Balancing is Like Juggling: Dropping Things is Part of Perfecting the Art

I find when I am distracted or need to focus on something new, I can no longer maintain my hard won balancing act.  When I went through an international move – new country, new role, new home, new most everything.  I found myself often frustrated I couldn't seem to accomplish what I was able to before.  Writing only happened occasionally.  My motivation to exercise and eat right seems to have fled or at least gone into hibernation.

When I found a moment for a bit of yoga at home, some clarity appeared while I studiously maintained a "down dog."  I could hear the voice of my amazing instructor who I have not seen in too long, echoing in my head – “be kind to your body, be kind to yourself.”  I realized I had unrealistic expectations of myself (okay probably of others too).  I need to admit when big changes happen something has to give.  I wasn’t a failure. But like the juggler, I needed to find a new rhythm to work in the additional objects or juggle the existing ones in a new environment.  Easier said than done for me.  I feel accomplished when I can cross stuff off a list whether on paper or in my head.  But I am trying to re-program my thinking. 

My three kids started a new school at the same time -- an international one.  It was a big change for all – for my teenager because high school is a tough place to start over, for my pre-teen because so is middle school, and for my youngest because this was her first real school experience (which she was pretty excited about as you can see).

Leyla's first day of school at ISL

My husband was out of town that week and not optimistic about the overall outcome with me in charge.  But I assured him I was up for it (although I was less certain in my own mind).  I reviewed my calendar and pushed off what I could.  And I scheduled calls I could take outside of the office for more time sensitive matters. My office time, I limited to interviews and critical efforts.  Despite this preparation, the week was still insane. 

Day one, I had to drive the boys to the bus stop because we had not timed the "getting ready" part of the morning right.  How was I to know that styling your hair to go just that way took so long and it was a bigger priority than an on time arrival?  I also apparently did not communicate well about changing an interview time so I was scrambling to make it happen in the office at the end of the day.  The boys took the city bus after school and met me at stop closest to my work. We took a page from the Indy pit-stop crews with our handover of their sister, and her stuff, who had ridden in the car with me.  I ran into work to be almost on time.  And they took their sister home on the next city bus. 

After the interview, I get a panicked call from my eldest.  He could not find the rental house keys (they had gotten in through the garage).  I walked outside to the bus stop hoping desperately I would find them lying on the sidewalk.  But no such luck.  I then told my son he needed to retrace his steps and do his best to find them.  I could hear the tears threatening in his voice but I wanted him to take responsibility and problem solve.  I then had a couple priority work calls with the US.  After they were completed, my cell phone rang again.  I took a deep breath before answering as I saw it was my son.  His voice, in stark contrast to earlier, was buoyant and exuberant as he exclaimed, “I found them, Mom!!”  He then described how he got back on the bus and followed his path in reverse. He found the keys on top of a trashcan where he had left them before boarding.  I think he took extra pleasure from the fact I had looked in that area and not seen them.  He also shared how good it felt to have solved the issue by himself

Day Two, I nearly missed picking up my daughter.  School was 90 minutes for her this first week which I discovered is not enough time to do anything. Although I had tried, and this forced me to drive crazy rushed back to school.  Of course, I hit all the reds lights and was stuck behind a few novice parallel parkers who blocked the road seemingly forever.  Seeing my daughter as one of the two last kids in her class triggered my “mommy guilt”, but she seemed oblivious as she happily chatted with her new classmate and teacher.

Parc Merl Luxembourg

My sons texted me at times during the week when they didn’t have someone to talk to and felt awkward at school. Each evening, we went to an amazing local park – Parc Merl – where there was something for every age from basketball hoops, slides, and merry-go-rounds.  My eldest was invited to a new friend’s house Friday night which ended the week on a high note for him.  I took the younger two for a shopping trip downtown since I had seen a Dutch shop I enjoyed frequenting when I lived in Holland.  I should have known the store was closed when we found a parking spot in front.  I suggested a walk in the neighborhood as a consolation and ended up having to explain to my eleven year old son what a “Gentlemen’s club” is about. Another "benefit" of a new town you never know where you will end up. We found a dodgy McDonald's which the kids loved and me a bit less. But their gigantic smiles made up for everything else.  It wasn’t what we planned but they loved it any way.

When I reflected back on the week, I felt I had been there for my three during an important transition. I also witnessed each of my beloved children "grow up" a little as they adjusted to a new normal too.  I didn't let any big work balls drop (I did go in on Sunday to catch up when my husband returned.) 

This was a good start for me to learn balancing like juggling means things will drop sometimes – or I have to be willing to let them go, knowing I can pick them up later at the right time.  I try to be kind to myself and to say that is good enough.

A version previously published on my Working Mothers blog Mom, Mayhem, Missions and More.

International Women's Day #MAKEITHAPPEN

Recently, my company had it’s first formal International Women’s day celebration.  On the day after, we had sites from around the globe connect via video conference.  I was asked to wrap up the event.   There were some amazing speakers and I feverishly took notes as they spoke so I could identify themes.  I shouldn’t have worried: themes just emerged – from people who were at early or later parts of their careers and from different parts of worlds.  They resonated with me:

1. Stories empower.  Role models inspire. We all need to encourage the women and little girls in our lives to dream big and know all is possible for them including careers in STEM.
2. Taking initiative as a leader and over-coming fear is a vital component of success for yourself and others.
3. Know what matters to you, what you need and ask for it.
4. Learn the skill of brutal prioritization and apply it to all facets of your life.
5. Use data and statistics as you make a case for action or ask for what you need.  Make them your friends; they have power.

I then shared my story including my inspiration which hit some of the same themes.

As women and as humans, we all have many roles.  Professional roles like the one I have and the ones prior which ranged from my most recent as Legal Director of France and the one furthest from my formal education as an attorney as Director of Competitive Strategy and Negotiation.  I have the privilege in my multiple roles across many years to collaborate with amazing women and men from all walks of life and backgrounds.

It is humbling to remember why the day was created over 100 years ago and to celebrate all the progress we made since.  We also need to acknowledge the work left to do.  The opportunities I enjoy are thanks to those amazing women and men who came before me, including my two amazing grandmothers who survived harrowing WWII experiences including one living through a spouse in a concentration camps and one a terminally one, supporting the Dutch resistance while raising their many children (11 between them) in the most difficult of times, my amazing mother who supported herself as of 17 and moved to the US while still a young woman to start a new life.  Another hugely influential “woman to be” in my life is my little daughter.  Born in Ethiopia over 6 years ago, she experienced massive change and challenges in her short life.  Her ability to fill a room with light and laughter while never shying away from the tough question or difficult situation fills me with AWE.  I want her grown up world to provide girls like her more opportunities than exist now.

Our roles often extend to spouse, friend, sister, cousin, mentor, leader, team member and so many more.  They all make up the mosaic of the person we are becoming over the arc of our journey.  More and more I see a role I need to play in equalizing opportunities.  Two life events that made this part of my mosaic come starkly into focus were being diagnosed with cancer at 37 and bringing home our beautiful daughter on my 42nd birthday.  

The first reminded me, in a way I couldn’t avoid, life is precious and fragile and not guaranteed.  Going through that experience made me want to leave this world a little better place no matter how much time I was given.  And the second made me face the simple and unfair fact that where you are born can make a huge difference in what path you can pursue, especially as a little girl.  

Because of life circumstances, country of birth, gender, race or culture – or some other factor, many people have less opportunities.  By supporting each other on International Women’s day, we take one step closer to making the same opportunities available to all.  I see celebrating and standing together for a common purpose as a beautiful part our humanity.  I am proud to be part of the amazing group that made our first celebration of IWD such a spectacularly special one.  Thank you all!  

You Have Cancer

Those words are so powerful.  It has taken me 10 years to be able to write them down.  I feel ready to share now in hopes it can help others who hear them or fear them.  I realized as I thought about what to share, this will likely take me a few posts.  This is Day One.

I remember the day I heard the words like it was yesterday.  I remember distinct details which seem burned into my brain.  Generally, I have trouble remembering specifics of a few days ago if I don’t write them down.

We lived in Chicago.  I was sitting at my cubicle desk enjoying the sunshine and the excitement of a recent promotion and new role.  I got a call from my doctor to come in for my test results from a recent relatively routine procedure.  I felt they had done it in part to humor me since they knew I like to get concrete information rather than probabilities whenever possible.  I told my husband Michael I would need to stop by the office on my way home so would be a little later.  He immediately sensed something was amiss asking, “Why do you have to come in?  It can’t be good news.”  I laughed and told him, “You worry too much.  I am sure it is nothing serious.” 

I didn’t give it much more mind share as I wrapped up my day and drove the few minutes to the medical building.  I waited until the doctor could see me.  When we were in the examining room, he told me those simple words.  “You have cancer.”  I can't recall much about what else he said. It felt like airplanes were landing in my head.  I saw his mouth moving but could not hang on to the words as they danced around my consciousness without any order.  I was a healthy 37 year old with two young boys – how could I have cancer?  I had never even heard of this type before: cancer of the uterine lining. 

I nodded as he explained things which I couldn’t take in and walked numbly to my car.  My whole world had shifted and turned upside down in the span of minutes.  I no longer saw the sunshine or even what was happening around me.  I called Michael as I started to drive.  I felt tears freely flowing down my cheeks as I told him.  I could hear the devastation in his voice and didn’t know what more to say.  I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what I had just heard.  Surely this was a nightmare and I would wake soon.

Instinctively, I called a friend who was a breast cancer survivor and had lost her younger sister to the same disease when we worked together.  She was a no nonsense high powered executive.  She told me. “You have to own getting yourself the best care.”  She offered to have any doctors I considered thoroughly checked out and told me she was with me.  I clung to her words and confidence like a life raft in the middle of a choppy ocean.

When I approached my home, panic and helplessness began to wash over me.  What was I going to do?  How was this even possible?  I saw my husband sitting outside the house on our front steps – tears streaking his handsome face.  His look mirrored all that was running through my head.  It was almost too much to bear.  We hugged and cried – neither of us knew the right words for what we were facing.  Our boys were seven and three.  We went through the motions of a normal evening until they were in bed. 

I then slowly descended the stairs to our basement and lowered myself to the middle of the floor.  I let the sobs and fear just roll through my body like the waves of the ocean - -ebbing and flowing continuously.   Michael came down to check on me.  Again I saw my worst fears reflected in his eyes.  I asked him something I knew I needed, “You need to act like everything is normal.  I can’t do this if every time I look at you I see you expecting the worst.  I really need you to do this for me.”   

Now I appreciate what an impossible request this was but at the time it was so important to me.  I was gearing up for a fight and I needed my best friend and life partner to be his confident self.  I don’t panic about much and wanted to attack this like I would any other complex challenge.  I gave myself the one evening to let the most unproductive emotions and thoughts take center stage.  And I knew in the morning, I would get to the business of making a plan to ensure I was there for my family. 

Damian 3 and Dimitri 7 -- 2004

Me and the boys hanging out in our basement --2004

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Heaven Received Another Angel – her name is Maria Angelidou, my other mother

I first learned about Maria many years ago from her son Michael, my now husband and then boyfriend. He, for lots of complicated reasons, couldn’t go back to his home country of Greece for an extended period.  His voice cracked and his eyes filled when he shared with me how he much he missed seeing his dear mother.  He is a large, self-confident man so seeing him wracked with such deep emotion was unexpected.  I fell a little more in love with him at that moment as I saw his heart breaking from the extended separation from this amazing woman.

I didn’t get to meet Maria in person until a few years after we were married.  Michael and I eloped before I started law school.  We were young and broke and our families and friends were spread to the four winds so it made sense to us.    When I graduated, I planned a celebratory trip to see friends and family in Holland where my parents are from.  Maria very much wanted me to come to Greece too even although Michael still couldn’t travel there.  Michael encouraged me to go.  So with my elder sister as my traveling companion, I did. 

Walking off the plane in the hot Greek sun that summer in 1994, it hit me as hard as the acrid air around me that I was going to stay with my new family, with no common language and none of whom I had never laid eyes on before.  I had serious butterflies and nerves as I scanned the faces waiting outside the doors that open and closed with regularity as guests departed. 

The welcome I received as it was my turn to walk through was what I would come to know as vintage Maria.  It seemed half the town had showed up with flowers and signs in our honor.  Most were extended family but the group also included many of their friends. A number were chosen, I learned later, because they spoke good English.  It felt like we were arriving dignitaries.

I have never felt more welcomed, any place in my life.  Maria insisted she was my “Mama” and NOT my “Mother in law”.  She clearly articulated, “NO, in-law.”  She had been learning English in preparation for our visit which touched me.  She proclaimed, “My new daughter!” to everyone with a gorgeous smile on her beautiful face.

She was a total “food is love” person.  Her cooking was sunshine, lively music and a warm lingering embrace all wrapped up into a present that continued to reveal and delight as I ate.  I thought liked Greek food.  But I came to realize I had never eaten the real thing before.  What she served involved fresh ingredients ever so lovingly prepared often the better part of the day, there was no rushing perfection, and then served generously, family style.  She was an artist, her medium the ingredients of her signature dishes.  Seconds were a given, not an option.

Visitors of all types, young, old and in between, gravitated into her orbit, stopping by for a meal, a coffee, a cocktail or a conversation and a chuckle.  Joyful laughter punctuated each visit.  Maria was happiness and light and most of all unconditional love.  I have so many wonderful memories of her from visits over the succeeding years including at our Greek wedding when Michael could finally return and at the baptism of each of our three children.  The youngest, our only daughter, shares her name – Leyla Marie.

Maria’s life was not one of ease.  I admired her more as I got to know about her from others and just spent time together, very often in the kitchen.  My husband was born when she was still very young and they in many ways grew up together.  He was her world and she was his hero.  And their relationship was indescribably beautiful, spanning more than half a century.

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Hers was a life given in joyful service of others.  She mothered everyone!  And she did it because it was who she was.  I remember waking up from naps that first visit with my clothes pressed and an iced coffee sitting on the night stand.  I told my husband, “She really doesn’t need to do that for me. In fact, it makes me a little uncomfortable.”  He said, “She does it because she wants to.  It makes her happy.”  I was skeptical at the time but came to understand the truth in those statements which humbled me.

In recent months, her body was failing her lovely spirit in so many ways and life was a struggle.  Michael was with her when she sought and found a more peaceful place.  And I truly believe that was her wish.  Given we live half a world away most of the time; the chances were rather slim they could be together in the end but still it happened.  And Michael summed it up well when he shared, “She took care of herself this time for a change.”

Maria Angelidou left an immeasurable legacy of love and light.  We will all dearly miss her presence with us here.  It is unimaginable to me to think of Greece without her welcoming arms and smile there to greet me.  But her soul lives on. I can see a bit if her in so many places, including the face of her son, her daughters (including myself), her loving husband of 55 years, her grandchildren, and in the amazing food she patiently taught us to cook. 

Bravo, Maria Angelidou, you lived well!  

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