All that Glitters…

My ten-year old daughter wants to be a superstar. I’m not sure doing what, but that’s mere detail. She expressed some anxiety today, proclaiming she’d best “hurry up” as time was running out. Most well-known people are already famous by the time they’re ten, she maintains. I proceeded to explain in what sounded eerily similar to my own mum’s parenting 101 tones, how being famous is not all good blah blah, lose your anonymity blah blah. Duh mum – that’s the whole point! Being recognised and adored, being noticed and revered. Celebrity! Her aspiration together with every other self-respecting Gen-Z.

Generation Z (what else could it be after X and Y?), label for those born from the late 90s to the late 2000’s, the offspring of Gen X. Also called the iGeneration (apt I think as these kids are all about Me! Me!), born into a wired world, babysat by DS’s, iPads, evolving to Playstation, Facebook etc etc, instant interaction and indulgence at their whim…

Obviously fame has its appeal. Don’t we all desire it at some level? Hankering for the shiny airbrushed lives led by the fortunate gracing our screens? Problem free and zero financial woes! But forsaking anonymity is a high price to pay. As a new arrival to Sydney, I got to experience that initial rare feeling of being completely unknown. It was refreshing! For a few weeks or months, when no-one knows or cares who you are or what you “do”, you are not defined by any of those artificial social markers people use to measure you or your worth. But before long, the craving for recognition emerges, and I can remember the feeling of satisfaction when a local shopowner remembered my name, or I randomly bumped into a new friend in the high street. As usual, we want the best of both worlds.

I recently saw Searching for Sugarman, a movie documentary describing the inspiring story of a genius 70’s era musician, Rodriguez. Rodriguez shot to cult status in South Africa with his album Cold Fact, which became an oppressed people’s anthem to anti-establishmentarianism (I always wanted to use that word) in the late 70s, the height of the apartheid regime. At the same time, despite his incredible talent (judge for yourself, listen to the album), he was a spectacular failure in the US selling literally only a handful of records. And, bizarrely, he was unaware of his stellar fame on that faraway continent - he continued to earn a meagre living as a construction worker in his home town of Detroit. This weird anomaly led later in his life to his having the most surreal experiences on several visits to South Africa - playing to sellout audiences of passionate fans, experiencing the mad clamour and glamour of fame in one life, while retaining a humble reclusive alternative life back in the US. The best of both worlds.

That situation would be impossible nowadays but in the pre-internet age it wasn’t. By the way, the movie was inconclusive about what became of the rivers of royalties derived from the hundreds of thousands of albums sold in South Africa before Rodriguez became aware of his success. But what is a good story without enduring mystery?

Here's the Thing About Goals...

I have a friend who, in the last year and at age 50, left her marriage with a very small pot of capital, retrained and started a career in a profession with higher income potential and last week, purchased a small 3 bedroom flat in her local area.

Another friend just told me she, at 55, has completed a Masters of Teaching. She has a hearing impairment and is a breast cancer survivor 10 years free of disease.

Isn’t this fantastic? They are living, breathing examples how the power of having goals in our lives can bring about massive change in our circumstances.

Yet, sometimes when I articulate my admiration and congratulations on their achievements they look somewhat bewildered and nonchalant.

This is the insidious thing about goals. Sometimes we forget to look back and see how far we have come and pat ourselves on the back before we look ahead to the next thing. Gratitude and appreciation for our achievement feeds in to our happiness and confidence levels, which helps propel us forward to whatever the next step may be.

Having goals is a human predilection. Without them, we would never have conquered Everest, discovered antibiotics or won Olympic gold medals. On a more modest scale nor would we attain degrees, buy houses, run half marathons, start investment portfolios or the myriad desires which takes our fancy.

We all have different ways of expressing our goals. Some people are more internally driven and need only to set their own internal compass to get them on their way. Others proudly announce to family, friends and anyone who will listen whenever a new target is in their sight. There is no right or wrong way to verbalise what you want.

Lists help. So do dream boards, life coaches or whatever you need in that moment to motivate you. Setting some is the key, not necessarily how you go about it.

When it comes to financial goals most of us have an overriding ambition to have financial security (whatever dollar amount that means to you). To get more specific in how that looks for you talking it over with a financial adviser can help. More pertinently, they can help you with strategies to get where you want to go.

Maybe the goals seem very obvious and not worth the effort to specify. Paying down your mortgage and building your super balance or saving for a first home deposit may appear quite generic but remember this is your journey and your efforts. They are worthy of communication to yourself, at the very least.

Just remember, every so often to take time to see how far you’ve come. Think back 5 years and celebrate your finer moments and the person you have become as you’ve brought about the successes in your life.

So, to my two dear friends, and they know who they are, I raise a metaphorical (and hopefully, an actual one in the not too distant future) glass to you and say…Woohoo. You go, girls!

Take That!

Well, didn’t our Julia do a bang up job of getting the issue of misogyny and sexism front and centre on the political stage, both here and abroad, with her zinger of a speech directed at Tony Abbott. Gosh, there are some absolute classics in her 15 minutes of viral fame. I intend to use “I will not be lectured about [insert subject] by that man. I will not” as soon as I have the chance. You know when someone says or does something to you that is blatantly wrong or rude or nasty and you draw a complete blank with setting them straight in the moment. Later on, you have all these great fantasies of the perfect sneering disdainful retort you could have made. Well, Julia got to do that. And it’s there in all it’s glory on YouTube so she can enjoy Tony’s squirming again and again in the privacy of her room at the Lodge with a bowl of popcorn and iPad on her lap. Woohoo.  I’ve just watched the whole thing again and I almost welled up midway through. I think I punched the air as she finished, too. And I’m not even a Labor voter (Yet!). Go on, you watch it again here.

I am sure our (female) collective high fiving stems a little from viewing a successful woman delivering a well put together comeback to a man who throws around the word sexism and misogyny for political gain but who would have no idea of what it feels like to have encountered it himself (obviously as he is a man, derr) and on record has uttered some absolute shockers of comments in that regard which are very telling about his underlying attitudes. Abortion is the easy way out? Puh-lease.

Most women I know have experienced the uncomfortable feeling of being (at best - let’s ignore outright sexual harassment here) slighted, looked over, ogled or talked down to in the workplace as a result of our gender. It’s a fact of life that most of us have to swallow (perhaps a bad choice of words J) and get over because raising it usually ends up with you being perceived as a whining bra burner.

Sexism is a grey area and very subtle. A lot of the time it’s unconscious, at others it’s a reaction to a man feeling intimidated or wanting control. Sometimes it’s just blatant. I also believe there are many good men who don’t carry these attitudes at all, who like and admire successful, hardworking women (especially if it’s their wives and daughters). In fact, I don’t even think Tony Abbott hates women. He just quite likes the status quo – mostly men in charge. Who wouldn’t?

We can be extremely grateful for women’s opportunities and place in Australian society when we lift our eyes beyond our shores. A 14-year-old girl in Pakistan was shot for wanting an education for heaven’s sake. For women in many countries there is such a long way to go to get to anywhere near the level of freedom and prospects women in the developed world enjoy.

But still, I do not think we have come far enough along for every conversation about the progress of women to be met with exasperated sighs and exhortations from the male population that it’s a non-issue. And when I say male population I am not referring to some exotic species. They are our husbands, partners, fathers, sons, brothers and uncles.

The fact is women are overrepresented in our universities but underrepresented in senior positions across all enterprises – public and private. And don’t quote to me that we have a female Prime Minister and Governor General and a woman is the CEO of Westpac. Good examples and a great start but this is not the norm when you dig down into the stats on board and management positions held by women.

Until we face and shift attitudes that exist in both men’s AND women’s minds about equality and what that looks like in today’s world then there are still a few more impassioned, indignant speeches that need to be heard.

Who's Your Girl Crush?

Ok, fess up, who of you out there has had a girl crush? No, not that sort. The innocent admiration and adoring type.

I can trace my first girl crush back to the early 80’s with Lady Di. I was a young and innocent “braceface” of 13 years of age when she burst on the scene all pie-crust collars and shy looks. From that point on I had my Princess Di scrapbook full of pictures cut from Woman’s Day and New Idea, styled my hair in her trademark layered fringe (just for the record – verrry hard look to copy) and had a very bad rip off made of her green taffeta ballgown for my Year 11 formal. Snigger if you will, but I thought she was the bee’s knees.

For your viewing pleasure and because we all need a midweek laugh here is a picture of me in the home made version of the gown in blue. Note the very flattering puffed sleeves and what the hell was I thinking with that hair!

Part envy of the apparent fairytale life, part admiration of her looks and style she had a charisma and quality that was hard to deny. Of course we all know now how that fairytale played out. Saint or demented manipulator, I’m not sure we will ever know the real woman behind the glossy pictures. Like the rest of us, she was both of these things and more. Complicated, and dare I say it many shades of grey?

In more recent times I moved on to Jennifer Aniston. Again, I loved her style of dress and natural (well, as natural as exercising like a madwoman and eating very little can be termed natural) girl next-door beauty and charm. The real crush began when she spilt from Brad. I have been Team Jen all the way and given my own marriage broke up around the same time I was pretty sure if we just met we would have so much in common and you know, like, be BFF’s and I could go on holidays with her gal pal gang to sunny Mexico. Sigh. Not to be but I did notice that as I was getting more mature the girl crushes tended to be more about women overcoming the up and downs of life rather than the perfect fairytale stories.

But I’m not all about the superficialities. I like to hear what Elizabeth Broderick, Australia’s Sex Discrimination Minister has to say and although I am not a traditional Labour voter I can’t help but have a grudging respect for Julia Gillard, earlobes and voice and ill fitting jackets and all. Despite her minority government she is getting things done. She puts up with a lot of crap about her appearance and innuendoes about her love life and past and she keeps on fighting and giving it her best shot. And I’m not convinced she is dead in the water at the next election. When the only other option is Tony Abbott as PM I’m not sure it will be the whitewash that is expected. Watch this space.

At the moment, I’m really liking Sarah Wilson. You can read about her here. She got my attention from her “I Quit Sugar” program but after reading her blog realised there was a lot more than meets the eye. She was editor of Cosmopolitan for a few years and hosted Masterchef but is not a fashion victim airhead or vacant media type. She writes a lot about simplifying life and taking time to smell the roses, she loves food and travel (preferably together and done without a set itinerary of places to go and things to see – very appealing to me who once got through the Musee d’Orsay in 30 minutes flat) and has also battled an autoimmune disease, Hashimoto’s. On top of that, through her blogs you can tell she is evaluating her life at 38, single and childless, given she’s not where she thought she would be – I can definitely relate to that headspace.

So, come on people, don’t leave me out here on the ledge of embarrassing revelations. I’d like to know which woman does it for you, so to speak? Maybe your mum or best friend, perhaps Victoria Beckham, as one well groomed friend once told me. Let’s celebrate the fact that as women we can talk about how much we like and admire other women. Somebody? Anybody?

When are life’s lessons best learnt?

I recently was in correspondence with the person in charge of extracurricular talks at a private girls’ school we presented to last year on money management. She turned down our offer to speak to the new crop of year 11’s as she didn’t believe they had reached a “point of need” and as a result were not really “thinking about these issues”.

I initially accepted her response as the average run of the mill rejection one often receives in the day to day running of a services oriented business. But then I got indignant on the girls’ behalf. Instead of writing a “Thank you for your time, please be in touch if you change your mind” email, I chose to have my say. This went along the lines that unfortunately the time when need arises, if it does, is often too late for many women, as they face the devastation of divorce or other such life change. Our approach (as with many other life skill topics like drugs etc) is more preventative of nature, so that when life changes occur, the girls are well equipped to deal with them from a financial perspective.

This means, yes, the session can go over the heads of some, but we still strongly believe those that do “get it” deserve the opportunity to learn about this vital topic that could be transformative to their lives. Otherwise the lessons go untaught and the outcome becomes self-fulfilling for many.

What do you think? Is it opportune for Healthy Harold to teach my 10 year old daughter the dangers of drugs? For teaching to be effective does it have to be “point of need” or are we obliged as adults to provide lessons that can make life run a little more smoothly for those prepared to take the effort to listen?

Setting a New Course - Brady Bunch circa 2012

Big changes afoot in my household over the last 3 months. After 6 and ½ years of flying solo, I am now navigating the unchartered waters (or airspace if I keep the flying analogy going) of blended families with my partner Gour (sounds like sour as he compulsively tells people on first meetings, me included). Before you flick off this page I promise you, dear reader, I am not going to wax lyrical about the joys of love the second time around and at midlife. My sister, Kate, known for her wit and ability to call a spade a shovel, did say she was a little sick in her mouth when she read a recent email of mine. Come on, SHE asked ME how I was going!

As I said earlier I have spent the best part of the last 7 years being master of my own domain and destiny. I didn’t have to wash anyone’s (apart from my children’s) shirts and undies. I didn’t have to consult someone if I wanted to buy something (still don’t). I took holidays where I wanted to go (translation – Bali, Hawaii and Disneyland – outvoted 3 to 1 by Tom, Issy and Lily – duoh!). 

Gour has also run a household of 3 children for a similar amount of time. He’s cooked and shopped and washed and schlepped the children around with the best of them. He had his routines and a rhythm to his life as I did. Heavens, he was positively anal when it came to hanging his washing out and don’t get me started on his man-ironing techniques of which he is inordinately proud (that’s called shaking the clothes out to the uninitiated).

Even still, after 3 short months, a new equilibrium has been established. This new status quo has not seen Gour hitting the start button on the washing machine since we moved in together. Oh sorry hang on, he proudly announced on Sunday morning he was going to wash the linen and hang it out (which he duly did).  With the Olympics uppermost in my mind, the classic “Let’s give the boy a medal” did spring to mind but oh no, I’ve come a long way from that.

I gave Gour editing rights to this blog because he knows I am taking the mickey out of him a little for the sake of getting to the point of this blog. Yes I will get to a point, believe it or not. A mature balanced view requires seeing things from all sides and taking into account the entire picture.

Shacking up with an internet geek means I never have to call Nerds on Site again and all screaming at the computer/printer/internet has ceased. He puts together a mean Ikea bookcase and takes Louis the cavoodle outside every night for his ablutions before bed whilst shutting down the house for the night as I de-makeup and put rollers in my hair. Ok, I do NOT put rollers in my hair but it was sounding all so Mike and Carol Brady I just went with it. What I’m saying is there is a new rhythm and we’re all (including the 6 lovely children between us) just getting used to what that is.

With our working lives as they currently are, I am doing more of the menial tasks, no question. The day in/day out grinding stuff that often goes unnoticed and unappreciated. It’s a hot button for me that in my second attempt at a committed relationship I do not fall into a bad dynamic with this.

To be clear, menial does not equal less. A household does run like a mini corporation and all the jobs and parts of the “engine” that makes it operate have their role. If the person working more outside the home on personal career endeavours starts to see himself or herself as the more “important” part then you don’t have a relationship, you have a power struggle. And if that attitude plays out on how one party is treated…well you know how the downtrodden like a revolution to redress imbalance.

It’s about mutual respect and empathy without which no relationship will survive. Or as I like to say to my children and I’ve come to learn, we teach people how to treat us. I am not suggesting a big scene every time someone doesn’t thank you for cooking dinner but a calm, well meaning, “I’ve been to counselling and am trying to communicate better” expression of - I feel disappointed when you blah blah blah. Then work on a solution together.

Oh yes, I hear you chortle, it all sounds so easy in black and white. Real life, not so much. I get I’m in the honeymoon phase, but you know that wisdom I was talking about in last week’s blog that has been kicking in over the last few years, that’s where this comes in.

Gour and I have both made all those mistakes (and more) in our previous lives and relationships. Lucky us, we get to make a whole new set of mistakes with each other this time round J. Respect for roles and appreciation for doing things for each other won’t be one of them. There’s a great joy in giving and showing love for a person through the small things. Often way more gratifying than expensive jewellery or flashy gifts (though they’re nice, too).

So, to sum up, in these early days of Bradyville and new equilibriums I just want to know one thing…Alice, where are you?

The Weight of Expectation

I’ve been thinking about expectations a lot lately. You know what I’ve been thinking? They suck. What’s got me onto this? Two things.

1. The HSC

2. The Olympics

Let me elaborate.

My eldest son, Tom is about to begin his HSC year. Two years after that it’s Issy’s turn then two years on from that, Lily. People tell me your first is the hardest but if my mental state is anything to go by I am in for a pretty rough ride. We all want our children to do well. Full stop. But it’s a very delicate tightrope walk between yours and their expectations and hopes and their abilities and performance.

On one hand I want him to put all his effort into this last year and give himself the widest range of opportunity and choice for tertiary study. Balancing this is the perspective that it is not the be all and end all if he falls short of what he “should” achieve. The world is a place of abundance and prospects for those who see past ATAR numbers and performance bands. Some of the most interesting and successful careers of former school and university peers are not those who posted the best marks. Life, as we are constantly reminded, is way more complex than that.

Now to the Olympics. Who could not fail to have their heart go out to Emily Seebohm when she cried to the (gleeful?) poolside interviewer that she was worried she had let down her parents and coach by coming second in the 100 metres backstroke. Who else wanted to reach inside the television to give her a big hug?

What did strike me was that the person she most disappointed was probably herself. However, as human beings we project outwards and assign our own feelings to those around us when they are hard to handle. For these young adults to reach the dizzy heights of international performance like the Olympics they are probably all too familiar with the crushing distress and moments of elation that accompanies striving for dreams and goals. Compare Emily’s reaction to those of Sally Pearson to see these polar opposites in action.

Disappointment is a damn uncomfortable feeling. But it is also entirely necessary. Why are we so afraid to stand up and say, yes, I am disappointed? Whether it’s in your performance, in your behaviour or in events that have affected you most of us get to experience the emotions that accompany letdowns, failures and near misses. Is it because admitting disappointment implies admitting defeat? Or lack of strength?

Of course it’s what you do with it or learn from it that counts and is your greatest teacher. Sometimes the lesson isn’t that the next time you will overcome all and be victorious. Sometimes (but not always) you only get one chance. It’s learning to live with and assimilate your disappointment into your human experience. There can only be one “winner” in every race so that would imply there has to be a whole lot of disappointment out there. There’s no shame in second, or third or all the places behind it. The real shame is getting stuck in a cycle of regrets and disillusionment.

What sucks about expectations is that we are hardwired to have them. Unless you are perhaps a Zen master sitting on top of a mountain meditating 24/7, who doesn’t want things for themselves or their loved ones? Keeping expectations realistic is the challenge as is managing the outcomes of not having our expectations met as I’ve described above.

As a parent, there’s no harder thing to sit with your child when they have missed out on something they want. A good mark, a place in a reps team, a prefect position. Parenting seems like a piece of cake when your child is literally AND metaphorically kicking goals in every area of their lives. Not so when their eyes well and voice cracks telling you their bad news. I’m slowly learning not to try and make everything better for them when this happens. Just listening to them and not pointing out their achievements and good points validates their experience way more than trying to gloss over something which is clearly important to them. The time to build them up again will come but for that short moment a hug and comfort is the best thing you can do.

To Tattoo or not to Tattoo?

That is the question. So I may be having a midlife crisis. I have a sneaking bubbling desire to acquire a tattoo at the ripe old age of 44. Not one of those horrific sleeves or a tramp stamp at the top of my jeans nor do I want to mark the latitude and longitude of my children’s birthplaces on my arm a la Angelina Jolie. Just a teeny tiny symbol or word on a place very few (other than my nearest and dearest) will have viewing access. I hear what you are thinking. Big rebel, right? But for a middle class girl from Perth who was a teenager in the 80’s where those with a tattoo were either bikies or in the navy, it’s a big step.

Call me smalltown, but I am still astonished when I travel to places where one is compelled to wear swimmers and hence view others in theirs, at the sheer number of people who have one. Old and young, women and men. And not just teeny tiny ones. We’re talking sizeable works of art that you know would have required hours of agony inducing needle punctures.

My first exposure to the craft of body art was my brother who is 6 years younger than I. Much to my parent’s horror their lovely, but somewhat rebellious, son waltzes in at 18 with a mean looking tribute to a recently deceased mate. Paralyse me perpendicular, as my Dad would say. Shortly after that a second eagle appeared on his upper right chest. At that point my parents shrugged their shoulders and said, as many have before them, he’s an adult, it’s his decision.

The golden moment came a couple of years later. My parents had mastered the art of detachment by then. However, one warm summer’s day (and we have a lot of them in Perth, let me tell you) my gorgeous niece Maddy spied uncle Jock’s tatts while swimming in the family pool and like all observant 4 year olds duly commented on what she saw to the entire family gathering. “Jock’s got stamps”. Out of the mouths of babes. My dad loved this story and it was a big contributor to said tattoos becoming a non-issue from that point on.

So back to me and my ink. Being a somewhat analytical person I asked myself what was driving me to this yearning for personal graffiti. When I said midlife crisis earlier what I really think I mean is midlife re-evaluation.

Believe it or not, aside from the slowly dawning reality of the effects of gravity and excess on my physical form, I love getting older. Bit by bit, the layers of immaturity and fragility are peeled away to be replaced by growing wisdom and strength. I know more about who I am, what I stand for, what is important to me and what I want from the next four decades or so, god willing that I am granted that. I care less what people may think or say about me and even more telling, have realized that generally people aren’t even thinking that much about you at all. Things happen that may sting but the sting wears away a helluva lot quicker than it used to. For us sensitive souls this is good news.

My friendships have become sweeter in recent years as the female tendency to compete and compare gives way to tenderness and respect for what many of my friends have endured. Most of us are touched in some way by hard times and tragedy. Rather than this depleting and depressing me, I see it as a great connector. I remember my mum saying that the older she gets the more fun and appreciation she has with and for her girlfriends. We realise no-ones life is a perfect fairytale so let’s just get on with it and enjoy the time together and be there for each other as much as we can. 

So the tattoo, if I get one, will be an aide-mémoire to myself of these sentiments. Although it may wrinkle and distort over the years it will always be there as a reminder of my mid-life evolution. A bespoke marker to the unknown path ahead.  Anyone want to join me?

Why “Not Having It All” falls far short of the truth

The question of work-life balance has been receiving its fair share of debate recently. The past 2 weeks has seen Anne Marie Slaughter’s article “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All” published, provoking worldwide controversy as she concludes women cannot enjoy both motherhood and an A-grade career; and Marissa Mayer elected CEO of Yahoo!, provoking yet more controversy as she announces on Twitter she is expecting her first child in October. Both women - one with words, one deeds - compelling our collective consciousness to put a mirror to itself and reflect on our social norms and values, and the gaping chasm between what as women we desire and what we are realistically able to achieve.

Recently at a wisewomen talk we met a - what’s the collective term for a group of female lawyers? - let’s say an “Ambition” of post grad female lawyers embarking on their career paths, which for the minority will culminate in the much coveted, indeed idolized position of senior partner. Most will fail in this endeavour, their dreams stifled and for many ultimately snuffed out as the reality of their sacrifices are brought into focus.

My heart went out to them as I looked over their youthful and enthusiastic faces, as I could foresee the agonizing dilemmas that will be theirs as they face their inevitable choice. Which will it be? Career, (translate to: enduring long lonely nights slogging away in the office while someone else is reading their toddlers bedtime stories, and their teenagers are letting themselves in after school)? Or Motherhood, (translate to: wrestling with their depleted self worth and thwarted ambition, doing the endless rounds of parks and mothers groups)? Or maybe they try for both - as they suffer the humiliation of their (mostly male) peers leapfrogging them up the corporate ladder, while they are eternally relegated to the lower rungs as a result of their request for “family friendly” hours. “Not Having It All” is an understatement here. These women start out aiming for the stars, and are left with the booby prize.

We can’t trivialize what this means to society and to the affected individuals. What are the statistics of educated women entering the workforce and the professions, medical, legal, accounting, teaching, nursing? And those that remain after the parenting shake out? It doesn’t add up – by way of example: over 50% female postgrad lawyers in at the bottom tier, less than 20% emerging at the top of the pyramid. I look around the schoolyard at the full time mums – a lawyer here, a dentist there, an advertising executive waiting at the gate. How can we justify the wasted talent, the sunk investment, the unfulfilled potential? It doesn’t make economic sense.

Again, we realize there has to be a structural change before there can be a shift. Things won’t progress until women feel comfortable to take on both roles and feel sufficiently rewarded for both. Realistically, both parents need to take equal responsibility for caregiving, translating into real workplace flexibility for men and women, with no financial or career advancement penalties for this so-called luxury. The starting point is men wanting it too. Somehow, methinks we’ll still be having this discussion when my 10 year old daughter is making her own career versus motherhood choice. And that’s a tragedy.