Tuesday, October 31, 2006

And thank you for your support

After class yesterday, I ran into one of my professors--one of the few I have a more personal relationship with. He asked me about the job search process. Since he knows the guy I just turned down, I told him that I said no to the job.

In his professorly wisdom, he outlined the following points for me in the course of our conversation.

1. Multiple offers were rare, and often linear, not overlapping. I should check with career services to find out how many offers the average student gets.

2. Jobs in the area this company was offering to me were rare, particularly for a young white woman. They typically look to minorities to fill these positions. (He really said this to me.)

3. I should talk to career services to make sure my salary requirements were realistic.

4. I shouldn't factor location into my decision. Instead, I should ask for a small pay increase to use as a "slush fund" to travel.

5. I am only one of many students up for a job at one of the other big companies where I am interviewing. (And they only take good looking people, so I should be flattered they were talking to me. He said this jokingly, but it was still obnoxious.)

6. The amount of time I had asked to think mull over the job I was offered was far too long.

7. The VP was just playing coy with me, and I should have engaged him better in the negotiations.

8. Was there anything that would make me reconsider?

I tried to explain to him my reasoning, but he had no more understanding of my thoughts than the potential employer did. Most of all, I was irritated that he was trying to tell me to expect nothing more than the "average" student (who, I might add, has two to three years less experience than I do).

I know that really what this boils down to is that he looks bad to the company (he was my advisor) because I didn't take the job. And I'm sorry for that. An unintended consequence. But don't try to make me feel bad for a decision I've made that is going to completely affect my personal happiness.

Grrr.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Track 2: Callin Baton Rouge, Garth Brooks

Christy & Lori

They called me the unfriendly girl. It may have been earned.

When I started college, I was lucky enough to have my big brother not only attend the same school, but also live in the same dorm. Since he was an esteemed member of the Hall Council, he got to move in to his room a few days early. Enterprising guy that he is, he pulled a few strings and I moved in early, too.

So by the time my new neighbors, Christy and Lori, showed up, I was already settled--unpacked and decorated. Being a bit of an awkward girl (and more than a little shy), when I saw their two families heaving and huffing in boxes and crates stuffed with memories and bits of home, I hid out in my room.

Of course, I introduced myself when I ran into one of them in the hall. But I found myself simply trying to stay out of their way. My behavior earned the unfriendly moniker.

Which lasted all of a few days. By the time they began to settle in as well, they drew me out of my turtle shell and we became friends. They were quite a pair--best friends from Columbus. One, dark-haired and serious, with a quick sarcastic wit. The other, tall and blonde with a warm smile and infectious giggle. I loved them both.

Over the next several months, we became thick as thieves. We talked about life and how it felt to leave home. We dished about old boyfriends and the prospect of losing our virginity. We discovered alcohol and fell into the innocent experimentation of college binge drinking. We stressed about classes and what we wanted to be when we grew up.

But most of all, we danced.

I'm not even sure you could describe it as dancing. In fact, the first time I heard the ruckus next door, I wasn't even sure what was going on. I only heard loud, blasting country music and felt the walls shaking. Getting off my bed, I went next door to investigate and found Christy and Lori cranking on Garth Brooks, jumping wildly from twin bed to twin bed and laughing like maniacs.

"What is going on?" I laughed. "Come jump with us!" they cried, pulling me up into their hysteria. Bouncing on the bed, I was overwhelmed with energy. As Garth crooned for the operator to hook him up with his woman, I felt alive, too. When the song ended, we all dissolved into a fit of giggles on the beds, and tangle of pajama-ed legs and arms.

The song for Christy and Lori was apparently tied back to a high school story--the details are fuzzy these 10-odd years later--but for them, it had become a symbol of friendship, of fun, of a carefree life. It quickly became the “fix” used before going out on the town to prowl for boys; for cheering up after a particularly brutal test; for battling a case of homesickness; for commemorating a personal victory.

Periodically, I would hear the anthem sitting in my room and know a celebration session was in the works. Sometimes I would run over in a rush to join the exhilaration. Other times I would stay in my bed, listening to the squeaking and giggling. It always made me smile.

Over the next few years, my friendship with the girls began to ebb. Although we remained close--suitemates or roommates all four years of college--I felt more and more disconnected from them. Their intimacy intimidated me; I began to feel like a third wheel. When they both found solid, loving relationships and I muddled through unfulfilling ones, still struggling to find myself, I felt even more isolated. I made friends outside our circle and spent less and less time with them.

I see now that it was my own insecurities more than anything else that put space between us. I think they recognized that, and yet they loved me anyway--something I will always cherish them for. How rare it is to find friends who support you and care for you even despite your own self-destructive and loathing behavior!

Spring quarter of our senior year, they had both finished early and moved out to get a jump on the professional life ahead of us. By the time we graduated, our lives had already drifted apart. I was heading in a different direction.

We kept in touch, for a while, anyway. They shared stories of their career paths, their engagements to their sweethearts. I wrote of my adventures in Washington. I went to both weddings, proud to see my friends look so beautiful walking down the aisle. I cried when they exchanged vows with their beaus.

At Christy's wedding reception, the second of the two, the crowd was festive, dancing to the classic DJ tunes we know so well. Then the emcee announced a special dedication--from Lori to Christy. Out of the speakers came Garth's gravelly voice.

The two old friends rushed onto the dance floor and clasped hands, grinning, jumping and turning just as they had in their dorm room a few years earlier. I skipped out, too, joining the frenzy only momentarily before realizing we were the only three on the floor, I the interloper. Catching myself, I slunk back to the safety of my date's side, simply absorbing their joy from the sidelines. The moment was not mine to claim.

At the end of the night, I said goodbye to my old friends. I gave them hugs, wished them both well. We were like war veterans—bonded together by the loss of innocence; estranged by time, distance, ghosts.

But I didn’t resent the space between us. If anything, I loved them more for their carefree, joyous closeness.

After all, I was the unfriendly girl. And they taught me how to open my door.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Wide awake

It's six a.m., and I've been awake since 4:30. Add to that the fact that it took me an hour to get to sleep in the first place. I think I'm having issues.

It could be because the night before, I stayed in bed something ridiculous like 10 hours (which I never, ever do). But then I rarely have problems sleeping, so my guess is that it's more than just a sleep hangover, if you will.

My brain just doesn't seem to be able to shut itself off. I've been replaying in my head (over and over again) the job interview I had the other day. One of the biggest consumer companies in the world was here on campus and I managed to land their ear for half an hour.

When I left the interview--I felt good, that it had gone well. But in hindsight, going over it in my head, I think maybe I blew it. I bungled a couple of questions, I sounded unprepared and unsure of myself. For someone who's supposed to be trained in marketing, I've sure done a poor job of marketing myself.

I guess it wouldn't matter so much if I hadn't really thought the world of the company and wanted the opportunity to explore it a little more. The fact that their work overlaps so naturally with our program was a huge turn on, and their culture seemed like it was somewhere I would fit in and be successful.

I know, don't count your chickens before they've hatched, everything happens for a reason, you learn something from every experience, yadda, yadda, yadda.

But when it's six a.m. and you've already been up for an hour and a half, it's just really damn hard to bat away the demons of doubt.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Unemployed

I turned down an incredible job offer today.

Last week, my summer employer turned my life upside-down by coming up to Evanston and basically telling me I could write my own ticket. Whatever I wanted to do in the company was open to me. Everything and anything was negotiable. The catch? I had to decide right then and there--to commit to being a part of their team and the world was mine.

I think they were thrown when I asked for time to think it over. I could probably even speculate that my not accepting the job on the spot made them decide that they really didn't want me in the first place. But I'm not sorry for asking for time to think, and I don't feel bad about calling them today and saying, thank you, your offer is incredible, but I'm just not ready to commit to a job yet.

I know that some people--probably even some of my colleagues--will look at me and tell me that I'm crazy. That if the SVP of a major company believes in you enough to let you choose your own adventure, you don't say no. That opportunities like this one are rare. I probably wouldn't even disagree with them.

Except I'm learning that you have to obey your gut in order to feel truly good about the decisions you make in life. My gut--for whatever reason--was telling me no.

I think more than anything, I'm proud of myself because for one of the first times I can ever remember, I went with the unknown. I chose ambiguity over certainty, over security. I don't know where my next job offer is going to come from, or even if it will be the right one.

But I do know my gut will tell me.

Monday, October 23, 2006

The loneliest number

This quarter, I'm taking a class at the business school--the only one from my program in the class. Add to that the fact that the professor is one of their core instructors, so he knows everyone in the class. Add further the fact that I am an early bird by nature, and typically one of the first people in the class.

No one will sit next to me.

Seriously, the area where I usually sit is the only "hole" in the classroom, with two empty seats on either side of me. It's almost like I have some IMC disease... "You know, the Medill girl... if you get too close, you might catch it!"

If I were feeling more insecure about things, I'd think I had a body odor issue of some sort. (I could also go on here about my smellemia, the olfactory disability I developed in college which likes to rear its ugly head on occasion. But that will have to be another post.)

So you can imagine my delight when a girl in the class actually moved her seat to sit next to me at the break. I almost cried. I'm sure she will never sit next to me again, I was so happy to have someone to chat up.

I think next week, I am intentionally going to come in late so I have to sit next to someone!

Taking cover from the exploding offer

One thing I've learned about myself this quarter: I am a terrible negotiator.

Not that I ever thought I was good, but I'm not just bad, I'm awful. Each week in class, we do a practice negotiation. Almost every single time, I come out on the bottom. Witness:

Negotiation #1 - the "Prisoner's Dilemma" game. Decided to play the game in good faith, lost about $200,000.

Negotiation #2 - selling a used car. I actually got the amount of money I needed on the first counter-offer--but didn't have the guts to go for even more (I could have gotten it).

Negotiation #3 - hotel developers trying to get a permit by working with an environmental issues group. My partner and I lost on every issue we wanted--except one. The tree huggers simply rolled us.

Negotiation #4 - massaging a post-grad job offer to get more money and a better title. I didn't do horribly on this one (I did get more money) but what was really important to my role was the title and I could not make any ground on it.

I know that since this is a classroom situation, there isn't really anything to lose here, but now that I'm entering the negotiation phase for real as I look for a job, I'm finding my skills wanting.

Confidence seems to be the key, knowing what it is you definitely want and what you can trade off on. That and not allowing the other team to shake you from that point of confidence by tapping into your emotions (anger, fear, guilt, whatever). Again, this is another danger point for me. It's too easy to get caught up in those feelings and lose sight of what it is you originally set out to get.

They say practice makes perfect... I'm not shooting for perfect, but I hope the practice is at least sufficient to help me get through my current real-life scenarios!

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Livin la Vida Leo

When I was choosing my classes for this quarter, I asked a lot of people--especially those I was working with during the summer--what they thought I should take. I was considering four classes but ultimately only wanted to take three. The dilemma was which one to drop? I was evaluating negotiations, crisis management, creative seminar and values-based leaders (a class at the business school). Almost everyone I spoke to said I should drop creative.

I'm so glad I didn't.

This is the first time I can remember in a LONG time that I have focused specifically and intently on idea generation and getting inside my own head. Each week, we're given a topic or a project and our only objective is to come up with creative, intuitive ideas about how to present our message. One of the recommended books to guide us through the process was a work called Blink that's all about harnessing the power of your own intuition—a skill I find I often overlook or let my head overrule.

I'm not really sure what causes you to lose touch with your own creativity as you get older. When I think back to my childhood, I remember being vividly imaginative; playful. It's almost as if the years of schooling and living in an adult world slowly erode that energy, that optimism. Just like everything else in life, it becomes something you work at, not something that simply is.

Until it simply is again. Until the "work" you do every day at finding that feeling again becomes so automatic that it recedes into second nature. Like falling back into yourself after a long leave of absence.

I’m not there yet, but I can feel myself coming back around. I haven’t felt so inspired and energetic in years. And I think with a little more practice, the training wheels will come off.

The real challenge is, of course, extending that feeling after school is over. It’s really easy to practice creativity and self reflection when you’re in school, a place that demands that kind of behavior. Being in the workplace has a way of stifling it for me. I’m learning that one of the things I need to look for in my next job is an environment that is going to challenge and encourage me to stay creative and focus on bringing new ideas to the table.

Surrounding yourself with inspiration never hurt, either. I have so many other people in my life who live creatively every day, and looking to them can keep me in the right frame of mind.

I’m also on the lookout for materials that can help me push myself. Right now, I’m reading How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci by Michael Gelb (another class-recommended book). It’s got some great exercises and advice about maximizing your potential. If you know of other good ones, I’d love to hear about them.

Any other Leos out there?

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Deluge

I swam home from class last night.

Well, I practically did. I had my three-hour business school class last night. Since there isn't a parking lot attached directly to the building, I found a spot in the lot almost directly across the street and walked over.

About halfway through the class, we divided up into small groups to move to smaller study rooms and debate a case. While my group was engaged in spirited argument over ethical standards and the validity of Friedman's profit-maximizing viewpoint, thunder rumbled outside. It continued for the next hour and a half, occasionally making the lights in our classroom flicker.

When class finally dismissed at 9:30, I walked out of the building into complete inundation. It was raining so hard that the street (across which my car was parked) had become a river.

I found some of my fellow IMC colleagues who had been in different classes that night. They live in graduate housing a 10-minute walk away and were contemplating the trek home. I offered to go get my car and pick them up. I borrowed one of the girls' umbrellas and headed down the steps toward the street.

At the sidewalk, where most people usually cross the street, two cars were stopped in deep water, hazards flashing. I timidly stuck my foot to where the curb should be, plunging my entire foot into warm water.

Not a good sign.

I started walking parallel along the street, looking for a place to cross where the water wasn't quite so deep. When the sidewalk ahead of me finally evaporated into long puddles, I realized my only option was to go directly through the street.

Rolling up my pants legs, I took off my shoes and waded into the street. Yes, I said waded--the water came up to the mid-part of my calf! I splashed my way to the center of the street--which was higher and drier--and then walked down the double yellow line to the parking lot where my car was. Leaping over the full gutter, I landed on the sidewalk and solid pavement.

When I finally got the car started and headed out, I was amazed at how deep the water was. I drove through places I'm certain I should not have. Looking over at the cars parked on the side of the road, the water came up above the bumper on many of them.

My engine never died, but it did threaten a couple of times. Fortunately, since I drive a standard, I was able to shift down into first gear and keep it running. But who knows what kind of damage was done during the storm.

I have never really been in a flooded area before, but even this minimal flooding was insane! The main drag through Evanston--under water. Neighborhood streets--flooded. All from a little rain. I can't imagine what it would have been like in the West Virginia floods of a couple of years ago, or the scummy waters from Katrina.

Wish I had had my camera on me to share photos...

Monday, October 02, 2006

Scatter

OK, I realize it's been a really (really) long time since my last post. But I'm finding myself with a little more time for personal reflection (and general screwing around) during my last quarter here at school, so I think I should take advantage of that by reviving this little journal.

(Does that suffice as an apology? If not, I am sorry, my two dear readers. :) )

My roommate and I were in the car on the way to class this morning and she pointed out that we only have two months of school left. Two months! I remember being a first quarter last year and having the nearly-finished students tell us all how quickly it would go. But as the projects and stress dragged on throughout the year, I believed them a little less every day. I would never be finished.

Except now I am, and I have no idea what's next.

I think one of the things that comforted me about planning to go back to DC was the fact that I already have a network there. I already know how it works and what my social life would look like. I could find a decent apartment, get to the grocery store, secure an acceptable job and still manage to have Saturday night plans. I could play softball in the summer and football in the fall, and maybe even squeeze in an art class on weeknights.

The idea of DC was comfortable, familiar. Job became secondary.

Except now it's not. I know that choosing a job just because it's in a place you know is asking for trouble. And in the last few days, more friends and family members than I can count have tried to reinforce the idea that I can go anywhere and do anything that I want to do. Anything. If I decide the circus is the life for me, I can go join the carnies and off I go!

Of course, it's also important to look at just how much "home" (or DC) has changed since I've been gone. By the time I finally get around to coming back, good friends will have moved elsewhere. Relationships I relied on won't be there. Activities I relished may not quite be the same.

We're all scattering, following our own trails, going the way life intends to take us.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I know that change is part of life, and you have to learn to adapt and grow with each new twist. But embracing the unknown has never been my strength. I think my parents call it (affectionately) the fur-lined rut. There is a reason it is so comfortable.

What's next? I don't know. And yes, I'm scared. But I'm taking comfort in knowing that so many others--even those who are close to me--are just as scared.

Here's to jumping in without knowing where the bottom will be. Let’s all pray for a very deep pool.