I have coffee with the doctor/artist/writer/entrepreneur. She decided, part-way into a corporate career, to create a niche not yet recognized in this world of coaching women who were trying to conceive. There is no degree, no common path to this career. She speaks and writes and builds in tiny increments, carving it as she goes. She helps people, whether they are trying to conceive or not. She's a healing presence but doesn't know exactly how to hone that healing talent in any one direction. I try to help her with my knowledge of new media marketing. I encourage her to develop a specific niche, much like I would tell someone to focus on a blog niche. But even I don't follow that advice. Niches change, and sometimes callings don't correspond to marktetable categories.

I don't think this phase is specific to us thirtysomethings. I know boomers with long illustrious careers who are asking themselves similar questions. But there are differences. Thirtysomethings and early Fortysomethings are still in what I call "dig mode"; we're still supposed to be digging our tunnel to some faraway outcome. Not stopping midway and wondering if we should start digging up toward the sunshine--yet. Some of us who abandon the mission early end up never claiming the fruits of their labor, right? Or no?

For me, entrepreneurship has provided a way of working--or digging, if you will--while still getting glimpses of the autonomy I seek. For others it's art, or cooking, or family, upholding some passion on their way.

I think we need to find these strategies now, and not just because it's nice to do but because there is no such thing as a straight shot anymore to the good life. When the road stops being straight and leading to some unseen horizon, but starts to curve back around on itself, when recessions and incorrect assumptions about how life works disorients us, we must determine not where we are going, but how do we enjoy where we are. How do we find meaning here?

Geeking Out: Is blogging wrecking marriages?

2009-09-06T09:34:45-07:00

I'm on the East Coast for some Labor Day kicking back and will be staying out here on business. But last week in SF proved to be quite interesting. I sat on a panel with people I admire, including Rick Klau and Siobhan Quinn of Blogger, Blogger Founder and now Twitter Founder Ev Williams and his Twitter Co-Founder Biz Stone, Salon.com Co-Founder and author of Say Everything: How Blogging Began, What It's Becoming, and Why It Matters Scott Rosenberg, SocialVibe CEO (and Blogger partner) Joe Marchese, and geekblogger and often dead-on observationalist Louis Gray. The premise of the panel: A general discussion of the evolution of blogging, with Blogger's 10th anniversary as a time peg.

So what do a bunch of us bloggy/microbloggy types have to talk about? The press on the other end of the room had few, if any, questions. I think they (and Louis) wanted to hear more about the beginnings of Blogger from Williams and Stone. And the rest of us, who had built businesses and blogs around blogging, could provide commentary. I added some facts about how the role of blogging has evolved for women. Initially it seemed more a personal platform tool, or a journaling tool. And I still think that it is. But I've also seen it launch businesses for women, who grew their expertise on their blogs and built consultancies. Some launched book and blog-writing careers from their blogs. I've also seen another side effect, one that I can't confirm with data, but more one I've observed among women I read and who have attended the BlogHer Conference numerous times: personal empowerment.

It's not easy to describe, especially in this way, but I will try. I have met quite a few women and mothers who, after getting into their blogging, are getting divorced. One, a mother of two, told me quite plainly about her former spouse, "He couldn't take it. All that was happening because of my blog. He was no longer the big shot." In another instance with a mother of four, the blog didn't compete with the spouse, but it provided a means of expression, and an entryway to other women on the Web, who helped her to see that there was more to life, and that she could have more in a partner. (I didn't tell these stories on the panel; I cited some data from our Blogging benchmark study and mentioned that I've personally seen transformations that women have had as a result of their blogging, including in some cases divorce.)

"So then blogging is wrecking marriages?" Rick Klau joked I had to clarify, absolutely not. People wreck marriages.

But while we have a whole lot of data behind women's media migration patterns and usage of social media to show increased adoption, there's another effect, one no one has measured yet, that I'd like to explore. I'm sure someone like my sister Julie, a genderist and women's history professor, will one day uncover it (hint, hint). Here's my theory: This blogging thing has made us all more accountable. And if we've been living to half our potential, or are living half-truths, we can now see that unlived part of our lives out there, while sitting at the kitchen tables of the women we read, just talking.

Maybe that's fodder for Blogger's 15th birthday.

Geeking Out: The New, New Agency

2009-08-30T13:29:26-07:00

I never considered myself an ad girl. When it came to publishing I was all about the editorial, the center well baby! Early in my career I took a job at Time Inc's Custom Publishing division, and though I had an editor title, it felt a bit dirty building editorial that fit brands' needs. Today I am grateful for the experience because I learned how to play nice with brands AND create compelling content. I learned that content providers can be verry verry precious people, and that sometimes really good creative that also accentuates, or aligns, with brand messaging ain't a sin.

Today there's migration coming from the other direction--PR and advertising folks are building content in order to achieve that same alignment. They may or may not be going to publishers to achieve kismet, they often seek out the content themselves. Bloggers are a primary source, though agencies are still getting up to speed on how to treat content providers. Do they pay for engagement, or do they request "organic" endorsement (a.k.a. hope for a favor?)

Back in the day when I was in custom publishing, brands understood that they paid for content, but there was no debate about the content itself; they had to pay for it as-is, and that made it a clean transaction. For instance, if I was working on a publication for a bank, and I pulled an article from Money magazine that was down on a product the bank sold, I couldn't/wouldn't edit that part out of the article; I would have to exclude that article, period. Nor could I go hunting for other writers who might feel differently. If the brand wanted content from a writer at X publication, that's what they got, not an endorsement or a say in that person's informed opinion. The only edits required were fact-checking updates. I couldn't remove a fact that was accurate, but unflattering, to a brand.

Likewise, if I, as a publisher commission a blogger to write a review for a brand, and she writes something unflattering but factually true, it cannot be edited out. If she writes unsubstantiated facts, "This diet drink will make your eyebrows grow faster," I remove it. Or I don't publish the piece altogether. Brands cannot leverage the blogger's traffic and only the postivie bits of her message, nor can bloggers be irresponsible with brands. It's a two-way street.

So, with agencies now navigating waters that editors used to, I suppose the role of the agency is changing. And the role of the publisher is changing. It makes sense that we publishers, who have been cultivating relationships with distributed sources (long-winded term for social media), can provide influencer outreach in a much more insightful and scalable ways than the agency because we've been cultivating these relationships en masse with users' own content.

Does this mean that agencies, PR in particular, are no longer necessary? I think they are, but not in their former incarnation.

In a recent iMedia article, Sean Cummings writes:

The explosion of communication methods to reach the consumer has had a natural dilution effect. As the playing field got wider, it gave something to consumers they didn't have before: instantaneous access to desire fulfillment and an ability to access information about a product, not just from the company and the agency's perceived lens, but through other consumers and competitors. There have been three profound effects on the technological expansion of media: a wider communication platform for all, the persistence of data on that platform, and a plethora of spawned agency models. ...

No longer does the client feel that one shop can handle all their needs, because in reality, no single shop can. But there is something being lost by all of the expansion: message and brand cohesion. Since your "main" agency is no longer the idea shop, and since that message has inherent problems cascading throughout so many communication channels, why have one?

Cummings argues that while one of the major functions of a creative agency was to develop "big ideas", this is no longer required because media's distributed model renders the top-down model of messaging useless.

The most important message, he says, comes from consumers. Their opinion dwarfs the agency's. And the messages that come from consumers change according to the medium, whether it's mobile or Twitter.

Perhaps, then, an agency that CURATES these messages and increases their exposure will do better by their clients.

This week I had conversations with two senior PR people, and their description of recent projects sounded to me more like what I would hear from a digital shop: Both were building online communities for their clients. No messaging, no press releases, no outreach. For that last piece they were coming to publishers and puttting their energy elsewhere.

*Note: I don't mean to infer that PR agencies should be in the business of building branded Web communities. In some cases it makes sense, but in more cases, where eyeballs are so distributed and upstarts have an increasingly harder time of obtaining share, it makes sense to support targeted communities that are already vibrant.

So then, what are the functions of an agency that is successful in the social media space?

They are curators of conversations. They enable these conversations to take place, and if they fuel them. I've seen this work at the BlogHer Conference and also in well-developed sponsored online conversations.
They extract the priorities and sentiment of these communities.
They develop strategies for reaching communities based on these priorities and sentiment.
They educate their clients on the habits and preferences of their target markets.
They build relationships with communities not through mass email but through participation in and promotion of community ideals. Cause marketing is an example of this, but take it to the next level: determine what are the causes of a community, not what cause you may impose on it.
Distinguishing alignment points, where a brand may provide solutions, share values, or partner with communities.
They are consultants who are not just proficient in social media tools, but in what consumers increasingly expect out of brands--jargon-free, two way, communication.

This makes for one helluva job description for talent. I don't envy PR hiring managers.

Redesign Update: Not yet folks

2009-08-30T12:35:46-07:00

I spent a good hunk of the weekend working with H-band on my header concept. He's a Creative Suite impresario, but he ain't no creative director. "Just tell me what you want," he said, "and I'll make it." But the thing is, I'm no creative director, either. I don't have a visual in my mind. In my perfect world I'd share some key words and phrases, and what I want to accomplish with my blog, and someone would take my order and come back with a visual representation that I could yay or nay. When it comes to design I like it or I don't. I don't build. This limitation pisses me off.

But we did manage to start a visual. I'm worried it's looking too much like the cover of The Secret meets daylight. So I think up some flair.

"Can we throw in a wine stain, something like that?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just throw one in."

It's still a work in progress.