I think that more than anything else in the world, we are propelled through life by a desire to belong. We want to be a part of, to be considered good enough for, something larger than ourselves. We crave the connection.
When unfaithfulness destroys a connection to someone we love, we sometimes feel we do not belong to anyone or anywhere.
And conversely, when someone shuns us, lies to us, or betrays us on a monumental level, we are deeply hurt because the message is, at least in part, we don’t belong. We’re not as good as, maybe we’re not even good enough. Continue reading
Whether it’s called a “reorganization,” a “reclassification” or even a “reassignment,” if it results in a loss of responsibility or a downgrade in title, or someone with a more prestigious title is placed over you, then you know that they really mean is that you’ve been demoted.
A career doesn’t always follow the direction we picture it will. We stay true to ourselves when we take set-backs in stride and continue working toward our goal.
Being demoted hits the ego harder than almost anything else that can happen in our professional lives. It’s the combo burrito of a bad performance review and a pay cut, with a side order of spotlight because everyone knows about it, and for dessert, you get to keep showing up at the office, possibly working for the person who has replaced you.
When an unwelcome job change happens to you, you have three options. Continue reading
We begin our lives in birth. We end our lives in death. In between, we live a life that is not always what we think we want, but often gives us more than we ever could believe we could have.
A bittersweet celebration of the circle of life, the time in between the start of one new life, and of another one about to end.
When Dad had a spinal stroke in 2007, we knew that the long-term prognosis was there was no long term. It was fall, not quite two months after he had learned he was going to be a first-time great-grandfather. The day it happened, he had driven five hours to a board meeting, and then, instead of staying for the evening events, he drove five hours home again. He knew something wasn’t right. But he went down to the basement to ride his exercise bike, like he did every night. Mom found him on the floor, the bike on top of him, a short time later.
In a few seconds, Dad’s life changed from being involved in a half-dozen major projects that kept him out of the house eight-and-a-half days a week, as Mom called it, to being bed-ridden. Continue reading