A means to an end...

I have a problem, and a severe one at that. I want to be all things to all people, and to make matters worse, there is a rather diversified set of individuals I seek to please. There are those who encourage my creative spirit, those who encourage my drive and ferocity, those who tempt my sultry side, and those who nurture my spiritual longing. Sometimes I finish the day, feeling as though I have triumphantly executed the task at hand, living fully. Other days however, when I finally surrender to the silence, I feel quite alone.

I think this is part of the human condition. We busy ourselves throughout the day, often times with the most menial tasks. We convince ourselves that we do is purposeful, and in some way a means to an end, Rarely, however, do we fully process what this “end” is? Today for example, I woke early, practiced yoga, and drove to work where I successfully checked off each item on my to do list. I laughed at a dozen jokes, smiled at a dozen strangers, I ran to both CVS and the bank on my lunch break. After work, I called several friends, went for a run, checked my mail, and then, yes then in the late evening…there was the silence. Oh, how I had dreaded its inevitable onset. You might consider me melodramatic but I assure you, I am not exaggerating. The silence terrifies me, and thus at the end of the day, I ask myself, if all my tasks are to achieve an end or rather to prevent having to reconcile with my thoughts. This is a goal of mine, becoming comfortable in the stillness. I would be interested in discovering who I am there.

It's all about the shoes...

After two weeks into the job, the most pressing matter on my mind was shoes. So much for not being a stereotype. But let me elaborate before you come to any harsh conclusions. After two weeks of wearing what were undoubtedly a rather chic pair of Sam Edelman pumps, I considered filing for disability insurance. On the way through the airport after week two of training, I was certain I would need wheel chair for assistance. It was not just the blisters. Those could be remedied with band-aids. It was the feeling that my entire bone structure had succumbed to the dark forces of my black, and rather stylish, pumps. I found myself not going to the bathroom as often to limit walking, sneaking behind corners to quickly switch from flip-flops to heels, and thinking about the pain rather than the task at hand. While during breaks co-workers were face-booking, I was searching online directories for podiatrists. I concluded that in a perfect world, women would always wear flats, or at least be allowed to expense a foot massage every so often…

But I like the height. After all, I am no giant, standing at a proud 5’4”. Call me stubborn, but the last thing I am ready to sacrifice is the extra umph I feel when wearing a pair of sexy heels. I feel more confident, more assertive, and safer, since under desperate circumstances a heel serve as a bludgeon or numb-chuck.

As you can imagine, I found myself in quite a fix.

That is until I met Cole Haan. I am certain he must be an incredible gentleman in person, because he won my feet over at first stride. As I limped through the mall last Saturday, I saw a sign in the distance that read “clearance” in the window of Mr. Haan’s store. I was drawn to it like a bee to honey. Before I knew it I had made best friends with the woman in the store, who had convinced me, vulnerable as I was, that a pair of Nike-Air pumps would change my life. Call me naive, but I believed her. My foot found herself in a pump of the finest smooth calfskin and beautifully concealed NIKE AIR technology for ultimate cushioning, fully leather lined, and with a front mini platform with softly buffed leather sole. These, were real shoes.

Since that day, I have reconsider my perceived disadvantage as an elevated woman. My shoes, need not be my enemy but my ally. Sure, the boys have loafers, but my dear friends, Mr. Haan is on our side, and thanks to him, we will not only do an exceptional job, but look exceptional doing it.

I am an outlier...

Malcolm Gladwell, in his New York Times Best seller Outliers, shared the stories of a collection of individuals he refers to as "outliers"—the best and the brightest, the most famous and the most successful. He asks the question: what makes high-achievers different? He suggests that we focus too much on what successful people are like, while neglected to ask where they are from: that is, their culture, their family, their generation, and the idiosyncratic experiences of their upbringing. The combination of both, he believes contribute to the unique success of certain individuals. It is not just about having certain skills, but often times about being in the right place at the right time. Based on Gladwell’s criteria laid out in his novel, I also would consider myself an Outlier. I am no Bill Gates, and certainly not Oprah, however, I currently find myself in the most unique situation I could ever imagine. Is it because I deserved it? Well yes, but not more than others who wanted my job.

Let me give you a brief background, and I will try not to lose you in the details. After all, I am in the business world now and striving toward consolidating my thoughts! Summer after my sophomore year of college, I interned at an anti-human trafficking non-profit in Washington DC. I was quickly moved from the grass roots campaign team to the development and outreach team, because the organization thought I had a unique potential to identify creative ways to generate more unrestricted funding for the organization. I was able to organically create unique fund-raising initiative, however, in doing so I was constantly frustrated with the disorder in the way the non-profit. I left D.C. to research in Bosnia, Serbia, and Croatia. There I examined the impact of social location on activists’ effectiveness when working with Roma in the slums around Belgrade. While many aspects of the experience were life changing, I quickly grew frustrated by the same disorder apparently inherent in non-profit sector on both sides of the ocean. The following summer was the final straw. I had the same frustrating experience researching for a Boston based non-profit focused on Gender, Security and human rights. I wanted to make a difference in the ways these organizations functioned. I recognized that the mission of these organizations was compromised by the inefficiencies in the ways in which they worked (or didn’t). But above all, I was tired of hearing myself complain.

I felt defeated, until several friends suggested that I look into consulting. At that point, I had no idea what they were talking about, but I was open to the idea. Fast forwarding several months, a consulting firm came to my university, looking to hire one or two students in their strategy and operations practice. I knew nothing about business, I had never heard the term “case-study,” and a balance sheet and income statement both resembled cryptic messages… But I got the job. Why? Because they saw in me a unique potential that I had not yet discovered in myself.

I have been working for two weeks now, and I have about one billion things to share. But for now, I will end on the note that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am an artist, I am a feminist, I am a human rights activist, I am a visionary, I am a friend, I am a daughter, I am a fighter, I am my biggest critic and now I am a business woman, and surprisingly this is not as ironic as you might imagine… I am outlier, because while I certainly have the skills and potential, it is because the unique way in which my experiences positioned me that I find myself here today