Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Passover Impact: The Power of Storytelling



Passover Impact: The Power of Storytelling
Early Spring 2012 … Its been a busy and wonderful couple of weeks.  The weather in Colorado continues to delight and amaze.  Becker Impact is enjoying a rush of new clients and continuing to court other prospects for meaningful and challenging work.  At home, my family and I are excitedly preparing for the celebration of Passover and the arrival of our out-of-town guests.  

The Passover Seder is the most widely observed Jewish ritual around the world.  Why?  My research tells me that many are drawn to the religious aspects of the observance; others to the family and community elements.  Perhaps it is because helping organizations tell their stories is what I do for a living, but I think that it’s the emphasis on story-telling that draws so many into this holiday.
Passover commemorates the emancipation of the Israelites from slavery in Ancient Egypt.  The focal point of the holiday is the Seder, a fifteen-step family-oriented tradition and ritual-packed feast.  At the seder, participants read from a book called a Haggadah, which tells the story of the Exodus from Egypt.
Quick, think of a good story you’ve heard in the last few months, or even years – any story (children’s bedtime story, narrative joke, story in a presentation at work, etc.)
Now think of a couple of good statistics you’ve heard in the last few weeks.

Right?
Stories can have a profound effect on people, and can powerfully affect behavior.  People learn best – and change – from hearing stories that strike a chord within them.  This is because personal stories feel “real,” unlike abstract concepts, statistics or logical arguments.  Stories capture people on an emotional level, creating a deeper, more intimate bond.  Stories are memorable.   And today when we are drowning in information, good stories can cut through the noise.
According to Rabbi Ayelet Cohen, the most revolutionary aspect of the Passover Haggadah is that it’s a collage of many different voices, a collection of stories from the Talmud and a compilation of biblical and liturgical quotations. “The most common misunderstanding is that it’s just the story of the Exodus,” says Cohen, a consultant to Beit Simchat Torah, a gay and lesbian congregation in Manhattan. “One of the most damaging misconceptions in Jewish life is that there is only one version of one story, and that the stories of women’s experiences and those of others who are marginalized because of economics, physical ability, age, sexual orientation, or gender identity are not part of that Jewish story.” TheHaggadah teaches that there isn’t just one story, she says. “That’s the telling we are obligated to continue.” 
I think that the popularity of celebrating Passover, and the meaning found in reading and creating new interpretations of the Haggadah, reveals the revolutionary power of story telling.  Recalling the plight of the Israelites helps us figure out how to most meaningfully experience and best appreciate our freedom today.  It enables us to define and articulate our own stories - as Jews, as citizens, and as individuals.  And it in turn, helps us create and implement a vision for most effectively sharing our stories with others.  
Wishing you a Happy & Meaningful Storytelling Holiday.

-E

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

"Our roots say we're sisters, our hearts say we're friends."


For the first time since moving here in August 2011, I left Denver!  I spent this past weekend in Chicago hanging out with my sister.  Without my husband or my children.  Without work.  Totally relaxing.  And absolutely indulging.

I arrived in the Paris on the Prairie Friday night, and enjoyed a lovely evening of sushi and a movie.  On Saturday, we fought through the St. Patricks Day revelers to shop on Michigan Avenue for something to wear to our brother's upcoming wedding.  Then, after a lovely late afternoon nap followed by a delightful late afternoon mani/pedi, we ate an insanely delicious dinner at an Armenian restaurant.  Sunday, we got hot stone massages, and then ate lunch (more sushi) and walked around Lincoln Park.  Oh my how I love you Armitage & Halsted.

And now, I accept, its time to stop doing things because "it will be"/"is"/"just was" my 40th birthday.

While being in a great city was fun, what made the weekend so perfect was, of course, and undoubtedly, the pleasure of the company.  My sister.   My insightful, intelligent, wickedly funny, and beautiful sister.  We've lived and traveled together to Newport News toVirginia Beach to Israel to Disney World to Silver Spring to New York to Paris to Truth or Consequences to Baltimore to Columbus to Chicago to San Francisco.  To Denver.  What, you're staying in Chicago?  I guess its time for me to settle down too.

And the fact that I'm here, happy, at 40?  There is no way I would have made it without her.

Zero.

None.

She celebrated with me through the big moments.  Like when I made my big, single-girl in the city move to Manhattan after law school.  My sister was there with me then, meeting the movers and helping me unpack.  When I gave birth to my son, we lived in the same city so my sister came as soon as I called and was with me in the delivery room.  When it was time for my daughter to arrive, I called, and my sister got on the next airplane.  She was at the hospital in less than 24 hours and the first person to hold my daughter besides me and my husband.

And through thousands, maybe millions, of mundane every day moments - good, bad, and everything in between - she's been there, listened to whatever it is I have to say, listened to it again, and yes, sometimes a third (& fourth) time, offered her advice, and when I rejected that, her unconditional support.  And love.  Always love.

It was a great weekend with my person.  Next big birthdays?  Little sister - 40; big sister - gulp, gasp, can there possibly be enough carbs to help me deal - 50.


-E

Sunday, March 4, 2012

I skied a black diamond with moguls and lived to blog about it.

Here's a fun story.  The kids got me a ski lesson for my birthday.  Said lesson occurred yesterday.  At lunch, my instructor Kevin said that I am an "advanced intermediate" and he'd like me to try a black diamond run.  I laughed.  We got back out to the blues.  A little bit later, he insisted.  Said the black we would try is the same steepness as the blues I've done, just longer.  Sure.  Ok.  The day is almost over.  Challenging myself to the next level seems a nice way to end it.  I power up with a chocolate chip Z Bar I'd stuck in my jacket for my daughter and agree to give it a go.  


Kevin and I start down a run entitled "Go Devil."  Thats right, "Go Devil."  Its steep, but I take long, slow turns and don't look down.  I feel pretty good.  Then, wait.  What?  Moguls?  There are moguls on this run?  I've never even done moguls on a blue run.  There are a lot moguls?  Uh, KEVIN??!!#$*&&?    


I stop.  I turn around to Kevin who's been skiing behind me so he can watch and critique, and Kevin says, "I'm so sorry.  This was a mistake."  


Direct quote.  


Now I haven't taken many ski lessons, but "I'm sorry; this was a mistake" from the instructor does not seem like a good sign.  Kevin further explains that he didn't realize this run had moguls.  And I realize that a) Kevin is an idiot and b) I've still got to get down.

I really don't know how to explain how I made it down.  I do know that it was very, very slowly.  And with very little skill except a great big surge of that little ole thing called survival skill that kicks in when one has to save herself in a highly dangerous situation.  So I pizza wedged, and I stopped.  And I pizza wedged and I stopped.  And, very important note here, I did not freak out.  And finally, I made it through those bumps. 


A little bit further on some smooth, groomed steepness I'd expected, and I arrived safely to the base of Mountain House.  Thankfully I was stunned into silence at this point because completely securing his place as a person I never want to see again, Kevin then patted me on the back and said, "You were awesome.  I can't believe you didn't just take off your skis and walk down.  Or slide down on your bottom."  


Thanks Kevin; I wish I'd known those were options!  


Oh, and by the way Kevin, I just used this super secret method of finding out stuff, plugged in "Go Devil," and ... "Go Devil is a black run on Dercum Mountain, right below the terrain park . . . Go Devil is a long steep run with moguls and could be difficult for intermediate skiers, please be sure you are up to the challenge."  


Anyway, you'd think that the best part of this story was that after congratulating me for keeping my skis on, Kevin handed me his card, said he hoped I'd request him next time I signed up for a lesson, and then skied away, leaving me me standing there at the bottom of the mountain drooling.  Nope.  The best part of the story is that LARRY ARRIVED AT GO DEVIL A MINUTE OR SO BEHIND US AND WITNESSED THE WHOLE DAMN THING.


And what does Larry have to say?  "I saw your brown jacket and pink helmet and just couldn't imagine what you were doing there.  I would have no more expected to see you than the pope."  


Great.  And why didn't my husband intervene?  Well, he had this to say, "I'm just so glad it was that guy who got you into that situation and not me."


Ok.  Alls well that ends without a major injury or death, right?  I can't say that I will be rushing to do another black diamond run anytime soon.  Still, it feels pretty good to know that I made it in one piece.  And, I am fairly certain that a Take2 down Go Devil is in my extremely, need a lot more lessons from someone other than Kevin, distant future.  


-E

















Friday, February 24, 2012

Trial & Error



Pretty much everything I've gotten right in life has been through trial and error.  Great marriage?  Its my second.  Had to have a "starter marriage" in my early twenties, and kiss a lot of frogs between the mid-20s & early 30s years to learn who to be with and how.  

Fulfilling, challenging career?  Sure.  After spending 16 hours a day, 6 days/week in a tiny cubicle, researching and writing minutiae about products liability and securities litigation (topics I care very little about) and deciding that the moment when I spilled an entire container of minestrone soup on my keyboard and called my sister to cry and rant about hating my job INSTEAD OF CLEANING IT UP was a sign to get the hell out.  And yes, I  found my talent for PR, and a way to integrate my passion for social change with my writing and speaking skills, but then I took a long break to focus on motherhood and I am still now, at 40, very much working on developing a career.

And speaking of mothering.  Oy.  Raising my kids seems to call for more falling down and getting back up, practicing over and over, and getting in a good cry and then moving on than anything else I've ever done.

Apparently, to authentically learn and grow, I have to experiment.  A lot.  Get messy.  Reevaluate.  Readjust.  Over and over.  Its really hard.  But the thing is, "The hard is what makes it great."  - Tom Hanks, "A League of Their Own":    


And it really is great.  I secured my first consulting gig in Denver this morning.  A project with an organization whose mission I care deeply about; a project I could start while my son, home sick from school, sat nearby watching TV on the couch.  So I'll keep doing it the hard way.  My way.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Would you?

Have a great weekend,

-E


Sunday, February 19, 2012

Mile High on Green Tea

A Becker Impact LLC update:  In the early hours of the morning before the kids woke up, in between meetings, in between dinner and bath-time, and after the kids were asleep, I wrote and submitted the first Becker Impact proposal.  And then the second.  And I plan on creating the opportunities to keep them coming.  So please keep your fingers crossed, send good vibes, pray, whatever it is that you do to try and help out a chick who is starting her own business and eager to secure that first big client.

Weekdays, while the kids are at school, I continue to at least look like a very busy professional. Apparently, I am good at networking.  I kinda knew this already; now its confirmed.  I occasionally meet people in their offices. But most mornings and afternoons you will find me in one of Denver's charming, funky, work-friendly coffee houses.  Talking to presidents and communications directors and VPs of public policy/affairs of nonprofits and foundations about their organizations.  Shmoozing with other communications consultants, lobbyists, and fundraising specialists about collaboration.  Sending emails introducing myself and Becker Impact and asking someone to meet and caffeinate with me.

I am learning.  Getting to know nice, smart, interesting people.  Feeling confident and hopeful, and insanely vulnerable.

Will all this professional yenta-ing work to get me work?  I hope so.  I read this on another communications strategist's blog: "Networking is a marathon sport.  Its hundreds or thousands of small interactions that eventually culminate in powerful connections being made.  The more dots you put in your network via meetings and conversations, the more likely you'll be able to make connections between those dots in the future."  (click here to read the whole piece: http://www.thoughtleadersllc.com/2009/03/get-jacked-up-on-caribou-3-key-networking-tactics/).

Add the seriously major benefit of discovering all the best places to drink green tea*, eat a mixed berry muffin and work, or hang out, read a magazine, play on the internet, and people-watch, and its really been a productive couple of months  There are some truly fantastic coffee houses in Denver.

Larry and "G" have suggested that I write a coffee table book about all these delightful places.  Love the idea.  In the blog world, you can find a comprehensive list at milehighbuzz.com.  And from yours truly, a quick list with links to my favorites.  (Plus a little shout-out to good 'ole Starbucks because I frequent about a dozen Greater Denver locations, sometimes 2 or 3 in one day).

Fluid Coffee Bar
St. Mark's Coffee House
Common Grounds
Aviano
Wash Perk
Taza de Cafe

Wake up.  Enjoy.  Get to know someone new.

-E

*About a month ago, after a hell of a lot of cups of coffee, my stomach started to rebel.  I have therefore, for at least most of the time, happily made the switch to the kinder and gentler tea.  

Monday, February 13, 2012

Follow your heart.

** WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.  Material contained within may cause intermittent rolling of the eyes and the onset of mild to moderate nausea.  

It is Valentines Day tomorrow.  So who else to write about this evening besides the love of my life, my beloved, the adorable smart-ass mensch sitting to my right paying bills - Lawrence I. Schwartz.

It seems that a bit of romantic sentiment about my husband started pushing its way to the forefront of my thoughts this past weekend.  At shabbat dinner with some friends, I found myself telling a story of a seminal moment in me and Larry's "courtship" that I hadn't reflected on, much less talked about, in a really long time.

The story in a nutshell:  Its 2003.  The friends who set us up tell me Larry is divorced.  I trust said friends.  We go out 3 or 4 times.  I like Larry.  He then tells me that he is separated (about 6 months); the divorce not yet final.  I (so very not in the mood to be rebound-girl) tell him: great meeting you; have a nice life.  A few days later, 6:30 am, I am running along the Baltimore Harbor.  Larry pops out of nowhere, scares the shit out of me, shoves a letter in my hand and runs off.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I reread that letter this afternoon (yep, still have it.)  Great letter.  Yes, yes, lots of lovely things about me.  And he obviously spent a convincing paragraph or two on "my marriage is over and I'm ready."  But what really stands out in these now exalted four pages is Larry's sense of hope.

Hope.  noun
1.
the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.

Inspired me then.  
Keeps me going now.  

Larry's optimism is well illustrated by his latest "major life decision."  Taking a substantial pay cut so he could raise his children and live his life more actively, more outdoors, more Jewishly.  Living his life according to his values.  How many of us can say that this is really what we do?  I am moved; I am motivated; I am so damn proud.

Happy Valentines Day LOML.  Thank you for stalking me.  And relaxing me enough to be able to just follow my heart.  You were right.  Its turned out pretty well.


Love.

-E




Saturday, February 4, 2012

Bossy Girls

Earlier this week, Sheryl Sandberg, the chief operating officer of Facebook, led a panel on "Women as the Way Forward" at The World Economic Forum at Davos.  Sandberg was one of six co-chairs of the forum; the rest were men.  In fact, attendance at this year's 5-day meeting was more than 80% men.  Surprised?  Of course not.  And there were more women there this year than ever before.  Sandberg, who is 42, noted that women attending the highly competitive forum were likely to have been called "bossy" as little girls.  She was.  According to Sandberg, "success and likeability are positively correlated for men and negatively correlated for women."

Sigh.

Were you called "bossy" as a little girl?  Yeah, me too.  In my pre-teen and teenage years, I also got "you should be a lawyer" a lot.  I don't think this was a compliment on my verbal or analytical skills.  Nope, not intended to support developing leadership abilities either.  Or to help build up that self-esteem we know plummets as girls approach adolescence (and, thankfully, so fastidiously work to maintain in our young girls today).

Not that my labelers meant any harm.  No, I think those who called me "bossy" and "lawyer" were just trying to place me.  I was raised as an orthodox Jew, and orthodox Jewish girls are not known for being particularly outspoken.  Or for challenging authority.  I was the one who, when just the 12th grade girls had to take a class called "Lifecycles" and learn the laws of nidah, marital purity, went apoplectic.  It was the 1980s.  I think my well meaning peers and the adults in my community just figured, "must be one of those 'female lawyers,' like on LA Law."

Oversimplified?  Sure.  Because it was certainly a time in the United States when a tremendous amount was changing for women, and the orthodox community was not immune.  To be fair, there are other orthodox Jewish women my age who became lawyers, and those who made laudable strides in mixing feminism with Torah observance (See for example, Haviva Ner David, the first orthodox Jewish woman to receive rabbinical ordination or the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance's work to bring mixed - as in men and women together -Torah reading to modern orthodox synagogues.)  Still, I think its fair to say that orthodox Jews, even the "modern" ones, are, well, fairly orthodox when it comes to following specific prescriptions for life.

So, my upbringing wasn't all "get married, have kids, cook nice meals for Shabbos." I took AP classes; I served on student council.  Hell, I even had the opportunity to play on a volleyball team, and we know how effective sports can be at building self-confidence.  I certainly can't blame the patriarchy for the klutziness that meant I spent all season on the bench.

But even a naive fourteen year old girl in a long jean skirt and keds knows that while its OK for some of the dads, her being well suited to lawyerdom makes her, well, if not a total Lilith, at least somewhat undesirable.  Unpleasant.  Unmarriable.

Oy how the messages were mixed.  I sang "Free to Be You & Me" and "Someday My Prince Will Come."  I received consistent praise for bringing home "As."  And consistently received things like the easy bake oven, cabbage patch dolls, and pretty clothes for Chanuka.  My mother told me I was too smart to be a model.  And that a good mother would not go to work and let her children be cared for by a nanny.  My father proudly touted my accomplishments to whichever extended family member was willing to listen, and defended me against the rabbis who were less than inspired by my opinions.  And when I signed up for a creative writing class during the same 6 week period in which I dated an aspiring playwright, my father advised that I not; "Let writing be his thing," he said.  A potential husband can feel threatened.

Though I recognize that the telling of this part of my story may result in some (hopefully brief) hurt feelings, I in no way intend to disrespect a well-intentioned community and the parents who did their best, and, in the process, raised a reasonably successful, happy woman who, it seems worth noting, did in fact go onto to study law at a university that didn't even accept female students until 1970.  

So Sheryl Sandberg, what do we do to finally turn this thing around and get more women to Davos?  In 2012, do we really still have to work to make clear that most women and girls are not one thing or the other - take charge or doting, competitive or sweet - but a rich mixture of all of the above?  Do we still call girls who speak their mind and challenge the status quo "bossy" or do we acknowledge them as leaders?

Or, did Tina Fey really have it, when she said, “Don’t waste your energy trying to educate or change opinions; go over, under, through, and opinions will change organically when you’re the boss. Or they won’t. Who cares? Do your thing, and don’t care if they like it.”  

-E

p.s. Here are links to a few organizations that inspire me to keep on honoring the "bossy girl" within.  Please tack on links to yours ...