“I am running out of pants,” he said. “This last pair of jeans has a hole in it. Do you think you could patch it?”

I’ve sewn on buttons. I’ve hemmed a skirt, and even sewn entire dresses. But patching a pair of jeans is a new level. Like darning socks, it’s a lost art. Do people do that anymore?

During the lockdown, a lot of people did old fashioned things. All across America, households were experimenting with sourdough starter and making bread with it. We’ve been released from our homes, but then again we find ourselves on the bad side of supply chain issues and inflation.

I know I hoarded plastic containers during that time—you never know what you might need. And yes, I am still doing it a little. There is a lot of life in that quart container of yogurt. I kept it and it is doing a great job holding prepared rice in my fridge.

I want to save those Levi’s. They are perfectly—well almost perfectly—good. I am going to patch them.

Owning things is a responsibility. I have a relationship and an obligation to them. I honestly appreciate things more. I have to notice what is going on with things and see if I can provide help when they need it.

I really appreciate the things that work exactly as I need them to.

A good pair of Levi’s is needing a little help, and I will put some effort into providing it.

In this case, it’s not just the jeans that need help. It’s my husband. He knows less about sewing than I do. For all the things that Chris does for me, I will help him. And for all the things that the pants do for him—for us, really—I can give a little back. They can be repaired and give back to us for a few more years.

Good relationships take attention and investment. It’s shame to give up too soon.

I am writing this on International Woman’s Day. And for particularly female reasons I am sending it on the same day.

I first learned of this holiday when I was 19 in Russia. I loved how it was celebrated and I wanted to remember it always.

It is an independent holiday. I didn’t need anyone else to bring it up, I am a woman and it belongs to me.

Other people can come alongside and celebrate me, and they are welcome. But I already have everything I need as a woman to recognize myself.

It is also an opportunity to celebrate the other women around me. Women I admire, and women I appreciate. It is so easy to celebrate them—in this context it is a way of celebrating myself.

Women, women everywhere! Look at what she’s done. Look at what I can do!

And even more important look at who we are.

I am a woman. I have strengths and struggles. I have weaknesses and triumphs.

I’d like to be stronger and triumph more. I’ll see if I can work towards that.

I am connected to those around me, my family, friends and community. I would like to add to their benefits and be more than a burden. I hope that all of us can more towards more strength and triumphs.

I carry myself through my life. This is the day –the quote Whitman, “I sing the song of myself”

And because I am woman, I also sing the song of everyone.

Let’s celebrate.

Some writers are so good at describing the experience of the senses—Sight, sound, smell, touch and taste. Colors and flavors can be so gorgeous.

I’m not naturally good at that. I usually have to go back and force myself to put that kind of description in. It doesn’t come naturally to me.

What DOES come naturally is motion. Go go go…move… what’s next? What’s after that? Stick my thumb in to turn the next page as soon I’ve flipped the last one.

Momentum. Keep moving, be ready to dodge around and obstacles. I’m only resting when I’m in motion. Many of my books have been written while riding a bus.

This is the Weekly Wonder, though. I do take time to wonder about the how and the why.

Last week I talked about trust.  This week I’m thinking about the story of the Pencil.

Do you know how to make a pencil?  The humble pencil, how hard can it be?

Harder than it seems. Where did this wood come from? What had to happen to get it to the place where it could be formed into a pencil? And that doesn’t even take into account the lead…which isn’t lead anymore, but is the part that lets the pencil write. And that is the whole point of a pencil, right?

I’m not sure how much thought all these players put into their jobs that lead up to the pencil. They might not be picturing a pencil. Likely every part of the process has more objects being created than a pencil.

The pencil is almost a side effect of all the motion that these workers are doing. The highly productive output, making useful things out of material. They are each doing their respective jobs, with the systems working almost independently of the output.

That’s another layer of trust. Trust in the systems that are all working together in complex and mostly incomprehensible ways.

I can’t know how that pencil is created. I can stay in motion and do my part of the dance.

I can’t know everything. I have to trust the systems I am part of, with awareness and reflection as I join and add my bit.

It is already in motion. I want to move with it and trust that the motion will smooth out the errors. There are too many things I can’t do alone.

I have always been insecure about my education and knowledge. I knew I hadn’t been taught the things I wished I knew.


Trust

Read Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes and he painstakingly wrote down how society was to be structured. It wasn’t structured like that yet, but he was putting out a LOOOONNNGGG treatise on how it could be done.

When Leviathan was written, the commonwealth it described did not exist. What did exist was a set of expectations and habits of how a society should work. Since those expectations were reasonably fulfilled, this amounted to trust.

Trust is what makes human interactions work. I loan you my broom to sweep your sidewalk, I am taking a risk. But if you prove my trust by returning it, then I might be able to borrow your shovel when I have to dig in my garden. Since we trust each other, I am saved the cost of buying a shovel and you are saved the cost of buying a broom.

What a happy little neighborhood. Since we have built this trust through exchange, we might even leave both tools in an unlocked place where each person has access. It’s more convenient.

Until some jerk from outside the neighborhood comes in and steals both items.

Oh no! Now we are both poorer, and we are suspicious of all strangers. Not only are we suspicious, we are hostile.

Which is a real shame, because if we had maintained the trust, we could have expanded our collective set of tools and made everyone’s life easier. The next guy might have had a spray nozzle for the hose, which I could have used on my garden and gotten even more tomato crop. I would have shared with my neighbors and we all would be increasingly healthier and shinier.

Here in the 21st century I’ve been living that dream. Here in America, a culture that fostered that kind of trust, we are healthier and shinier. Go stand next to any North Korean and see the difference. Americans are taller than the malnourished and oppressed citizens of that sad country.

It is a risk to trust, for sure. That broom of mine is vulnerable. I could get all worked up over it. I need walk around safely and not trip over debris! Me and my family could trip and get seriously hurt. I have to protect my family and that means protecting my broom.

Trust is risky. I’m not in control.

And even more, that risk leaves me trapped in indecision. Remember those expectations and habits that made up the culture? When those habits and practices are abandoned, then the trust is broken.

I KNOW it would help us both to share our tools. But I’ve been burned. I’ve watched others get burned. How do I make that leap and release my tight grip on what I have struggled to own?

It’s natural to cling to my own. The aberration is the trust.

When a novel corona virus showed up on earth, trust sustained an injury. Sharing space, sharing air, trusting one another took on a new level of risk. The whole world rocked the other way.

I feel it in many areas that were common practices before. Here’s one example. Like many, I lost my job in 2020. I found another one, lost in and found another one.

And I felt the difference from before. Yes, I got a lot of interviews. I had gotten a lot of interviews pre=covid. But there was a hesitancy. More and more interviews were required. I felt a hesitancy to take the risk of making a decision. Even the people in charge of making decisions—executives—couldn’t find the wherewithal to execute.

It has taken a long time to build up the water table of trust in our culture. It was more than 400 years ago that Hobbes wrote his Leviathan showing how a commonwealth could do it. The 10 commandments are thousands of years old.

Trust is thankfully a renewable resource. But it takes intention to renew it. It means taking risks and suffering loss.

In the end, the vision is that we all are better off. I will have to trust that vision is the true one. I believe it can be if we do it together.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

– From Walden by Henry David Thoreau

The sad and choked lives of most people, as imagined by Thoreau in the quote above, leads to the ersatz thrill seeking of super hero movies. Video games with their challenges and puzzles to solve, and people to rescue makes a good substitute for getting out of the mundane problems in life.

The real obstacles might ask too much of me. Am I really ready to quite my job? Will I have to drop everything and get that graduate degree?

It’s easier to watch a movie and get some sleep.

I’m gonna say, those stories are with us for a reason. The bards, the troubadours, and the storytellers are a deep part of who we are as human beings. That quiet desperation walks with us, and the story tellers will remind us of what is possible. One day, eventually, I might be able to get the idea that moves me out of the desperation and into a move.

And that puts me into another category altogether. Those stories that inspired me to make a move? The heroes whose exploits made me stand up and step up?

Now I’m in the midst of it. It might be time for a different kind of story. When I’m in the arena, I might want simpler fare.

There’s a different set of stories the troubadours know. Something soothing and peaceful. When real life is exciting enough, I need a story that lets me know things can be peaceful.

I’m careful with my stories. I have to be self-aware enough to know what I need. Right now, today, I need a cup of tea. Herbal.

I’m reading the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series by Andrew Mccall Smith. He has strung together a long series of stories to give me exactly what I’m looking for.

We had plans and they hit a wall. That’s tough for a 14 year-old celebrating her birthday.

We rescheduled but that left us with today and it was bleak. There had been plans, there had been high anticipation and now…I had to substitute something for my daughter.

We thought a brunch with French toast would help. As we drove over to our favorite 50s diner, I remembered something.

“This is the last Saturday of the month. My friend used to play music with at the famer’s market. I always tried to go see her play.

“She loves playing music so much that she has three or four jobs so she can play music. It’s that important to her. She knows for sure that it’s the most important thing.

My kid was listening, but she didn’t have much to add. I turned into the parking lot.

I have a great number of things I want to do in life. I am also right at this moment trying to advise my kid on the cusp of high school how to choose a life path. We have been trying to talk about the things one could do.

It’s not such a straight path. I certainly did not follow a brochure to find the career I have found.

I am sure that is true for a lot of people. How did all the circumstances line up to arrive at the now?

I admire my musician friend’s clarity. A rare few artists are so committed to their artistic efforts that they place it at primary place. An even fewer number make enough money from their art to sustain themselves.

The rest of us shuffle our to-do’s and priorities to keep both food and a roof. We grownups have to scrape together a plan from whatever is left lying around., I tried the doors to see if any were unlocked. Then I mustered up the courage to walk through the open ones.

It didn’t always work out. Just like the night before a birthday party, there was anticipation and sleep lost. And some things slipped out of my grasp.

Me and my daughter were having breakfast and coming to terms with her latest disappointment. That might be one of the most grownup things a person could do.

Walking is supposed to one of the first key skills humans learn. My mom tells me it took forever for me to learn to walk. My three older brothers kept knocking me down. But I did eventually master it.

Those brothers became more useful to me in that other human skill: reading and writing. I got some help with the letters and that became one of my favorite things to do.

I know writing is something that it seems like almost everyone can do, but making something to share is a little different. I’m trying to get better and write at a higher level. I am glad, dear reader, that you are reading what I’m writing.

To be precise, though, people have not always been able to write. Prehistorically, things weren’t written down. Even after writing was invented, humans didn’t write everything down. The stories that were captured and preserved until the present day are like a time machine.

What were people like back then? How did they see the world and what was important to them?

I have a set of journals…no, diaries… from when I was a teenager. Who was this person who wrote so faithfully? It’s a dim and faded record of who I once was. A frozen record of what I used to be.

My writing pinned me to a card like a specimen bug—a piece of my history.

I just finished reading a book from 1298: The Travels of Marco Polo

That’s a piece of history from a long time ago. Still—I thought I would know what people in the thirteen hundreds thought was important. This book is so famous, I figured it would be full of the sort of stories I would expect from the middle ages.

I was wrong. It surprised me to find what he thought was important. He was far more practical that I would have expected.

What was even more interesting is how the readers of this book loved it. I am impressed with the readers of 700 years ago. This book was passed on from reader to reader, translated so often that there aren’t any original copies left.

All of Europe was very interested in what was over the horizon. Not just the crazy stories, but the how and the what. We have the record in this book.

And then we have the record—the history—of what came after. Columbus read the story of the spices and had to get some ships over there.

Marco Polo had the adventure, and he needed someone to help him write it down. He found a writing partner in prison. Rustichello de Pisa is the one that wrote it all down and made this book that captured so many people’s attention. And kept it.

This weekend we bought a dresser from a guy off craigslist. This is my kind living. We had our eye on this piece at the store for the last several years, but we didn’t want to pay full price for it.

My husband (also known as my research staff) found this very piece for sale nearby and we jumped. Same day.

It took a little preparation. We’d already figured out the piece would fit in our house beautifully, but we had to make sure it would fit in our new truck. Yep, if we strapped it down.

We gave the man selling it a chance to eat lunch and then we were there.

This very sweet man let us into his home. We climbed the five stepped and entered his front door. Signs on his walls showed us he was a Vietnam vet, bless him. He showed us the piece. It was not band new but it was exactly what I’d hoped for.

Now, one of the reasons we liked this piece it because it was solid wood. It was a big tall dresser and it substantial.

Our new friend the vet had told us he couldn’t help us lift it. It was just us.

He did not want to hand it over. He couldn’t imagine a woman and a slender man could take care of this …300? 350?…pound dresser with success.

I paid him up front in cash. I knew we could do it.

I was used to overseeing people move and install heaving audio video equipment in corporate spaces. I’ve had to oversee teams move multiple 500 pound televisions up serval flights of stairs.

My crews taught me so much. I was not the one humping those boxes up the stairs. But we talked it over and planned every part of the way. All the turns, any tight corners we thought it through ahead of time and made sure the equipment and the people would not be harmed.

But the golden prize that we were reaching for every step of the way, was sharing the load.

A dolly with wheels was our best friend. Smooth moving blankets that let us tilt on the grades and slide it is our friend.

One little guy can do amazing things to lever and slide the load into position.

It doesn’t have to be so hard.

I looked over the path that we needed to traverse and I saw how we could make it happen. First step was getting sliders under the legs so we could push it gently and safely over the carpet to the front door.

Those 5 steps on the porch were a challenge. But laying the dresser down on a moving blanket and then sliding it down the steps onto a wheeled dolly took care of that hurdle.

Then we wheeled it over the sidewalk (Watch out for the bump!) to the truck.

Oh boy. It’s almost 3 feet from the sidewalk to the bed of the truck.

If that were a deadlift, it would not be safe.

But with those moving blankets again, we tilted and slid that bad baby snugly into the truck.

Our new friend was blown away.

It was a chance for me to remember things I forgot I knew.

It’s worth the time and attention to make things easier. There are ways I can lean on the supports around me.

Some people would have given up, but I had the vision. There are forces standing by waiting to be utilized. If I look for it, there are ways to make it easier on myself.

That walkthrough—that planning of each step—it made it all come out so easily.

I always have the urge to charge in. That leaves out the chances to make it easier and in fact faster. It’s worth it to take the time to imagine every piece of the path reveals so many chances to lighten my load. It’s like magic waiting to happen.

Over Christmas and new year’s, I was stuck and home getting over the plague of the moment. I had a nasty cough and I found that if I didn’t speak or use my voice I could avoid painful coughing fits.

I consumed a lot of audiobooks, podcasts and YouTube. Towards the end I watched a reaction video to an old Jordan Peterson interview.

A female British reporter asked Peterson to explain why almost all top CEOs are male. His reply indicated that it’s a hard job that most people—male or female—don’t want to do, and it takes working 70 to 80-hour workweeks. You can catch it here at 12:21

Over Christmas and new year’s, I was stuck and home getting over the plague of the moment. I had a nasty cough and I found that if I didn’t speak or use my voice I could avoid painful coughing fits.

I consumed a lot of audiobooks, podcasts and YouTube. Towards the end I watched a reaction video to an old Jordan Peterson interview.

A female British reporter asked Peterson to explain why almost all top CEOs are male. His reply indicated that it’s a hard job that most people—male or female—don’t want to do, and it takes working 70 to 80-hour workweeks. You can catch it here at 12:21

I’m my sick haze I flashed on a memory. Throughout my career, I’ve made very intentional choices about the steps I want to take. Years ago, I heard about how high-level executives have to work 80 hours a week.

That number made me tilt my head and wonder. There are 168 hours in a week. Half of my waking hours would be work. I thought of the people knew who were supposedly in that high level position and I determined that it was a myth. No way did they ACTUALLY work 80 hours, they must have exaggerated. These top-of-the-org-charts types are likely to exaggerate, anyway.

I calculated it is not possible

Until…

I was assigned projects at work that had me working 80+ hours a week. Part of the requirement was to track the hours I worked on each project in 15 minutes increments, so I was very sure that I was truly working these hours.

The way it came to pass was I started my day working on European projects at 7 am. I then managed reporting and overseeing on a project that was night work in the Pacific time zone. This work involved holding  daily kickoff for the work that started at 6 PM, and finished somewhere between 2 or 5 in the morning. I slept on the couch with my phone to answer any questions that might come up thoughout the night. I set my alarm to call the team lead by 4 AM to take a report on the work that happened each night and compose a report to the suits about the progress, problems and their remediation plans. Sometimes the work was done earlier. Sometimes they were still going.

The workload was brutal.

I could only do this because it was well planned and the actions were previously decided before we started on this work. It was a HARD LIFT to have to think and write that daily progress report at 4 in the morning. In fact, I created a draft of it the night before after the kickoff meeting when I was more alert.

That night work was 6 weeks. I had my taste of 80+ hours of work a week. I know what it takes to actually work that long. Sleep is the first thing that’s lost, followed quickly by clarity of thought.

I still think most CEOs are exaggerating that 80 hours, but the tippy top ones might not be. I am however, convinced that I do not want to choose that lifestyle.

There are choices. My manager at the time kept asking me if I was ok. I could have asked for help and handed some of the work off. I am not sure that would have been accepted, honestly. It’s possible this might have been some kind of test. But I didn’t have to stay in the game, I could have quit.

I knew then, and I still know now what it would take to be that kind of worker. I know with certainty that I CAN do it and that I do not WANT to do it.

Much respect for those who do want to do it. Now that I’ve had the sample, and I know the taste of that choice I am finding other ways to fulfil my ambition. I’m making other choices. I can make an informed decision on how I want my career to go.

I’m my sick haze I flashed on a memory. Throughout my career, I’ve made very intentional choices about the steps I want to take. Years ago, I heard about how high-level executives have to work 80 hours a week.

That number made me tilt my head and wonder. There are 168 hours in a week. Half of my waking hours would be work. I thought of the people knew who were supposedly in that high level position and I determined that it was a myth. No way did they ACTUALLY work 80 hours, they must have exaggerated. These top-of-the-org-charts types are likely to exaggerate, anyway.

I calculated it is not possible

Until…

I was assigned projects at work that had me working 80+ hours a week. Part of the requirement was to track the hours I worked on each project in 15 minutes increments, so I was very sure that I was truly working these hours.

The way it came to pass was I started my day working on European projects at 7 am. I then managed reporting and overseeing on a project that was night work in the Pacific time zone. This work involved holding daily kickoff for the work that started at 6 PM, and finished somewhere between 2 or 5 in the morning. I slept on the couch with my phone to answer any questions that might come up thoughout the night. I set my alarm to call the team lead by 4 AM to take a report on the work that happened each night and compose a report to the suits about the progress, problems and their remediation plans. Sometimes the work was done earlier. Sometimes they were still going.

The workload was brutal.

I could only do this because it was well planned and the actions were previously decided before we started on this work. It was a HARD LIFT to have to think and write that daily progress report at 4 in the morning. In fact, I created a draft of it the night before after the kickoff meeting when I was more alert.

That night work was 6 weeks. I had my taste of 80+ hours of work a week. I know what it takes to actually work that long. Sleep is the first thing that’s lost, followed quickly by clarity of thought.

I still think most CEOs are exaggerating that 80 hours, but the tippy top ones might not be. I am however, convinced that I do not want to choose that lifestyle.

There are choices. My manager at the time kept asking me if I was ok. I could have asked for help and handed some of the work off. I am not sure that would have been accepted, honestly. It’s possible this might have been some kind of test. But I didn’t have to stay in the game, I could have quit.

I knew then, and I still know now what it would take to be that kind of worker. I know with certainty that I CAN do it and that I do not WANT to do it.

Much respect for those who do want to do it. Now that I’ve had the sample, and I know the taste of that choice I am finding other ways to fulfil my ambition. I’m making other choices. I can make an informed decision on how I want my career to go.

This January is the one when I turned 50. This feels big to me.

I strongly remember 25, which was halfway to now. I was absolutely sure that 25 was a brick wall that I had to have certain things done or I was doomed to failure for my whole life. Unsurprisingly I had missed certain of those milestones and 25 found me making substitutions.

The substitutions themselves had to be real. I was sure I should have graduated from college by then, but it hadn’t happened. I substituted that I had found a good career even without that diploma which was supposed to be the skeleton key to life success.

At 25 I was very focused on what I had to do. I had very low expectations of what others would be giving me. My relationships seemed to be more about what I had to give to them rather than what they should do for me.

In my new career, I began to notice that people interacted differently that I was used to. They were far more careful with my preferences. I thought I would try this tactic in my marriage. I formed an experimental opinion.

I would not like Indian food, and see how it was received.

It was not well received. My experimental opinion was not honored. It was more like an enemy that had to be conquered into submission.

I have never forgotten the results of that experiment. I learned so much about what I wanted from other people and how to set expectations.

I kept the career and ditched that marriage.

Substitutions had to be made. My preferences had to be considered and accommodated. I didn’t know how to do that right away. 25 years later a know a lot more about how to ask for things and how to negotiate substitutions.

I certainly don’t get it right every time, but it gives me a lot of hope for how far I’ve come and what I can look forward to. Happy new year! Let the next 50 years be even better.