Stories & Insights on Enjoying Work

	I was part of a Technical Training project, and we were running a program at a resort. Well, the director of the program came by, all bent out of shape because the engineers were sitting by the pool instead of in class. "What do you expect?" I asked, "We hire them for their initiative and creativity, and then we give them prescriptive training that they're forced to take!" So, he asked, "What would you do instead?" I flippantly replied, "Do it as a university format, with a course catalog so they can choose what would help them in their jobs, not what we prescribe." Needless to say, I got the assignment to create this so-called university in one year - and we had no idea how. But a group of four of us got together, saw it wasn't working as it was, and asked ourselves, "Can we do this?" We thought yes. So we busted our butts for a year, really working hard, and, yes, we pulled it off. I felt really really good about that. I think it was the connection with otherw who were committed, the success itself, and even the challenges from skeptics that made that so much fun.

	I find joy at work when I'm with a team, of peers and maybe direct reports, that feed off each other. So we can be talking and not worry about some great divergence pulling us off track. For example, there was a committee of Social Workers in NYC as part of the association focused on women in healthcare, where we really built some lasting relationships, created a lot of innovative solutions together, were really all committed.

	I'm remembering a team experience, too. It was a healthcare client that my firm was working with. I was personally committed to getting back to the West coast and wanted to spend 40% of my time selling business out here. But I was invited to join this team and the manager spent all morning telling us about the project, what value we'd be creating and also how much work was required. I was sitting there getting more and more nervous about how much I could contribute, given my desire to spend time selling. Then he went around the room and asked each of us to state our commitment to the project. I almost choked when it got to me - wondering if I had anything to offer, afraid the limits on my time would make me less a member of the team. But then everyone on the team very clearly told me why my contribution would make a difference to them. So, even though the manager wasn't happy about my limited time-commitment, I felt I was really a member of the team. And it showed when we went on to dramatically improve the life of rehab therapists who worked in this organization.

	I worked for 8 years as a ranger where I was the only woman with 17 men. I had to work with the men's assumptions about what I could do and what was right for me. Later, we really could work in synch. --Were you trying to fit in? --Well, for the first two years it was really really hard. Then I decided to give up and overlook some things that were in conflict with my values. For example, I might let them tell me what to do, but I did it as a choice. I didn't try to be a man, and I did sometimes speak clearly with my own voice. It was as though I created space in myself and then there was space in them. I stayed for 8 years, and when I left we were really at a high point in working together. There were some things with the computer that I could do that really amazed them, such as research.

	It broke my heart, really broke my heart, when part of a team I cared deeply about left to form a new company and I wasn't included in the discussions. I really had to take care of myself, all the negative self-judgements that came up and feeling separate. Finally, I asked the one who had chosen not to go to have a candid conversation, and I asked him, "Can I trust you? Be clear with me, either way. You owe me an answer to that question." And he said, yes, and I believed him. So sometimes you have to bring your own voice in to create space for yourself, but it's always about something larger. Now my former manager calls to chat, like nothing happened and I just go along like I'm fine. I'm convinced she doesn't have the capacity for relationship that I need. But talking with her makes me feel like I'm not in my body. I'm saying, "Oh, I know you haven't had time to call, you're so busy." and inside I'm saying "Fuck you!" Because I had really felt close to her.

	Images of enjoying work when sailing - you're working with other people in unison, without even talking. I remember one time when we were racing another yacht club and we were ahead, came around to do the return leg and a sail got snagged, and we lost several minutes getting it straightened out. We made up some time, but still came in about 30 seconds behind our big rival. I was really impressed, though, that the Admiral from our club really took it in stride - even though he was SO committed to us winning. When I think about sailing, I feel the wind, the sun, the salt air. I remember sailing in the east on a river, and as we got near the mouth, our dogs really got excited, sniffing the wind, because we were nearing the ocean and you could smell the salt in the air.

	In my family, there was easy work and grown-up work, but we all made a difference by doing our part, and knew our efforts were important. For example, we had a garden with strawberries, and we each had one row to weed and take care of. I got my first bike from the money I earned selling those berries. When you're out working them, it's hot, you can smell the earth, and hear the birds. Sometimes you just don't want to do it, but there wasn't an option, my parents just wouldn't have accepted us not working. The downside of their hard work ethic was that I developed a habit of biting off more work than I can chew. My parents really both loved their jobs - their families and neighbors were working in the coal mines or tobacco farms, so they saw the opportunity to be teachers as a blessing. I've been doing my work in the world based on their models, and usually, it's a joy to be able to do this. It's also scary - especially as one branch of my family, the fundamentalist religious majority, think that what I do around sharing spirituality is wrong, is leading people astray.

	I like it best when I'm collaborating, but I've also been surprised to find that I work in solitude, too, like when I write. I'm starting to realize that doing something you love is a privilege, even though everyone should have it. Like when I work in large organizations, I find people are starved for the chance to speak honestly and authentically. I learned from Dad about loving your work - he was a sportswriter, who got lots of external validation for what he did. I started out in acting, which I loved, but realized it was too much of a struggle (although an exciting one). So now I'm doing other things and have been happy with my decision to leave - and I still act some. But the other day I turned on a show called Sportsnight, and immediately recognized the writing of someone I had dated when I was acting. Then, this weekend, I turned on the Emmy's and saw this same person receive no less than FOUR Emmies for his writing of the West Wing. I have to say, I am JEALOUS. I mean, this person was really mean to me.... and now I have to admit maybe he's happier, and maybe even more fulfilled.

	I find I most enjoy my work when there's a deadline and I have to get a whole bunch of components together. I don't get that kind of challenge often enough, and when I meet the deadline, it feels really good. That's partially because the message I got from my parents was "stay home." My mother always stayed home, pretty much kept to herself - and so I got the message to do the same. Besides I was alone alot as an only child. But now I want to say "yes" more to life. I realize, if I don't take risks, I won't know my own limits. So it's no surprise I find a lack of meaning in my work. I've had a lot of fear of failing, and I've listened to that message that says, "Stay ignorant, don't see." But I want to feel good about what I do.

	One Christmas Eve I was asked to play host in our hotel's fine dining restaurant, although I had recently moved up to work in the Sales Office. The maitre'd was a flamboyant Italian, who called all of the women "Comtessa" and kissed them on both cheeks, before sneaking back to the cup of coffee laced with liqueur he kept behind the bar. Anyway, almost half the people for the 6:30pm seating didn't show up and we were worried. Then, just before 8, we got a rush of people who filled up the bar in front of the restaurant. And that's when we noticed that the person who had taken the reservations had drawn a little line to show that some 8pm reservations were listed in the 6:30 seating column in the book. We were stuck - there was no way we could seat all these people, and the earlier folks were lingering much longer than we expected. So I just stood at the podium, feeling awful as each guest came up to complain about the delay. After awhile, I looked around and saw that Francisco had disappeared. When I found him hiding in the kitchen, I said, "People are leaving!" "Don't you see?" he replied, "That's what has to happen!" At that moment, realizing that he had given up, I decided to take a risk. I went around the bar and asked if people would give me 15 minutes to find a solution. Then I left the restaurant and got the front desk's help in getting taxi vouchers, making reservations at nearby fine dining restaurants, and ordering champagne to the tables. I returned to the restaurant, went to each party and explained our mistake, gave them my card, and arranged for them to dine elsewhere. Although I caught a mild case of hell the next day, those people later became some of our most loyal customers. This story is important to me because it was only after I stopped feeling scared about failing (because it was already a lost cause) that I enjoyed myself, and enjoyed getting creative with the solution.

	My husband and I moved to the Bay Area for graduate work in spirituality. I had it all worked out in my mind that the program would inspire him to find his true calling. Until he did so, he could work as a dispatcher and help support me while I built my vocational dream. Well, it didn't work out that way. He went through a long period of unemployment, though the papers were filled with ads for dispatchers. He almost got a position at SFO, but he was denied it after the psych profile said he wasn't suited for this work - despite the fact that he'd done it successfully for 12 years and once had helped deal with 28 bomb threats in one morning! I thought I was being helpful with all my ideas for how he could get work, but that wasn't the way he felt. Neither did friends who finally convinced me to get off his case and deal with my own stuff. Finally, I made a radical decision to become a full-time legal secretary so I could earn a good living, have benefits and count on leaving most nights at a certain hour. I decided not to pursue teaching, administrative or other more satisfying work, because that would have inhibited my ability to pursue my vision after hours. Though I know I'd made the right decision, my pride hurt. One day when I am really feeling sorry for myself, I see in Common Ground a full-page color ad for a woman I know who works in spiritual practices and healing. Years ago, I helped train her; now, I really feel like a failure. Later that day, I turn on Oprah, and a friend is talking about HER second book. Now I feel envy, and it really bites. When I pray about it, the envy leads me deeper into a call to find my success through getting out my message. Now it's gratifying to have two powerful models who I know built success with integrity one step at a time.

	In December, five or six years ago, I had the dream of my current work. But I found myself working at a law firm to pay the bills, initially as temporary work and then it kept stretching out. It didn't fit my images of what I was supposed to be doing, but the guidance I was getting kept telling me this was it for now. Then we went through a terrible time of illness - 4 deaths in 3 years, John's father, my step-mother.... And, to my surprise, people in the law firm were really there. They would ask, "How are you?" and when I'd say, "Not good, today," they'd pull me aside and read me poems, tell me jokes, oh, many things. It just really helped me through. Then, around the time of the Christmas party, I finally started to feel lighter, the weight was starting to lift. So, I was just leaving the office the day of our Christmas party to get a toy to bring back to the party, when a senior lawyer called me into her office. Inside, I started crabbing about lawyers and how demanding they were... ar, ar, ar, ar. So, there she is, in her office, on the phone talking to someone in Silicon Valley about some serious litigation, and she keeps pointing, jabbing her finger toward the window as she talks. By now, I'm feeling pretty grumpy, but I walk over the window and look out and there is this beautiful rainbow over the bay - just gorgeous - and of course, my whole mood shifted. It was so beautiful, tears just came to my eyes. So I stopped worrying about buying the toy, and went back to my area and started just to pray. And after awhile, the guidance I got was to invite a very conservative man at the firm to a Summer Soltice event the next year. I was so scared! I mean, I knew how conservative he was! But I went in and asked him, and I could watch as a weight dropped off his shoulders. He just relaxed and looked at me, and said he would have really wanted to come - that he had a family commitment, but I could tell the invitation meant alot to him. From then on the shyness I felt about this stuff just went away, and I developed a deep trust for the power of being real.

	It was March of 1988 and I was riding high - life was great. I had my own company, we were doing seminars, workshops, great stuff. My daughter, Amanda, who had been out of school off and on with asthma was now healing, back in school, and doing a play with her sister. She was living with my ex-wife down in Baltimore, and I had been re-married for four years, and was up in Boston. I had a contract with a Digital Equipment Corp to take one of our workshops worldwide, teaching in Singapore, and bringing people in from 9 countries. This was a major opportunity for us. And before I went overseas, we were going to do a short ski trip. So I was getting ready for that trip on a Thursday night, when I got call from a hospital in Baltimore. "It's about your daughter," they said, "She's in the hospital and in pretty rough condition." Well, she had bacterial meningitis.... so, I just jumped on a plane and flew down to be with her that Friday all day. And I just sat with her, and she wasn't doing well... and she died the next day, Saturday morning................... Well, no one wanted to pick out a casket, we just couldn't do it. But I decided someone had to, so I did. And I'm standing outside, not wanting to go in there, and the place was empty. Suddenly I felt something on my shoulder... really, solid on my shoulder... and it was Mandy. And she said, "Don't worry about this one; I'll take care of this one for us." You know, she was a real fussy kid and she knew what she wanted. That began about a year and a half of dialogue between us. And to this day, I have no doubts about, about what's there.... Well, funny how you remember the dates, but I got back to Boston on March 15, and on March 20 I was due to leave for Singapore. And I was committed to doing that training, so I went. And somehow, I was there with everyone during the day, and I had dinner with them, and then I went back to my room and did my grieving. It wasn't about being duplicitous, it was just that those could co-exist. I don't know how I did it. We took a group photo then, and when I look at that picture, I just don't recognize myself. Then, about 8 months later, I was with a good friend, doing a project together that just was not going well. And I pride myself on my work being the best. So Joe came up to me, and he had me come and sit down. He said, "You're pretty upset about this aren't you?" Of course, I said yes. "Well," he continued, "on a scale from 1 to 10, how does it compare with Mandy dying?" At that moment I was so mad at him.... but it really helped me put the project in perspective. And this whole story means a lot to me, because it reminds me how the sadness is integrated into the joy.

	My most enjoyable work was also when I was the most stressed out. I was in Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf, and Edward Albee was directing, which was already an amazing thing. Then, in 1990, we went to perform it in Lithuania. They had just announced their independence... and that trip ended up broadening my sense of who I was, what the world was, and my place in it. I started off with 18 hours without sleep - we went from San Francisco, to Denver, to Frankfurt, to Leningrad, and boarded a train at 3am. We were due to arrive early Easter Sunday and when the train came into the station there were all these people carrying daffodils, waiting to meet us. I don't know why, maybe the exhaustion, but it brought tears to my eyes. Then they brought us to High Mass at the main Cathedral, and they had little Easter eggs, but, they were painted in such detail, like we see painted Ukrainian eggs. And the priest said the Mass partly in English, for us. When I saw him, he was such a shining light up there... it was like HERE was the power of true passion and commitment, I can still picture how he looked then. The people there who built our sets had never seen so much wood. There was a wood shortage and they didn't have enough to build houses, and yet they were so dedicated to building these sets. And one part of the set was supposed to have a glass window, but they had to use plastic. When one of the actors started to complain about it, I couldn't believe it. "Don't you see the larger situation here?" I asked. "There are tanks in the street! There are people here in the streets fighting for their idea of home and hearth.... so what are YOU talking about a piece of plastic for?" My whole sense of the world and what was important were changed by that experience.

	I used to work in a management consulting firm, where we attempted very ambitious things - like transforming $4 billion companies. And I worked so hard, I would stay up all night preparing for a presentation, and show the analysis the next day. And at times when the client said they didn't want to go the direction I had suggested, I was told that it was my JOB to get the client to go there anyway - even though I was the only consultant left in a billion dollar division. I really stressed about it. And I was told at my evaluations at the consulting firm that the only thing holding me back from advancing was my difficulty handling stress. Oh, I felt bad about that. I really wanted to be able to work perfectly and not have the stress get to me, or show. But I was SO afraid of criticism, because in my family, I would get hit if I got the wrong answer... I would get hit until I changed what I was saying, so it was "right." So, at work, I didn't want anyone to know I was afraid of criticism, I was ashamed that I could be so caught off guard. But of course, the way I tried to hide that fear was to do everything perfectly, even when it wasn't in my control. And, looking back, I can see how my fear showed all the time anyway. Well, I did a lot of personal work to heal from that, and in the process I found I wanted to do work that involved building things, so I pulled together a project to do a video case study of the work in one of my client's offices - where they had made tremendous improvements, without any of our help. Anyway, we scraped the money together to do the video-taping, but it was a big time commitment and the office still had a business to run. So one day, the office Vice President, Vic, started criticizing me on the phone as we were planning a big shoot. "Elizabeth, this is a LOT of time!" he said. "We can't all just drop everything to tell this story for you! We have other priorities, you know." Oh, I was shaking inside, because it triggered that panic I remembered from home. But some little voice in me took a chance, and I offered to postpone the video taping of his own interview, thinking he might have be concerned about how he would come off. And you know, that was it - after that we were able to plan all of the other interviews without a problem. For me, having access to my own intuitions in the midst of criticism is a huge thing - I didn't have it for so long. And I believe knowing other people are human is very important.

	I have this image of my father telling me stories - to me that was about being in relationship. And all my other images are of relationships, because that's what came out of the abuse in my family: I am a relationist. Sometimes I find when I'm teaching about conflict resolution and peace work, I hear powerful stuff come from me and I wonder where it comes from - maybe my father? And a lot of that teaching has been about the shadow, the part in others that disturbs us because we've disowned it in ourselves. When we've explored that, we can stop making ourselves the center of the universe and offer that to other people. Like when I think others believe something is wrong with me, who knows? They could just have gas! But there's one aspect of shadow that people don't often talk about, that I call the "golden shadow" - where there's some quality in another that people appreciate, but they cannot see it themselves. It takes a while to get through that one, to take on those qualities. But if we do this work, we get to where we don't take things personally, like I had an employee come in, close the door and scream and yell at me and I didn't take it personally. And five years later, she told me I had changed her life. But to get to where we don't take it personally, we have to know our own stories enough, so that I don't take the abuse that happened to me - physical, sexual - and live it out. It's like I can see what happened, and see how it created who I am now, that I'm happy with. So, a short story, that often shocks people. When I was in my masters program they asked, "When did you start thinking of yourself as a manager?" And I thought and thought, and I realized it was when I was three years old! Yes, little Laurie was so good and so responsible, at 3 years old, that she could babysit her one year old little brother while mom went across the snow to the neighbors house, sometimes for several hours! I knew how to change diapers, to get him his bottle, and if he was crying, to walk him across the neighbors house down the road.

	I remember a series of images. The first retreat I led after I had been ordained as a priest was a group of high school girls. They were seniors, and they were there to move on, to say their goodbye's. They had such a great time, and afterward they thanked me.... and I realize now that all I did was what we call "holding the space." Another image is when I was going door to door offering free weatherization services from PG&E, just after the earthquake. I was always getting rejected, people were nervous after the quake, and they all hated PG&E. Then one woman started to cry after I had arranged for weather stripping and insulation for her home. "No one's ever given me anything," she said. And it made me feel so good, amidst all that rejection. Another image is around being able to help people, like when I was able to help a brother get to see his sister in the hospital before she died. They needed someone to pick him up at the airport and I had the time; then I talked with an older, friendlier security guard and he let me in so I could the brother at the gate. Finally, the last image is of taking charge, which I always resist. We were waiting for a shuttle to cross the bay and it was getting later and later, when I suddenly realized I had the phone number to contact them. So I made the call, found out when the driver would arrive and went around and informed everyone. That was a big deal for me; but it felt so good I could see myself doing it more often.

	I've always felt the most passionate when I was working in the theater, either acting or doing stage work. It didn't matter what I was doing for money at the those times, because I had so much fun at the theater that it overwhelmed any difficulty at work. I was always exhausted, but it was ok. Even in my first job, I knew what was most important to me. The people I worked with came first, the place came second, and the pay came third. So the people I worked with in the theater were obviously really important, too. So one time, when I was volunteering at the Denver Center for their summer shows, some of the volunteers got to help with the production. I was put in charge of the props, and it was a complex show. So I put a lot of effort into organizing the placement of everything, diagramming every last move. And then, when I heard through the grapevine that two of our best but "difficult" actors said they really appreciated my work, I was so satisfied. I wasn't sure they would listen to me when I made suggestions, but they did. When I do theater work, there's always a commitment to do my absolute best. The last show I did, where I was on the crew, was so involved that we actually got applause for one of our set changes! At the time, I was still doing some housecleaning with my cleaning business, and I remember being so tired that I looked at a bucket and didn't know what it was. But with that kind of dedication I was able to surmount being tired. Now I find I've lost that, I find it sometimes outside of work, but I don't want that Monday morning jolt because my work and the rest of my life are so separate. I want to be more connected physically, emotionaly, mentally.

	I'm thinking about high points at work, what I really enjoyed then. I remember being the systems coordinator for a physical inventory at a warehouse, where I had to stand up and deliver detailed procedures for over 100 people. It was a 15-20 presentation, which was new for me, and I was challenged by it, but I did well. And then I had to manage the control desk while all these people conducted the inventory. It was an accomplishment, although it wasn't really recognized. Then, more recently, I notice how I like to do one-on-one training at work, especially with new people. I know there's a tremendous technical learning curve, because I went through it not too long ago. And new people know they don't know, but they don't want to ask the dumb questions. So I'm good at explaining from ground zero, like when we have an issue, I can explain all of the related things along the way. Even at home, my family bought my mom a PC and my dad wasn't interested in teaching her. So I just sat with her, didn't do anything FOR her, just let her go at her own pace - and then she got it. We spent an hour playing solitaire, with the cards moving all over as she got used to the mouse. But she told me later it really helped her develop the dexterity she needed, so she was ready for the intro class she took. Now I look forward to tutoring a kid in math, like my father did with me when I was young.

	I don't feel I have a story to tell yet. I'm at University of Creation Spirituality to integrate the fracture pieces of my life. I thought I was happy as a Deputy Director of IT, a big shot, with 23 acres in the hills 5 miles down a bumpy dirt road and a beautiful family. But now I'm just learning to reflect, to go inside, and getting less addicted to the intensity. And I'm starting to sense the threads that go back to 1943 when I was born... my earliest memory was of lying in a crib outside Alta Bates where I was born, looking up and seeing the trees overhead, feeling it as a mystical experience. There's something about the wilderness - my Dad took us camping, I was in the Boy Scouts, I was a wilderness camp counsellor while I was at Stanford, always going out on some bumpy dirt road somewhere. Once I was at Shasta Trinity forest camping without a tent, sitting at an open fire, a multi-cultural group sponsored by the Quakers, and again I had that spiritual feeling which I haven't had since and I want back. More recently I was on a purpose of your life retreat, the 6th one I've taken since retiring, but it was the most awsome because we were at the top of Mt. Shasta. At one point, I was inspired to write a poem, and later I read it to the group. When I finished, a hush came over the group, and we felt what someone later called, a "warm hole in consciousness". I wonder now how do I keep that mystical sense of unity, of belonging, of being part of the universe. Kids have it... but our culture usually takes it away.