Sheryl Sandberg, China & Me

by J. T. Gilhool

  The food in Shanghai is great. We can eat Indian, Malaysian, French, Italian, Korean, Moroccan and almost anything else you can imagine, but truly good, homemade favorites are much harder to find.

  So, no need to book that fancy restaurant, Mom. I don’t need to eat out and I don’t want to go anywhere. If it isn’t too much trouble, just get the gang together and fill that grocery cart with the flavors of home. Turn on the football playoffs, chill the beer and bring on the nieces and nephews. Auntie Jen’s suitcase is packed with presents and she’d kill for a Diet Coke and a Hershey Bar.

  See you soon!

  Love Jen

  P.S. Henry wants you to pick up some beef jerky — honey barbecue, please.

  AnnaBelle

  December 2011 (written in January 2012)

  Langkawi, Malaysia

  We spent Christmas in Langkawi, Malaysia. One evening, we attended a cocktail party and ran into a great couple that we met on a rain forest walk earlier in the day. They were also an American expat family. They were living in Switzerland.

  We did not meet their girls during the rain forest walk because the rain forest came to them the prior morning. It appeared in their hotel room in the form of six monkeys looking for $6 candy bars in the mini-bar.

  And yes, I do mean monkeys and I do mean 6. Before calling their parents, the girls took a photo on their iPhone and posted it to Facebook. Friends in the States probably knew about the minibar raid before the hotel staff. The monkey warnings on the windows are real and are there for a purpose. Keep your lanai door locked or you will have uninvited guests.

  During the rain forest walk, we had the usual expat exchange — what brought you to wherever you are living, how are you and the family adjusting, how is the international school and so on. In these conversations, I’m always amazed at how the usual gender biases come out — everyone assumes that Jack’s career brought us to China. We play along.

  Maybe “play” is a poor choice of words. It isn’t like we do it intentionally. It is fairly uncommon to have the woman’s career be the reason the family moves to China. There are women working in China for goodness sake, but there are less than five expat families at our company where the wife’s career is the reason for the move and the husband is holding down the fort at home. And, the Salt Mine is seriously expat heavy in China at the moment.

  Anyway, as the conversation moves from polite to more substantial questions, I always end up giving us away. I know nothing: School lunch (I presume Jack packs one; oh, the menu, no idea), athletics (I know there is a gym; oh, the International School league, no idea), the International Bachelorate Program (I know we have one but the pre-IB testing regime is beyond me) and on and on. I am the weak link and the jig is up.

  Jack secretly enjoys this little charade because he can fake his way right through my job while I am lost in his. As our little yarn starts to unravel, he smirks watching me squirm under the intense pressure of questions about doctors, dentists, grocery shopping and, my Achilles heel, school.

  I know the kids have been to doctors, but I don’t even know the name of our international insurance company so how can I possibly be expected to know the international affiliation of the doctors’ groups or hospitals, or have an opinion on Australian trained pediatricians compared to the English or American.

  I don’t even know the name of our kids’ doctor in the States (I don’t — the doctor kept changing and I gave up). Seriously, this is well beyond my capacity. Jack, however, knows all the answers and, worse, he knows that I have no idea.

  He is, of course, reassuring as he rubs my back signaling correct answers and pokes my side for incorrect answers. He glances over now and again to smile at me and challenge me to try to top my personal best in keeping the discussion going “on all matters domestic.” A knowing look tells me he has his doubts.

  So, while Jack is deep in conversation with the husband about the policy and regulatory aspects of my job, as though it were his own, I see that Cheshire cat grin creep across his face as he listens to me try to maneuver questions about the Eastern vs. Western approach to math and the rigors of the IB and pre-IB programs. Finally, when pressed on which pre-IB program our oldest is in, I can only giggle. Jack wins. I lose.

  Jack shifts his body slightly to face this lovely woman and I feel myself beaming at him as he explains the details of Jane’s program and contrasts it to the programs at the British School and the “traditional” American program available at the two American international schools. His transition is seamless.

  Truth be told, I have yet to figure out the proper pronunciation of the children’s school. Is it “you” Chung or “yao” Chung. I have no idea.

  As I listen to Jack and try to remember how to pronounce the name of the school, I feel him inch closer and wrap his arm around my waist. He’s about to reveal that he is the “mom” in our clan and that the girl on his arm knows nothing about the school, the doctors, the shopping or anything else remotely connected to “all matters domestic.” I don’t even know how my dry cleaning gets done, he says — and I don’t. He is entirely comfortable in his role and he knows how important it is to me and to our children. I find his utter confidence in this area astounding.

  People are not as shocked as they once were when we tell them we are both lawyers but that Jack “gave up” his career to stay home and take care of the kids. But still, they’re surprised. We get tons of questions about how we made the decision, what is it like for Jack and how have I adjusted? The last one is code for “how can you possibly turn over the responsibility of raising your children to this guy?” This couple, however, was non-judgmental. They toasted Jack and laughed with us.

  I must have been four glasses of wine into this warm and fragrant evening. The sun was setting over the Andaman Sea and we were watching it melt away from our perch at tree level, tucked into the rain forest in an open-air cocktail lounge overlooking the white sand beach and blue lagoon. The kids were enjoying room service with the monkeys on the balcony and I was absolutely taken with the man at my side. I felt it was going to be a great night.

  I can still hear the Black Eyed Peas in my head: “I got a feeling . . . that tonight’s gonna be a good night . . . tonight’s gonna be a good, good night . . .”

  And then . . .

  AnnaBelle II

  January 2012

  Beijing, China

  I hear the words over and over and over again in my head. They have been reverberating in there for weeks. At first, they just seemed to be teasing me but, as the days passed and events conspired, the words began to haunt me. And, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Annabelle ever since that evening on the terrace in Langkawi.

  “Annabelle,” her mother called.

  I turned to see a very pretty young woman looking over at us. This must be Annabelle. The girl with the monkeys crawling in her mini bar.

  She really was a striking girl. She had long, wavy chestnut hair. I recall thinking that the humidity in Langkawi likely made it more wavy than when she was in Switzerland. I don’t know why I remember that so well.

  Her skin was fair and freckled from the sun and she had a great smile. She wore a long, print wrap skirt that emphasized her lean and long frame. She topped it off with a no frills navy tank. She had that girl next door appeal, but the minute she started to talk you knew she had plenty to offer. She was quite articulate, engaging and funny. I liked her immediately.

  “I want you to meet Jennifer. She and her husband are both lawyers. They live in China . . . Jennifer is a successful businesswoman . . . you should really talk to her . . . find out what it takes . . . to be a successful businesswoman . . . a successful female lawyer . . . . ”

  Fergie and the Peas stopped singing in my head . . .

  On my long list of insecurities, just after the one about not knowing how to properly pronounce the name of my children’s school, is the question of whether I am successful and what that means exactly. I hate being asked “what i
t takes” to be anything because, the truth is, I have no idea what it takes.

  I also hate that the question is always framed as what it takes to be a successful female “fill in the blank.” Clearly, this assumes that what it takes for me as a woman is different from what it would take for Jack as a man. It reminds me that despite 50 years of feminism, we still have a long way to go. But, I digress.

  Perception and reality are not aligned on the question of my “success status.” At least, not in my head.

  My job title makes people think I am more successful or higher ranking in the Salt Mine than I really am. That doesn’t feel successful; it feels fraudulent. I’ve done well, but when I compare (as we all do) my responsibilities to the reality of my “status,” well . . .

  I got the title, the rank, the assignment only because I asked for it (some might say I created it and then asked for it, and they might be right). Lately, I’ve been wondering if I would even have been considered for the job if I hadn’t gone after it on my own. Is that the mark of success? I am not sure.

  With my already compromised feelings about whether I should even have this job, I had to battle the career storm troopers shortly after my arrival in Shanghai. These troopers operated by spreading rumors about me, my abilities (or lack thereof) and the means by which I was assigned to China.

  I did what any self-respecting woman would do, of course, and put on my black stilettos, black pencil skirt and black button-down sweater to confront the dark forces. I find stilettos and pencil skirts to be helpful in many situations. I’m sure that’s how the boys handle it when the troopers attack. Or, do they ever attack the boys in the same way they attack the girls? I’m guessing the answer to that question is “no.”

  Even if, standing there on the terrace in Langkawi, I could have made a case for being successful, it would have been destroyed just weeks later when I traveled to the States.

  Finding your way in a large corporation, law firm or any institution with a tradition and history centered around most things male can be a bit tricky. Even today. To the surprise of some, it actually gets trickier the higher you manage to climb in the company. From a political perspective, I think this is true for both girls and boys. But, it is far trickier for us girls.

  The higher you go, the fewer of us there are, and we know the spots are limited. We are, in some respects, still tokens. A critical mass of women in leadership in any company is rare. Without a critical mass, it is every woman for herself and that can be ugly.

  In January, I learned just how ugly it can be when I traveled to the States for so-called global leadership meetings. My first meeting was with a white, male senior executive. I requested the meeting to review some outstanding items related to my position in China. He had a different idea.

  He wanted to share some career advice with me. First, he explained the hierarchy of appropriate engagement. I was not to talk to his boss without clearing it with him. Funny thing — we have the same boss. The difference, he noted, is that he is two grade levels above me, which clearly makes me inferior. I had the distinct impression that my grade level was not the only thing that made me inferior in his eyes.

  Secondly, he explained that while I was promoted to my current position — which included running the entire organization in Asia Pacific and Africa — the “real” leadership team might not agree that the experience was commensurate with the promotional grade level. The “real” leadership team in his mind included himself and the other white men who reported to our boss. Our boss was a white woman, but she was retiring in just days and an African-American man was assuming the global leadership role.

  His advice felt more like a threat. When I recounted the conversation to others, including my father who is my non-company mentor and my female colleagues outside the Salt Mine, they all agreed. It was a threat.

  At week’s end, I got even more advice from a woman who I have respected for a number of years and who has been in the industry for nearly 40 years. Her opening remark was that despite her years in the industry and all of her accomplishments, she did not believe that things were going to change any time soon. “Women,” she said, “will remain the exception in meeting rooms to boardrooms.” And more specifically, I wasn’t going to get any further if I insisted on differentiating myself. “Stop calling attention to your differences,” she told me.

  The cynic in me translated this to “diversity is okay as long as it doesn’t make the boys uncomfortable.” I’m sure that isn’t exactly the point she was making but, whatever the point, the sound of it made my stomach turn. “Blend in,” she told me.

  After an entire generation of women had struggled to simply enter the work force, this woman who spent 40 years in the business and made it all the way to company officer was now telling me “it ain’t gonna change, so don’t rock the boat.” Really?

  Not rocking the boat seemed to include things that I just can’t get my head around: don’t call attention to yourself, don’t be too smart, don’t be too much of a girl, don’t wear too much bling (aka your wedding ring), don’t participate in or form an all-girl group. But don’t try to be a man either. This really seemed to be a metaphor for don’t be too confident, too assertive, too direct or you’ll be labeled a bitch. For me, this seems to be the very reason to rock the boat.

  Ironically, the constructive advice (I’m sure she believed all of this was constructive) made me ill and left me with an uncontrollable desire to cry and run from her office. Unfortunately, I did both.

  If, after a generation, we are no further along, then we need to rethink the strategy. When I finished mentally counting all the ‘ponytails’ at the top of the house, I realized that there were fewer now than when I started at the Salt Mine.

  Directionally, that just seems wrong. Don’t you think?

  This woman had the opportunity — not just for herself but for others — to change the status quo, to reach back and bring more women along. She hadn’t. In fact, her entire leadership team was male. Although technically I counted among them by virtue of leading the Asia Pacific and Africa Salt Mine Organization, I was two grade levels below the boys and I hadn’t made the “real” leadership team.

  So, Annabelle, to answer your mother’s question about “what it takes to be a successful businesswoman,” I have to tell you honestly that I do not know.

  So, you can follow some of the advice laid out above, or you can consider it (as I did) and decide to go your own way.

  I will tell you what I have learned over the years:

  • You can’t have it all. If you have it all, then I have nothing. Leave some for the rest of us. And trying to have it all just sets you up to fail. Why do that? I know most people don’t like hearing that but I think it’s true.

  • You can have moments where you feel like you have it all, but they will be fleeting — and you will likely be on vacation. So, if you really want it all, don’t try to have it all at the same time.

  • You gotta pick. You don’t just pick once; you gotta keep on picking. By that I mean, you have to choose what is important to you and know that it will change over time. Evolve.

  • You better know who you are and be honest about it. I can’t stay home. I am no good there 24/7. Accept your strengths and your weaknesses and fill the gaps with someone wonderful.

  • Make time to love somebody and let them love you. The journey is better with a buddy. But remember the point above — be honest about who you are. For instance, if Jack wasn’t willing to be a full-time parent, do you think our move to China would have been possible? No, it wouldn’t.

  So, I don’t share the views of some women on “how to make it.” Hard headed as I am.

  I do, however, agree with Madeleine Albright who said: “There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women.” As I look at where things are today, I wonder if we’re doing enough for each other. I don’t believe we are or have been for years. Somewhere along this journey, women became complacent.
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br />   I agree with Bobbie Barrett, who gave the following advice to Peggy Olson in “The New Girl” episode of AMC’s “Mad Men:” “You’re never gonna get that corner office until you start treating Don as an equal. And no one will tell you this, but you can’t be a man. Don’t even try. Be a woman. Powerful business when done correctly.”

  Now, admittedly, this episode and Bobbie Barrett generated a lot of blogging. I am not suggesting that you behave as Don Draper, who is a philanderer of the highest order. Nor, does it mean sleep your way to the top. On the contrary, it means be you. You are worthy. You are good enough. You are equal to the task.

  Be a woman. We are powerful.

  So today, after watching “Mad Men” a few hundred times, I am not so haunted by Annabelle any more. I don’t have to agree with what the women or men who came before me say is the right path for a woman trying to make her way up the ladder. There is no one right way. There is no recipe. If there were, we’d see a lot more women in leadership across all industries and businesses and in politics.

  Since returning to China from the States, I’ve started wearing heels and skirts to work almost every day and I like it. I also decided to leave at 5 p.m. whenever I can; and, it turns out that I can more often than I thought.

  I stopped taking meetings that interfere with our children’s bedtime or our bedtime. I turn off my BlackBerry when I come home and I leave it off on the weekend. I am trying to redefine success on my terms and to leave behind the debate about what is or is not a “successful businesswoman.” I also decided that I don’t need anyone to approve of my choices — except me.