For a Colleague and Dr. Blasey Ford

I moved on from my #Metoo moment, compartmentalizing the experience as an ugly event in the distant past. I was lucky. On that awful night, nearly 20 years ago, I was able to remove myself from a bad situation before it escalated into a dangerous one. The occurance and the hideous HR investigation following it did not derail, nor define me.  But, with the swirl of vitriol surrounding the Kavanaugh nomination that’s demoralizing our national psyche (and mine), I’ve been forced to go back to that dark experience from my past. 

The memories, which are suffocating, were triggered by an email I received this week from a former colleague. She bore the brunt of aggregious behavior by a drunken executive, for which I feel horribly responsible. You see, I chose not to stand up to the asshole when I was his target and as a result, someone else fell into his clutches. 

It was an evening of celebration for my company. As has been the case throughout my career, I was the sole female executive, (another issue for another day) so as usual, I found myself surrounded by male colleagues. This time, we were in a crowded bar, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred until one of them grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me uncomfortably close so he could whisper how much power and control he had at the company and over me.  It was surreal. I scanned the table and registered with alarm that some of my colleagues realized something wasn’t right. But, not one intervened. In the heat of the situation, I frantically reviewed my options. While I contemplated being assertive and throwing my drink in his face or abruptly standing to physically break free, I made the choice not to be “that woman”, nor to “make a scene”.  So, I endured the verbal abuse and when the guy got distracted and loosened his grip, I saw my chance to break free and quickly retreated to my hotel room. 

There, I fumed, furious for not reacting to the situation in the manner I expected of myself, furious with my colleagues who saw that I was in trouble, but did nothing and of course, furious with the “esteemed” executive, who was disgustingly inebriated and physically and verbally abusive.

The next morning, fury turned to shame and guilt when I discovered that one of my managers made the tragic mistake of taking my seat after I left. With more alcohol to fuel his drunken power trip, the executive’s behavior turned even more aggressive and harrowing.  

The harrassment threw my colleague off course well beyond that evening in a manner that had deep personal and professional ramifications. Her email this week reminded me how greatly we failed her, how greatly I failed her. She spiraled out of control not just because of the abuse she endured in that bar, but because the company, while feigning concern and zero tolerance afterwards, actually did nothing in response. I let myself get talked into believing that doing the right thing by her wasn’t as important as protecting our stock price. Why risk public embarrassment and potential harm on Wall Street when no one was “really hurt”?   

The guy? I’m sure he was humiliated to have endured the HR investigation (poor thing), most likely because the subject matter was so beneath who he believed himself to be. But, beyond that, there were no consequences. He moved on from the company years after the incident—taking on a CEO position elsewhere.  Obviously, he experienced no professional derailment as a result of his behavior. 

I wonder if he or my former colleagues watched the Senate hearing this week.  I wonder if the national conversation is triggering memories of the incident as vividily for them as it has for us?  Is there reflection and remorse on how we handled the situation?  Are they empathatic towards Dr. Blasey Ford, who bravely stood before the world to recall an unspeakable experience?  Can these men appreciate how hard it is for far too many of us to observe the oh-so-predictable and gender-biased handling of her allegations?  Will they connect the dots back to that time we gathered in a hotel cocktail lounge so many years ago?  

 I am doubtful, so I write this blog post to nudge them on to do so. They owe it to all #MeToo-ers to be intraspective, to learn, and to simply do and be better.  I hope they heed my call -- for our colleague, the wrongs she endured and to honor the courage displayed by Dr. Blasey Ford this week.  

 I have decided to re-engage online.  Over the years, I  have periodically posted pieces on LinkedIn, but moving forward, I'm going to focus my attention on this much-neglected blog. Beyond books,  I'm expanding my musings to cover other topics: work, life, kids and  just  random observations.

TALKING LIKE A GIRL

I re-watched the match and read dozens of opinion pieces to help put the US Open Finals fiasco in proper perspective but yet despite doing this and "sleeping on it", the Serena Williams penalties in Saturday’s final still infuriate me.  I'm spitting nails, blood-boiling-kind-of-mad.  

This year’s final match is and forever will be marred in controversy.  It's clear that those ridiculous late-match calls deflated any chance for the all-mighty Serena to mount a thrilling comeback. And for Naomi, it's just not right that a young player’s dream of winning her first Grand Slam was reduced to a nightmare, the moment it became a reality. The officiating of the Women’s Tennis Final at the US Open and the USTA’s response to those controversial calls stink on so many levels. We just can't ignore it. 

The ugly truth is clear. Had Serena been a man, her exchange with the linesman would have been interpreted altogether differently. Yesterday, there were no voices raised. No profanities uttered. Serena Williams simply had the audacity to push back and voice her discontent. Because she’s a woman, because she’s a strong black woman, her words were interpreted as wildly offensive and so inappropriate the only recourse was to penalize her. Over and over again.    

As I read through other commentary on this, I wasn’t surprised to hear from men who admitted they’ve pushed back way more aggressively on far lesser stages than the US Open Final. Their punishments? Verbal warnings. Why the different treatment for Serena Williams?  Why the different treatment for many women -- off the court?  

I'm lucky.  I’ve never felt thwarted in my career advancement because of my gender, nor uncomfortable working side by side with the men who dominate my industry. But, the truth remains that the rules of engagement are different for me and my female counterparts, especially in the realm of communication. Yesterday’s conflict highlighted this disparity.   

At work, in the field, and at conferences, I watch women present ideas and challenge others in a far more deliberate manner than their male counterparts. We strive to ensure our interactions are not construed as “emotional”. For me, this has been a challenge because I am passionate about my work and the standards I set for myself, my team and my company. While my “intensity" is respected, I understand it can also reinforce my stature as “a woman”, so in the heat of debate, I work to exercise restraint. The red-faced male colleague dropping f-bombs to emphasize his point is deemed tough, assertive and commands attention. The room responds to his style of discourse. This generally is not the case for a woman pushing for her point of view just as emphatically. 
  

A colleague of mine pointed out that in executive meetings I sometimes back down from arguments and confrontation. This was painful to absorb as well as enlightening (as all the things you don’t see in yourself often are) because in the examples he cited, I didn’t feel as if I was backing away from my position. Rather, I was merely giving up on my ability to be heard. With so many loud, deep voices, mine frequently seemed the easiest to ignore. 

My colleague’s comment stings for it begs the question; what kind of example am I setting for other women in my company, those striving for executive roles or simply striving to be heard?  How can I drive behavioral and cultural change, if I am not noting this disparity?  As a company leader, isn’t it my responsibility to ensure equal interaction for everyone in the room?  

A woman can’t be afraid she’ll get “penalized” for speaking her mind. Yesterday, Serena stood her ground and called out what the  bad behavior in yesterday’s match really was: sexism.The example set at Flushing Meadows  by one of the greatest athletes of our time should inspire all of us to do the same.  

 From now on ladies, let's channel Serena's strength.  From now on, no more talking like a girl!  

One Year Later

I was heading to Amsterdam for a trade show and had some time to kill before my flight, so decided to check in with my dad.   In the remarkable quiet of Terminal A, I had a wonderfully rich and intimate visit with my father -- meaty, real and meaningful.  I got on my flight filled with love.  Or rather, I boarded the plane feeling "loved".  Let me tell you, there’s no better way to cope with a 10-hour transcontinental flight!

As I wait for my connection to Amsterdam today, (same trade show, just the 2014 version of it), I'm struck by how shocked I am that a year has passed since we lost Dad.   While I've put the hospital stay and funeral behind me, today I’m sentimental, reflecting back on my father and all that has transpired since he died.  

With the swirl of travel activity around me here, I force myself to focus on happy memories.  I smile, picturing myself talking with Dad last year from SFO and whisper my thanks for that special father/daughter connection the phone visit invoked. The conversation was a timely gift -- three days later, with a slip and a knock to his head, our world changed, and my special talks with Dad would happen no more.

Our last one, from an airport of all places, still comforts me, especially when I'm missing him the most.   I plan to wrap myself in the memory of it and of him for the next ten hours,  as I come to terms with the reality of losing Dad and of  my life without him....all over again, just one year later.  

Dad, I wish you were here.  xoxox

Loss

It’s been four months and yet, I’m still jolted by the reality that my father is gone. When I’m moved to call him, I suddenly remember.  When one of the kids says something I want to share with him, I remember.  When I go to sleep and recall those last days in the hospital, I remember.  It’s those shocks of reality that prolong this deep sense of loss and sadness.  Ugggh!  I’m so ready to break free from these bouts of heartache!

To make myself feel better I indulge in a walk down memory lane – recalling all those delicious moments in time that combined, made up “Life with Dad.” My mind clicks on an image; I register it and then move to the next.  I’m working from an infinite wheel of beautiful memories.  This cerebral tour comforts me. 

I’m four years old, pretending to have fallen asleep on the couch so he would carry me to bed.  Click.   I’m ten, a rough-and-tumble tomboy, building forts and catching frogs with my brothers and Dad.   Click.  Click.  Next, family vacations: Hiking in Alaska, touring Italy, praying at the Waling Wall, battling red ants in the Amazon, visiting national parks, and exploring countless museums.  Every trip, every adventure, we’re gloriously together. Click, click, click... 

As I grow older, the bond got stronger. I panicked after my first class in college. Dad talked me off that ledge. I got a job and called home to share the news. “That’s great stuff, kiddo!” During our dance at my wedding reception, Dad gently pulled me closer to share his blessing on my marriage. “You did good, babe.”   He jumped from his chair with unabashed excitement when we told him we were pregnant and in a flash, I’m in a hospital room, introducing Dad to our newborn son.  Years later, we watched our third and youngest graduate, with my father right by my side.   And then finally, I called Dad from the airport on my way to visit our daughter in Thailand.   He ended the conversation the way he always did, “Love you sweetheart,” his very last words to me. 

Dad went peacefully after a rich and wonderful life.  This should help me cope with his death, but it doesn’t. Despite lots of love around me, I often feel alone.  I know I should “buck up and do,” one of Dad’s favorite go-to sayings, but I can’t.

I’ve been through this before.  We lost Mom twenty years ago after her horrific five-year battle with cancer.  She was far too young, and her end, grueling and cruel.  Because she suffered so, I greeted her death with a sense of relief, grateful that all that pain was behind her.  After time, though, the reality hit harshly that I lost Mom and I fell into raw despair. I mourned and grieved, consumed by the reality that I was to be forever motherless. 

Dotty, my mother-in-law embraced me as her only daughter and I cherished the intimate connection we shared, particularly after losing Mom. So when Dot got sick, I was her go-to advocate.  I met with her doctors, communicated the things she was too fearful to hear from them directly, fought for her care throughout her illness, and never left her side, right up to the bitter end.  After her funeral, I experienced a profound sense of loss, even greater than what I felt when my own mother passed.  Her death reopened unhealed wounds and subsequently, it took me a long time to come to terms with losing two cherished women. 

Now as I squint into the glare of Loss and contemplate being “here” again, I know through experience that I will find my way out of this abyss. It doesn’t lessen the pain, but it will help me manage the panic I feel as I navigate this prolonged bereavement process. Yes, I will wallow a bit longer, but when I’m ready, I will find the path that leads to Healing, Acceptance, and Life.

For me, action is a powerful trigger to ignite recovery.  In the past, after clawing my way through Loss, I’ve been rewarded with a renewed strength that’s helped me make significant life decisions and changes. From pain to growth, awful to wonderful, I could heal and honor those I’ve loved and lost. 

After Mom’s death, my husband and I moved from New England to California. We were ready for change and our cross-country relocation was transformative for our family. Mom’s death, or probably her valiant fight to avoid it, gave me the courage to break away from the security of home and make a defining life change with my husband. Nineteen years after the move, I inhale the gloriousness of all that’s around me—and with every breath, I thank my mom.

When Dotty was dying, I made the decision to undergo genetic testing.  I knew I was at risk because Mom had ovarian cancer, but it was Dotty’s battle that gave me the personal resolve to embrace truth over uncertainty.  It also helped me find my way when I learned that I was a BRCA 1 carrier. Having been a bystander to two gruesome battles with the C-Beast, it was easy for me to decide to tackle my risk proactively. So, as Dotty fought for life, I underwent aggressive surgery to prolong mine.  A day doesn’t go by that I’m not grateful that her bravery inspired me to do all that I can to live as long as I can.  When I am basking in the glow of life in my sixties, seventies, and God-willing, eighties, I will always, always carry Dot’s determination with me. 

As I absorb Dad’s death I can’t dismiss the lessons learned from my previous interludes with Loss.  I know that when I am ready, I will use his memory and life as stimuli to make my next bold move.   I’m still too raw to plot my journey just yet, but I’m starting to noodle and ponder and, lo and behold, the exercise, which is barely beginning, connects me to my father, and that feels so right.

I imagine him smiling as I deliberate.  I close my eyes and can actually hear Dad cheer me on.  He’s not telling me what to do because that was never his style.  He’s just whispering encouragement. “That’s my girl,” he says. “That’s the stuff.”   Tenderly and with my father’s guidance, I think I’m on my way. 

Dad

“A prince among men.” This was the way our mother described our father. Her adoration taught us – even when we were kids  -- that love is pure and enduring.   And it explains how special our father was: an evolved man, loving, and honorable with a beautiful, almost one-of-a-kind blend of intellect, presence and charm.  Today, Mom’s words comfort me because they help me understand why my sense of loss feels so overwhelming.  I’m sure they also aptly convey why Lois – and all of us -- loved him so. 

Ira lived a wonderfully rich life and he died his way – with dignity and directness.    This was important to him and I know we all find comfort in knowing that he had a peaceful end after his 82 full years. 

He leaves behind his loving wife, Lois, us Keats kids and our spouses, Lois’ children, all of the grandchildren, plus his extended family and friends.  Combined, in bits and pieces, we represent the legacy of Ira’s “kingdom”.    In all of us, we can see a bit of our prince-- in our beautiful families, life pursuits, work ethic, sense of adventure and personal convictions. 

Throughout his life, Dad demonstrated the importance of loyalty, love, doing the right thing and having fun. He was our Hamotzi go-to man.  At family celebrations, he’d stand next to that challah, his blue eyes beaming out to the crowd and with just a few words and a wave of his hand, Dad could hush a buzzing room and command attention.  He was worthy of respect and he earned it through his actions and reasoning. His endearing charm radiated warmth as immediately as those flaring nostrils signaled something altogether different. 

I’m grateful to have been his daughter and feel lucky to have grown up in that loving Keats household, nurtured with an unwavering belief in my personal abilities and relevance, and showered with all the gifts of opportunity Dad generously bestowed upon us.  There were five children, so very different and yet we each felt special  -- building a connection with our father that throughout the years, miles and turns in our lives– was lasting and real.

At Dad’s and Lois’ wedding, I remember my father toasting his bride. He recollected his dismay that earlier in life, his heart had the capacity to love “more” after he fell for Mom.  Back then the trigger for this realization was parenthood.  Times five.  After we lost Mom, Dad was strong, but different.  Heartbroken.  He explained how lucky he felt to have discovered Love again and in Lois he found the woman with whom he could live out his Chapter 2. I’m sure their happy marriage was a big reason why we all got to enjoy 20 plus more years with our beloved father.  For that, LoLo, we’re so very grateful.

I have a lifetime of memories of my dad: the King that no one could Beat at Keats Ford, a father lovingly tucking his daughter into bed, a parent sternly affirming an important life lesson, countless family vacations, holidays, and adventures, laughter and love.  He was a devoted son and husband, a proud father and grandfather, a fanatical traveler and golfer, a passionate reader and gifted writer and, lest we forget, a born-again Democrat/Liberal.   I know I’m selfish wishing I had more time with Dad and for the opportunity to share with him the joys that lie ahead for our family. 

It’s painful saying goodbye to our father, Pops….Ira, because of the way he lived his life.  It just seems too soon, despite his 82 years.  I understand that while this deep, aching heartache will soften over time, we will miss him for years and years to come.  Forever, actually.  I know this because Mom was right about our father.  Dad was a Prince Among Men.

Work & Parenthood

I spoke with a former TiVo colleague over Mothers Day weekend.  Karen was a young pup when she worked in my Marketing organization -- and since those days, she has gone on to get her MBA, earn her professional stripes, get married, and now is a mother of an adorable 18 month old daughter.

Karen is struggling with the balance of work and parenthood.  Suddenly, the career climb, which at one point was an exhilarating challenge seems silly, ridiculous, pointless.   And yet, so much of Karens identity is tied to her professional life -- her position and responsibilities, her talents and achievements.    Her voice cracked with emotion as she shared her apprehensions of leaving her job and her other choice,  staying home with her child.   

Ive been incredibly lucky in my career, having had the great fortune of working in environments that embrace the fabulous concept of  FLEXIBILITY.    Karen works in an environment that does not.  From a business point of view, I think this is insane.  When my babes were little,  I always timidly asked for ways to juggle my work and  family.  In return for  reduced hours or the ability to work from home, I was motivated to over-achieve and then some -- to make sure I never let my managers or my people question my commitment or passion.  My gratitude fueled my performance. 

  

I tried to cheer Karen on -- to share with her the immense feeling of empowerment one can have by defining her work/life balance on her terms.  If the option isn't there for her where she is, it is time for her to move on, but that doesn't mean she has to head home, full-time.  FLEXIBILITY is a life raft for parents.  I recognize that some careers are better suited for this kind of approach than others, but in Karens case, there are several ways she can apply her craft to make a living and satisfy her intellectual needs, doing both while also being there for her daughter.  To design this kind of career path is at first terrifying but then, exhilarating.  Its a testament to your very motherhood -- fighting to support your family, your way!

Granted, compromise is part of the deal.   I wish I were sitting on a boatload of cash right now, which I might have today had I opted for the crazy work grind, but as I basked in my Mothers Day glow, enjoying a weekend with my three amazing grown children, I know that I did the right thing.   My kids can come to me for life and career advice and I know they respect my accomplishments in the office -- as well as in the home.    

Many of my co-workers have young children.  They are amazing at what they do in their jobs.  I want to support their talents and contributions with flexibility so they never feel like they're sacrificing too much in the name of the Climb.    The truth is, I want this for all my colleagues -- parents and non-parents alike.   From experience, I know that by having choice in how we work, we all make out in the end.  

Timshel and the Glory of Choice

I added John Steinbeck's East of Eden to my Cinquenta List because it was embarrassing that all three of my children read the classic (required for high school English Lit) and I hadn't.  I'm just not okay forfeiting literary accomplishments  to the offspring so readily, especially when I'm damn sure I spent more time editing their papers on the book  then they did writing them.  Admittedly, keeping up with my children  turned out to be  a big "reading" motivation for me, but happily, East of Eden brought far more joy than the one-upsmanship I set out to equalize when I started the book.  


 I love California and by  that  I mean I love my state's natural beauty.   I've been here for 17 years now and still marvel at Cali's  golden hillsides, expansive farmlands, rugged coastlines, majestic mountains and outrageous trees:  rustic, sprawling oaks, enormous sequoia's, and deliciously fragrant eucalyptus.  Steinbeck is one of California's most celebrated novelists (though I guess Wallace Stegner deserves props too) and he just nails the lure of the Salinas Valley with such purity and clarity that  I can practically smell the very land  he's describing.   It was a treat to enjoy the area through Steinbeck's words.  


My passion for this area is reinforced virtually every day.  On a run, bike ride, hike and  drive, I'm find myself in  awe  of my surroundings (unless of course I'm in LA) and more times than not, after I take in all the gloriousness around me, I'm moved......spiritually.  As I admire the sweeping views,  I picture my mother and hear her words in my head, "God is Good".  For me, this statement means He exists and to be honest, there just aren't many other times when I'm inspired to "believe" as such.  


This spiritual revelation is apropos because there are so many biblical/religous references in Steinbeck's epic East of Eden:  Cain and Abel, good versus evil,  heaven and hell.  Perhaps most compelling for me though was Steinbeck's introduction of the Hebrew concept of timshel,  or "thou mayest".   This one hebrew word captures one of my life's personal credo's.   I believe we have the power to do what we set our mind to do. I've told my children from the time they were wee ones, small and tiny  to the teenagers and young adults they are today, "Make good choices, focus on what you need to do and then...act".  Upon reading East of Eden, I realize this philosophy has  served as a moral compass for me as well.  I won't go all preachy on you, but obviously "good choices" in my Momma-schpeal means "morally good choices".  


Steinbeck got me pretty jazzed about the promise of Timshel.  From East of Eden directly, here's how he  puts it:  


 "Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. ...... He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.

Adam said, “Do you believe that, Lee?”

“Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey."  

"Think of the glory of the choice."  I never had before, but thanks to my East of Eden experience, I really do now.

Thanks John.