The Career Clinic Blog

“Everyone is a storyteller dying for lack of an audience.”

Of anything I learned from Dick Bolles, that’s come in the most handy.

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it took me a few weeks to ask Darrell about Band of Brothers--the television miniseries he finally got around to watching on DVD. I learned a lot, and Darrell loved sharing it.

It reminded me that just because you’re inches away from someone pretty much around the clock, there’s so much you don’t know.

Remembering how much people love an audience helps no matter what job you have or what role you play. If you keep in mind what "audience" means, that is.

If you work in customer service and you have an unhappy customer across the counter, being a good audience doesn’t mean arguing with her complaint. You may not be able to fix her problem right away, but you’ll create a different problem if you give the impression the problem is her.

If you’re the unhappy customer, you have an audience in the person who’s helping you. Ignore at your own risk the look in his eyes from being dressed down by the previous unhappy customer. Show a little empathy, on the other hand--and get some back so fast you might not believe it.

If you’re a parent, watch your child’s eyes glaze over when you try to teach her a lesson by talking. Better to let her watch you and your husband work through a problem, in a blanket of respect with a few belly laughs thrown in. She might actually look forward to growing up if she learns by your example the fun is only just beginning.

You can also let her learn by example the power of this statement: “Please, tell me more.”

Is there a sweeter request in all the world?

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Once upon a time I had a dream I left my turn signal on.

I know what you’re thinking: “Excitement, thy name is Maureen.”

But seriously. I was at a career planning workshop, and this reminded me those plans weren’t safe with just anyone. I stopped sharing my dreams with people who, with past behavior, had promised to make fun of them.

Which changed everything.

Which is why--even now--I’m selective about the people I confide in. I’m not so evolved I can’t be spooked, and the energy it takes to defend myself against the naysayers isn’t worth what I’d get in return. Which is, of course, more naysaying.

I can have a dandy conversation with the worst of them about everything from politics to religion.

But veer off into something a little closer to home?

Look! A squirrel!

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Once upon a time I heard a news story that went something like, “A family went to sleep while the dryer was still running. The automatic shutoff malfunctioned, the dryer overheated and caught fire, the house blew up, and everyone died.”

To that I say, “Good luck making yourself believe the dryer’s off!”

For real.

I’ve always sort of dreaded laundry day because when I was finished it was time to walk away from the washer and dryer--and I could never quite convince myself the dryer was off. Isn’t that silly?

What’s more amazing, to me, is how long it took (don’t ask) to find the workaround. The dryer won’t work if the door’s open, so now when I finish the laundry I don’t close the dryer door all the way.

Problem solved.

Well, unless we had pets. Then I think I’d worry one of them would crawl into the dryer, I’d forget to check it before I started another load, and that would be the end of our cat or whatever it was. The Far Side comes to mind. Do you remember the one where the dog’s hiding next to the dryer? He’s saying to himself, “Oh please…” The cat’s peering into the open dryer after reading signs--complete with arrows--that say, “Cat Fud.”

But you know what I’m saying. Sometimes all you have to do is remember why you’re afraid of something and the problem goes away. Sometimes you can find a way to work around it.

More likely you won’t remember the source of your problem--like the toddler who hears the phone ringing at the same time she hears a crack of thunder, thinks the two are connected, and as she grows up is always anxious when the phone rings but has long forgotten why.

Career consultants are fond of saying we know as children what would bring us the most joy as adults, but we forget that as we grow up--and we start internalizing the expectations and the fears of people we love.

I think part of the task of growing up is remembering what frightened us as children, healing that, and sharing what we learn.

Because really, isn’t that the point of being here--besides having fun? To learn a lot, and share it?

Have fun, and learn a lot. If there’s a better philosophy of life I hope you’ll let me know.

Otherwise I’m going with that one.

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You’re a runner, and your lower back hurts.

I feel your pain.

The solution, at least for me, wasn’t to stop running--because while it’s apparently responsible for my back pain, it’s also solved a lot of other problems.

I decided to treat the symptom, and stretch out more often. I reach down to touch my toes at least a dozen times a day, and I stay there for a count of ten. One thousand, two thousand…

Back pain gone.

I got some rest over President’s Day weekend, and I kept forgetting to stretch out.

Back pain back.

Now that I’ve returned to my routines--which include stretching--you guessed it.

Back pain gone.

Don’t you love it when things work out?

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“Twitter is for people who don’t live in New York.”

I can’t remember where I read that. Probably on Twitter! But doesn’t it nail the appeal?

I will never, and I mean never, get used to the pace of a small town. I crave the bedlam of a city. I’m at my most relaxed walking through Manhattan, or weaving through seven lanes of traffic in Los Angeles.

When I first moved to Detroit Lakes, Minnesota almost twenty years ago (twenty!) I’d go to the Twin Cities almost every weekend. The people I worked with wondered why. What would I do there? “Go somewhere crowded,” I told them, “and wait in line.”

I missed running on Summit Avenue in St. Paul. I missed needing my turn signal, to borrow a sentiment from someone else, because people didn’t already know where I was going. I missed driving around Minneapolis at twilight--with all those Mary Tyler Moore houses lit up--to see kids playing hockey on frozen neighborhood lakes.

I also missed the bedlam of working in an office--where I’d double over with laughter at the latest interruption from a colleague who was actually on his way to interrupt someone else.

I have Twitter for that, now. Oh sure, it helps me keep up with college basketball and the news and even the weather--but mostly I love the constant infusion of silly.

Darrell works crossword puzzles and Sudoku. I rewire my brain with interruptions from people I choose to follow, from the privacy of a spare bedroom in a gingerbread house in what’s often the coldest swirl on the weather map.

Care to join me?

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Impulse purchases give the word impulse a bad name. Just because you don’t need that candy bar or flashlight doesn’t mean acting on impulse is a bad move.

Almost every decision I’ve made on a whim has been the right one. Maybe that’s because I was following my heart before my head had a chance to weigh in.

The decisions you make with your head look good on paper. The decisions you make with your heart feel good.

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Once upon a time Katie told Santa she wanted a Slinky Dog from Toy Story for Christmas. This was mommy and me time, so Dad had stayed home to work--but he was eager to hear how it went.

“What did Santa say,” he asked, “when you told him what you wanted?”

“He said,” she reported without the slightest bit of disappointment, “‘Here. Have a book and some reindeer antlers.’”

At which point our little two-year-old donned the antlers and wore them as proudly as Miss America sports her tiara. It was almost as if she’d decided, “If Santa thinks I should be happy with these, by God I’m going to be.”

Children that age have what’s called indestructible happiness. You can no more remove it than strip the red from a tomato.

If you don’t mess up a kid too badly--which is about as much credit as I’m willing to give Darrell or me where Kate’s concerned--joy continues to be the compass. Katie chooses her friends, her after-school activities, and her plans for after high school based on the short and long-term happiness potential.

The word we use most sparingly around here is “should.” It reeks of judgment, of obligation.

Ever notice how the people most likely to tell you what you should be doing with your life are the people you’re least inclined to emulate?

If you don’t enjoy getting there, who cares if you arrive?

That’s why the only thing I promise my guests on the talk show is a good time. If they have fun, however many more books they sell on Amazon will be a bonus. Sparkling conversation about things that matter is an art form--and worth doing all by itself.

It’s a good metaphor for life. Be in it for the thing itself--the writing, the conversation, whatever--and not for some other reward that may or may not happen, and was always beside the point.

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You know that scene in The Sound of Music when Maria’s on the staircase and finds out she’s welcome to stay on as governess after all?

I have that feeling a lot. Someone discovers my blog and quotes not one but several posts as she raves about it, a listener writes to say how much she enjoys the talk show, and someone I thanked for one thing even though she was a little bit of a pill on something else tells me how much my sentiments meant--and how badly she feels about being, well, a little bit of a pill.

I’m like almost everyone else in this respect, I suppose. I enjoy the reassurance I’m not the biggest joke in the history of the universe when it comes to my career--that I was right to trust my instincts about it.

Steering your life is a matter, I think, of noticing how you feel. “Go this way. No, not that far. Back that way a little bit…” The better you feel--the more fun you’re squeezing out of every moment--the more likely you are to look back and say, “Yep. This was the right move…”

This is only a guess, but I think a lot of us confuse hard work with the wrong way. Hard work and great fun are not mutually exclusive. To the contrary. That’s why I bristle at the suggestion I should be “taking it easy” by now. Yeah? And do what? Watch TV? Go boating? Golf?

Those are fun ways to rest up. Well, except for the golf. But a steady diet? Just kill me now.

My favorite place to do homework as a kid was at the kitchen table, with the bedlam of seven brothers and sisters swirling about as Mom made dinner. If I was in a quiet corner of the house it was much more difficult to concentrate. The lack of distractions was…distracting. Maybe that’s why so many writers who finally get their cabin in the woods--so they can write that great American novel--find it suffocating. Chaos is grist.

And hard work is fun, if it’s the right work.

Resting up from that is also fun--if, for the most part, you don’t dread going back to work.

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A woman I know doesn’t want her kids to grow up feeling like they’re always in trouble for something.

It’s such a simple statement, really.

But it put into a brand-new perspective why I’m forever dreading an encounter with another woman I know. It feels like I’m always in trouble with her.

Why did it take me so long to realize that? Why hadn’t I noticed how much disapproval hangs in the air whenever we’re in the same room?

A few years ago I lost those twenty or so extra pounds and kept them off. No big, except for one thing. The reaction this woman had when I reached for a sweater even though it was a warm summer day. “That’s what happens when you get old,” she said!

“That’s also what happens when you get skinny,” I thought, but I kept it zipped.

I kept it zipped again when a hairstylist--also uh, weighing in on my appearance--suggested I not throw away my fat clothes. Forget I wasn’t fat enough to have fat clothes. If this was how she treated her clients, I couldn’t imagine how she treated other people.

I wish I would’ve kept it zipped instead of sharing what I thought was good news with someone else--back before I realized he wasn’t a fan, either. “I hope you make a million dollars!” he exclaimed with such a sneer I practically wilted as Darrell and I made our way out of that gathering.

How embarrassing.

Not for me--as I’d later decide--but for him.

I loved the response one man had to people who make you feel as if your very existence is just…annoying: “When people don’t like you, nothing actually happens.”

Isn’t that great? To know you won’t be everyone’s cup of tea--that’s mathematically impossible, after all, because people disagree with each other--and to be able to say, “So what?”

For now I’m calling it progress that I notice how I feel--and I avoid, whenever possible, situations that don’t feel good.

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“Why, thank you! I will!”

The woman at the counter who presented our coffees was grinning at Darrell as if he’d just asked her to marry him and live in his castle. I’m not kidding. She seemed that happy to be alive, suddenly.

I headed for our table as the two of them exchanged more pleasantries.

“What’s going on?” I asked Darrell as I grinned at him myself, ready to tease him about his new friend.

“She told me to have a nice day,” he reported. “So I said, ‘Thanks. You do the same.’ At which point she told me, ‘No one ever tells me to do the same…’”

You’re kidding. It’s come to this? You can make someone’s day just by returning the same courtesy she extended you?

The other night I watched the people ahead of us in line paying for an oil change. They were picking up a few groceries while they were at it, and the guy at the register had a devil of a time getting the produce department to tell him how much to charge for their kale. He kept his composure as one of the couple’s children spilled something, the other objected to getting bundled up to go outside--you can just imagine.

The couple made their way to the door, kids and groceries in tow, as the store employee called after them: “Have a nice day.” For which he got…nothing. No glance back with a half-smile, not even a grunt of acknowledgment.

We headed home, dodging someone in a pickup who pulled out right out in front of us. We gave thanks for Darrell’s defensive driving and reminded Katie that having the right-of-way means exactly nothing in the age of “I’m on my cell phone so you don’t exist.”

Part of deciding who you want to be when you grow up is noticing what you don’t.

I’m the kind of person who aches for anyone who waits on me. How did I get so lucky to have my job when they have theirs?

I still don’t have the answer to that one, but more thoughts on noticing in the rest of my posts this week.

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