Purging House and Office

This year I dug deep to prepare for the neighborhood garage sale.  Not an annual participant, we had done some remodeling so there is much to purge this year—furniture, linens, lamps, grandma’s clutter from forgotten drawers, scads of stuffed animals (though the girls found some of their old treasured friends too), dusty books, unused sports’ gear, mismatched kitchenware.  It feels great to lighten the load, then hopefully end up with a couple dollars for each of us, donating the remnants.

I think it’s time to do the same swap out, clean up for my business.  After 20+ years of doing similar work, including consulting for 14 years, I have been itching, wanting to change up my job, my clients, my days.  My weekends are incredibly full, but by Sunday night the Monday-morning-blues are already invading my brain.  Not the way to run a business.

Most of my clients are innovative, smart people who run their own publishing/media firms, and I have grabbed wisdom and insights from each of them.  While I have my own firm, watching these leaders makes me covet owning something tangible of my own.  I am so fortunate to have worked with some incredible people,  as their businesses grow, products morphing as the times change.

I have consciously lightened the client load this year, and the freedom has allowed me to delve deeper into my current clients’ projects.  It has also given me a smidge of time to re-evaluate my work process, the projects I enjoy most, and what work I can outsource to others.  It’s been rewarding, it’s been exciting, it’s been frustrating, and it’s made me think—it’s time to make some more changes.  Purge the clutter, invite the new, embrace the changes, overcome the fear of branching out. It will take time to implement new changes and ideas, but with some time, planning and hard work it will hopefully happen.

It’s my business.  I think that anyone who has their own business should find it inspiring, play to their strengths, remove the dust, keep it fresh. Doing the same for too long causes complacency.  C

 

Shutting off the Email

People can wait.  The beep of the email arrival doesn’t mean that every message deserves equal, critical attention the moment it hits the in-box.

For years, I tried to answer emails as they came in.  The ding in the in-box was like the proverbial snap of the finger—read me now!  Give me your attention! This certainly did not allow me to focus on what I was working on. Then I realized that people began expecting immediate answers, day and night.

Over the past couple years,  I made a conscious effort to not answer emails right away.  More recently, I have taken the more drastic step of completely shutting down email for an hour or two each day, allowing me to focus on the project in front of me.   Sometimes I do this a couple times a day, and I have found that my productivity has increased dramatically, my work quality has improved, I am less stressed about the in-box to-do list, and not one person has complained about me responding to an email in a few hours rather than a few minutes.

I have the freedom of mainly working from home, juggling several clients.  With a lack of face-to-face meetings, I think it was easy to get into long-term email conversations.  But our in-boxes have been overloaded.  People cover-their-asses by copying everyone on group emails, then replying to everyone, and so on and so on, exacerbating the email glut.

So I am not only emailing less, I am using the phone more.  It is so easy to misconstrue ideas in an email. Talking through a large project, timelines, or  resolving a problem can oftentimes be resolved quicker in a call than 57 emails, with less room for disconnect between the parties involved.

Email is still a great tool I use through the workday.  But it can distract, overload, confuse.  And it doesn’t take place of the human voice, the handshake, the conversation, the doodles that can help provide a solution, inspire our creativity, keep us on task with goals, and simply add back the human element back into our workdays.  C

Changing Expectations

Over the past few months I have found myself changing my expectations for many people around me–my clients, my vendors, my friends, my kids, my spouse, my siblings.  I think we have some expectations ground into us when we are young, from what our parents taught us.  Then life experiences, a recession, and watching others around us moderates our long-term thoughts.

From work, I expect to slave many hours per day at my computer, on the phone, in meetings.  And for those extra hours I will get more demands from clients, tighter deadlines, project piling on until I learned to say NO!, an occasional thank you. Vendors are working harder to keep up with rapid technology changes, the same tight deadlines, and the new products reaching across departmental lines.

I have learned to lower my expectations of my children’s grades, especially when they are viewable daily online. A recent conversation made me realize I was striving for unattainable perfection in them.  I will accept the reality that my kids are putting in extra effort, some subjects are easier for them to comprehend, and some interest them more than others.

As they get old enough to choose their electives for next year, they need to select ones that interest them, so they can start to form their own future paths, with some open conversations about where that path might lead. Outside of school, I expect that they will make mistakes, hopefully not repeat them.

I have been married over twenty years, with many of the “normal” events of marriage shaping the adults we have become–moves, children, illness, job changes, pets, new hobbies,old hobbies, loss of friends and family, illness, planting a garden, choosing paint colors, buying a new car-a sofa-toilet paper, vacations, volunteering.

Sometimes I have absolutely no expectations, making it easy for Bob to succeed.  And sometimes the everyday distractions make it possible for us to succeed together.  Ever make a to-do list that’s impossible to complete in one day? One week?  A lifetime? A marriage to-do list never ends.  And to set sky-high expectations will only doom it daily.

From my friends I have learned to accept their offerings–a meal, a smile, a text, a phone call, a gift, a flower, a joke, a card–with grace and gratitude.

And from myself, as my abilities to do much have diminished since surgery, I have lowered my expectations for myself.  I have raised the expectations for my family to contribute more with the house cleaning, the shopping, the cooking, the laundry, the dogs.  Being forbidden to lift more than 10 lobs for a full 12 weeks has certainly reshaped my reality.

And tonight, my expectations for this blog post have dropped dramatically from what I envisioned while walking to what I have typed into this computer.

C

PS.  The morning after addendum on 1/12/11 is that I realize that this list of expectations could be much longer.  I have left off a myriad of people/organizations we have expectations for, who may or may not live up to them:  the President, local politicians, the mail lady, the next U2 concert I attend, the grocery store clerks, bus drivers,  the next episode of “Top Chef”.   The list goes on.

New York Oddities

“You have a rockin’ body,” the workman in Little Italy smiled as he passed me. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Thanks, but no,” I replied as I went along my way, a bit stunned that someone actually said that to me and even more surprised at the thought that someone might say Yes!

Just one of a handful of unusual occurrences that happened to me this week in NY, here are a couple others that stood out in my mind:

–While in a rush-hour taxi ride uptown, the large dump truck in front of us began backing up in the middle of the one-way street.  My taxi-driver slammed on the brakes, then we were forced to back up, unsure how far this unconventional dance would take.  As soon as the truck driver pulled over, my driver pulled next to him and began screaming at him, in English and an Asian tongue.

The seemingly New-York native driver of the truck began yelling back at him, “Ya Idiot. Ya Stoopid Idiot.”  Gesturing all the while, he got more animated as he saw me—the passenger in the back—and began a louder show of gesturing and swearing, my driver still screaming, his neck veins bulging.

I finally had to say loudly “Let’s wrap this up and keep moving.  I’m not paying for you to fight with this driver.”  (in a much bigger vehicle able of crushing the cab, I thought)

–The next evening my cousins and I were seated to eat dinner at a trendy restaurant in the Village.  Our waiter was soap-opera looking sexy, with dark  wavy hair, overly white teeth, the dimples, white shirt slightly too tight to tight to show off his bulging muscles and tattoo, tan. He took out wine order fine, but when we asked him to explain what “Crispy Jesus Artichokes” were he simply answered’ “They’re fried.”

Oh really?  We couldn’t figure that out?  Talking down to four people who used to work in restaurants—two who once owned an excellent Italian restaurant of their own—waitering was clearly not his first choice of profession.  He was slumming, waiting for his “big break.”

He barely acknowledged our table throughout our dining, yet we were the group that ordered three appetizers, each a main course, two bottles of wine, and two desserts.  Think he got 15% tip?  Doubtful.

–Last night Kris and I were out late, watching the Black Hawks win the Stanley Cup at a bar by my hotel.  We became friendly with the staff, asking where we could go dancing-as if we needed to go out further.  The manager (I think) told us to go outside, downstairs and there was a dance club there; we got the impression it was the same owners.

We headed outside, to see the lone elder black “bouncer” standing by a forlorn red rope, bereft of patrons.  What was he doing?  And who was going to stand in his little line, in the pouring rain?

He refused to let us down the stairs.  We weren’t on The List.  We explained in vain that the manager and bartenders invited us specifically to go in, but he stood his ground.  We were not on The List.  Ah well.  We could have put up more of a stink, gotten the manager to come tell of his invitation, but why?  It was late, and I had to work in a few hours, and was this place in a dark alley, empty of all people, really The place to be?  We left.

–And the shoes!  The crazy, ridiculously high shoes.  I am stunned that women totter on them to Starbucks like children playing dress up, legs unnaturally bent, many looking extremely uncomfortable and unable to walk smoothly.  Boy, the designers pulled a fast one and the couture wanna-bees bought it.  And while the shoe manufacturers know this ridiculous trend cannot last, the orthopedic doctors are lined up to catch the shaky as they fall.  Literally.

Hard work, hard play, lots of walking.  Pictures up soon. And always some interesting stories. Gotta love NY. C

Busy, Busy, Busy

Being buried alive, that’s my week.  Covered not by physical Earth but by the dirt spewed by others, volunteer work unfinished by others that I must handle, my completion of yet another volunteer job and the wrap up needed, unexpected work projects, organizing weekend plans for a myriad of  people, laundry, cooking, driving, technical computer glitches, more unanticipated work questions so that to-do list grows, dogs need exercise, homework, grocery store. Is it snowing again?

The outlets?  Surprise call from an old friend, funny posts on Facebook, and –my favorite, as always–an exhilarating walk-trot-canter on Sophie.  As Sophie and I work, tension slips from my shoulders, my brain empties of all who need me (if just for a brief while), no one pressuring, asking, wanting, waiting, needing, needling, calling.  Or if they are, I am immune.  So when complete, I can start refreshed and as the phone rings, the emails alert, the mailman delivers I remember that brief respite of mine.  And count the days until I can fit it on my calendar (so sad) to escape again. C

Business Travel Then and Now

Single and younger–in my previous life–I enjoyed business travel.  And I did much more of it than now.  Back then, getting through airports was a breeze with no strip seaches to fly to Detroit, I could EL it to O’Hare or Midway, I didn’t have to leave a written schedule for the kids more complex than a presidential trip, I usually traveled with very fun-fun-hard working late night out co-workers with whom I had time to explore the cities, and I could come home to relative peace.

Now I have to leave my home three to four hours before any flight, snake through long, long lines and remove practically everything from the carry-on and computer bag while juggling heels and jacket and hope the airline hasn’t cancelled my flight.  And having to wear real-people clothes after working at home for months is a shock to my system–heels three days in a row!  But payback is time to wear some new clothes, bought since I have no meeting attire for three days in a row.

A bit overwhelmed after information-gathering meetings, I admit I don’t mind becoming invisible, lying on the overstuffed white comforters, flipping on all my favorite channels with NO ONE to complain, work on the computer, iron my shirt in my underwear, and chill out awhile after sitting in an office watching, learning, online exploring, problem-solving.  Until I turn off the TV and realize what I thought was a revving motorcycle at midnight was in actuality the man (I assume) snoring in the room next door.  So much for sound sleeping for me.

Tomorrow it is morning rush for wrap up and next step meetings, cruise to the airport, wait-wait board the plane, taxi home and try to make it to a soccer game then make dinner get some hugs read the mail check the emails again unpack have a large glass of red wine sleep.

Only one half-hour from Boston and I didn’t get to visit the city this trip.  That is the bummer about business travel–the business part! C