Leading Mama

You’re Now Leaving the Comfort Zone

One of my goals for 2009 is to meet with other writers to learn about writing, read and comment on each other’s work, and share successes and frustrations. To that end, I joined a group called Scribes and Scribbles. They (or should I say we) hold a biweekly meeting in a coffee shop in Old Town Alexandria.

Tonight is my first chance to attend, and I’m feeling a little anxious about the whole thing.

 

Wallflower I’m not. But on the continuum from shy to socialite, I fall somewhere in the middle: I stay pretty close to the comfort zone most of the time. Social butterflies flit around in my stomach when I think about tonight’s meeting. And the psychologist in my head has to overanalyze it all. (Indulge me, please. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, right?)

 

I can think of (at least) three reasons for the social jitters. First and foremost, trying new identities is scary. Though I routinely tell people I write articles for magazines, I rarely utter the phrase “I am a freelance writer” aloud. Appearing at the Scribes and Scribbles meeting feels like going out in public wearing nothing but a giant sandwich-board that reads “I am a freelance writer.” The rest of what makes me “me” isn’t so relevant at this meeting. I’ll be claiming a new identity out loud and in person. Wow, scary!

 

Did I mention I won’t be wearing any clothes under the sandwich board? Venturing beyond the comfort zone feels a lot like running through the mall naked. You know everyone is looking and judging, even if they’re too kind (or too mortified) to say anything. Social anxiety is most troubling in evaluative situations. I know I’m not supposed to care what others think, but I do. Most days that’s a good thing – it keeps me from going to the store in my pajamas and hair curlers. When it keeps me from exploring new opportunities, it’s not so helpful. A writer’s group is evaluative by definition (but in a constructive sort of way, I hope). Evaluation is jitter-provoking reason #2.

 

What do I expect from the meeting? I don’t know. Stressors we can predict and control are a lot less stressful than those we can’t. Rats who received electric shocks to the tail suffered from ulcers and suppressed immune functioning when they couldn’t predict or control the shocks. Their rat colleagues who received the same amount of shock but whose actions controlled its’ duration fared better.  Lesson to be gleaned: Unpredictable situations are stressful, but they feel better when we remind ourselves we’ve got some control. As I head out the door tonight, feeling like a naked neophyte writer, I’ll remind myself I can come back to the comfort zone any time I please. I feel better just thinking about it.

 

I'm More Than My One-Sentence Bio

Each time I write a query or send an article to print, I have to write a bio to accompany my work. Typically brief, they never seem to really capture all the ground I feel I've covered in 39 years.

 

People evolve. As we grow, we collect social identities. Over time they become personal. My becoming unfolded like this.

 

As an infant, my parents called me the cross-eyed wonder. I’ve known this since childhood and it made me believe they loved even my imperfections. Of course, crossed eyes don’t last forever. When I didn’t cut a single tooth by my first birthday, they renamed me the toothless wonder.

 

My first word was cookie. I was (and am) a lover baked goods, and I’m an award-winning baker. In 4^th grade, I won a school cake decorating contest. Last year, my 6-layer chocolate hazelnut cake brought $110 in the Little League dessert auction. I’ve also made birthday cakes for my niece (swimming pool, complete with teddy bear sunbathers) and nephew (skateboard with chocolate donut wheels). Any occasion is a reason for baking.

 

I earned my B.A. and M.A. in Psychology at Fresno State where I was an undergraduate workaholic, completing my B.A. in only 3 years. The only “B” I earned was in Women’s Studies, and I slept through a lot of it. When I went to the University of Illinois to get my doctorate in 1992, I became the deserter.

My family (well, my mother at least) thought I’d earn my degree and come home. What they (and I) hadn’t realized is advanced education makes you a specialist in a niche so tiny only a handful of people understand your work and want to hire you. I’m a personality psychologist. That means I study traits and beliefs that make each person unique (and interesting).

 

Dr. Smith – yep, that’s me – taught college from 1997 to 2007 at several schools from Hobart and William Smith Colleges in Geneva, NY to Weber State University in Ogden, Utah. I met my husband in the midst of the US Air Force Academy’s sexual assault scandal. We were both on the faculty and in the eye of the political storm. I became Dr. Mrs. Luedtke when we married. Hubby has deployed three times in four years and currently works at the 5-sided military headquarters here in DC. 

 

My son was born in March, 2007 and so was I (again). Becoming a mom is intense, sweet and exhausting. Each time I think I have mothering figured out, a new challenge rises up to meet me. I know you know what I mean.

These days, I work mostly as a mom. I'm also a freelance writer (at naptime or whenever else I get the opportunity!) I write about personality and people skills for parents and business managers. I blog about parenting and leadership. I look for opportunities to learn new things and share them with others. I am, and always will be, a teacher at heart. 

 

Somehow these things never make it into my one-sentence bio.

Putting the Cuss in Customer Service

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. But lately I seem to have more patience-testing trials than I know what to do with. Here’s Exhibit A.

 

My Nissan Pathfinder (a.k.a.“the money pit”) has always had only one key. I bought it used and after hours of negotiating over new tires, warranties, etcetera, the fact that the dealer had only one key was not a battle I wanted to fight. Of course I’ve always feared I’d lock myself out, and in the 5 years I’ve had the money pit, I’ve done so only once. Triple A rescued me quickly.

 

Well, in the last year, the key has been falling apart piece by piece. First, a chunk of black plastic that covered the microchip in the corner of the key broke off, leaving the little blue chip exposed. It made me nervous, but not nervous enough to shell out $170 for a new key.

 

The money-pit and I limped along with our chip hanging out for about a year. And then it happened. The key broke so it could no longer attach to a key ring. Frantic constant worry I’d lose the key soon ensued. When it fell from my pocket once in our street out front, I went from zero to crazy lady in about 3 seconds. And I stayed that way for 45 minutes it took me to find the key. Last week I went to the local Nissan dealer to get keys made. I figure if it’s my money or my life, I’m choosing life. 

 

We went early, before Carson’s play date at the park. The service rep told me it would take an hour to make 2 new keys and reprogram the old one. An hour with a get-me-to-the-park-play-date toddler and nowhere to go. We walked. I entertained as best I could. Even my best attempts to divert his attention at the nearby Home Depot (the only business open at that hour) were not enough. We ended up back in the dealer’s showroom where Carson colored the showroom plate glass windows with the free crayons they gave him. Hey, any shelter in a storm.

 

An hour and a half later, my keys were deemed ready, and I paid $302 to go on my way. We hurried to the play date, and then home for a later-than-warranted nap. In our driveway at home, I decided to test all three keys. (When they brought the money-pit around at the dealer, it was already running – and we were late for the park – so I didn’t think to test the keys then.) Two of the three keys worked. One new key and my old, broken down key. Suddenly the new key was a $300 key. And that’s not okay.

 

When I called the service manager back, he apologized and said I’d have to come back. They would reprogram the keys for me. (Oh goody, I can’t wait to spend another hour plus trying to keep Carson from coloring the sides of a shiny new Nissan Murano!) I told him I’d be there the next morning.

 

When we arrived, I asked if this would take more than an hour again today in the exasperated way only a teenager or toddler’s mother can ask. He assured me it wouldn’t. Off we went to the kids’ table in the showroom. Carson colored. And charmed the salespeople. I worked on article outlines and kept one eye on the boy. We paced by the service office to make sure they remembered we existed. I let Carson play with the vending machine buttons in their hallway. Still no luck.

 

Finally, 90 minutes later the service rep came and told me that one of the keys “dropped the encoding” after a few minutes, and must be a bad key. He had ordered two new blank keys from the warehouse in Baltimore and would call me when they arrived so I could come back and go through the reprogramming procedure AGAIN. Imagine my excitement. He handed me my old broken down key and I left. Let’s look at the scoreboard:

Nissan Dealer:	$302
Leading Mama:	-$302	and 4 hours time

 

And still, I’ve got nada. Zilch, zip, nothing. Same ol’ broken down key. Can you believe it? I couldn’t. The following morning my service manager called at 7:15. I say “my service manager” because at this point it feels like we’re dating. I see more of him than I see of my husband. Truly. He says the keys have arrived. I’m sure my response was not the giddy-with-excitement reaction he had expected. We went to the dealer that morning to visit our new keys and have them reprogrammed again. Happily, 45 minutes later he emerged with two new functioning keys and my old broken down one. I tested all three in the parking lot. They work. Hurray!

But I figure the cost of the entire transaction in money and time makes each new key worth approximately $275. That’s if I bill $50 per hour for the time I spent getting keys made. Two keys = $550.

 

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. Leading Mama’s time (like yours) is priceless.

 

Growing Up is for Grownups, Too

        When you're young, everyone asks you what you want to be when you grow up. I wanted to be a marine biologist, or a journalist, or a lawyer. Maybe you wanted to be a firefighter, or a baseball legend, or an astronaut.

    And then you grow up, and everyone stops asking what you want to be. After all, you already have a job, a spouse, a family. You're connected to a circle of friends and participate in your community. How much more grown up can you get, right?

    My brain started munching on this question the other day when I was talking with my mom on the phone. I explained my recent adventures into freelance writing and my desire to share the psychology of personality and leadership with everymoms (and dads) everywhere. My enthusiasm bubbled as I talked 90-miles-per-minute about my goals and what I have learned so far.

(NOTE: People who know me will have no trouble visualizing this. I am a fast talker. A very fast talker. From the day I started talking, my parents had trouble getting a word in edgewise. Watching me squeeze information into the last 5 minutes of an Intro Psych lecture is a lot like watching 27 clowns squeeze into a Volkswagon Beetle. You get the point.)

    When I stopped to take a breath, my mom asked something like "So are you going to be a hard ass like Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura or Suze Orman?" (No, of course she didn't say hard ass. My mom would NEVER say hard ass. But that's how I heard it.) 

Her question stopped my talking and started me thinking. Hm. Hmm. Hmmm.

What a fabulous question!

    But did I have an answer? Not really. Not yet. As a 38-year-old beginning writer I am still "finding my voice," as they say. (I've been speaking to college students and business clients for more than 10 years now, but I don't really think of myself as "Dr. Heidi.") So mom's question got me thinking that maybe we all need to stop once in a while and ask ourselves "WHO do I want to be when I grow up?" Of course I don't mean I want to be someone else. But I want to be someone better than the me I am now.

I may be grown up, but I'm still growing! 

    Essentially, mom was asking what tone I want to take with my audience. After some thought, my preliminary answer goes something like this:

• I want to write with the humor and warmth of a best friend
• I want to offer knowledge with the patience of a skilled teacher
• I want to glean everday insights and share them so others can see the lessons they're living, too

I'm glad I'm not too grown up to keep growing. Are you?