From Here to Autonomy

The Disappearance of Downtime

Before becoming an entrepreneur, I set out to write for a living. This sounds like a fantastical existence, but it was actually hard, even if joyous, work. I woke up early in the morning, walked to a coffee shop, and started reading--anything. It didn't matter what I read; the process of focusing on something unrelated to my writing task and caffeine constituted the formula required to tap my creative well. After 45 minutes or so thoughts would bubble up, and my only job was to collect them. Editing would come later in the afternoon, when my mind was tired out and drained of inspiration for the day. I knew to give myself the entire morning for the creative process, even if it yielded only 100 words. Looking back, this process was a pure luxury.

Later, when my company was new--no employees yet, just us founders--I used to plan my day around optimizing productivity, and gone were the mornings that I dedicated to creating. Since much of my work involved communication with sponsors and partners on the East Coast, I reserved the mornings for "busy work"--calls and email primarily. And creative tasks that required more uninterrupted focus time, such as writing proposals or blog posts, I reserved for the afternoon. We didn't have an office, so if I wasn't meeting with my partners in person at a cafe or one of our houses, I did my busy work primarily at home and my uninterrupted work at nearby coffee shops.

Of course, as the business grew, this separation between busy and focus time became much more difficult to maintain. People--God forbid--would occasionally call me back in the afternoon, in the middle of my focus time. Increasingly I found I always needed to speak with people when they called, and I de-prioritized my focus time to the free crevices in my afternoon, which didn't really exist. I tried to schedule in time for creativity like I did appointments--in a short and specific timeframe. I could no longer wait around for ideas to percolate in my mind. I had to force them to come during the period I'd designated to briefly focus. Creative ideas were stifled, deprived of the air they needed to be really great. This bothered me for a long time, but, I reasoned, most professionals have to deal with the pressures of meetings and deadlines. If I was going to grow my business effectively I had to be more productive. I had to back away from things like writing blog posts and reading to stimulate creative thought.

When we received venture funding and hired employees we moved into an office, taking away the change of scenery that normally signaled my uninterrupted focus time, and new activities--meetings, and normal face to face interactions with people--began to fill in. I found pockets of time to sit and think, usually during my hour-long commute to and from the office, but as our East Coast staff grew that time was increasingly used to touch base with clients and colleagues. I would get to our office parking lot not even remembering the drive to work.

As I traveled more I realized that there were built-in periods of disconnectedness when no one could reach me, and I could not reach them even if I wanted to. During these times I finished presentations, sketched out strategies, caught up on business trades, perhaps even wrote a blog post or two. Having this time was what made traveling constantly for the past five years bearable. I knew that once I got off the plane there would be no time to focus anymore; my life would consist of a brief and intense series of trains, taxis, meetings, working lunches, and periods of "downtime", in between used to catch up on email and make calls.

Every year at this time I look at my schedule while it is only marginally complicated compared to how it looked at the end of the previous year, and I ask myself the same question--how do I build in more uninterrupted focus time? And why, during the holidays when I make time to relax and reflect, do I find it so difficult to focus? The blog posts that I expected to ooze out of me have more like sputtered out incoherently. When I have periods of crucial time, like now, I think of all the small quickie tasks that I could be knocking out instead. I check email, my Facebook page, my Twitter feed, my calendar. I realize that I am out of practice.

And I realize that there is an ongoing argument occurring in my mind--the more eloquent side sharing that the multitude means of communication that exist today are not only personally convenient and enriching, but justify my work in social media. I've succeeded because of this shift in the balance of downtime and our obsession with being always on. And I've been plagued by it--the time that I used to take to allow creativity to manifest has evaporated into busyness. Will we, as a society, have a decreasing capability to create because we've erased unplugged reflection from our lives?

Pico Iyer wrote in the New York Times this week:

In barely one generation we’ve moved from exulting in the time-saving devices that have so expanded our lives to trying to get away from them — often in order to make more time. The more ways we have to connect, the more many of us seem desperate to unplug. Like teenagers, we appear to have gone from knowing nothing about the world to knowing too much all but overnight.

He shares how a premium has been placed on opportunities that allow us to unplug--fancy spas, even moves to rural areas. But ultimately we have an inability to sit still.

In the early days of my company we had the challenge of proving to sponsors and advertisers the value of social media. While we suspected that recommendations by digital influencers were valuable, there was no tangible proof for years that social media could move the needle for marketers. Now they are convinced. How, similarly, can I make the case for unplugged reflection time? How can we show that it ultimately makes us more productive?

 

Baking Meditation

I've been on vacation all week, spending time with family, doing not much. Wednesday I embarked on baking a pie.

I was proud of myself. I spent time researching recipes the week before. I prepped ingredients in advance, which I've never done in the past. I took more than a second to think about things that have gone wrong in previous attempts--I have chronically weak pie dough--and chilled my ingredients accordingly. I even bought a Kitchen Aid mixer so that I could better beat the dough.

As I was peeling apples I realized I had been spending hours working on this one pie. I don't recall having spent hours doing anything in a long time. Even with work, I do things in pieces--a few emails before jumping on a call. Or pulling together a deck while I wait to board a plane. I don't recall the last time I actually MADE something tangible--something non-digital.

I noticed, while I was rolling dough that I was actually nervous. I have a general anxiety around making things--food, crafts, anything requiring sewing. I don't know which came first, my ineptitude, or the fear of ineptitude, but I get more nervous making things than I do about, say, doing my taxes.

But on Wednesday I took the time--as much as was needed--to do the job right. I dug in as if making this pie were the only think that needed to be done, and it had to be done well.

Glass ceilings hardly matter when you've left the corporate building

Many well-intended people are compelled to ask why aren't there more women running Fortune 1000 companies, or getting VC funding, or taking our companies public? Surely, ambitious women would want to do these things, yes?

Of course women have something to offer companies. Of course we can add diversity to small businesses. Of course we can add perspective.Sally Helgesen and Julie Johnson point out that we often ask this question under the assumption that women in corporations want the same things as men do. And this isn't likely the case. In researching the reason for why women aren't well-represented in high corporate positions:

Our conversation kept returning to a phrase that each of us had heard from women who had either left high positions or were considering doing so: “I decided it just wasn’t worth it.” ... What does this mean? It means the women we spoke with did not perceive the tradeoffs their companies were asking them to make—in terms of time, stress, lifestyle, relationships—to be adequately compensated by the rewards offered in return. It does not mean that the women were unwilling to sacrifice their time or live with the adrenaline rush we all experience when we’re over-extended (or thrillingly involved). It does mean that they did not find their company’s traditional reward system sufficiently compelling."

 

I've stopped asking where are the women in these various "corporate" roles. While I'd like to hear about how any high-achieving woman broke through the glass ceiling, I've become more interested in hearing stories of women who don't have a ceiling. These women don't all run companies, or even work for themselves, though many of them do. Some of them maintain a thriving yoga practice while building their consulting business. Some work around carpool hours. Some quit their corporate jobs and are feeling their way around work that moves them. Some reserve an hour to bake cookies during business hours. Some don't have "jobs" in the traditional sense, but are creating empires of influence. They have managed to circumvent what we once thought was the only way to professional relevance.

You may think that the je ne sais quoi that impresses me is an ability within these women to multitask or take risks, but it actually goes deeper than that. These women have identified certain "must have" aspects of their lives and have built their work around them. These women are autonomous.

While there are women who reach the upper echelons of (typically) male dominated industries, far more reach the OUTER echelons of "corporate" work, finding our own unique niches for ourselves and then marketing back into these companies as consultants, suppliers, coaches, etc. What they want is not a space at the top so much as a space of their own.

Yvonne Divita recently wrote a spot-on piece about business media's obsession with addressing women in business via their proximity to the glass ceiling, and power lists like this one that focus solely on women in corporate roles.

The Women of the Fortune 500 are women of worth. There is no disputing that. They deserve our appreciation. They’ve proven that the glass ceiling is a window into tomorrow, not a limiting factor to success. Their hard work is worth congratulating, and yet… I can’t help but wonder what the average woman business owner has in common with them? I skim articles about these women and sometimes catch their TV interviews and other than the fact that they represent an ideal to work towards, I do not find their experiences or their advice helpful. They are as far removed from me and my needs as a college professor is from a kindergarten teacher. Both are educators, but in vastly different classrooms.

I would never turn away an opportunity to be recognized as a powerful woman, but I do question the value of these "Power" lists. At best, I can learn from them how women maneuvered in male-centric industries. What I'd really like to know is how women discovered their unique niche in the world and built lives that sustained their vision.

In his book Drive Daniel Pink identifies AUTONOMY as a primary motivator in the workplace. We don't all need to be starting our own businesses, or not working for others, to be happy, but we do need to be self-directed in our efforts. This is why we hate micromanagers, and why we glorify flex time (though even flex time does not guarantee autonomy if we cannot dictate how we use our flex time to complete a job). And while money is a factor in deciding to take a job or project, all things being equal, we prefer work that allows us to do a job on our terms.

Autonomy is really the key to unlocking the potential of women in business, whether they be in a board room or in their home office. Where are the women in business? Ask instead, how may we promote autonomy?

Why I don't care that low numbers of women are receiving VC funding

My first semester in college I went with some sorority sisters to a set-up (these were small parties that paired a sorority with a fraternity, and for which you were often "set up" with a date from that fraternity. The concept seems almost ludicrous to me now, given the potential room for mis-matches, but I digress). One of my pledge sisters asked me if I had a problem "being set up with a black guy."

The question threw me. I'd noticed, shall we say, homogeneity among my corn-fed, flat-accented, Midwestern sisters. But I'd gone to a racially diverse high school where I had African American friends, and interracial dating was quite common.

"Of course not," I said. I was above such foolishness. I silently prayed he was hot.

"Good," my friend said. "I mean, I would do it but my brother (who was white and even in the same fraternity as the black pledge) would kill me. You're so open to stuff like this; I knew you'd be a good sport."

I recall being offended, not for myself, but for my date. Did he know how his supposed peers felt about him? I resented the assumption that by agreeing to go out with someone of color I was somehow agreeing to take one for the team. And I questioned where I'd settled socially. Did these women accept me because they thought I saw the world like them?

I ended up having a fine, but not earth-shattering, time. My date was shy, even a bit standoffish. After my friend's comment I couldn't help but notice that he was the only black man in his pledge class. I wondered if he was aware of comments said behind his back, like the one my friend made, or if he was oblivious. He seemed restrained, even a bit false. He wore the same preppy clothes as his fraternity brothers; the same garden variety frat boy well-worn baseball cap. I also wondered if I was judging him as fake because he seemed "too white". What if he identified as being white? Was there anything inherently wrong with that?

At some point we started talking about our backgrounds, and he shared that he had been adopted as a baby by a white couple. He admitted to me that he didn't "feel" black and even referred to black people as "them." I felt sad. I felt like he was trying to say to me, "See, I really do belong here."

I wanted to tell him, "You don't really want to belong here. Believe me."

_____________________________________________

A few weeks ago I read several pieces that evoked anger, empathy, even silliness about the lack of venture-backed women entrepreneurs. Some focused specifically on Silicon Valley, tech-related businesses. One piece indicated "hidden biases" of VCs toward younger, male entrepreneurs who presumably have fewer distractions (read: families, concerns about hygeine) than women to worry about. This later led to discussion in the comments arguing for and against women's innate suitability as primary caregivers. One commenter, Carla Thompson:

...As long as a good-sized portion of the population, both male and female, believe that women are the only gender genetically predisposed to adequately nurturing and raising children, this problem will persist.

I knew that these blog posts were, indirectly and yet directly, about me, but I didn't know how I felt about them. In the end, I felt confused--certainly not inspired by comments of women who, despite biological realities, could claim to have managed it all--there were none of that sort offered. And I couldn't say that I have felt the back hand of bias in these matters. My partners and I had a business with a revenue model that was working in a growing industry and several years of experience to back us--that's what has mattered to our investors. Story told.

Have I felt marginalized as a female entrepreneur in Silicon Valley? Made to feel less worthy of funding because I have ovaries and may put them to reproductive use? No. Can I say that because I haven't experienced bias that there isn't a problem? No.

So I backed away from writing on the topic. I didn't feel I had a strong enough opinion either way.

I asked another female entrepreneur if she had read these recent pieces, and what did she think of them?

"What's to say?" she responded. "None of these writers asked actual female entrepreneurs in the Valley how they've felt."

"What would you have told them if they had?" I asked.

"It's a non-issue. Women can have babies and run businesses. Get over it."

I found myself wanting to verbally sweep my penchant for drama under the rug,

"Exactly," I said. "What's the big deal?"

Why do people make a big deal about these inequities when clearly there are women who are making things work? Why do we feel compelled to constantly pull out the data showing the lack of women being funded when, perhaps, most women simply don't want the life of a tech entrepreneur?

Why do I keep thinking of that set-up, my Freshman year in college?

___________________________________________________

Just this week I happened to be back in New York the day that my sister, Julie, did a signing for her new book, The Madame Curie Complex. I've browsed the book and read every review that currently exists on it, but embarrassingly have yet to read the damn thing. When people asked me what the book is about, the PR flak in me comes out:

"It reveals how some of the most acclaimed scientific discoveries made by men were actually made by women," I say, then wait for the oohs and ahhs one reserves for books that out Presidents and get you on Oprah.

Fortunately my sister is amazing at Cliff-noting herself at these events--I need to remind her to stop providing so much value at her readings, lest people think they can learn nothing more by buying her book. And she's entirely too noncontroversial. I realized that I've woefully oversimplified the premise of her book. It really has nothing to do with men taking credit for women's brilliant work, but rather women's brilliant work not being seen as brilliant, because it is women's work.

The Madame Curie Complex is a term meant to describe a standard women scientists often set for themselves (and is often perpetuated by men, to be fair). My sister writes in her book:

"No doubt, [Curie's] work helps to make the case that science is made to be manly rather than being inherently so. But Curie’s myth haunts these pages and the psyches of succeeding generations of women more completely than her real-life example, for it has both empowered and stigmatized women, liberated and constrained them, often at the same time. The historian Margaret Rossiter noted an inferiority complex in women after Curie’s tours of the United States in the 1920s, and for generations the Curie complex has continued to allow men to disqualify women -- and women to disqualify themselves -- from science. Women scientists have felt as though they cannot measure up to Curie, and of course how could they, when this mythical measure of female competence has morphed in the American mind over and over again? It’s like trying to hit a moving target."

It occurred to me: women scientists, women entrepreneurs, same freaking difference. How effing sneaky, Julie, Wrapping your latest work up in a geeky little package to get your science-averse twin sister to not think you were onto her. Isn't the Madame Curie Complex what we women in "male" industries perpetuate when we back away from asserting our femininity? When we undermine it? We look at what we do in the world and say under our breaths, "Yeah big whoop ... did I put the milk back in the fridge this morning?"

Because even when we take on "male" industries, we do it in ways that are seen as much less impressive than men, or we do it just like them--both of which approaches are equally alienating and in many cases ineffective.

There was a point in Julie's talk where she spoke about "the numbers," as in: "Why the big stink? Look at all the women MBA's and women who got into MIT." In science academia women are as well represented, if not more so, than men at top institutions. "We need to stop worrying about the numbers of women in science," Julie said, "Numbers aren't the problem."

But, she pointed out, often women scientists are relegated to "female" forms of science--think of those soft mushy behavioral sciences. After all, as Lawrence Summers would posit, those cold, hard facts are just so difficult for us ladyfolk to grasp. Or our more holistic approach to such serious subjects as science, tech, and business have often been dismissed.

For instance, Jane Goodall was relatively untrained in the traditional (read: male) technique of studying primates. Rather than measure their toenails, count their bowel movements, and call it a day, she watched them and took notes, often in narrative form, and often giving the primates' interactions a storyline. Initially this more intuitive approach was seen as amateurish and dismissible, and yet it's now much more indicative of how scientists today frame this sort of research. Goodall proved the worth of a "female" perspective in science.

I think of my own industry and of BlogHer: We didn't invent computers, or the Internet. We didn't invent blogging; but we provided a larger context for its importance, particularly to women. I guess by some definitions this is a girly-girl approach to technology, akin to Goodall's approach to her science. But is it any less valuable; any less illuminating or fundable?

Do I care if so few women are being funded in Silicon Valley? No. I care that women's approach to business is so underfunded, and hence undervalued. I care that those women who are succeeding in it are seen as doing so DESPITE who they are, rather than because of who they are.

I think of that black man I was set-up with 20 years ago, content, silent, and numb. 

A job I want someday: Chief Culture Officer

The American Corporation sucks at culture, says Grant McCracken. His agent, a professional friend, sent me his book and asked me what I thought. Immediately upon reading McCracken's take on corporations' lack of cultural common sense I was convinced that the Chief Culture Officer (his term, and the name of his book) would be a position of the future.

McCracken backs real case studies into his assertion that the CCO is the missing component of the 21st Century Executive team. Some companies have had defacto CCO's that have made a difference, but these individuals took on more than their job descriptions. They made decisions based not on financial analysis, but on something not as easy to measure (and yet obvious to those who look for it): cultural trends. What would the companies be like if we institutionalized this job?

"Quaker Oats paid $1.7 billion for Snapple. It sold 3 years later for $300 million. Best Buy paid $700 million for Musicland, a retail music store, just as kids were embracing peer-to-peer file sharing. It had to give the store away two years later. Facebook decided to take ownership of the billions of photos its users had lodged there. Millions took umbrage, and the Facebook franchise was suddenly at risk.

In a turbulent marketplace, culture feels a little like the stormy North Sea. We never know what it’s going to throw at us. Culture matters. Get it wrong, and we miss opportunities..."

Among the opportunities McCracken cites as one missed is social media. Microsoft, which was always first to the table in tech, is scrambling to catch up.

This is in the opening passage of the Change This summary presentation for McCracken's book (read the PDF, but also read the book, which is chock full of examples that make you wonder why you hadn't thought of things his way before.) Sure, hindsight is 20/20, but you have to wonder what business blunders could have been avoided with a Chief Culture Officer, someone empowered to observe the cultural marketplace thoroughly enough to think beyond what makes business sense.

I think about my own company, and how lucky we were to be so fully ensconced in a movement (blogging, and more specifically women's blogging) that we could define a pulse as it was beating. The challenge now is maintaining such a close connection with our community as well as with the trends in marketing and social media, to not lose that intuitive knowledge. But it gets harder as you get bigger.

This year we hired a creative director, but I swear he's actually McCracken's CCO. Sure, we're not as big as Microsoft, but he's helped us define what we accidentally bottled when we built our event so that we can remain true to what we created. We run decisions by this definition--business partnerships, programming and editorial direction, relationships with sponsors, and our Website redesign, which will launch in a few weeks.

Some of McCracken's examples were stretches, or not as obvious as others. The reasons for failed product launches or businesses that lose relevance are nuanced and complicated . But on the whole I was in absolute agreement that many of these missteps can be tied to a failure to align culturally with the market.