In my last job, I was basically a glorified personal assistant. I had a big role in running the company, but I was also obligated to help the owner and CEO of the company with his niggling annoying personal tasks to free up his time to do other things. Every once in a while he would hand me a bill and simply tell me to get whoever sent it to reduce their fees. I got pretty good at arguing with people and steamrolling them. I thought that those talents would help me in my current job, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
At work, my job is essentially to mediate between the wants of the people who are paying me, and the people who are supplying the labor and materials that make the wants a reality. This often requires arguments over money, responsibility, and work that was done to one party’s standards but not another. Further, this can involve ugly contract disputes, withholding of payments, and severed professional relationships. Working with the alpha-male personality types that are frequent in my industry means, surprisingly, being sensitive to the hurt egos that seem to abound. Often, even if you are telling someone that they didn’t do their job properly and need to re-do it at their own cost, if you deliver the message with empathy, then you are more likely to get what you want.
A lot of calming an agitated situation is simply listening. Letting every party know that they are being heard, and that you are not trying to lay blame or place responsibility, only solve the problem. It’s tempting, in a lot of instances, to point fingers, but that often leads to anger, or defensiveness. Invariably, the easiest way to getting things done is to get buy-in from all parties involved. And that’s really, to me, the essence of power. Not forcing people to your will.
This is a skill that I am still developing, and I think I will continue to work on throughout the rest of my adult life. For a long time, I thought that getting your own way was all about pushing people around. It’s really humbling to see people who are able to conduct themselves in a way (even through difficult situations) that maintains respect in the relationship, builds loyalty, and creates a learning experience for all parties involved.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Another day in The Office
RH: Did you know bears are the most widespread animal on the planet? They’re on all the continents. Except Antarctica. No, except Australia. Wait, is Australia a continent? What are the seven continents again?
(answers are shouted out while I laugh helplessly at my desk)
RH: Ok, North America, South America. Ok, Africa. Asia. Europe.
Random shout: Eurasia!
RH: [continuing uninterrupted] Antarctica…
BL: Arctica?
[silence]
(answers are shouted out while I laugh helplessly at my desk)
RH: Ok, North America, South America. Ok, Africa. Asia. Europe.
Random shout: Eurasia!
RH: [continuing uninterrupted] Antarctica…
BL: Arctica?
[silence]
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Party Monsters
I firmly believe that at the root of many of the more complex interpersonal issues that I have experienced (and many of our personality quirks) with both men and women, is insecurity. Insecurity manifests itself in so many ways: coldly ignoring someone for a minor perceived slight, dependence on someone for reassurance all the time, constantly criticizing everyone else, fighting with a significant other because of jealousy.
I started thinking about this the other day. On Saturdays, at my dance studio, I typically teach anywhere from 3-4 bachelorette and birthday parties for women. It’s an interesting little cross section of women in general; put a bunch of women in a strange situation, with “stripper poles” (I prefer the term “dance poles” myself), and try to get them to act sexy and it’s like some kind of instant insecurity amplifier. I believe that your truest self comes out under duress and there is nothing like a possibly very uncomfortable situation to show your real colors.
Now keep in mind that in a typical group of friends, there is a wide range of physical ability, and this is no exception; there are always some women who are much more fit and able than others. Other archetypes that seem to pop up in every group are: the shy one who just wants to stand in the corner and watch, the one who’s idea it was in the first place (and this is usually the person who is most excited to be there and wearing the smallest shorts), and the one who was dragged in and doesn’t really think this is such a good idea.
And then there is the woman who is beautiful, thin, and has no idea how to use her raw female power. I see so many women who have no idea how to move their hips in a circle, let alone run their hand through their hair or down their body sensually. It’s as though their beauty has been placed in a crystal box, and they’ve never opened it, content to just look and how pretty it is through the glass. They are always supremely aware of their awkwardness, and the expression on their face is that of a deer in headlights. You want me to do what?
I love, love, love the joyous woman. The one who is a consumer of all things delicious in her life: usually she has hips, and curves, and after just a little coaxing she is pushing them out and walking with her hand sassily perched on her hip. She laughs, pokes fun at herself, has come to peace with herself and knows that her body is just the dressing, the sauce, to the beauty, however flawed, that is inside of her. I look forward to having these women in class. They are the most enjoyable, the most gracious.
There is the type A overachiever. Usually she does yoga, or has dance experience. Often her friends joke with her, subtly putting her under pressure to be the "best". She is competitive with herself, and the disappointment and frustration rolls off her in waves if she can't get things quite right. Usually she set up the party, and will sign up for additional classes after. My heart aches for this woman. I want to tell her to relax and have fun, that there is plenty of time to get everything perfect. But I don't.
And then. I don’t know why this is, but in every group of white women-- and only white women-- there is always one woman who does the moves alongside me obligingly, but at some point, when she starts realizing how uncomfortable she is, she starts making a joke of it. Mocking movements, over exaggerating a hip thrust, distracting the rest of the group into laughing. She changes the tone of the class at some point. When this woman is present, she takes all the sexuality out of it, takes her own discomfort and expresses it negatively, turns it on the activity and makes fun of the dancing, reminding everyone else in the room that they should be uncomfortable as well. Making them feel foolish for trying any harder than she is. I have come to dread the appearance of this woman, who usually body-snatches someone about halfway through the warmup and transforms the group into a party that I honestly would rather not teach.
I’m pretty sure that if you take that woman, that Chelsea Handler-esque woman, and get her at a coffee shop on any typical day, and talk to her about her life, she is a funny, sharp, engaging, and interesting person. I realize that it's really negative to say that a person can be summarized by their faults, or the worst aspects of their personality. And I have been working harder at seeing the good in everyone. But when you take someone outside of their comfort zone, you see so much of the dark underbelly of their personality. You see the person that they are when they are at their worst. And unfortunately, sometimes that is all that you see. It reminds me, no matter how stressed or uneasy I may be in a situation or on a particular day, to try a little bit harder to be genuine. To not put up walls around myself. To try not to let my own insecurity manifest in a way that might affect someone else.
I started thinking about this the other day. On Saturdays, at my dance studio, I typically teach anywhere from 3-4 bachelorette and birthday parties for women. It’s an interesting little cross section of women in general; put a bunch of women in a strange situation, with “stripper poles” (I prefer the term “dance poles” myself), and try to get them to act sexy and it’s like some kind of instant insecurity amplifier. I believe that your truest self comes out under duress and there is nothing like a possibly very uncomfortable situation to show your real colors.
Now keep in mind that in a typical group of friends, there is a wide range of physical ability, and this is no exception; there are always some women who are much more fit and able than others. Other archetypes that seem to pop up in every group are: the shy one who just wants to stand in the corner and watch, the one who’s idea it was in the first place (and this is usually the person who is most excited to be there and wearing the smallest shorts), and the one who was dragged in and doesn’t really think this is such a good idea.
And then there is the woman who is beautiful, thin, and has no idea how to use her raw female power. I see so many women who have no idea how to move their hips in a circle, let alone run their hand through their hair or down their body sensually. It’s as though their beauty has been placed in a crystal box, and they’ve never opened it, content to just look and how pretty it is through the glass. They are always supremely aware of their awkwardness, and the expression on their face is that of a deer in headlights. You want me to do what?
I love, love, love the joyous woman. The one who is a consumer of all things delicious in her life: usually she has hips, and curves, and after just a little coaxing she is pushing them out and walking with her hand sassily perched on her hip. She laughs, pokes fun at herself, has come to peace with herself and knows that her body is just the dressing, the sauce, to the beauty, however flawed, that is inside of her. I look forward to having these women in class. They are the most enjoyable, the most gracious.
There is the type A overachiever. Usually she does yoga, or has dance experience. Often her friends joke with her, subtly putting her under pressure to be the "best". She is competitive with herself, and the disappointment and frustration rolls off her in waves if she can't get things quite right. Usually she set up the party, and will sign up for additional classes after. My heart aches for this woman. I want to tell her to relax and have fun, that there is plenty of time to get everything perfect. But I don't.
And then. I don’t know why this is, but in every group of white women-- and only white women-- there is always one woman who does the moves alongside me obligingly, but at some point, when she starts realizing how uncomfortable she is, she starts making a joke of it. Mocking movements, over exaggerating a hip thrust, distracting the rest of the group into laughing. She changes the tone of the class at some point. When this woman is present, she takes all the sexuality out of it, takes her own discomfort and expresses it negatively, turns it on the activity and makes fun of the dancing, reminding everyone else in the room that they should be uncomfortable as well. Making them feel foolish for trying any harder than she is. I have come to dread the appearance of this woman, who usually body-snatches someone about halfway through the warmup and transforms the group into a party that I honestly would rather not teach.
I’m pretty sure that if you take that woman, that Chelsea Handler-esque woman, and get her at a coffee shop on any typical day, and talk to her about her life, she is a funny, sharp, engaging, and interesting person. I realize that it's really negative to say that a person can be summarized by their faults, or the worst aspects of their personality. And I have been working harder at seeing the good in everyone. But when you take someone outside of their comfort zone, you see so much of the dark underbelly of their personality. You see the person that they are when they are at their worst. And unfortunately, sometimes that is all that you see. It reminds me, no matter how stressed or uneasy I may be in a situation or on a particular day, to try a little bit harder to be genuine. To not put up walls around myself. To try not to let my own insecurity manifest in a way that might affect someone else.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I want to remember...
It's noon in Manhattan. A walk to the neighborhood bagel shop, he gets in the line that snakes past the counter and around the walls inside. I'm sitting outside with the dog, waiting. The summer heat beats down. It's a brick oven on Broadway and I'm standing in it. He gets out of the store, bagels in hand, and asks me: "are you sure you don't want to go upstate just for the day?"
An hour later, we're loaded into a car, one overnight bag each, packed with a bathing suit and not much else. I'm wearing a sundress and flip flops and a hundred miles can't pass soon enough. I have a little less than twenty-four hours of freedom.
Two hours pass, and he's in the pool and I'm laying on the lawn. Mountain breezes are drifting through my hair. The sun is peeking through the trees as though not to offend. The heat is different here. I almost don't need to get in the water to cool off but when I do, it's delicious and smooth. I can feel myself exhale and it's a deeper breath than I've had all week. When I get out of the pool everything sheets off my skin.
The grass is more shade than sun by the time we unwrap sandwiches, crisp white butcher paper unfurling to reveal food that is delicious the way that only after-swim food is delicious. Sitting on lawn chairs we eat sushi rolls with our fingers. I lay down on my towel and fall asleep watching boys, barefoot, run back and forth over the lawn after a soccer ball, frolicking like puppies.
Dinner at a restaurant in town. Sitting outside, sipping lemonade blueberry cocktails with crushed ice. Somehow food tastes better out here. You can focus on one sense at a time, and the air is clean. Conversation lingers and in the car on the ride home, we see heat lightning illuminating the sky. A thunderstorm, somewhere, is casting light so bright that it's reflecting off clouds and reaching us with no hint of thunder.
On the porch, beers in hand, staring up into stars. I love this man for understanding my soul. I'm so glad we came. Last minute trips are the best ones. In eight hours, I'll be on a bus back to the city, but for now, I feel the wind, and smell the summer.
An hour later, we're loaded into a car, one overnight bag each, packed with a bathing suit and not much else. I'm wearing a sundress and flip flops and a hundred miles can't pass soon enough. I have a little less than twenty-four hours of freedom.
Two hours pass, and he's in the pool and I'm laying on the lawn. Mountain breezes are drifting through my hair. The sun is peeking through the trees as though not to offend. The heat is different here. I almost don't need to get in the water to cool off but when I do, it's delicious and smooth. I can feel myself exhale and it's a deeper breath than I've had all week. When I get out of the pool everything sheets off my skin.
The grass is more shade than sun by the time we unwrap sandwiches, crisp white butcher paper unfurling to reveal food that is delicious the way that only after-swim food is delicious. Sitting on lawn chairs we eat sushi rolls with our fingers. I lay down on my towel and fall asleep watching boys, barefoot, run back and forth over the lawn after a soccer ball, frolicking like puppies.
Dinner at a restaurant in town. Sitting outside, sipping lemonade blueberry cocktails with crushed ice. Somehow food tastes better out here. You can focus on one sense at a time, and the air is clean. Conversation lingers and in the car on the ride home, we see heat lightning illuminating the sky. A thunderstorm, somewhere, is casting light so bright that it's reflecting off clouds and reaching us with no hint of thunder.
On the porch, beers in hand, staring up into stars. I love this man for understanding my soul. I'm so glad we came. Last minute trips are the best ones. In eight hours, I'll be on a bus back to the city, but for now, I feel the wind, and smell the summer.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Books I've read since I received WunderKindle (Circa Jan 2010)
List to be updated periodically. If you have any recommendations, I'm open to them!
(last updated 8/24/10)
Fiction
The Subject Steve- Sam Lipsyte
The Lost Symbol- Dan Brown
Norwegian Wood- Haruki Murakami
Kafka on the Shore- Haruki Murakami
Heart Shaped Box- Joe Hill
Horns- Joe Hill
The Song is You- Arthur Phillips
Juliet, Naked- Nick Hornby
Last Night in Twisted River- John Irving
Too Much Happiness- Alice Munro
Nocturnes- Kazuo Ishiguro
Wicked Lovely- Melissa Marr
The Imperfectionists- Tom Rachman
The Elementary Particles- Michel Houellebecq
In the Heart of the Canyon- Elisabeth Hyde
Then we Came to the End- Joshua Ferris
The Passage- Justin Cronin
The Glass Castle- Jeannette Walls
Nonfiction
The Checklist Manifesto- Atul Gawande
Open- Andre Agassi
Knives at Dawn- Andrew Friedman
Inside of a Dog- Alexandra Horowitz
Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven- Susan Jane Gilman
Born Round- Frank Bruni
Making Rounds with Oscar- David Dosa
Born to Run- Christopher McDougall
Knives at Dawn (the Bocuse D'or)- Andrew Friedman
(last updated 8/24/10)
Fiction
The Subject Steve- Sam Lipsyte
The Lost Symbol- Dan Brown
Norwegian Wood- Haruki Murakami
Kafka on the Shore- Haruki Murakami
Heart Shaped Box- Joe Hill
Horns- Joe Hill
The Song is You- Arthur Phillips
Juliet, Naked- Nick Hornby
Last Night in Twisted River- John Irving
Too Much Happiness- Alice Munro
Nocturnes- Kazuo Ishiguro
Wicked Lovely- Melissa Marr
The Imperfectionists- Tom Rachman
The Elementary Particles- Michel Houellebecq
In the Heart of the Canyon- Elisabeth Hyde
Then we Came to the End- Joshua Ferris
The Passage- Justin Cronin
The Glass Castle- Jeannette Walls
Nonfiction
The Checklist Manifesto- Atul Gawande
Open- Andre Agassi
Knives at Dawn- Andrew Friedman
Inside of a Dog- Alexandra Horowitz
Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven- Susan Jane Gilman
Born Round- Frank Bruni
Making Rounds with Oscar- David Dosa
Born to Run- Christopher McDougall
Knives at Dawn (the Bocuse D'or)- Andrew Friedman
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Fuel for the Fire
Last year, after reading a couple books on the slow-food, sustainable food, and locavore movements, I was inspired to live a life that more closely reflected my new-found political and ideological perspectives on food. I’m not trying to convince anyone in any way, but the books that I read did a lot to open up my eyes to the world of mass-produced food. I wanted to do my part to purchase organic groceries, grown on farms close to me instead of half a world away, and to support beef and poultry that was humanely raised and slaughtered. After doing a lot of research, I decided to join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) in my area. Unfortunately (due to a breakup and a new apartment in a different borough of Manhattan) that didn’t come to fruition until this year, but now that I’ve been part of my CSA for a while, I wanted to share a little more about it, and how happy I am that I joined.
Being part of a CSA is basically agreeing to buy a “share” in all the produce that comes from a local farm for the growing season. That means that for better or for worse, tomato blight or drought or cold weather aside (crossing my fingers that won’t happen) you are supporting them and agreeing to give them a certain amount of money up front. That takes a load of stress off the farm, giving them guaranteed income no matter what their output, and also gives you an opportunity to have delicious, farm-fresh produce for about 20 weeks of the summer. There are many CSAs that you can join in the NYC area, and all of them get their supplies from one of a few farms in the tri-state area. You go to a pre-designated place every week to pick up your allotment, and you can also buy fruit, egg, meat, or milk shares from your farm as well.
The growing season for my CSA (Merchant’s Gate) began about a month ago. I only bought one share, but it’s perfect for three nicely-sized vegetable sides for a couple throughout the week. I’m glad that it’s not larger or I would have to throw stuff out, since I’m not home often enough to make a home-cooked meal every night realistic. So far I’ve gotten interesting stuff like garlic scapes and fava beans, which is fun to learn to cook with, as well as awesome fresh garlic, red onions, radishes, lettuce, arugula, zucchini, and other basic greens. I’ve learned to really appreciate not needing to go grocery shopping, and it’s fun to challenge myself to use everything every week.
As I’ve become much more physically active over the past year, I’ve found that my body craves more nutritionally complete food. It makes me think a little bit about the vicious circle that is overweight America—Overprocessed foods with artificial flavorings and high sodium and sugars are consumed by people who lead mostly sedentary lifestyles, which encourages more calorie-binging and weight gain. Rinse and repeat. Chinese take-out and fast food gets less and less appealing (although it does have it’s place in my heart) and I find myself actually craving salads. What a turnaround from a year ago, when I had my first cobb salad and became a convert to the world of leafy greens in a bowl as a meal. When you listen to your body, you will find that it’s telling you what it needs. Right now mine needs tons of fresh veggies and protein, with lots of water and fruits—and with fresh groceries in the fridge every week to pick from, it’s become so much simpler to eat well.
Being part of a CSA is basically agreeing to buy a “share” in all the produce that comes from a local farm for the growing season. That means that for better or for worse, tomato blight or drought or cold weather aside (crossing my fingers that won’t happen) you are supporting them and agreeing to give them a certain amount of money up front. That takes a load of stress off the farm, giving them guaranteed income no matter what their output, and also gives you an opportunity to have delicious, farm-fresh produce for about 20 weeks of the summer. There are many CSAs that you can join in the NYC area, and all of them get their supplies from one of a few farms in the tri-state area. You go to a pre-designated place every week to pick up your allotment, and you can also buy fruit, egg, meat, or milk shares from your farm as well.
The growing season for my CSA (Merchant’s Gate) began about a month ago. I only bought one share, but it’s perfect for three nicely-sized vegetable sides for a couple throughout the week. I’m glad that it’s not larger or I would have to throw stuff out, since I’m not home often enough to make a home-cooked meal every night realistic. So far I’ve gotten interesting stuff like garlic scapes and fava beans, which is fun to learn to cook with, as well as awesome fresh garlic, red onions, radishes, lettuce, arugula, zucchini, and other basic greens. I’ve learned to really appreciate not needing to go grocery shopping, and it’s fun to challenge myself to use everything every week.
As I’ve become much more physically active over the past year, I’ve found that my body craves more nutritionally complete food. It makes me think a little bit about the vicious circle that is overweight America—Overprocessed foods with artificial flavorings and high sodium and sugars are consumed by people who lead mostly sedentary lifestyles, which encourages more calorie-binging and weight gain. Rinse and repeat. Chinese take-out and fast food gets less and less appealing (although it does have it’s place in my heart) and I find myself actually craving salads. What a turnaround from a year ago, when I had my first cobb salad and became a convert to the world of leafy greens in a bowl as a meal. When you listen to your body, you will find that it’s telling you what it needs. Right now mine needs tons of fresh veggies and protein, with lots of water and fruits—and with fresh groceries in the fridge every week to pick from, it’s become so much simpler to eat well.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
If the shoe fits...
Recently I had a small mini-revelation. I was reading a friend's blog and she was discussing some recent wardrobe addition she had made, and then said something like: "but even though it's a little loose in the hips, I get all my clothing altered anyway so..."
HOLD THE PHONE! Really? Really.
This friend of mine, who always fits so beautifully in everything that she wears, gets almost everything TAILORED. She told me: her chest is large but her torso is short and her waist is small, so everything she buys that fits in the bust is too big everywhere else. And all this time I just thought she was a super shopper that happened to somehow find a magical clothing store where everything was just her size.
Now, given that this isn't necessarily the cheapest way to shop, it does however open up a whole new universe for me. Because hardly anything ever fits me perfectly, but for some reason I only ever thought of tailors as being there to fix a ripped seam, or bring up a hem. Today I dropped off this beauty:
I love the fabric (lightweight jersey) but wasn't loving the super billowy (almost maternity-dress-y) cut... so I'm having it hemmed and taken in, and restitched to be a little less ruched below the bust, and since I bought it on super sale it's like getting a dress that perfectly fits me for the price of a regularly priced piece! I love it. And I've finally found a tailor I like (who knows how to do a REAL original hem on a pair of jeans) so I trust them with stuff like this.
I mean, really: how many pieces do you have in your closet that you really like, but that you never wear because it doesn't quite fit? Our body is perfectly fine shaped exactly the way it is, and it can look lovely in everything, you just need the right tailor.
HOLD THE PHONE! Really? Really.
This friend of mine, who always fits so beautifully in everything that she wears, gets almost everything TAILORED. She told me: her chest is large but her torso is short and her waist is small, so everything she buys that fits in the bust is too big everywhere else. And all this time I just thought she was a super shopper that happened to somehow find a magical clothing store where everything was just her size.
Now, given that this isn't necessarily the cheapest way to shop, it does however open up a whole new universe for me. Because hardly anything ever fits me perfectly, but for some reason I only ever thought of tailors as being there to fix a ripped seam, or bring up a hem. Today I dropped off this beauty:
I love the fabric (lightweight jersey) but wasn't loving the super billowy (almost maternity-dress-y) cut... so I'm having it hemmed and taken in, and restitched to be a little less ruched below the bust, and since I bought it on super sale it's like getting a dress that perfectly fits me for the price of a regularly priced piece! I love it. And I've finally found a tailor I like (who knows how to do a REAL original hem on a pair of jeans) so I trust them with stuff like this.
I mean, really: how many pieces do you have in your closet that you really like, but that you never wear because it doesn't quite fit? Our body is perfectly fine shaped exactly the way it is, and it can look lovely in everything, you just need the right tailor.
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