Hello, my Name is…

People always call my boss by her first name.

I took a call from a man a few weeks ago who had a question about her view on something–he started out by calling her by her official title and last name, but then interrupted himself: “You know,” he said, “I just don’t feel like I can call her Sheriff Jones. I just have to call her Jessie.”

 

(Note: No, my boss isn’t a sheriff, and no, her name isn’t Jessie Jones. But she would be awesome at it if she was.)

 

Then again, I’d probably never hear the end of it.

Then this week, one of my coworkers noticed something. “When did they start writing ‘Jessie’ on our newspapers?” The folks in the main lobby keep our daily newspapers for us when they arrive in the morning, and I pick up our copy on my way up to the office. They write each office’s name on the front page so we know which is ours. When I first started, they were writing “Jones” on the front page, like they were doing for the guys in the office, Senator Butcher, Representative Baker, and Mayor Candlestick Maker. But sometime in the last week or so they stopped writing “Jones” and started writing “Jessie.”

 

I’ve even heard folks refer to her as Jessie and others by their last names in the same sentence–“If I don’t get a response from Jessie, I’ll be contacting Butcher, Baker, and Candlestickmaker too!”

 

Now, being, well, me, I was immediately skeptical of all this. Why only use her first name? She’s the first woman from our state to hold her current position, and she was also the first woman to hold several prominent positions prior to her election to this one, and it’s very obvious that she’s popular, at least baseds on the calls I get to the office.

 

But is it a sign of disrespect that folks call other leaders and politicians in our community and state by their title or last name and my boss by her first?
My boss herself doesn’t think so. The coworker who noticed the newspaper thing told me that she asked our boss if it bothered her. She replied that no, it didn’t bother her–in fact, she loved it. She loves that people feel comfortable enough with her to call her Jessie.

 

The more I think about it, the more I have to agree with her. While calling her by her title is certainly respectful (I definitely call her that in person), the fact that people call her by her first name does not put her at a disadvantage as a politician–who would you rather vote for, Mayor Candlestick Maker or your best buddy Jessie?

 

As I’ve said before, this part of the country can be a funny place. I’ve had men call me “sweetheart” on the phone before (and he was not a 90-year-old man thanking me for helping him with something, either–he was a 40-something guy who asked me whether he “needed to repeat his phone number, sweetheart”). And, full disclosure, we’re one of those states that currently has lawsuits pending because of our gay marriage and abortion laws. But at the same time, folks out here have a reputation of being friendly people (if not always the most forward-minded), and I think that my boss is right to take it as a compliment.

 

In fact, that’s my career advice for the week, folks–if you’re representing people, you need to make sure they like you. A lot. Enough to vote for you and maybe even donate some of their hard-earned money to your campaign. Or, if you’re managing a company, follow you and not despise you. It’s a delicate balance, though–people might not take you seriously if you don’t take yourself seriously. But my boss is really good at striking this balance: people take her seriously because she’s smart, speaks directly, and doesn’t back down from the principles she promised people when she ran for office. But she is also a casual, friendly, smiley person who is as quick to crack a joke with you as she is to hit you with a hard question when she needs to. So if you’re doing your job right, you might as well take the compliment and run with it.

 

Thoughts, folks? Would you rather be called by your first name or title? Is one more respectful? Does it depend? Have a good week!

I’m Not “Just” Wondering.

Confrontation is the most foreign concept to me, but last week, I decided to give it a try. There are a lot of things I want to change in the world, but to do that, I’m going to need to speak up. When I told two friends about what I was thinking, one said, “Are you PMSing this week, or did you just become a badass?” (Then, of course, we spent five minutes discussing whether or not the question was problematic. #ScrippsLife. I decided I liked it; equating PMS to badassery is great in my book.) However, when I attempted to confront some problems in a meeting, a friend mentioned after that she hardly noticed that I was “calling them out.”

My confrontation style is… well… not confrontational. What’s scary is that in that meeting, I felt so far from my comfort zone simply because I was pointing out a problem and asking for someone to do something about it. I wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable and I wasn’t being demanding. Merely the idea of asking made me uncomfortable.

As I thought about my non-confrontational confrontation style, I remembered an article I read about how often women use the word “just.” Ever since I read that article, I proofread everything I write and almost always find myself deleting “just” once or twice, particularly from emails.

  • “I was just wondering if I could have that by tomorrow?”
  • “Were you planning on coming to the meeting? Just curious!”
  • “I’m just following up about the interview.”
  • “I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to finish the project early.”

WHAT DOES IT EVEN MEAN TO BE “JUST” THINKING?! Nothing. These “justs” were unnecessary. I was doing exactly what Ellen Leanse described in her blog post: asking for permission.

I don’t like to ask for things and I don’t point out problems. I hint at them or request permission to point them out and voice my opinion. But I want to stop filtering my opinions. I want to voice my point of view without any hesitation. I’m not going to go around judging everyone and insulting people. I’m going to remember that my opinion is valuable and I don’t need permission to share it. People don’t have to agree with my ideas, but my thoughts are worth discussing.

I want to delete “just” from my spoken vocabulary as well as my written one. I wonder what would have happened if, when requesting that someone send some information to me, I said, “Could I have that by tomorrow?” Rather than, “I was just wondering if I could have that by tomorrow?” I’m not asking anything unreasonable, yet my hesitation may have given him that opportunity to avoid the task, which left me with way too much work.

Before I leave Scripps, I want to learn that I don’t have to ask permission or hesitate when confronting problems because I have even bigger ones to solve in the “real world.” If I waver there, I could miss my chance. If I can’t do it here, where we savor our feminist discourse and revel in discussions where our beliefs are challenged, then I can’t do it anywhere.

I’m taking Leanse’s advice, “Then, to riff Nike: well…. ‘Do it.’” Is anyone else up for the challenge?

Checking My Feminism

I’m pretty confident with my feminism. Yes, sometimes I have to check my privilege or need reminders to think critically, but all in all, I trust myself to always take a third-wave-feminist perspective.

Well, last week I failed at that. Luckily I had my amazing 17-year-old cousin visiting to keep me in check.

Last Friday, at the end of an interview with the CEO of a company I’d be OVERJOYED to have the opportunity to work at, I was told I’d be receiving a job offer the following week. I could barely keep my voice steady as I responded, “I look forward to hearing from you!” (The squeaking with excitement didn’t happen until I had fully quit Skype… Just in case…)

However, after the initial shock and excitement, I started to worry and question things, as I tend to do.

My concerns stemmed from the fact that my boyfriend works at this company. I already cringe when anyone tries to imply that I’m moving to the Bay just to be with him. So, in my head all I could think was, “What is it going to look like if we work for the same company? Will it look like I don’t have my own life? Will it look like I’m afraid to get out on my own? Will it look like I need a partner in everything I do?”

This is when my cousin’s voice of feminist reason brought me out of this downward spiral of concerns,

“AnnE. Isn’t it just as bad to not take a job you want
just because your boyfriend is there?” 

She let that sink in for a minute then said,

“Why don’t you just do what you want? Do what’s best for you?
And don’t take him into account either way?”

sOh. Right. That’s the kind of feminist I am. As soon as she said that, I was back. Being a feminist doesn’t mean avoiding and trying to dissociate with men, it means doing what’s best for me and only taking those factors into account. And it NEVER means worrying about “what other people think” or “what something will look like to others.” It’s easy to forget that sometimes, which is one of many reasons I love my feminist friends who keep me in check. My cousin’s voice of reason was echoed by other friends later that night. No one said, “Oh, but isn’t that where your boyfriend works?” Everyone was excited for me. The judgment I anticipated was only in my head.

So for the third time this semester, I learned what it means to be a Scrippsie and a feminist. We don’t do what others expect. We don’t do something just for a boyfriend. (And for that matter, we don’t NOT do something because of a boyfriend.)

We do what we want.

And I want this job.

We Do What We Want: Part II

It occurred to me that I’ve talked a lot about how I’m working towards *something* (or procrastinated working towards that *something*) but I haven’t actually said what it is.

In the past 4 years I’ve wanted to be a dancer, neuroscientist, neuropsychologist, psychologist, advocate, activist… and a zookeeper. (No, I’m not pretending to be a 4 year old who wants to be an astronaut and a ballerina, I actually worked at a zoo with monkeys and lemurs for two summers!) But nothing clicked in a I-can-do-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of way. The only thing I could see myself doing for the rest of my life was being a feminist. But, as a friend blatantly put it, “I don’t think there’s a job description that says, ‘pull people’s heads out of their…” well, let’s just say, a body part where it might be anatomically difficult to get your head…

BUT I JUST WANT TO BE A SCRIPPSIE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

Conveniently, as I grappled with this idea, I talked to a friend last summer who suggested it’d be nice to have a Pocket-Scrippsie to take to work, to fight all of the feminist battles she wasn’t sure she could take on at her company. Becausee of that conversation, I came up with a crazy career plan: I could be that Pocket-Scrippsie.

What if I could bring some third-wave feminism into start-ups and fast-growing-soon-to-be-popular-and-successful companies? What if I encouraged those companies to bring some diversity into their culture? What if I found a way to explain how much their company flourish if they hired more than straight-white-cis-men? What if I help change the image that comes to mind when people think of successful companies and famous CEOs?

I wanted a way to do something I love, actually make money, and stay true to the ideas I’ve learned at Scripps… and I think I found a way to do that. I’m going to get experience in talent acquisition (to bring in some diversity), in organizational development (to help instill feminist values which will make the organization and its culture better), and in any other part of the company where I get to work with people, hear their concerns, and find ways to make it better.

So that’s why I’m working on those applications, why I need to succeed at career fairs, and why I’m trying to look like a grown-up… I have this crazy-exciting idea that I can keep being a Scrippsie for the rest of my life and I can bring those ideas into everything that I do… especially if feminism is a foreign concept wherever I end up working.

The trend continues… We’re Scrippsies. We do what we want. We find ways to make it (whatever it is) happen…

When I grow up, I’m going to be a Pocket-Scrippsie.

Career Planning for Two

By my junior year at Scripps, I was feeling the pressure to have a post-grad direction. As I buckled down to try to map out my life, or at least figure out how I would keep myself occupied the summer before senior year, I came to the realization that my plan-making and goal-setting was going to be severely hampered hindered curtailed influenced by my relationship.

Enjoying time together in Yellowstone National Park before senior year.

This was hard for me to come to terms with, as I’m sure it is for other fiercely independent women who have grown up in an environment with the message that no man is worth sacrificing your dreams. I have to admit that I felt some amount of guilt, as if I was letting my feminist foremothers down by considering my boyfriend in the life plans I was forming, particularly because my partner is of a certain Myers-Briggs typology that tends not to prioritize planning. If I am compromising from the very beginning, while he continues to fly by the seat of his pants, I can’t help but think that I will wind up sacrificing the most in the long run.

This brings us to the classic Scripps psychology survey question: What is more important to you—your relationship or your career? I have always maintained that I shouldn’t have to choose. Am I being naïve or an idealist?

My senior year, as I started applications for jobs and fellowships and my partner continued to pretend life after college wasn’t going to exist, I decided not to worry too much about the compromises I assumed I would have to make. My partner doesn’t yet know what kind of career path will make him happy, and so I cannot possibly compromise my own goals to get him there faster.

Together, we talked about our life plans, career goals, our dreams, and I realized I’m lucky. At the cusp of launching onto my career path, I have the love and support of a stable relationship, but without the inhibitive requirement that we must physically inhabit the same space. After graduation, I was headed to teach English in Bulgaria. He eventually came to the conclusion that he wanted to flex his language skills in Russia. And after that, who knows? We may come together in the same city for a while and then move apart again as one or both of us pursue grad school. I like the wild and open spaces of the American West, and he prefers the constant chaos of cities like Chicago or New York. Our difference in geographic preferences, which may have been a deal breaker in another age, are part of what allow us to follow our dreams independently, even as we continue our relationship and support each other from afar.

Long distance relationships are not easy, and they don’t come highly recommended. But by now, my partner and I are veterans. We are, in fact, quite good at long distance after much practice and frequent Skype calls. We are both skilled communicators and being apart forces us to be much more intentional with the time we do have to talk to each other. What, on the one hand, could be considered a challenge for the relationship is, on the other hand, a chance to balance relationship and career. For now, at least.

Whenever I am in need of inspiration in the combination of relationships and careers, I look to Scripps alumna Gabrielle Giffords ’93 and her husband, Captain Mark Kelly. While she followed her career to Capitol Hill, her husband followed his into space. Russia and Bulgaria don’t seem so far apart in comparison.

Photo source: gabriellegiffords.com