Two Sleeps

may have mentioned this before, but I generally don’t know the topic of each week’s posting until pretty much the minute I sit down to pen it—and this entry is no exception. (Hey, I’m not really procrastinating, you just never know when a noteworthy happening might happen.)

And so just as I sit to write, voila, an email comes across that, well, may be worthy of note. A meeting—an important one, I might add—was just scheduled a transcontinental flight away. Living in San Francisco, New York meetings that end in the early evening are what I refer to as “death zone” sessions.

You see, they require two sleeps. Not sure what ‘sleeps’ are? Well, sleeps are the unit of measure my kids use to refer to the nights that I’m out of town. Hotels use ‘nights’; my kids use ‘sleeps.’

A meeting in New York (from the west coast) means coming in the day before—the best-case scenario doesn’t get you into the office until after 6 p.m. (one sleep). And if it gets out after, say 5 p.m., it’s too late to catch the last flight back which results in, well, a second sleep.

Dialing in for this particular meeting is not an option, so the first inclination was to, well, just suck it up. It’s just one of those things you need to deal with when the center of your corporate universe is 3,000 miles away. But then, well, then I had this fleeting thought—dare I mention anything about the death zone that afternoon meetings translates into for left-coasters. What was the risk beyond irreparable harm? After all, trepidation and apprehension aren’t really “harm” per se.

Speak or forever hold your peace, I guess, and I was definitely inclined to do the latter. But after much angst, I spoke. Perhaps a bit softly, but I spoke. Upon explaining the death-zone syndrome, the mood on the other end of the phone was—was very open-minded, understanding and agreeable. 

The lesson, which admittedly, I seem to have to learn over and over again, is that, some of us at least, tend to think of things as ‘off limits’ (i.e. “I can’t say that”!) when, in fact, we are our own limiting factor. How about you? Are you among the “some of us”?

Cathy

By blogger Cathy Benko, Deloitte LLP

Time Warp Revisited

ran into a young female professional I knew at a women’s event hosted here in Silicon Valley not long ago. She’s the enthusiastic type and was eagerly participating in the program. OK, nothing particularly noteworthy here; it happens all the time.

Well, actually something about the encounter was quite noteworthy. You see, this woman was the subject of a previous posting called “Time Warp.” Time Warp tells the story about a young, well-educated, 20-something-year-old keen to make her mark in the business world. She had remarked at a casual lunch we enjoyed that she saw absolutely no need for a women’s initiative (WIN) and had no interest in participating in WIN-sponsored events. She just didn’t get it. The playing field was level; she had never seen (never mind experienced) any inequities in the business community; and was quite sure that her work alone would determine her professional success.

So why, pray tell, would she be participating—and so actively so—in a women’s networking event a mere year later? I just had to ask!

Well, it turns out that her boss, counselor and mentor (all the same person) had left the company during the year, and for her it was an epiphany. She had not realized how he had championed, even promoted and protected, her during the early days of her career. After he’d moved on and in the months that followed she began to see things that she hadn’t seen before: the men in her “class” were noticeably, disproportionately moving up in the ranks, and the women, she noticed, were somehow disappearing. She was finding it more difficult to get visibility and to be considered for other opportunities. She, well, felt alone.

In the previous posting, I wondered what she’d say 10 years from now. Well, it turned out this question was answered—and nine years early.

How about you? What was your epiphany?

Cathy

By blogger Cathy Benko, Deloitte LLP

Stars and Glitter

I’m heads down this week, feverishly working to be able to stamp “final” on the manuscript. (Yep, we did ultimately settle on a title—The Case for Mass Career Customization—more on this topic somewhere down the line.) Pondering what that one poignant phrase could be that sums up all the swirling feelings of acknowledgement leads to me think back to the last time I was searching for that one perfect phrase of dedication.

I recall the response from the editor when dedicating a previous work, Connecting the Dots, to Stars and Glitter. “Huh” was about all she could muster. But that phrase said it all.

Here’s the scene. I’m in a town car with the leader of our consulting business at the time on the way to visit the head of one of the big tech companies. His mind is clearly on business, prepping for the upcoming session, commenting on shifting market dynamics, etc. My mind, however, was in a different place—at home. You see, my son who was six or so at the time was displaying some ‘symptoms,’ shall we say, that were a concern to me.

Just as he was turning to ask my opinion of the market in Japan, I turned to ask him a question of a different sort: “Can little boys get bladder infections?” I said.  (Hey, why not? He’s a dad with a teenage son.) He looked a little stunned; perhaps a tad  uncomfortable as he squirmed a bit and cleared his throat. It was clear that he’d rather talk about Japan. He muttered back something to the effect of no, don’t worry about it. (Ever hear that before?) But I did, so right there in the town car I called the pediatrician who, remarkably, was available to take the call.

“Can boys get bladder infections?” The doctor’s response was that it depends. “Did you ask him what it felt like?” “Yes,” I answered, “he said it felt like stars and glitter.”  “Better bring him in.”

This little vignette is a snapshot of my life. What it looks like to be fitting work into life and life into work through an everyday exchange. How about you? Do you have any snapshots to share?

Cathy

By blogger Cathy Benko, Deloitte LLP

Silent Majority

Do you ever feel that, well, sometimes you just don’t get it? I think I’m reasonably on top of my game; am fairly perceptive; and have been around long enough to understand social dynamics. But sometimes, I still don’t get it. Yesterday was one of those ‘sometimes.’

A group of 30 or so colleagues (primarily men) and I attended a two-day session on mentoring and coaching. On average, each of us has been in the workforce for 20-plus years and in various leadership roles for the last 10 years or so. Surely not a rookie team—nor a bunch of wall flowers. Actually, we’re each somewhat outspoken in our own ways—it must be in the company genes.

I won’t get into the whole deal around the program—that’s a completely different matter altogether. Instead, I’d like to focus on a specific case within the workshop.  One of the scenarios for group discussion was a woman senior manager who was meeting with her mentor to tell him that she was has having difficulty powering through her work week (and often times weekends) while trying to balance her family responsibilities. She didn’t see any relief in sight and was contemplating leaving the firm. She simply couldn’t figure out how to make it all work. So far, so good.

Well, no, not really. I was fine, and actually, quite familiar with the scenario. It’s an everyday happening in corporate offices everywhere. What I wasn’t fine with was the stereotyping. Why did it need to be a woman senior manager in the case? Why couldn’t it just have been any senior manager? (This was, indeed, the only case in the two days that had any mention of gender.) So I politely (or at least I think politely) voiced my objection to the gender labeling. Women may have been the proverbial canaries in the corporate coal mines, I pointed out, but fitting life within work and work within life is now a significant, cross-gender workplace issue. The point was rather politely noted by the instructor, and we moved on.

Until. Until the afternoon break when a number of my male colleagues individually came up to me to say thanks for bringing forward the objection. That, indeed, they hear about this issue as much these days from men as from woman. So?

So why couldn’t they just say so in the group? Why the silence in a room of generally vocal colleagues and then murmured acknowledgement in a quiet corner? Why not open recognition and dialogue of flexibility as a workplace issue—and no longer as a gender-branded one?

Well, as I as said at the start: I just don’t get it. Do you?

By blogger Cathy Benko, Deloitte LLP