Sheryl Sandberg, China & Me

by J. T. Gilhool

  The Salt Mine’s benefits package includes up to two weeks of “purchased vacation” each year, with your supervisor’s approval. I started purchasing vacation as soon as I was eligible to do so. I use it to attend school field trips, stay home when one of our children is sick, play hooky with my husband or make cookies at Christmas. I use it so that I can have more time with my family without feeling guilty about taking that time. I pay a fair chunk of change to be guilt-free.

  Ellwood’s article forced me to look at how I invest my time, including the “extra time” that I purchase every year. I realized that if I am not reaping the rewards of my time at the office, then that is a poor investment. However, when I invest time in my daughters, my son and my marriage, I reap rewards far beyond my expectations. I had to learn this the hard way by coming to China. But, I did learn the lesson.

  In 2013, I will be the person that I have always wanted to be by investing my time in things that truly matter to me, where I can actually make a difference. Further, I will stop investing my time in things that are not worthy of my investment, which includes things like late night meetings, unnecessary travel and an obsessive attention to detail. I will be happier, more fulfilled and a better human being because investing my time in what matters to me will pay dividends directly back to me. It is the most selfish of New Year’s resolutions, I suppose. Still, I am making it.

  I will still purchase vacation because time is the greatest gift (and the cruelest task master) and I won’t let that gift go unwrapped. I have been fortunate to spend this holiday season with my parents, my husband, our children and my brother and his daughters. When it is over, I will have invested 23 days. The rewards are already rolling in.

  The Winds of Change

  January 2013

  Hawaii (“The Big Island”)

  The sea is nearly navy blue with abundant caps of white. The sky is, well, sky blue. And the sun is shining hot and bright. The wind is fierce, however. The green palms are swaying dramatically and scaring even the hardiest of golfers back into the club house. But it is still a picture perfect day in Hawaii.

  On this last real day of our holiday, I am feeling a bit melancholy. How do you leave paradise and not feel a twinge of sadness? How do you leave your family that you’ve seen twice in the last year and not shed a tear? Sad blue eyes, slumping shoulders, and small quiet tears give the children away. My heart breaks. Ice cream won’t make this better; though, they’ll still have ice cream. Maybe two ice creams.

  Leaving family is the hardest part of the adventure. Getting back on the plane and wondering when or if you will see them again. Could this be the last time I see my parents? The question is always in the back of my mind. I push it aside and move forward. At least, that is what I have always done. Pushed my personal anxiety aside and moved forward. But, the winds are changing and my ability to just push the anxiety aside is dwindling.

  They say that struggle should not be confused with failure. I think this is true — but when you are struggling, it sure as hell feels like failure. I watch our three children struggle to hang on to the last moments with their cousins and grandparents and wonder if I have failed them. I feel the uneasiness in my own mind and wonder if I have failed myself or, worse, all of us.

  As I write this, the wind is growing stronger. It feels as though it is speaking to me. Gather your strength, hold your head high and step into the wind . . . it will take you where you need to go. Believe in yourself and ride the wind.

  Time is my resolution. The wise and thoughtful investment of time in that which makes me happy and allows me to be the person I want to be; not the person others expect me to be. Yes, the wind is growing stronger.

  I need to let the wind carry me for a bit. It is going to be bumpy. On the eve of 2013, nearly everything is uncertain except the most important thing — the love of my family. So, once more, I will push aside the anxiety and the voices in my head telling me it is ‘my fault’ and hold my head high. I will not brace myself against the wind, I will not merely step into it, I will embrace it and use it to lift me up and carry me to the next adventure, the next chapter, the next stop on my journey. Damn the non-believers.

  Believe

  January 2013

  Hawaii

  Before he got on the plane, he hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “Believe.” I was suddenly 12 years old again. He stepped back and looked at me, lovingly but sternly, as only a parent can. Tears ran down my cheeks. He smiled. “Believe.” One last hug. A kiss. And he walked away never looking back. Even this was a message to me. Time to move forward. Believe.

  I find it hard to believe in God. I find it hard to believe in people. I find it harder still to believe in me. I wasn’t always this way. It took years, more like decades, to hone this fine sense of non-belief. I’ve had many tutors along the way teaching me: You can’t . . . you won’t . . . you shouldn’t . . . . At some point I started believing the nay-sayers and stopped believing in me. Why?

  I likely know the answer to that question — it is the secret that I have kept for 30 years and is the source of my insecurities — and it haunts me. Literally, haunts me. Wakes me up at night. Sends shivers down my spine. Raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Sets off alarm bells in my head. Leads me to expect disappointment and, yet, I am always surprised by how disappointed I am.

  Believe.

  So, the seemingly lone voice that from the beginning always told me I could, said it again just before he got on the plane. And I cried. He says I have a steel core. Strong and unyielding. He says that I have proven it over and over. I will withstand the attack, weather the storm and move forward. It is what I do. No matter the internal struggle, the rising tide of self-doubt, the overwhelming desire to run and never stop, I have stood my ground in whatever form that has required.

  How many times can a person do that before it becomes too much? What is too much? What is too little?

  Believe. Believe in me.

  I am fortunate. I am not alone. I am surrounded by people who believe in me, love me, trust me. They can’t take my place, however. I must hold my head high, walk firmly in my stilettos and move forward. The fact is I have exceeded the Salt Mine’s expectations on this work assignment, and virtually every assignment I have ever been given. The fact is I am gravely disappointed in those in whom I once believed. The intersection of these two facts has left me at a crossroads. I was always headed here, I realize that now.

  Believe.

  The next chapter begins tomorrow. The process of preparing myself has already begun. Undoubtedly, I will confess my self-doubt in the dark while being held by the man I love, who has loved me all these years. He knows. He has seen the demons. He is the demon-fighter. In the safety of his arms, the steel core melts and I allow myself to be vulnerable, to be afraid, to be . . .

  The first page of life’s next chapter is blank. But, if I could write it, it might start with:

  “She wore her black leather boots, adding 4 inches to her 5’5” frame, and her slim grey skirt that stopped an inch above her knee. This left just enough bare leg to reveal her well-tanned skin. Her black shirt draped perfectly across her body and her black jacket was neat, well-tailored and strictly business. Her boots, however, announced that she wasn’t going away easily, she would kick-ass if necessary even if she had to walk through some shit to do it. She is, after all, a woman.”

  Believe. Believe in me.

  Resurrection

  January 2013

  Shanghai

  For a non-believer, resurrection is hard to fathom. Yet I feel that I have returned from the dead. Or, at least begun to dig out.

  It took weeks, not days, but I am back. I feel it deep within my soul. I no longer feel that I have failed. I have done nothing wrong. I have no reason to feel ashamed. Indeed, the opposite is true. To be strong in the face of adversity is difficult. To remain steadfast while others levy slings and arrows in your direction is difficult. To give up on yourself, however, is unthink
able. So you must move forward.

  Just 24 hours ago, I didn’t think I could do it. But today in the elevator on the way to the 31st floor, I decided I could. No discussion. No debate. I simply decided I could. I would. I will. Today. Now.

  Resilience. Why do people bounce back? I have no idea, but they do. I do. Time and again. Wiser. Stronger. More determined. And, angry. The kind of anger that makes you want to change the world.

  I am, in so many ways, my Father. For this, I am grateful because without his tenacity and fighting spirit, I likely would not have survived, let alone achieved. His reminders to believe in myself, to keep moving forward, to ignore the nay-sayers awaken my fighting spirit. It reminds me that others do not define me. I am the person I choose to be. And, whether anyone else likes me or not, I do.

  I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I do know that I will handle it. I may grieve. I may scream. I may jump for joy. But, I will do it on my terms. I will do it with dignity. I will not allow others to take what does not belong to them — me.

  It may be just two weeks into 2013 but keeping that New Year’s Resolution is looking pretty good. Time wasted worrying about things I cannot control is time I cannot get back and time that would be better spent playing cards with the kids or drinking wine on the rooftop.

  I am back. I am unsteady, but I am determined. It’s a good start.

  Homesick

  January 2013

  Shanghai

  I finally got on Facebook. It was a Christmas gift to my husband, who was tired of me ghost writing on his page. Fair enough. I thought it was great when I was in Hawaii. But back in Shanghai, I find it makes me homesick. A feeling I really was not expecting.

  I expect the children to be homesick, particularly around holidays and birthdays. But, for the most part, I have not felt homesick until that damn Facebook. Am I missing something at home? Not really. I mean time is passing, nieces and nephews are growing, my parents are aging but, all in all, life at home is as it was before we left for Shanghai. Great, but the same.

  Today, though, I wanted to pick up the phone and call my friend Maya. I just wanted to talk. Girl talk. Old friend talk. Her Facebook page is great but it isn’t the same as hearing her voice. But, it’s 4:30 a.m. where she is and I can’t just dial her up.

  And, you know what, I miss my Mom. Maybe it was being in Hawaii. Sitting around the table with my parents and talking about nothing, watching them play cards with the kids and reprimanding my Dad about of the abundance of ice cream he gave them during the card game.

  You just never know what the next day brings. On December 11th, I thought I was doing a great job at the Salt Mine and I was looking forward to a wonderful beach vacation in Hawaii. On December 13th, I didn’t want to get out bed. I wanted my Mom and Dad to hug me and tell me it would all be okay. And, today, I wonder how much longer I will have with my parents, my husband, my children. They say tomorrow is promised to no one and that is certainly true.

  I can’t remember the last time I was homesick. I wasn’t homesick at summer camp, at college, in Los Angeles or Chicago or even when I lived in Belgium. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time thinking about home and where it is, what it is, what it means to me. It took modern technology in the form of a “social network” designed to connect people to make me miss home. Ironic?

  I think my Mom would call this progress. It may have taken nearly 46 years but I am finally — once and for all — homesick. She always seemed to think that I was running away. And, for years, that might have been true in a way. Now, I feel the strings pulling me home.

  I think I’ll go back to ghost writing on Jack’s Facebook page. I just can’t take all this “connecting” long term. It’s too much of a commitment.

  Don’t tell the kids their Mom is homesick. Because that is the same as saying I’m ready to leave . . . and I’m not ready . . . not yet.

  On The Clock

  January 2013

  Shanghai

  The NFL Commissioner: “The New York Jets are on the clock.”

  “On the clock.” The three words that strike both fear and exhilaration in the hearts of most NFL owners, coaches and, when the Jets are on the clock, most college players. Everyone is thinking it — the thrill of having the first pick and the fear of blowing it . . . again. I feel a bit like the New York Jets. I’m on the clock.

  All those young, fresh-faced boys with their amazing stats and large pectoral muscles. The quarterbacks are particularly hard to resist. So good looking. Six-pack abs. But, an offensive lineman can be so appealing when looking for protection. Then again, the speed, agility and strength of the linebacker is equally enticing. These choices are just so hard.

  So much riding on this pick. The franchise is on the line here. The fans, the analysts, the pundits and the Owners are all watching. Have to make the right pick. Or do I trade the pick, move down in the draft and get two or maybe three picks in the next round? My head and heart are pounding.

  In the war room, the strategy sessions have ended, the donuts eaten and the coffee spilled across the player stat sheets. All that remains is the decision. The room is silent but the silence is deafening. The clock is ticking down and the decision is no clearer now than when they first called our name. The New York Jets are on the clock . . .

  We are not the New York Jets. We aren’t the New England Patriots either. But we are on the clock. The Commissioner is counting down the seconds. The Owners are weighing their options. The coaches don’t like the choices on the board and are considering a bold move that could change the nature of the game completely. We are making a trade.

  The New York Jets — aka Five for Chinese — are trading their 2013 draft pick for . . . well, no one is sure yet. The fans are stunned. The Owners are secretly thrilled. The Commissioner is reviewing the rules with the lawyers and the coaches would be giddy if they weren’t scared to death.

  Welcome to the new season . . . the new year . . . the new next best thing . . .

  Forget Jesus, What Would You Do?

  January 2013

  Shanghai

  After wallowing for days in my misery, it is time to stop. I took a step in that direction this evening by reaching out to a woman who is accomplished, wonderful and makes me feel worthy. After several martinis, she told me about a game she plays with her husband (get your mind out of the gutter) — if money and health were not an issue, what would you do, where would you go, how would you live?

  And then she said to me, “If money were no issue, what would you do?”

  With a few martinis in you, it is easier to be honest about the answer than you might think. I made a list on my iPhone. It wasn’t a list of things or accomplishments. It was a list of what I want — no, it’s what I need — to feel fulfilled. Money did not appear on that list. In part, because it was put aside for the exercise and, in truth, I only need enough money to allow me to fulfill my role as a parent. The question was about creating the perfect environment in which to thrive. If I were creating the recipe, what ingredients would I choose?

  And, that was Step One. I have a checklist against which to measure whether I am doing what makes me happy. Or, at least, what I think would make me happy after a few martinis and some discussion about how, even at the highest levels, women are still “less than” on any measuring device employed by the status quo to rate their potential, performance or capability. It was, in some respects, shocking to have my fears confirmed. But, then, I wasn’t really surprised. Admitting a problem exists may be part of Step One too.

  I take inspiration from those who blaze the trail that I only wish I could travel. I do not believe you can have it all. I never have really believed that to be true, it just isn’t logical. If I have it all, what do you have?

  Disappointment has been my companion these past several months, nipping at my heels and chipping away at my self confidence. It is a process, I suppose. Grieving. Disillusion. Disappointment. Anger. It takes time to really feel these emotions,
wrestle with them and, hopefully, defeat them or beat them back long enough to move past them on your way toward something better.

  My family and dearest friends have given me the luxury of space and time to go through this process. But, at some point, it’s time to move forward. With my list in hand, I am preparing to move forward. I hope to discover that I am. Am what? Just that . . . that I am.

  I Want To Tell You A Story . . .

  January 2013

  Shanghai

  She was a happy and contented child. She laughed. She played. She loved her family and they loved her. Then, when she was 16, it all changed. It changed in a single night. She would not talk about what really happened for another 30 years. But, that night would define her for the rest of her life.

  When she was 18, the girl fell apart. She didn’t know why exactly and she would forget the events almost entirely. She was thin. Maybe 90 pounds. She was confused. She was lost. Her parents took her home and saved her life. But, they had not saved the child she had once been or the woman she may have been. That girl was gone. Forgotten. Thrown away. But, still hiding in the corner of the girl’s mind.

  When she was 21 she met a man. He was kind and gentle. He loved her. He knew somehow that she had secrets. Deep, hurtful, unspoken, ugly secrets. He never asked her. He waited. He was patient and he too saved her life. He kept her moving forward.

  When the girl was 30, she had a child with this man. They were happy.

  When she was 31, they bought a house and a dog. The girl compromised and quit her job for one more suited to a mother. Or, so she told herself. They were still happy, if less so.