Cougar Barbie – Click here for the funniest movie of the week

Fellow female baby-boomers:  what media image best describes you?  Gray, staid and rarely laid? Or desperate, over-sexed cougar in search of unsuspecting boy-toy?   Addicted to botox? Or withering from benign neglect?  How about your professional image?  Are you an over-the-hill executive?  Or nurturing mom to all the “kids” in the office?  These images sure as hell don’t describe me!  How about you?  The Cougar Barbie™ video just got me going.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude and I love a good joke.  And self-deprecating humor is my specialty. But, I am sick of the degrading labels and media images that suggest I am a pathetic has-been. Sick!

The youth-oriented culture is wreaking havoc on me and it’s getting old.  And while Corporate America is subtle in its fixation on youth, I don’t need a miracle ear to hear the message loud and clear. Sadly, I’ve been told I’m no longer “high-potential” but a “pro in place” (ugh!).  A headhunter pitching an executive position carefully asked whether I was looking to slow down at this point in my career (eye roll).  I’ve been told to put away my reading glasses because they make me look old.  Spruce up my image!  Down-play my personality!  Lose twenty pounds, gain a personal trainer.  I get it!  I no longer fit the image of budding female executive and may be dangerously close to past my prime.

Truth is, I AM the every-day female executive. I may be a little zaftig for my pencil skirt, and, I admit, after a grueling day at work you’ll find me on the sofa bonding with Grey’s Anatomy rather than at the gym busting-a-move on the treadmill.  But, damn it all, I’m still fresher than I was at 30!   I’m healthier than ever – mind, body and soul; I’m creative, productive, adept at technology and a voracious learner.  Yes, I have tons of experience to draw from but it doesn’t stop me from seizing every opportunity to leave the comfort zone in the dust.   Maybe it’s the hot flashes, but I feel like I’m on fire– in a good way.  I am desperate to see women like myself represented for what we are:  witty, wise, smart and sassy.   Instead I feel woefully undervalued. Am I alone?

If you remember the ’60’s, you probably remember the mantra Black is Beautiful.  The phrase was a battle cry that used physical beauty as a metaphor to galvanize society – black and white alike – to embrace what it meant to look, feel and BE African-American.  The movement challenged Americans to re-define beauty.  Until then, anglicized features were the hallmark of attractiveness.   Female beauty equaled straight hair, thin lips, fair skin, and a flat ass.  There were literally no black women celebrated for their beauty who didn’t look like dark versions of white women. The battle cry had an effect.

Today, models like Iman, Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks are by-products of “Black is Beautiful”.  American fashion trends for women have boasted hair “perming” and braids, and the all-over tan.  Today we go to great lengths to create the illusion of full lips and rounded “gluts”.  The movement to redefine beauty worked.  And, though we can’t claim total victory, the ultimate glamorous power-couple, President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama, may deliver us pretty close to the finish line.

I’m not trying to say it’s all about image but, there’s a corollary here.  What is OUR equivalent of “Black is Beautiful”?  Is it…

“Older is Bolder”

“Over Fifty and Fabulous”

“Gravity is Goodness”

I’m not crazy about any of them, but I do know this, my female friends:  we need a mantra and we need to believe it; we need a movement and we need one now.  Baby boomer sisters, let’s take the media by the shirt collar and remind them that we are not cougars, we are not pathetic has-beens, and we will not fade into the background while our younger sisters bask in the limelight.  We are amazing specimens with so much to celebrate:

• We are attorneys, neurosurgeons, fire-fighters and soldiers. And though we may occasionally bump our heads on the glass ceiling, we own successful businesses and run fortune 500 corporations.
• We toil and succeed at staying healthy, vibrant and looking our best.  While we are not focused on looking 35, some of us actually do.
• We love to learn, embrace change, and continually reinvent ourselves before we reach the FINAL transformation .  And, despite reports to the contrary, we see tons of run-way ahead.
• We are devoted to our partners, children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, but resist being defined by them.
• We have more to offer than ever … and are in a phase in our life when we actually have the time and motivation to follow through.
• Our bodies may be sagging here and there but our potential is soaring.  We really ARE getting better with age.

I was 14 when Helen Reddy’s, “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” convinced me, along with an entire generation of American women, that I was strong and invincible.  And though I was born in 1958, the same year as Barbie™, I am no cougar.  I am a woman…a Phenomenal Woman, as Maya Angelou would say.  And if there are any feline labels to slap on me, I prefer lioness in business, tiger in bed and pussycat at home with friends and family.  Yes, I am a lion of a woman…hear me ROAR!  Care to form a pride?

Helen Reddy

Well…I changed my mind. I have been pushing for over thirty years. And, I admit it, I need a break. In fact, without one I may even be short-changing my future success. I thought I took a break in May and June after finishing at Yahoo! and before my short term consulting assignment at Juniper. And, yes, I slowed down a bit. But I put enormous pressure on myself to “use this time” wisely. I created a business entity, incorporated, set up the mechanics of a business, created a logo, networked with other female entrepreneurs, planned a female forum, embarked upon an exercise regime. I rose every day at 6am and lived by a schedule. I was afraid to allow too much down-time for fear of getting lazy.

In October, after completing my Juniper assignment and producing the F5 event, I vowed to take time off to rejuvenate, to “cocoon”*. Well…in true form my first month of cocooning involved launching a blog, designing future programming for F5, moderating a commonwealth club meeting and resuming success coaching (for myself). In one month I read three books and created a business plan for my TA venture. AND I had plans to launch an image re-haul: nutrition plan, personal trainer and image therapist.

Around 2 weeks ago, I met with Dory Willer (my coach) and told her I was frustrated at my pace – too slow! Dory gently reminded me that I was “cocooning”*. She entreated me to go back and read about cocooning and what it meant. And then I had the V-8. Holy cow. I had never stopped long enough to truly rejuvinate. And I was surprised to discover that I am terrified of stillness. Not just driven to make use of my time, but desperate to fill it with “stuff”.

So, dear reader, I’m slowing down, taking stock, and getting ready for my next stage. Well, trying. Here’s what I’m doing:

1. Cleaning, shedding, releasing: I have purged my bedroom closet and drawers so far. More to follow.
2. Recording the journey – I will continue to write and publish through my blog.
3. Nourishing head, heart and body: I’m working through the program “Effortless Success – Living the Law of Attraction”; walking at least an hour a day; cooking delicious healthy meals.
4. A “little bit” of business planning. Only when I feel like it, though– no schedule!

Here’s what I’m not doing:

1. Getting out of bed any sooner than I’m ready to. If that’s 6am, great; If it’s 8 am, even better. Haven’t made it to 9am yet. (hmmm…maybe a new goal?)
2. Forcing work on my plate before I’m ready to handle it.
3. “Pushing the rope”. I love that analogy. If it’s not easy and joyful, it’s for another day.

I’ll keep you posted on the journey. Anyone else “cocooning”? Let me know.

*A note about cocooning: The term was introduced to me through the book LifeLaunch – A Passionate Guide to the Rest of Your Life by Frederic M. Hudson and Pamela D. McLean. The book outlines and navigates the reader though the “renewal cycle”: Phase 1 – Go For It; Phase 2 – Stuck in the Doldrums; Phase 3 – Cocooning; and Phase 4 – Getting Ready for the Next Chapter. We spend most of our life in the “Go For It” phase. When we get to the Cocooning stage it’s a time to take stock, shed the old, prune so as to regenerate.

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary’s School in Morris, Minnesota. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don’t know when that one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and care for that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving. “Thank you for correcting me, Sister!” I didn’t know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice teacher’s mistake. I looked at Mark and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!” It wasn’t ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again.” I hadn’t asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark’s desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”

At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the “new math,” he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third. One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, “Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend.” That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?” I heard whispered. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone! I didn’t know others liked me so much.” No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip, the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a sideways glance and simply said, “Dad?” My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night,” he began. “Really?” I said. “I haven’t heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is.” Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam,” he said. “The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend.” To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, “Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.” The church was packed with Mark’s friends. Chuck’s sister sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark’s math teacher?” he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. “Mark talked about you a lot,” he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates headed to Chuck’s farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.” Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that,” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.” Mark’s classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. I keep it in the top drawer of my desk at home.” Chuck’s wife said, “Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.” “I have mine too,” Marilyn said. “It’s in my diary.” Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times,” Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists.” That’s when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

Creating an environment of acknowledgment had a profound effect on these kids. Have a fabulous weekend and tell someone important to you why he or she means so much.

Carol

* checked Mark Eklund on Snopes to ensure the story wasn’t a hoax…and it’s real!