Can you stand ANOTHER essay on work-life balance? The phrase is one of the most written about and studied over the last four decades as post-Feminine Mystique women entered the professional ranks in unprecedented numbers. But I think it is still a jumbled up topic that is too often focused on workingwomen and not often enough on workingmen; too often focused on children and not often enough on the other aspects of a full and a fulfilling life that we’d all like to have. As recently as June 2016 The Wall Street Journal ran an article in their Management column titled, “Male CEOs Detail Their Work-Life Rules.” The article acknowledges that male executives traditionally haven’t been expected to feel conflicted about…
Well, of course I take notes. I got out of college with good grades. I got to the ABD (all-but-dissertation) stage of graduate school with boxes of file cards recording details and dry statistics from scholarly journals. And presently I am at the point of my life where so much information is packed into my brain (wry sarcasm here) that I find it helpful to write things down to remember them. But like many women my age or older, we wanted to make certain that we were not mistaken for the secretary or the assistant and so, in climbing our career ladder, we refused to perform some of the basic functions that were necessary in the workplace. For some of us,…
Yesterday I was leaving a client’s office and found myself in midtown Manhattan, on Madison Avenue in the low 50’s, waiting to cross the street. Two French women of a certain age, clearly tourists, approached me and asked in heavily accented English if I could tell them where to find St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I smiled at them and pointed to the neo-gothic spires visible two blocks away and said, “You can see it from here. It’s just a few blocks in that direction,” when a man’s voice off to my left said, “That’s not St. Patrick’s.” The poor ladies looked panicked. Clearly they had asked me for directions because I looked safe and trustworthy and now these two strangers were…
It wasn’t too long after becoming CEO when I realized that all of my friends in the industry were now clients and that posed a problem. How would I decompress? Who was there to talk with and occasionally whine to about the awfulness of my day? Oh sure, I had (and still do have) a wonderful, caring husband, but we had made the decision that he would stay home with the kids at a time when that decision was still a curiosity and he had his own stressful, awful days and didn’t need to be burdened with mine. The kindly founder always lent an ear and a reassuring word but I knew that he had hired me so that he did…
Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone we worked with came into the office and left their troubles behind? And by troubles, I don’t mean worry about a son’s report card or an aging mother. Those troubles are the stuff of life and we all share them at some time or another. Learning to look at and listen to another human being and see the world from their vantage point is the basis of empathy and is truly foundational in helping people connect to one another. I use trouble here more fundamentally. I use it here to suggest those psychic wounds too many people carry that distort our vision and color the way we see the world and, more importantly, interact with…
The phrase “we met at work” has particular meaning for me as I write this essay. My friend Judy died this past weekend. We met at work. In this case, work was the Marketing Research Department of The New York Times in the 1980’s. We were a close-knit group for the most part, half single, the married people mostly childless and after long days we’d often go out for a drink before heading home. We were yuppies, proud to be working at The Times. I knew Judy less well than I knew the others, until one day she came into my cubicle with a confession. She had applied to join the Peace Corps and, atypically, an assignment had become available…
My graduate school grants had run out, I was writing my dissertation, up to my eyeballs in student loans and I needed a job. The fifth floor studio walk-up in Spanish Harlem cost us $175 per month (yes, this was a long time ago) and no matter that it “rained” in our only closet when the upstairs tenants let their sink overflow. We didn’t have any good clothes anyway. I had been applying for entry-level assistant professor jobs around the country but all of them required that my dissertation be completed and awarded. It was going to be tight. Then one Sunday morning, combing through the classified ads in the New York Times I saw an ad for a Research Supervisor…
I didn’t know very much about the working world when I had my first experience with a really bad manager. I would write a report for him and, shortly after handing it in, he would call me into his office and force me to sit there and watch him read it. “Scottie,” I said, “I could be working on something else until you finish.” He replied, “Why should I waste my time finding you if I have a question?” Today, when I coach young professionals complaining about their “awful bosses” I tell them that this is probably not the worse boss they’ll ever have and they look at me as if I’ve lost my mind, thinking how could it get…
“You are who you pretend to be.” Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut was a favorite book among my circle of friends in college, and that quote, “You are who you pretend to be…” was one of our anthems arguing for authenticity. Young women of that generation, at least the ones I hung out with, were nothing if not authentic! I attended an all-women’s college housed within a large university, and we young women were challenged to stretch our minds and stretch our ambition. We had female professors and a lot of them! We had classes that were sometimes all women, and we expressed our ideas and argued our points and didn’t worry about impressing the guys at that moment. There was…
The title of this column will surely convince my male readers that they were correct all along: any person calling herself a Crone is really and truly only writing for women. But I would urge you to not judge so quickly. If you are managing people you will probably have to manage a dress code, or lack thereof, at some point in time. Even my young readers, safely toiling away in start-ups where dressing down is the norm, might face these issues some day. Recently I was sweating away on my elliptical machine, watching reruns of “Murder She Wrote” and realized with great embarrassment that at one time I owned three of the suits that Jessica Fletcher was wearing in…