I go to the high school in town and mentor three teenage girls who have the deck stacked against them; one is pregnant, one has Tourette’s and all three have been bullied big-time. But they have grit and big hearts, and I am in awe.

I never thought that I would choose to work with teenagers again. After raising two myself, I was sure that I had been there and done that. But the Universe has amazing ways of bringing you ‘round again. The funny thing is I received my Masters in Education, in counseling, many moons ago. I originally thought that I would be a guidance counselor, until I did an internship in a North Carolina public school and saw how much of my day would be taken up with lunch duty and bus duty and other administrative tasks. No way.

So I struck out on my own in the budding field of professional organizing where I would get to make my own decisions and create my own schedules. I’m now of an age when I have the time to “give back” a little more and darned if I haven’t been directed once again to helping teenagers. But this time I’m (hopefully) wiser, have a lot more tools at my disposal and also have a heck of a lot more patience.

I asked myself, “If I could go back and give my 17-year old self some guidance, what would I say? What would I want to know sooner rather than later?” I wouldn’t take back all of the “mistakes” that I made because they led me to where I am today. But I sure could have used knowledge on how to make better gut-based decisions rather than fearful, “what will others think of me” ones.

Kids today have changed somewhat in response to the modern stressors they’re under, but fundamentally they’re the same. They want to know that they’re heard and that their opinions are respected. They like reassurance but not heavy-handed direction. They need to know that they are more than the sum of their grades and extra-curricular activities.

I saved a journal that I wrote when I was 17 and 18 years old. There were definitely times when I wanted to chuck it because I was so embarrassed about my self-important ramblings, but I didn’t and I’m grateful for that now. I have a record of the fact that yes, I was actually 17 years old at one point, and rereading it helps me relate to today’s teenage angst and obsessions.

I like listening to the girls and how well they know themselves for their age. It seems that the traumas they’ve endured have allowed them to make choices about their well-being that many 17 year old students have yet to embrace. A significant one has been to learn to laugh at themselves. How many adults do you know who can do that? And yet it is an essential part of the maturation process.

They tell me that they want to learn more about how to achieve stability and how to make better decisions. The girl expecting the baby says that she wants to be able to set a good example for her child. She’s already decided not to marry the father because they don’t love each other, but he wants to be around to help care for the baby and she welcomes that.

It’s clear to me that helping these kids to both manage themselves and stay open to the opportunities that come their way is one of the things I’m here to do. Thank goodness I’m comfortable sharing my own screw-ups and hard lessons I’ve learned along the way, which I know is essential to gaining and keeping their trust. This is a learning experience we’re in together.

And I think this is what it comes down to – these girls are part of my past and my future. I can help them navigate the journey towards sharing their own gifts and talents with others. We’re all connected, and to think otherwise is to delude ourselves about the meaning of our existence on earth.

I can imagine how thunderstruck my 17 year old self would have been if someone told her what a fundamental part she was playing in the world; how she was an agent for change and that she must live her best life so that she could help others to do the same. Find a few 17 year olds and give them this message. Those young men and women need to know how much one life can matter – their own.

– Dolly Parton

\”Alive and Well\” with Sunny Schlenger

I’m on the board of directors of our small town’s performing arts
association, a performance and educational non-profit, and we’re looking for our
first regular employee after two years of utilizing contract labor. We put an ad
for the new administrative assistant position in the newspaper and hoped to hear
from a few qualified people.

We were inundated with responses.

My task is to screen the applicants, select the top ones and interview them
before passing on my recommendations to the executive director of the
association. It’s been years since I conducted interviews — well before this
recession hit — and I’m stunned by the depth and breadth of hard-luck stories I
am hearing.

I can conduct a tough interview if need be, but now I mainly want to hug
people. I just finished speaking with an overly-qualified middle-aged woman who
is looking for an additional job to help her provide for her pot-bellied pig
rescue operation. She is passionate about her pigs and willing to work for far
less than she’s accustomed to.

And that’s the general story. There’s too little work available for too many
people. Not that this is news. It’s just that I haven’t experienced so much of
it sitting across the table from me. Statistics tell a story, but nothing like
the one you see in people’s eyes – people who are trying too hard to please
because they’re desperate.

I find myself trying to reassure, trying to find positive things to say so
they can smile and feel good for a few moments. I want to hire everyone because
I’m bleeding inside and that will make me feel better…

My next interview just left. He’s a dynamic young man, well-qualified, who
needs this job to establish employment in order to get custody of his 5-year old
son. I tell him that I will definitely recommend him for the position. And I
will.

It seems that I’m recommending two out of every three people I see. How can I
not?

I want to recommend the older woman with years of Easter Seals community
experience but she doesn’t have enough social media skills. She’s intelligent
and caring, but the position requires that the candidate hit the ground running
and she can’t do that.
But I could feel her anxiety and it hurt.

I guess I’m too much of a softy to do this work with the edge it requires.

If you’re a performer, I imagine you get used to going to auditions. After
all, you’re feeding a passion to put yourself out there. But a job applicant,
trying to survive on anything you can get? How do you find the stamina to keep
on keeping on after so much disappointment?

I would make a lousy casting director, for sure. I’d find roles for
everyone.

Every applicant who pulls out reading glasses to go over the job description
apologizes for it. They look over at me as if to say, “I’m sorry I’m old.” Even
if their energy is vibrant, they’re apologetic. I make a joke to assure them
that I understand and it’s alright.

OK – here’s one I can let go of. She seems very impressed with herself and I
don’t think she’d be a good fit with this position. But then the vulnerability
creeps into her voice. She says, “What do I do when I’m over-qualified for the
$10 an hour job and there’s 150 people applying for the $48,000 one? I’m
responding to almost every opportunity I hear about, but it’s getting real
scary.”

I still don’t think she’d be a good fit, but I try to be comforting. I
compliment her on her portfolio and encourage her to stay tough. I feel
helpless.

By narrowing down the field to 10, I’m choosing the best candidates. The
director will then take my top recommendations and select the best match for her
needs. So is it wrong for me to allow all 10 to think they have a good shot? Is
it misleading for me to give them all hope for a few days?

I’ve now interviewed the final candidate and this last one is probably the
strongest of the bunch. She was laid off from her last two jobs but has a very
well-rounded resume and a lot of relevant experience.

I feel good about my selections, but sad overall. The guy working on his PC
at the next table asks me how I made out. “Too many good people out of work,” I
said.

He replied, “But at least one person will walk away with a job. You should
feel good about that.”

He’s right. It’s not enough, but it has to be, for now.

photo credit Love the 214

Be who you are.

Not all approaches and products work for all people. Some of  us are horses and some are zebras. Or donkeys. What’s important in organizing is to know who you are and what works for you – what you prefer to have around you and what kind of set-up suits you best.

Some people like to be surrounded by the things they love, while that would make others claustrophobic. Some people like to move around while they work  while others find that distracting. And some folks like to focus on the big picture while others prefer to be buried in the details. There’s no right or wrong; it’s just what works best for you.

Therefore you need to be aware of your personal style and which kinds of systems support you in how you like to work. (Just because your neighbor swears by his iPhone doesn’t mean that getting one would be the answer to your organizational prayers.) First – kick up your awareness level a few notches and observe yourself and how you like to operate.

Then, and only then, see what’s out there and how those tools would assist you in doing what you do. This approach will help prevent you from going to the store and buying an attractive item with the hope that if you leave it on your desk long enough, it will organize you. 

photo credit Maggi Helga

There’s a part of you that always knew. People may have believed that you were a blank slate, innocent in the ways of the world and uneducated about yourself, but still — you knew. You always knew, even when you began to question if your perceptions were real, along with your tastes and preferences. You knew, deep down, who you were, even when you started to compare yourself to others and judge what was right and wrong and what was OK or unacceptable. You began to listen to the people around you and to doubt. But you knew. You always knew what made you strong and happy within yourself.

And you still know. Somewhere, inside of you, is the original blueprint — what you know you need in order to feel authentic. Find it again. Retrieve the essence of the soul that came into being with your birth and nurture it. Ask the questions that bring you back to you.

Most of us spend our lifetime unaware of who we really are and thus never get to enjoy that person. You can remember what you already know, and go there.

It’s never too late.

But…I was still hobbled by fear. It’s one thing to know where you want to go, and it’s another to have the courage to actually get up and go there. One day, I told her I felt like a skydiver clinging to the door of an airplane, wanting to jump but too afraid to jump.

And she said to me, in that calm voice, “Just leap. You’ll fly or at least land on your feet.” And I decided that even if I didn’t quite believe in myself just yet, I was able to believe Sunny. So I leapt. And I flew, and flew and flew. And never looked back. I think angels come to us when we need them. I needed an angel back then, and I found one. Her name is Sunny.”

– Debra LoGuercio DeAngelo

“If there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”     ~Toni Morrison