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Archive for the ‘work and family (im)balance’ Category

I have this theory that when women have a decent stretch of maternity leave they return to work with this insight that life is not all about career achievement. That sounds like progress, except… oh many things.

And some time later, we enter this new phase when our children are older and at school and we are suddenly able to speed up our career efforts again. Life is not all about tending to others or how others perceive us, we find. It is really about self and how comfortable one feels about that.

This awareness haunts you, because it cannot just sit for another thirty to thirty-five years of working. Can it? What would the answer be in that case? I mean, it feels good to see things clearly but..

Men seem to reach this insight much later, much closer to retirement. If they’re lucky. Many more find it on their death bed when.. too late. It makes them restless, sure, but it doesn’t do this for thirty-five years of working and wondering like it does for women.

So.. I enjoyed this essay from Elisa Albert. She’s quite abrupt in “The snarling girl”in Hazlitt, as opposed to here in an earlier essay I admired, and possibly this is what made it controversial on my Facebook page. But anyway, it’s interesting to see how an essay on ambivalence about ambition and conspicuous success can provoke thought.

Here’s what impresses me: Sangfroid. Good health. The ability to float softly with an iron core through Ashtanga primary series. Eye contact. Self-possession. Loyalty. Boundaries. Good posture. Moderation. Restraint. Laugh lines. Gardening. Activism. Originality. Kindness. Self-awareness. Simple food, prepared with love. Style. Hope. Lust. Grace. Aging. Humility. Nurturance. Learning from mistakes. Moving on. Letting go. Forms of practice, in other words. Constant, ongoing work. No endpoint in sight. Not goal-oriented, not gendered. Idiosyncratic and pretty much impossible to monetize.

I mean: What kind of person are you? What kind of craft have you honed? What is my experience of looking into your eyes, being around you? Are you at home in your body? Can you sit still? Do you make me laugh? Can you give and receive affection? Do you know yourself? How sophisticated is your sense of humor, how finely tuned your understanding of life’s absurdities? How thoughtfully do you interact with others? How honest are you with yourself? How do you deal with your various addictive tendencies? How do you face your darkness? How broad and deep is your perspective? How willing are you to be quiet? How do you care for yourself? How do you treat people you deem unimportant?

So you’re a CEO. So you made a million dollars. So your name is in the paper. So your face is in a magazine. So your song is on the radio. So your book is number one. You probably worked really hard; I salute you. So you got what you wanted and now you want something else. I mean, good, good, good, great, great, great. But if you have ever spent any time around seriously ambitious people, you know that they are very often some of the unhappiest crazies alive, forever rooting around for more, having a hard time with basics like breathing and eating and sleeping, forever trying to cover some hysterical imagined nakedness.

I get that my foremothers and sisters fought long and hard so that my relationship to ambition could be so … careless. I get that some foremothers and sisters might read me as ungrateful because I don’t want to fight their battles, because I don’t want to claw my way anywhere. My apologies, foremothers: I don’t want to fight. Oh, is there still sexism in the world? Sigh. Huh. Well. Knock me over with a feather. Now: how do I transplant the peonies to a sunnier spot so they yield more flowers next year or the year after? How do I conquer chapter three of this new novel? I’ve rewritten it and rewritten it for months. I need asana practice, and then I need to sit in meditation for a while. Then some laundry. And the vacuum cleaner needs a new filter. Then respond to some emails from an expectant woman for whom I’m serving as doula. And it’s actually my anniversary, so I’m gonna write my spouse a love letter. Then pick up the young’un from school. And I need to figure out what I’m making for dinner. Something with lentils, probably, and butter. Then text my friends a stupid photo and talk smack with them for a while.

Taking care of myself and my loved ones feels like meaningful work to me, see? I care about care. And I don’t care if I’m socialized to feel this way, because in point of fact I do feel this way. So! I am unavailable for striving today. I’m suuuuuper busy.

 

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And it was published in the Sydney Morning Herald

Have you ever run with a baby? You’re up, you scoop, you leap. Bone against bone, you and the baby in your arms knock against one another. But within two of your running strides, the baby knows to fold herself into you, she tucks under your chin and presses against your chest. Two strides, heart pounding, and you both find flight.

Babies must know, somewhere primitive in them, how to be held by someone running. Because two strides and the instinct awakens, they’re suddenly weightless in your arms, moulded against you.

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I love this article on middle age and why it is such a happy time, by Natasha Badhwar in live mint.

The belief that early youth is the peak of one’s life has been proven to be a fallacy. Now one feels far more productive, especially when one finds oneself managing so much more with much less effort. I write when I sleep, I raise children when I am away from home, I support people with just words. This is also when one realizes that this isn’t the peak either. There’s a lot more uphill ahead for us.

There are so many things that I still want to do. Thinking about doing them makes me as happy as doing them. I own my imagination.

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our society is currently gripped by a pervasive ideology of work. It is continuously preached to us as the pinnacle of human virtue. If you’re not doing superhuman stints at the office then something is wrong with you. And don’t even mention the word unemployed … that’s blasphemy.

The most worrying facet about the ideology of work is this: we are obliged to toil even when it’s not really necessary in concrete, economic terms. Appearing super-busy becomes more about fulfilling a societal expectation than doing something useful to society.

From Peter Fleming’s “The way to a better work-life balance? Unions,  not self-help” in The Guardian

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I swear I’m gonna tattoo a list
of literary giants who were/are single mothers
on my forearm so every time I hit a doubter
I can just pull up my sleeve
and not waste any more time
I could be writing
by trying to explain that I do
in fact
think I can do this
and I will
in fact
do this
no matter how bleary
no matter how hungry
no matter how many swank
socials or national conferences
I can’t afford to attend
because Toni Morrison
because Adrienne Rich
because Audre Lorde
because before Plath hit the oven
she sent her mother a letter pleading,
pleading for childcare
because I could keep this list going
because what the fuck kind of world
is this if we really think
we have to ruin our mothers
before we let them give anything more
than the whole human race
to the world.

Georgia Pearle

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Here, thanks to Sonja at Broad Joy949 for podcasting one of my panels from the Feminist Writers Festival. (The panel also includes Petra Bueskens and Viv Smythe).

Some of the topics discussed in this special panel was how trends and characteristics in current online feminism intersects with economics and the historical ‘dance of capitalism and feminism’ and how it at times has very unhealthy outcomes.

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Last year, my previous employer threw a very thoughtful, generous appreciation dinner for our creative leadership team. The dinner was scheduled for 6:30pm on a weeknight. I’m a single mom living in downtown Boston, which meant that I’d have to arrange for a sitter from about 6pm-midnight at $20/hour. Add in some Tasty Burger for my son and the sitter, her tip and Uber home, and this appreciation dinner was going to end up costing me about $200.

So when I received the invite, I couldn’t just check my calendar and accept or decline: I had to have an internal debate with myself about the pros and cons of going and what this dinner would cost me.

Was this dinner worth $200?

I relate to this so much from my days as a single mother. Dawn Bavasso’s “Expense policies are a woman’s problem” in the Medium. 

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