Rogue-ish

So an email was waiting for me upon my return home from Phoenix:

Congratulations Mary! Your workshop has been accepted for our Small Business Expo!

Huh? What workshop? What small business expo?

Your workshop entitled “Going Rogue: Harnessing Success Through Solitude” will be presented in Workshop Room #2. Our best to you as you prepare to meet us in _____.

Damn, I thought, I don’t remember writing it, but that is one kickass title for a workshop.

So o.k., I don’t remember submitting a workshop presentation, but see, this is the shit I do. I see an opportunity and think to myself, “Wow, that sounds terrifying and out of my league. I think I’ll apply for it.”

Of course I’m going to do it. God sends you into these rooms you have no right to be in, and all of a sudden, you’re in them, looking around and saying, “Now what?” So I’ll send information about the expo as it gets closer, but a question on the acceptance letter made me pause:

What product will you be selling?

I’m my product. So maybe if I don’t show up, that’s actually promoting solitude, right?

Just kidding.

My “product” is still in development. But success through solitude is my personal story, and something I truly believe other people should embrace more. Everything, and I mean everything, that has been good career-wise in my life is a result of having been able to think alone, act alone, travel alone, work alone, and be alone. It is only when I am around other people that my life force gets muddled.

Many people are afraid of solitude, of the silence of their thoughts and dreams, because they can’t get that silence without first having to withstand the roar of their imperfections. The roar of humanity, or lack of. The roar of fear and human foibles and uncertainty and grief.

In Tampa I watched a woman sitting at a table and waiting for her husband to bring her a drink from the bar. The bar was crowded, and he began to talk casually with other patrons as he waited to order. At first she was fine. Smiling into the spring sunshine on this beautiful patio bar, watching runners and boats go by. Then she began to get visibly uncomfortable. The smile disappeared, and she began to look backwards towards the bar, as if to see what was taking her Hub so long. Then the phone came out, which it always inevitably does, like a security blanket. She checked that a few times, then went through her purse, then looked towards the bar again. After only five minutes (FIVE MINUTES!) she had had enough, and marched to the bar to see what was taking her spouse so long. She returned, visibly annoyed, and repeated all the above a few more times. By the time her well-meaning spouse returned she was completely pissed, and he handed her a mimosa, wondering what he had done wrong other than leave to get her a drink.

She was forced to face that alone thing, you know. It’s some scary shit, facing that part of yourself. What do I do? Think? Act? But the thing with solitude is when you get past the breakers, you reach calm seas, and the smooth sailing is one sweet ride.

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy your families this Easter holiday, and your vacation week, if you’re taking one. Just don’t forget to give yourself time to yourself. Five minutes, an hour, an afternoon, a whole day.

Because no matter where you go, there you are.

Mentee

Out of sheer morbid curiosity, I clicked on a LinkedIn article entitled, “Are You Mentorable?”

The sheer audacity of the question made me laugh. Am I mentorable? I wasn’t even mentorable when I was 25. Now at 55, I would assume I am any team leader’s worst nightmare. I can play nice when I have to, don’t get me wrong, but my inner rebellious asshole is always simmering very close to the surface. If I had a list entitled, “Things I Am Done with Forever,” team meetings would lead the top five.

(The other four? Jeans. Dating sites. Coach. Burpees)

I have always been an excellent teacher. What I have never been, however, is an excellent employee. I am the employee who says (formerly quietly, then by the end of my career out loud) stuff like this during meetings and in-services:

Who gives a shit?

Are we done here?

May I be excused?

If I know this already, can I leave?

This could have been an email.

We had this same in-service last year.

Couldn’t this time have been better spent preparing our classrooms and lessons?

Just fucking kill me.

Oh Christ, not another icebreaker. We’ve been teaching here for twenty years, the ice is broke.

Pssssst, Joe. You got any of that vodka still in your desk?

My classic was glaring at that annoying pale person with no life outside of work when she raised her hand to the question: “Before we leave for the day, any questions?” and then whispering, “Ask that question and I will kill your whole family, or all fifty of your cats, whichever comes first.”

Yes, I got in trouble. A lot. And of course I failed the quiz. It should come as no surprise to you that according to LinkedIn, I am not mentorable.

Bummer.

Question 1: Would you appreciate the value of your mentor’s time?

Answer: No.

Q2: Would you be able to be clear about what you’re looking for in a mentor relationship?

Answer: No.

Q3: Can you accept input, advice and criticism from your mentor?

Answer: Christ no.

Q4: Is your answer “Yes” to the question, “Am I a good mentee?”

Answer: Hell no.

Q5: Is your mind open to learning from your mentor?

Answer: Fuck no.

Final Grade: Hi Mary. Thanks for taking our quiz. Looks like you need some more time to figure out what you’re looking for in a mentor/mentee relationship. Try again in a few years.

Yeah, that’ll happen.

Bolognese

I’m a whore for Scottsdale real estate porn. I even found the perfect house a few months ago.

I’ve been receiving emails about available Scottsdale properties for almost twenty years. I know what I like, and I know what I want. So when this perfect little house sitting jauntily and alone in the desert popped up on my feed, I inquired to the agent.

“Sorry, Mary,” she said. “It sold in 36 hours.” It would seem that someone else is now living in MY house. Ugh. Well, we all know what the real estate market is like now. Too many buyers, and not enough houses. Or some shit like that.

I spent Palm Sunday in the Scottsdale Quarter while my friend worked for a few hours at her job, and I passed a real estate office with virtual tours. You’ve seen these. You punch in the number of the house you want to see, and the screen takes you through the house on a video tour.

I looked at the available properties, and decided just for fun to look at a 25 million dollar mansion in Paradise Valley, propped up on what looks like a personal meteor. I would be hard-pressed to explain accurately the opulence of this property. The sitting room in this house is bigger than a football field. It must be a sitting room for a blue whale. The pool looks like it loops around, I don’t know, Saturn. Twelve bedrooms. Fifteen bathrooms. A landing strip with an air control tower.

I’m not joking.

But now I have a guy named Bolognese contacting me about this house. All day as I walked the Quarter, he texted me and emailed me. Here was the first text:

Hi Mary, I work with a lot of lenders that can save you big in the long run. When you decide to buy, do you plan to pay with cash or need financing?

I’m not trying to waste his time, but it was too fun to resist.

Me: Cash.

Bolognese: Great! Looking to buy or sell or both?

Me: Haven’t decided yet.

B: Great, do you have any questions about the property I can help you with?

Me: A few. First, do any of the three pools have waterfalls?

No, but that’s easy to put in.

That’s a concern for me. Also, did I read right that this house only has two kitchens?

Yes.

Hm. Ok. The theater room, do those chairs recline?

Hold on, let me look….uh, yes, they do!

Excellent. Last, al fresco is my life, so would you say that the house provides not only privacy, but that it would be like living on a concealed oasis?

It certainly does.

That air traffic control tower, is a controller provided, or would I have to hire someone?

Oh, you would supply that.

Very good. Let me think about it and get back to you. I’m not too sure about those wood beams, and the open floor plan is a little TOO open. But you’ve been a dear. I’ll be in touch.

Fra-gee-lay

In Tampa I went into the hotel gift shop, turned a little too quickly, and knocked three Christmas ornaments onto the floor with my backpack. They smashed into smithereens, but they didn’t make me pay for them. I offered.

On campus, I stopped for a cup of tea before class at the coffee kiosk, and the barista gestured to the boxes of tea, asking me to choose which flavor I wanted. I tried pushing my hand through that plastic partition three times before she stated the obvious.

“Um, I’ll get it for you, just tell me which one.”

I was wearing my faculty credentials. Great.

I bought a little rocket blender for juicing, and I stared at the parts on my counter for weeks until my son came home and told me how to work it.

“Seriously?” He looked at me incredulously. “It has three parts. This is embarrassingly easy. What’s wrong with you?”

A lot, apparently.

The hotel coffee pot and ice machine. The lamp in the guest bedroom of my friend’s house in Scottsdale. The tray built into the arm of my airplane seat. My life is a daily struggle to manipulate the objects and contraptions around me, and my clumsiness and inability to use my common sense puts me on the losing side of that struggle.

As I stood outside Pottery Barn on Sunday, my mind began running interference for me.

Don’t even think it. Don’t go in there.

I went in anyway.

You’re too clumsy for this store. Turn around.

No. I approach candles.

Don’t pick those up by the lid.

I sniff and move away. I approach dish towels.

I know you think this is a safe area, but you’d be wrong.

I lovingly stroke the soft linen and warily approach the Easter display.

No. Stop. What do you think you’re doing? You’re too clumsy to touch those plates.

I carefully pick up a small bread plate adorned with bunnies, turn it over to see the price, and it falters slightly in my hands. I back away.

Good move. Whew.

Stemmed wine glasses. I move towards them as in some kind of consumer-induced trance.

Absolutely not. Don’t even try it, they can’t fit into your suitcase.

I hear a voice.

“We can ship those to you for no charge. How many are you interested in?”

I sigh.

“None. Just looking.”

Big Rooms

Let’s get this out of the way:

I pulled it off. And then some.

My TED talk was a great night for me. As I waited in the wings getting ready to stand on the red dot, I went through all the last-minute things Chris Anderson would say to me if he were there:

Have fun, Mary.

Deep breaths into your stomach.

You know your talk. You KNOW IT.

Connect.

It’s all about the message.

And Friday night was indeed about my message. My ten-minute talk flowed through me just as easily as casual conversation with a friend. I felt as comfortable as if I were reciting it from my living room. The arena was packed with 2,000 people, but it felt as intimate as a small dinner party.

The parts of my talk that I felt were funny got laughs. The parts that were sobering received respectful silence. I was brazen where I wanted to be, humble where I needed to be, and modest throughout. My voice never faltered, and I was not nervous. If I fucked up, I fucked up. I was already o.k. with that going in.

Although they didn’t show it, I know my team was nervous for me. A day earlier at dress rehearsal, my mouth suddenly went dry during my recitation. I was sick as a dog. Sleep-deprived. Jet lagged. Wearing really uncomfortable shoes. Then suddenly my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls, so without thinking, I muttered “Sorry, I have a head cold” into the mic. I’m sure the team was terrified I would repeat that flub on The Night, especially since I opted out of the second optional dress rehearsal.

So they were just as happy as I was as I came off the stage. As soon as I got behind the curtain, the positive reviews started flowing. I won’t bore you with them here, but reviews across the board were laudatory. I was brought to the green room, where I drank ice water, ate cashews, and texted five people: my two TED talk consultants, who had gotten me there in the first place, and my sons, who although they sometimes don’t know what part of the country I’m in, are my biggest fans.

I was asked many times:

What made you give a TED talk?

My first answer is the pragmatic one: it’s an invaluable marketing tool for a writer, speaker and author. Having a published TED talk on a CV opens doors that would normally remain shut. There is simply no chance that this TED talk will not lead me in the direction I want to go.

My second answer is the corny one: I really do have a story to tell. Many stories to tell. We all do. And my story is one that people need to hear. And hear it they will.

It is said God puts you in rooms that you don’t belong in, to see how you will rise to the occasion. So if God put me on that red dot in that large arena, I sit here on Sunday morning in the desert knowing he did it for a reason.

And I’ve never been more sure that I belonged in a room, or that I have lived up to someone’s expectations of me.

Thanks for reading.

Best Laid Plans

Maybe you know I’m in Phoenix for an event, maybe you don’t. Maybe you know I’m giving a TED talk, maybe you don’t. Maybe you know it’s a big deal, maybe you don’t. Regardless, by the time you’re reading this, I’ll be on stage, getting ready, or maybe done.

So how does one prepare for a TED talk? Oh, it’s easy.

Once it’s written, revised and rewritten, which takes months, then memorize it word-for-word. Recite it, over and over and over. Recite it in your car, in your kitchen, in the shower. Recite it while hopping around on one leg, recite it when you’re navigating in traffic, when you’re working out, when you’re tired, when you’re not feeling well, when you’re in a bad mood and it’s the last thing you feel like doing.

Got it memorized? Good. Now forget it. Start over. Change it. Adapt it. Make it shorter. Make it conversational. See if there’s anywhere in the talk where you can add audience participation. Add pauses, and silence, body language, gestures and smiles, and maybe a joke or witticism here or there, without worrying too much if they’ll get a laugh.

Some TED consultants suggest giving the speech to friends and family ahead of time, to get used to eye contact and facial expressions. I did not do that, but to each his own. Being a teacher for 34 years has its perks and being used to standing in front of people and reading body language and facial expressions is one of them.

So preparation is key, but don’t overdo it. You don’t want to sound mechanical. If you want to deliver a speech standing behind a lectern and reading from a teleprompter, there are plenty of venues that will encourage you to do that. That’s not TED.

Other preparation includes exercise, stamina, physical presence, confidence and oh, health. I was extra careful to take care of myself the weeks leading up to my talk. Vitamins, fruits and vegetables, sunshine, exercise, plenty of sleep, and juicing.

And guess what? I got sick anyway. On the three days leading up to my talk, instead of being able to go the gym, recite a few more times, try on outfits, or confer with my consultants, I was laid flat on my couch.

I admit, it was a very bad few days for me. This rarely happens, so take note: I was very, very low, and thank God no one was home but me. I had done everything in my power to be as healthy for the most important day in my career, and it hadn’t worked. Quite the opposite.

I googled “What to do when you get sick before an important presentation,” and surprisingly, the advice did not so much center around palliative care, but mental health. Suggestions were:

The show must go on. Suck it up.

Don’t underestimate adrenalin as the event gets closer. It will get you through.

Have a positive attitude. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself will only make it worse.

Brilliant successful people all over the world tell stories about times they were sick as dogs but managed to pull through and get it done.

So I slept, popped vitamin C and Zyrtec, drank tea and juices, ate soup and prayed that when it came time to leave, I’d at least be able to get up off the couch.

I am writing this from my flight to Phoenix, so I’m on my way. When I land, I will be picked up by a man holding a sign with my name (I’ve always wanted to get off a plane and have someone waiting for me with a sign), go to rehearsal, and then I will be resting until our group dinner.

Friday is the talk. Then I’m sleeping in until like, NOON, on Saturday. The thought of sleeping in and ordering room service has never given me such preemptive pleasure.

More next week on the disappointment of doing everything right and still ending up with the short end of the stick.

Real Quick

Hi folks- I’ll try to post something for tomorrow from Phoenix. Right now I’m headed out the door for my flight. Thanks for checking in!

Anarchy

(This week’s posts will all be quick and painless. Big week, not enough time)

As read on Instagram:

The airport is such a lawless place. You get absolutely hammered at chilis at 11 am and buy an iPad out of a vending machine. Plugging every electronic you own into sketchy usb outlets eating a $12 cinnamon roll the size of your head. And it’s just like a Tuesday.

Nom de Plume

I’ve been thinking a lot about my future pen name- you know, like Theodore Geisel had “Dr. Seuss.” Stephen King used “Richard Bachman.” Mary Anne Evans used “George Eliot.” So I typed some personal information into a pen name database. It asked me questions about my personality, likes and dislikes, various moods and temperaments.

Here were the possibilities for my future nom de plume:

M.D. Eviscerating-Satire

Oves MaBlood

M.D. Satire-Blackoves

Marti O. Threat

Maree Piss Ant

Let me know which one you like. They all have such…potential.

High Spirits

Oldie but a goodie to greet you on a Monday:

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety. Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson