by Heather Plett | Nov 9, 2006 | Leadership, marriage
Tonight, while I sit here sipping tea and reading blogs, Marcel is at the parent council meeting at school. He’s their new treasurer. Everybody loves him for volunteering. I love him for volunteering. It gets me off the hook. At least SOMEONE in our family is doing their part.
He’s a rare commodity – a father who’s willing to volunteer on parent council. Even though we’ve come a long way, baby, there are still some things that are traditionally mom’s roles. Volunteering at school is one of them. But I’m quite happy to let him have this role. I’m not very good at the whole “mommy volunteering to make this world a better place” thing. I’m happy to go on the occasional field trip, but I’d rather not hand out pizza on hot lunch days, cut out hundreds of pig faces for kindergarten crafts, or listen to kids read in the hallway.
For the most part, Marcel and I have managed to live our married life outside of the “rules” of a traditional marriage. For the past 4 years, he’s been the primary caregiver and stay-at-home parent (while he went to university). He’s been to more doctor’s and dentist’s appointments than me lately, he volunteers at school, coaches soccer, nags the girls about homework after school, signs agendas, packs lunches, makes supper, serves pizza on hot lunch day at school, takes Maddie to story time at library, etc., etc. It works for us. It some ways, I think it suits us better than if we’d done things the other way around.
It’s not like we sat down one day and decided “hey – let’s be radical and kick tradition in the butt”. Mostly, we’ve tried to make each decision in a way that worked for our own marriage, rather than in a way that lined up with traditional expectations of our roles. For a long time, we both worked and, back then, we shared the roles. We took turns with things like meals, volunteering, transporting to doctor’s appointments, etc. Then one day we arrived at a crossroads where I was advancing in my career, he was stagnating in his, I was making enough money for us to survive, he wanted to go to university, and we wanted one of us to be at home for the girls more. It just seemed like the right choice for him to stay home with the girls and go to school (mostly in the evenings at first).
The transition wasn’t without its road-bumps. At the beginning, I probably had unrealistic expectations of what he would take responsibility for. At the same time, he occasionally felt that I was taking him for granted. Sometimes, I have to admit, I found myself feeling little twinges of jealousy when he knew more about the girls’ schooling than I did, knew more of the other parents than I did, and got to spend more time with the girls. And I’m pretty sure sometimes he was a little jealous that I got to spend more time in the company of adults than he did. But we got used to our new roles, and soon found that it worked quite well for us.
In the future, we might make decisions differently. When he’s back to work, for example, I hope to spend more time at home, and then I’ll take over more of the responsibilities around here. Nothing is forever, and neither of us is afraid to take one type of role or another. We just find what works for us. This year, since he’s in school almost full time, we’re back to sharing most of the household and parenting tasks.
I remember sitting on a farm in Africa talking to the owner of the farm who was a well respected community leader and politician. We were waiting for the meal that his wife (or wives – can’t remember which) and the other women of the village were preparing. He was quite puzzled when I told him that I had small children who were at home with their dad. When I explained that my husband was the primary caregiver who cooked most of the meals and looked after the children when I worked, he looked at me with shock and probably a bit of horror. He couldn’t quite fathom what I’d just told him. I’m pretty sure he was hopeful that I wouldn’t have a chance to chat with his wife. I have to admit, it gave me some measure of pleasure to see the look on his face.
I am grateful that I live in a culture where it is not particularly surprising anymore that we’ve chosen the roles that we have. I am grateful that I’m married to a man who’s comfortable with this arrangement (or any other we might want to try). I am grateful that my daughters won’t grow up with any preconceived notions about what roles a man or a woman should or shouldn’t fill.
Tomorrow, I leave for Alberta on another business trip. While I am gone, I never have to worry that the kids won’t be well cared for or that the house will fall apart. Homework will get done, lunches will get made, dishes will be washed, and my absence will barely have an impact. Chances are, there would be more chaos around here if Marcel went away for a few days than when I do. (Fortunately, though, I will still be missed.)
by Heather Plett | Oct 24, 2006 | Leadership, navel-gazing
Life is good. I have a great job. I might even call it my dream job. I get to do creative things like writing and designing and brainstorming new ideas. I get to meet lots of interesting people – both here in Canada and in other parts of the world. I am in a position of some authority, so I get to make decisions and have a real impact on the organization and the work we do. I work in a non-profit organization whose mission is to “end hunger” – what better goal could there be than that? I even got to create a new blog – on work time! (It’s here – not my writing, just my design.) I get to feel good about doing philanthropy and I get to tell stories of the people whose lives we’re impacting. I get to travel to interesting places. In February, I’ll probably make my second trip to Africa – and this trip will be primarily for the purpose of writing stories and taking pictures – how dreamy is THAT?
I have a great marriage to a compassionate funny man. Three of the most beautiful girls in the world call me mommy and make me feel loved unconditionally. I have a comfortable home with enough food to eat, plenty of clothes to wear, a car in the driveway and a shiny bike in the garage.
So many of my dreams come true on a regular basis, it hardly seems fair. Not only do I have a great job, but I also get to do some fun freelance work on the side. My writing gets published fairly regularly now, I have a few opportunities to facilitate interesting workshops in leadership and creativity, and I get to do some public speaking now and then.
Life really is good. I could hardly imagine a more bountiful, complete life.
But then… why oh WHY am I always waiting for the next good thing to come around? It seems I am almost always restless, dreaming of something bigger and better and more adventurous. Beautiful things surround me, and yet I long for more beautiful things. There is always something I am dreaming of – another trip, another freelance opportunity, another adventure, another job, another room in my house, a bigger kitchen, another country to live in for awhile, more time for creativity, less responsibility to a 9 to 5 job, more time to take art classes, a beautiful office space that I can decorate to inspire me, a family vacation, and on and on and on.
Restlessness is so much a part of my nature, I probably wouldn’t recognize myself if I stopped being restless. When the thing I’m dreaming of arrives, I revel in it for awhile, feel blessed and refreshed for a brief time, and then I turn my back and start dreaming of the next good thing.
The teachers in school used to call it “daydreaming” and yes, I am very guilty of staring out the window and daydreaming. When I was growing up, I daydreamed about moving to the city, getting a good job, flying somewhere in an airplane, and having lots of adventures. Then I grew up, all those dreams came true, and soon I was staring out the window again.
Perhaps it’s in the nature of every creative person to have a restlessness like this. Maybe it’s good to always have a dream. Perhaps that’s the only way I’ll move forward – reaching for the things ahead of me.
But sometimes, I wish I knew how to be content. At least for a little longer. I think I could learn a lesson from the Buddhists who find contentment in mindfulness. Or the apostle Paul for that matter, who wrote these wise words: “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” Sigh. I wish I knew the secret of being content.
by Heather Plett | Oct 10, 2006 | Leadership, things I've learned
The cursor is hovering over the send button. I’ve re-read the e-mail about 4 times, tweaking it here and there, trying to make it sound less judgmental and more friendly. How do you write a friendly “your services are no longer needed” e-mail?
After a frustrating few months of way too many delays, lack of phone calls to warn us of delays, poor communication, etc., I find I need to end a working relationship with a graphic designer. He does good work, but unfortunately, he is completely unreliable. The straw that broke the camel’s back was a project that he promised to finish before I left for Toronto, and I never saw a thing or heard from him about why it wasn’t ready.
I hate ending relationships, even when they’re working relationships which shouldn’t really impact me personally. But sometimes it needs to be done. I’ve let this one go on for too long already. Now I just have to work up the courage to hit the send button.
As I was flying back from Toronto, after a somewhat disappointing meeting with my national staff, it occurred to me that part of my problem – part of the reason why I’m less effective as a leader than I could be – is that I lack boldness. Like the cowardly lion in the wizard of oz, I need more courage.
It’s true. I know how to ACT courageous, by jumping out of airplanes and such, but more often than not, deep down, I’m a coward at heart. I cower from confrontation, I accept mediocrity from my staff because I’m afraid to challenge them, I let little conflicts simmer beneath the surface during team meetings because I’d rather not drag them out into the open, I don’t challenge my boss even though I’m sure there are some bold moves he’s avoiding which could make this a more effective organization, I don’t produce my best work for fear that it might not be accepted, and I allow the status quo to rule me because pushing the boundaries would be too uncomfortable.
A couple of things happened last week that revealed my lack of courage. One of them was the staff meeting, where mediocrity was the rule of the day because I failed to challenge the team or force them to confront their own resentments and reluctances. Another was an opportunity I let slip by because I was afraid of the consequences of taking action. Someone I know and respect wrote an article in a journal that questioned some of the things that we do as an international development organization. I sent him a personal e-mail, supporting what he said and expressing my heart. He wrote back and suggested that I send a letter to the editor of the journal as a response from me personally and the organization I represent, suggesting that he might be at least somewhat right in his critique. I declined his suggestion, because doing so would raise the ire of not only my boss but some of our major supporters. I had good reason for not doing it, but when I searched my heart, I knew that part of my reason was fear. I didn’t want to risk losing my job and ticking off the big donors. I shrunk away like the cowardly lion.
On Friday, riding the bus home from work, I almost burst into tears when it occurred to me that perhaps I am limiting my own potential and that of my organization’s by letting fear hold me back. If I were bolder, I’d stand up for what I believe in. If I were bolder, I’d challenge mediocrity.
Somehow, I need to find the boldness in me to confront my fears and speak up when things are not right. I’m starting with small steps. The first one will be to hit the send button. (Perhaps if I were truly courageous, I’d pick up the phone instead, but I’ll let myself get away with baby steps for now.) Mediocrity is not acceptable in people who provide service to us. I will strive for excellence in the people I hire.
I’m not sure what my future steps will be, but I know that this is something I need to confront in myself. I will confront mediocrity more often when I see it among my staff. I will confront it in myself. I will even try to confront it in my boss and perhaps among our major donors. I don’t want to be the cowardly lion any more.
If I can jump out of an airplane, surely I can be bold enough to slap mediocrity in the face.
by Heather Plett | Jun 14, 2006 | Leadership
Meetings are boring, right? Stack up all the meetings you’ve been to in your brain and put the ones that weren’t boring in a separate pile. Makes for a pretty small stack, doesn’t it?
I’ve been to A LOT of meetings. And I mean A LOT. (Thirteen years in the public service and two years in non-profit = approximately 3,987,072 meetings. Don’t ask me how I came up with the number – I just KNOW!) If I could have all the time back I’ve spent in meetings, I could add about 17 years onto my life.
Yesterday I spent all day in meetings. From 7:30 in the morning until 9:30 at night (with a bit of a break for a bike ride and supper). Fortunately, they weren’t the dry, boring kind where you go through your annual budget line by line and decide that if this is what you have to do for the rest of your life, you’d rather poke out your eyes and live the rest of your life in the dark to avoid it.
Trying to look on the bright side, I’m lucky that I get to facilitate more and more of the meetings I have to be part of. That’s good for a few reasons: a.) it’s harder to fall asleep when you’re runnin’ the thing, b) I get to control the agenda, c) I get to throw in fun things now and then, d) I can tell anyone fiddling on their Blackberries to shove them up their @#$%#$, and e) if the finance person wants to pick apart the budget, I can kick her/him out of the room (mwahaha!).
Yesterday, I did one of those fun things that help make meetings at least somewhat less boring. It was one of those brainwaves that strikes you at approximately midnight, the night before a big meeting, when you’re trying to sleep but you can’t help running through the agenda time and time again.
Picture this, 5 respected church elders sprawled out on the floor with old magazines, colourful paper, scented markers, and glue sticks. (Okay, so the truth is, they’re not the kind of elder you might be thinking of – these are the kind of elders that are all way younger than your grandfather – the kind that are hip and fun and they’re not just leaders of your church, they’re the people you like to have over for a bonfire and glass of wine on Friday night. They’re the kind of elders who tell you that their son messed up with the law and has to go to court. The kind that let you know they’re in the middle of a depression and are considering medication. The kind that cry with you when life looks like shit and you can’t find your way out. They’re the kind that SAY shit. The honest, authentic, flawed kind that EVERY church should have.)
So… back to the picture… 5 elders, glue sticks, and pictures torn out of magazines. Out of this moment came 5 beautiful collages, each of them representing someone’s vision of the church. Each one had personality. There was the one with the picture in the centre of a bad-ass kid with a colourful mohawk and an attitude. Another one focused on the different kinds of relationships we all have. On almost every one, the faces were as diverse as a box of new crayons. On one of them, there were words like “hope” and “love” and “community”. On another, the pictures represented the realities of life – the messy stuff that most of us hide – the depressions, the anger, the fear. One of them had a variety of pictures of people expressing themselves in art and music and all kinds of creativity.
It was brilliant. I want to do it at every meeting. I’m just not sure I can convince the board of directors at work to get down on the floor and get glue on their hands.
