Take a recent blog post, Managing Older Managers: A Guide for Younger Bosses, published recently by the Harvard Business Review. Here’s an excerpt:

“Send emails early and late. Invite meetings on weekends and at odd hours. Be in the office or online all the time. Dial into meetings at insane hours during overseas travel. Understand that managers older than yourself may have families that require them to live by different rhythms from yours — they may need to be offline from 6 to 8, for example.”

I invite you to read – nay, skim! – the rest of the article. On a recent LinkedIn discussion, here’s what I had to say about the author’s advice:

As I read it, what the author suggests here has very little to do with younger bosses managing older employees; it mostly seems like it’s his take on management in general. My experience working with multiple generations throughout organizations suggests that very little has to do with age, other than some preferred methods of communication, but not always that, either.

In terms of his approach to management, I actually disagree with much of what he posits, especially around his comments in “Let them know that you are working long and hard.” While I think the basic premise might be valuable, the idea that a younger employee should essentially put on a show to demonstrate work ethic to the tune of being “online all the time” or scheduling weekend meetings, is counter-intuitive to my understanding of good management and, more importantly, good leadership. In my opinion, that and other suggestions border on crazy-making and deceit.

As a rule, I tend toward a more collaborative approach to management, which requires explicit communication, and he is clearly immersed in and advocating for hierarchy, where implicitness rules the day.

Whether you agree or disagree, I’d love to know your thoughts!

* There’s also this part of me that wants to hedge. That wants to say, “To each his own.” There’s merit to that as I certainly don’t wish to throw the baby out with the bathwater. And of course, I’m sure I, too, have unwittingly offered something meaningless or offensive at one time or another.

“If you’re human, then you tell yourself stories – positive ones and negative, consciously and, far more often than not, unconsciously. Stories that span a single episode, or a year, or a semester, or a weekend, , or a relationship, or a season, or an entire tenure on this planet. ” - Jim Loehr, The Power of Story

I’m really interested in your stories.  And I’m not the only one who’s interested. The more I hear from my clients (and colleagues and friends and family for that matter), the more I realize how important it is for all of us to hear one another’s stories.

Next month, things will be changing a bit with Get There From Here and a lot of that has to do with story. Mine. And yours. As part of that change, I’m super excited to highlight some of your stories, knowing that not only will it be fun – and possibly cathartic – for you (storytelling usually is!), but it’ll connect with others who really need to hear your story.

If you want to share your story, I’ll be capturing it via email, phone or Skype. It’ll be like you’re sitting across from me at the kitchen table and we’re just having a nice chat. :)

(That’s my kitchen table.)

These are the kinds of stories I’m particularly excited to be exploring:

• A story about how you made a creative dream a reality
• A story about how a cultural or family narrative got in the way of you going after something you wanted
• A story about how you made a difference
• A story about how you figured out how to get to the stuff that matters in your life

We’ll connect to discuss your story and once our interview is complete, I’ll share it right here on this blog. It’ll take less than an hour of your time!

If you’re interested, please contact me ASAP via the comments below, by email or by phone at 215.764.1615.

I look forward to hearing your story!

It feels like a contended mindfulness of loss.

In End of the Summer, one of my favorite songs by Dar Williams, she perfectly and poetically expresses this feeling for me:

It’s the end of the summer, you can spin the light to gold.

Loss is a part of the human story. Sometimes we feel it tear through us. Sometimes we ignore it. And sometimes, we set up a lawn chair next to it with a warm smile, offer it a glass of sweet tea and say howdy.

• I feel amazing when I practice
• I’d really rather not practice

When I do practice – which over the last year has varied from once every other week to about three times per week – I practice at home. I even have a “yoga room,” which is almost entirely empty and painted orange.

So even though I’m not the most disciplined student, I’m both experienced and routine enough to feel comfortable walking into about any studio class. Which is exactly what I did yesterday, when I discovered:

• I’m really not that flexible
• I’m really not that strong
• I’m really not that focused

As I was pondering the disparity between my home practice and the studio practice and noticing how little I challenge myself when I’m at home, I began to feel a little discouraged and, well, lazy. I mean, clearly you can’t get loose hamstrings by holding adho mukha svanasana for 10 seconds with your knees bent! It seems I’m not as likely to get where I want to be when I go it alone.

There are many reasons I “showed up” more fully and worked with a stronger intention at the studio class. There was a teacher to correct me and fellow students to keep up with. But mostly? Mostly, someone just asked more of me than I had asked of myself.

This got me thinking about my clients, who essentially ask me to do the same for them. And I felt all aglow that I have this privilege, that I get to experience people who are willing to put themselves out there, knowing I’m going to ask them to go a little deeper into a twist or repeat a vinyasa.

It’s asking a lot of yourself to ask someone else to ask you to go further, or deeper or longer than you would on your own. It takes courage and self-awareness and humility.

Plus, you can pretty much rest assured that you’re going to be sore the next day!

Recently, I’ve begun to notice that I’m doing this personally. It can be hard for me to assert myself in a conversation the way other people do. I often wait to be asked what’s going on as opposed to launching into the story of what’s going on for me. I hold back. It’s like I reflexively keep the focus on the other person.

So when I was out for a walk with one of my best girlfriends last night, I found myself continually asking questions, listening, empathizing and offering feedback. I wasn’t being a coach, per say, but I also wasn’t being a friend: I wasn’t giving her the chance to ask follow-up questions, to listen, to empathize, to offer me feedback.

As the evening wore on, I began to notice that I was feeling distant and uncared for. Which is precisely when I remembered that few people care about me more than this friend and that I had the ability to ask (implicitly or explicitly) for what I wanted! So at the first opening, I took a deep breath and launched into a long story about my week. And then I launched into another about a personal problem I was facing.

By the end of the night, I had experienced all the intimacy and care that I had wanted. It was available to me the whole time. I just had to reach out and take it!

Click here for pilot program details.

• my laptop adapter died on Friday and the new one wasn’t delivered until late this afternoon
• my husband spent the last three days holed up editing video
• the TV and spare computer were stolen last month
• this Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were oddly clear of any appointments

Over the last three days, I have gotten more done on the domestic front than I’ve gotten done in the previous six weeks.  In addition to soloing on the regular upkeep of the house – dishes, food, litterbox – while Scott remained glued to two computer monitors, I:

• hung four pieces of artwork
• emptied an entire room of the crap I’d dumped in it
• folded close to a dozen loads of laundry
• vacuumed the entire house
• cleaned the bathroom

Plus, I:

• wrote the marketing copy for a new business idea long hand
• enjoyed a really long evening out with a dear friend
• reread a novel
• wrote down my dreams
• meditated
• lent my audio expertise from a previous life to Scott’s video project
• gave my carpel tunnel a rest

What would disconnectivity do for you?

When my husband and I moved from our small apartment to our spacious (we’re talking row home spacious) house, we never bothered to upgrade from the 19 incher that had previously fit so seamlessly into our tiny apartment living room. Sure, no one has been banging down our door to watch football games or Olympic tournaments. And maybe we’ve been sliding the furniture a few feet closer to the TV when there’s something on we want to watch, but we’ve made do. There are other things to spend money on – organic food, Spanish shoes, Spanish hotels. You get the point.

So the chumps who broke into our house while we were away in Guatemala recently must have been REALLY disappointed to discover they picked the only house on the block with a TV smaller than many computer monitors. Bummer, dude.

Of course, that’s not the only thing that was taken. To date the tally includes the TV, a computer (with all pictures, financial records and 20 years of my husband’s professional career and personal writing pursuits – not backed up), a marathon medal, the change jar, a duffel bag and laundry hamper with at least one pair of shorts.

Naturally, the computer was a painful loss, especially for Scott. I was more irritated about the damn change jar, which actually  included quarters since we’re no longer hitting up the laundromat and don’t cling to them like gold.

But just a few hours after we’d discovered the theft, Scott had this to say: “You know, I’m going to need to re-create quite a few documents for my new business, which really sucks. But to be honest, there’s something freeing about letting go of all that creative and professional history. Like I can start anew, from right here, where I am today.” Or something like that.

Our history generally provides a tremendously useful foundation for continuing to launch ourselves forward through life. There’s a sense of building and of growth. Sometimes, however, we don’t get the choice to keep building on to what we’ve already created – be it a career or a relationship or a piece of art. Sometimes, our tangible history gets taken away from us and we have to start anew, from right here, from where we are today.

Given the choice, I bet Scott would choose to have that history back. I certainly would. That’s not to say it’d be what’s best, though.

Olivia Lindquist is one such person. In the midst of a career search while teaching English in Korea, she dropped me this note:

As I’ve been working on my grad school applications due this fall, something was keeping me from being fully invested. Finally I realized that going to grad school for English literature, even though it’s absolutely something I want to do, feels like closing a door on the possibility of pursuing a career in holistic health.

So Olivia decided to figure out how teaching English and a career in holistic health might work together. She’s in the midst of an interview series, bringing to her blog readers the responses from several women in different, related fields. I – representing coaches worldwide (okay, maybe I’m just representing me) – recently responded to Olivia’s questions which she posted last week. If you’re interested in learning more about coaching as a career from my perspective, click the image below to read the full interview.

Additionally, tool around Green Junkie Living. There are other careers highlighted and you just may find some answers you’re looking for. If nothing else, I think we can all learn from Olivia and her gumption. She wants something. She’s not exactly sure what it is. And instead of sitting back and hoping it magically appears, she’s taking an active, holistic approach. She’s asking herself the hard questions. And she’s asking others, too.

For Olivia and all you other career seekers out there: may you uncover what you already know.

Last night I was speaking on a panel geared toward young professionals in the midst of career transition and this very topic of personal branding came up. I listened to the other panelists give credence to the concept and the language and then I weighed in. As a business-owner who loves all things marketing and branding as it relates to my business, let me recap my perspective.

I think it’s dangerous to consider ourselves brands. Using language that positions human beings as consumer goods for sale or for trade undermines the value inherent in being a living creature. It also sponsors the already damaging cultural overemphasis on money and work. Or, as this New York Time article from earlier this year asks:

Is the society always better off with the undigested utterance, the instantaneous attempt at positioning? And in marketing ourselves, will we neglect the pursuit of actually improving?

Part of my perspective on personal branding is connected to my perspective on job searching and employment, in general. I view both as a mutual courtship that must lead to collaboration. Yes, we have to be clear on who we are, what we want and what we bring to the table. But always seeking to sell to one another detracts from the experience of true community.

There were a few nods in the audience last night, but I came away with the impression that my perspective is a minority one. Indeed, many of my respected colleagues and peers are big proponents of personal branding and the internet is awash in programs and trainings designed to help you be a better CEO of Me, Inc.

I’d like to know your perspective. Is creating a personal brand something you believe must be done in order for you to be successful? Does the idea make you uncomfortable? Does it connect with your truest sense of self and your deepest spiritual beliefs?  Have you articulated what you believe is your personal brand?