OverAchievers, Sit Down

I just did an interview with Marcia Reynolds, the author of the book "Wander Women: How High Achieving Women Find Contentment and Direction." I wish it had a different title - it's really much more interesting than you'd expect. Particularly if you're one of those women.

The wandering women she describes are over-achievers, the baby boomers who were raised to believe they were amazing, significant beings put here to achieve great things.

"They were told, 'you can do anything'," Reynolds told me. "What they heard was 'you can do everything!"

And we try, don't we? I've heard the analysis which says that women don't know how to say "no" because they were raised to be helpful. That's never felt right to me. Reynolds agrees. She says women who don't know how to say no say yes to everything because they think they're the only ones who can do the job right.

Bingo. That would be me.

I knew a counselor once who was my biggest fan - as I poured out my frustrations, my fears and my dreams she'd assure me that I was simply amazing, a true powerhouse. But once, just once, she did pull me up short.

"You take on everything because you think you're the only one who can get it done right, don't you?"

I nodded.

"You do know that's neurotic?" she said solemnly.

It is. But there are bunches of us wandering around, women with a burning conviction that they're here to do great things. They do them, too. But it's never enough. We're always looking for the next achievement, the new frontier.

Aren't you tired?

Don't you just want to sit back and let somebody else do it for awhile?

Wouldn't you like someone to step up, grab the reins and say, "I've got this. Relax. Take a break."

Reynolds says the first step is to see what we're doing. Step two is trying to figure out who we are separate from our achievements. What do we want? What do we like?

Finally, sit down. Let someone else do it. Teach them how if you must, but let them do it.

As one person she spoke with in her book told her, "When I raise my hand now, I make sure I know what I'm raising my hand for."

Writer's Block? More Like Writer's Shutdown.

Remember when you had to write a paper for school, you knew what you were going to say but you just couldn't bring yourself to sit down and DO it? Welcome to my first non-fiction book's progress.

It started with an idea, which found an interested agent, who then proposed a different project first, a project that should have been pretty straightforward.

That's apparently not how I roll.

A simple collection of biographies has, instead, turned into a narrative in which I weave my own search for meaning into stories of people I've interviewed. They are people who inspire me, who challenge me; people whose stories hit a nerve, a nerve I sometimes didn't even recognize at the time.

My writer friends who've seen the initial rough drafts are encouraging; it's a compelling read when I'm strewn all over the pages. That's enough of a challenge for me right there to shut me down.

I'm fighting to remember that making myself the common thread that runs through these stories isn't a form of narcissism. All it does is give the reader someone to identify with, changing the book from a dry, objective textbook into a messy human story.

But every single time I even think about writing, I run up against a twelve foot tall Donna Reed sadly shaking her head over my unladylike willingness to talk about not only myself, but about my least shining moments.

She's so disappointed in me.




But come on, Donna! You felt trapped in that good girl role, too, didn't you? I've seen the studio photos. And when you put on a dark wig, you actually pulled it off.



Twelve foot tall Donna Reed does not concede the point. That, she informs me, was a job. But in real life, we're supposed to be perfect. Why would you parade your life in front of the world, trading the soft focus lens for harsh magnifier?

In practical terms, this is how it looks: I finish work for the day. KB, home from his two week southern sojourn, asks the usual question: what are you doing tonight?

"Oh," I mumble, "I don't know. Maybe I'll practice violin. Maybe I'll get my tax stuff together. Maybe I'll write."

The rest is unsaid: maybe I'll scan real estate ads. Maybe I'll look at dogs that need a new home. Maybe I'll read other peoples' blogs. Maybe I'll watch television. HGTV is pretty damned fascinating, you know.

I anticipate discomfort when I begin to write. It doesn't really happen; in fact, it's a pretty enjoyable undertaking. Once I start, I get sucked in pretty quickly.

But far too many days go by when I don't make myself start.

What, I wonder, is that all about?

My Name is Susan and I Have a Perfection Problem

It's interesting how situations can force you to confront your character, showing you things you never wanted to admit about yourself.

This show is a challenge - as I have mentioned, I am doing two jobs at the same time. At first, I was in a panic. I was frantically cranking out edited shows in a desperate attempt to stay a week or two ahead of the air schedule. It's not a good thing when the show date arrives and there's nothing to put there.

Then I had a couple of weeks of low production - I was doing interviews, stockpiling sound from the other sources and beginning to line up the dominoes of future shows in my mind.

As this was going on, I noticed something - I was relaxing my standards for my daily news job. Not that I wasn't getting the stories told, but I was less concerned about being wildly creative or breathtakingly sound-rich. And it bothers me. My fixation on doing a good job led to three awards for three different stories in 2008 and I'm prouder of that achievement than I admit to myself. I don't see any awards coming from the stories I've produced since taking over The Show With Issues.

Perhaps I'm a perfectionist?

It seems unlikely, really. I'm not a meticulous person - when I paint a room, I make a mess and clean up the slop later. I clean house but I miss the dustballs in the corner. When I write I tend to go with my first draft with very few revisions. That doesn't sound like a perfectionist to me.

Yet when I noticed that I was also making The Show less complex, easier to edit and basically cutting corners to make my life a little easier, it bothered me. A lot. The Show and my news stories have me all over them...it's my writing, my name and my voice. And I want who I am to be identified with something really, really good.

Yet this past week, I did the usual seven stories for the daily news, plus cranked out four (yes four!) half hour edited shows. As I filed the last one, I got an email back from my supervisor saying, "Okay, insane lady." And I had to agree. Why on earth am I pushing so hard to be the most stellar worker on the planet?

I don't think I am looking for public acclaim (although that's up for discussion and thought as well) but I most certainly want the people I work with to say "Good job!" when that's what I've done.

So am I going to drive myself into the ground trying to be so terrific that my colleagues will not be able to avoid giving me kudos? That's sick. Or am I so horrified by incompetence that I go overboard to make sure I never get stuck with that label?

I am finding that the one part of the job where I thought I was weak is becoming a strength- I interview well. The people I'm talking with are thoroughly enjoying themselves and the resulting interviews are fascinating - we go in depth in a hurry.

I spoke with two authors on books about the Iraq war and its connection with big oil. We covered the bases in twenty minutes and had a good time doing it. Then I spoke with actress Laila Robins for the arts segment of the show and we ended up having a really good discussion about violence in the movies and on stage and what that means about our society. It's nowhere either of us thought we'd be going, but we poked around and she had some really strong opinions that I think the listeners are going to find compelling.

So goody - Perfect Me has something to feel good about. But Perfect Me isn't so happy with the quality of her day to day work, and Perfect Me is noticing every compromise in The Show. Where I plugged in two or three songs between stories, I now do one. I'm getting it down to a formula, and that makes it far easier to do. But something's being lost because of a time crunch and I'm sorry to see it go.