Is A Good Job, Good Enough?

When I was in my last digital marketing role before making the transition to coaching, I was in a strange predicament.

I felt connected to the mission of the organization that was serving frail and marginalized communities. I adored my colleagues who became close friends, in some cases like family to me. I was comfortable with the work and I was good at it. I had the flexibility to be a present mother while moving my career forward.

So you might ask, as I did daily: Given all that was good, why did I feel so stuck and truly lost in my career?

I wrestled with all the things I now hear my clients say:

I should feel grateful for this job.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

Now that I’ve figured it out, what if what I want doesn’t exist?

It’s typically not a feeling of overwhelm or a desperate desire to jump. Rather, it’s a nag. A tug. A question that begins to appear as the subtext to every project, event and new assignment: “Is this it?”

If this is where you are right now, you can begin taking these steps to find your answers:

1. Accept the possibility of more
Part of why you are stuck is that you continue to block the idea that something else could be out there for you. Sure, you don’t know that there is, but you also don’t know that there isn’t. By accepting the possibility that there might be another path and giving yourself permission to investigate options, you can move out of judgment and into curiosity. Swap—“When the hell am I going to figure out what I want to be when I grow up?” For “I wonder what my next chapter could look like.”

2. Commit to something physical
I’ve found in my own experience and in those of my clients—often the only path to our answers is tapping into the wisdom of our bodies. The bridge to my breakthrough was running the New York City Marathon. I focused on daily training—working through setbacks and finding a will to nail my goal. The lessons, the confidence and the ideas for what was possible in my life instantly shifted once I crossed that finish line. I’m not that great a runner and I ran a marathon. What can I do in my life with the things I’m really good at?

3. Seek out clues—everywhere
This was a process I went through and one that I work on with clients in transition. What are the moments in your career—and life—when you were ignited? What do people come to you for that’s not in your job description? Be open to finding evidence that there is more out there for you, that there are new things you want to learn and explore. As a digital marketer, I wondered why so many people asked me to review their resumes or give them tips on how to manage up to their bosses. Your clue may come in an unlikely package, so don’t be too literal about each one. Investigate further. Allow it to live and breathe for awhile so you can begin making the connections.

The truth is, a good job is a great place to be. If you’re in a good job, you’re not racing or rushing to leave—which is helpful because exploring and experimenting takes time. It’s also a place to mine for clues and in doing so, you may be able to make the job you have into the job you want, at least for awhile. This was my path prior to running my marathon and breaking things wide open. Whatever you choose to do, know that when you are in a good situation, you can do things on your timetable, at your pace and in your own way. And when the time comes to make your shift, you will know you came from a clear and honest place.

The Freedom of Owning Who You Are

At the age of 11, when a new potential friend asked me, "What does your dad do?" I had to make a split-second decision.

Do I think this is going to be someone in my life for longer than an afternoon?

Is it worth dropping a bomb on our conversation?

Will we make our way through that first naked minute?

Sometimes, I simply chose safety and comfort. Pretend. "Sales." I lied.

And then there were the moments self-acceptance peeked through long enough for me to fumble the words, "Both my parents died, actually. In a car accident."

I looked longingly at that kid across from me. Knowing she wouldn’t get it, but hoping for at least a deep breath, a nod or a "Wow" of acknowledgment.

Most often there was a speedy change of subject and I sorted through my list of pre-selected topics used to salvage what was left of the conversation.

There were a few occasions though, when I met someone who could be there with me. Stand in that tragic, unfair truth for a beat. She would one-up the nod and the wow with the pinnacle of solidarity: a follow-up question.

Whether it was, "Were you in the car?" or "Who do you live with?" or "How are you even standing right now?", all I saw before me was strength and courage and someone who could get me.

Sometimes they were kids with their own pain. Divorce, addiction, loss and illness in their lives, too early to comprehend. And sometimes they were simply unafraid of the hard things in life, perhaps even curious about them.

As I look back on those early years of building relationships after my parents died, I see that outside of my inner circle, I created rose-petaled paths for people to softly land by my side. I made it easier for them to know me, to talk to me by locking up the very moments that made me strong and resilient in a box categorized, "over it." My loss was not my fault, yet I still felt shame when I said those words aloud.

As I shifted careers four years ago, I began to choose who I serve and who I collaborate with. I decide how I talk about who I am and what I do. I understand that I will never be "over it." And I never want to be.

This is who I am. I say the hard things. I write about them. Whether we’re going to know each other for the next 2 years or 2 hours, the calculation of how long we’ll be in each other’s lives has no bearing on who I’m meant to be.

So when I stood in front of 30 strangers this weekend to facilitate a leadership workshop, I walked them through why my early tragedy was one of the key moments that shaped who I’ve become as a leader. Honest. Compassionate. Imperfect. Vulnerable.

I spoke those words without apology, without shame, without a reason to try to be anyone else but myself. And a beautiful thing happened. They were inspired to do the same.

What We Can Learn From the Change of Seasons

The start of the new school year. The crackle of leaves underfoot. Bundling on crisp mornings and evenings. The shortening of days.

Autumn marks many endings and beginnings that flood my mind with memories of where I’ve been at this time throughout the years.

Walking the length of New York City after transferring to NYU. Learning that the energy and the people made me feel more alive than I ever knew possible.

Moving through the mixed emotions of closing the door on one career to build a dream.

Fighting back tears on first day sendoffs of preschool, elementary and now middle school.

In this season, change is the expectation and transition is the language. While I use my nostalgia to ground me and measure my progress, there’s a momentum I find in all that’s new. I seek it out, even hunger for it, more than any other time of year.

There’s an acceptance of the discomfort of change, knowledge that things may be hard for awhile, but we will figure it out. I will figure it out.

When I stand in this resolve, in the present moment, feeling the rotation of the earth, I wonder why at other times of the year I’m resistant to these shifts.

It reminds me of my friends in LA and other persistently warm climates who tell me, “I miss the change of seasons.” When I hear this statement mid-February, when I’m up to my ears in the elements and dying to pack up and move close to the equator—it’s hard to understand why anyone could say such a thing. But in this moment, swept up in the breeze of fall, I get it.

Universal permission to change.

To wind down projects and habits that may not have presented a natural end. An excuse to believe that something new is possible, that all these people starting fresh again know what they’re doing.

It’s a reminder that when we feel the resistance, we’re often building the case against ourselves, looking for the opinions and the data to convince us to remain in place.

And it’s an acknowledgement that at any time of year, we can give ourselves the permission to choose the opinions we want to believe and stack the data toward outcomes that will bring us energy. Knowing that whatever the result, we will learn—and for me—that’s the goal.

5 Ways Working Fathers Can Help Working Mothers

In my work supporting mothers as they navigate their careers and rise as leaders, there are often moments I look around the room at all of the female faces in the workshops, the conferences, the policy discussions and think—we’re talking to ourselves.

If we’re going to make any progress in clearing paths for women to rise into senior roles, we must include our male counterparts in the conversations.

Here are some simple ways working fathers can take an active role toward supporting gender equity in the workplace.

1. Talk about your kids at work
Parenting and the work that goes into it often feels like a taboo subject that must be hidden. When you talk about your children and your experience of being a parent with colleagues, it normalizes the conversation. Read more about this in my post, Here’s Why I Talk About My Kids At Work.

2. Take your leave!
When dads take the parental leave they’re offered, everybody wins. According to NBC News, "Fathers get to bond with their new baby, there’s a decreased risk of mom getting postpartum depression and it shifts the perception that caregiving is a female’s responsibility." Even with these positive outcomes, fathers are often hesitant to take the leave for fear that there will be a potential stigma or other negative impact on their career trajectory. By taking the leave, you not only support your partner at home, but you also show other fathers that it is possible to drive your career forward AND spend time at home with your baby.

3. Align on responsibilities at home
The mental load struggle for working mothers is real. In addition to their careers, women are taking on the lion’s share of parenting and household infrastructure tasks that happen seamlessly often without their partner noticing. I call it, "the third job." Clothes and supplies appear in the house and then disappear when they are no longer needed. Caregivers are managed. School forms are found and submitted. And the list goes on. Working fathers can check in with partners on the distribution of responsibilities to help even the load. And working mothers can release control of tasks and perfectionist approaches to managing said tasks. When household tasks are more evenly distributed, women have greater mental bandwidth, belief in their abilities to rise to senior levels AND be the mothers they want to be.

4. Create cultures of flexibility on your teams
Flexibility means different things to different people. If you are a working father and lead a team, create an open dialogue about what flexibility means to you and to the colleagues you lead. It is possible to both expect excellent work AND respect boundaries around flexibility and prioritization of family life. Both of these things can be true, and the formula will be different for each individual.

5. Mentor and sponsor women
Of course this is not relegated to working parents, but in general, given the number of men vs. women in senior roles—the mentorship and sponsorship of women by men is a critical step on the path toward gender equity. Senior women, already in a bandwidth crunch, often find themselves stretched even thinner when they try to bridge this gap for a multitude of mid-level women. This is an ideal place for male allies to step in, share possibilities and opportunities with their female colleagues—and make the case to broader audiences to support their growth.

While these approaches to allyship appear simple in theory—they absolutely take practice and an openness to stepping into some vulnerable terrain. If you’re used to compartmentalizing career and family life, it may be uncomfortable to share stories about your kids or perhaps lessons you learned while parenting that apply to your leadership style. If you feel there may be some resentment from your partner about an uneven distribution of household responsibilities, it will take courage to bridge those conversations with empathy and an open mind about how things can shift in the future. That said, if you’re reading this, you’re already committed to taking action and I appreciate you being here. Please choose one of these options as a way to continue on your path, then find someone to hold you accountable and share your results with others.