Bad for the Game: Women, Work, and Hockey

Bad for the Game: Women, Work, and Hockey

If you hang around here much, you know that I geek out about the complex issues surrounding women and the workplace.

I read the studies, watch the trends, follow the stats. Like this one: the number of women age 20 and older who are not in the labor force has soared in recent years. Many of these women leave the workplace by choice.

For many years, I’ve believed that this choice was fine and good, highly individual, and nobody’s fault.

I’m changing my mind.

I’m starting to think these women are like Canadian youth hockey players.

*****     *****     *****

In his excellent book Outliers (seriously, read it), Malcolm Gladwell describes how the playing field isn’t level in Canadian hockey. The system–however inadvertently–is rigged to favor certain kids over others, and it has little to do with skills. Gladwell calls it the “iron law of Canadian hockey:”

“In any elite group of hockey players–the very best of the best–40 percent of the players will have been born between January and March, 30 percent between April and June, 20 percent between July and September, and 10 percent between October and December.”

It starts when they’re young: at the age of 9 or 10, the “best” players get filtered out for traveling teams. At this age, the “best” players are often the oldest players: they’re a little bigger, a little more coordinated, a little more mature. The eligibility cutoff is January 1, and the ranks of Canadian hockey are packed with first quarter birthdays. It’s not a coincidence.

For years, no one even realized it was happening. Canadian hockey was thought to be a strict meritocracy. But the lopsided rosters confirm that’s not the case.

To Gladwell, Canadian hockey is more than an interesting case study. It’s a warning against hidden advantages and unfair systems, because the effects of not recognizing them are serious:

“Take a look again at that roster for the Czech Republic soccer team. There are no players born in July, October, November, or December, and only one each in August and September. Those born in the last half of the year have all been discouraged, or overlooked, or pushed out of the sport. The talent of essentially half the Czech athletic population has been squandered.”

*****     *****     *****

In her TED talk (aptly titled “Why we have too few women leaders”), Sheryl Sandberg lays out the current figures on women in the workplace:

Women are not making it to the top of any profession anywhere in the world. The numbers tell the story quite clearly: 190 heads of state, 9 are women. Of all the people in parliament in the world, 13% are women. In the corporate sector, women at the top….tops out at 15-16%.”

The issues are complicated, she explains. In many ways, women hold themselves back, but that’s not the whole story. No, in order to understand why women aren’t making it to the top in any profession–why they’re exiting the workforce in droves–we have to understand this: “The data shows one thing: success and likeability are positively correlated for men, and negatively correlated for women.

The system is broken.

 *****     *****     *****

What’s the upshot? Why does this matter?

There is a problem with any group that squanders the talent of half its members, especially if it doesn’t even realize it’s doing it.

Canada continues to crank out elite hockey players, despite the league’s inefficiencies. Could Canadian hockey be even better if it drew from the whole age spectrum and not just the first quarter birthdays? Gladwell thinks so. The current system is not only unfair for fourth quarter birthdays; it’s bad for the game.

And so it goes in the workplace.

To quote my high school teacher, this is a generality and all generalities are false, but very generally speaking, women bring a whole host of gifts to the table that men don’t. The workplace–and the world–needs women to show up, to bring their female perspective to the table.

I agree with Sandberg when she says, “I think that a world that was run where 50% of our countries and 50% of our companies were run by women would be a better world.”

Or, put another way by Nicholas Kristof, Lehman Brothers might still be around today if it were Lehman Brothers & Sisters.”

What does this look like in real life? How do we repair our broken systems? I have no idea. But the process must begin with awareness, and move on to resolve.

Our system–our society–needs fixing. It won’t be easy. It will be complicated. But it’s worth doing.

I’m convinced of it.

I love you guys. Let me have your thoughts on this beast of an issue. Do you relate to my old belief, or my new one? Are you in process? Tell us all about it in comments. 

photo credit

Click here to have new posts delivered to you in a reader or by email!

A Christmas Snapshot

A Christmas Snapshot cancer diagnosis babyIt was springtime when I started to feel the stirring: a building sense of expectation, excitement. I felt like I was getting ready for something. I felt foolish to say the words—even to myself–but I felt like God was preparing me. For what? I had no idea.

That summer, I sheepishly confided this to my husband. To my surprise, he said he felt it too. It was exciting time. We were so hopeful about what lay ahead.

Soon I was pregnant with our second child—was it the baby in my womb lending a special weight to this time? We were in the midst of a hard season—was God leading us to sunnier days?

The weather turned colder, and we were still … waiting. As Christmas drew near, we eased into the rhythms of the church calendar. I have always loved the Advent season, with its hushed waiting, contemplation, pondering. Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel has always been my favorite carol, with its beautiful, haunting longing, and its call to “Rejoice, rejoice!”—but in a minor key.

Our little boy—our firstborn—was nearly two that Christmas, chubby and towheaded and absolutely giddy at our Christmas celebration with the whole extended family. Nearly-two is such a fun age at Christmastime: climbing into the cardboard boxes, happily playing in piles of torn-up gift wrap, oblivious to expensive toys.We snapped a million photos to remember the day, because they grow up so fast….then we drove home, exhausted, and plopped our spent baby into bed.

The next morning, we got a phone call: A family member had already begun photoshopping the Christmas photos, and his camera had captured something in our son’s face the naked eye couldn’t see. Plenty of his photos looked perfectly fine, but there was one that concerned him. He wasn’t sure what it meant, exactly, but he knew it wasn’t good.

I called my doctor, feeling a bit foolish. I thought he’d tell me I was crazy: it’s just a Christmas photo. Instead, he said, “I’ll get you in right away.”

This can’t be that big a deal…right? Not necessarily.
At least we caught it early… right? Not necessarily.
Several days later, we hear the words: Cancer. Stage five.
How many stages are there? Five.

Several days later we’re sitting post-op with the world-class oncologist in the far-off city, who tells us it’s nothing short of a miracle that we caught the cancer when we did. It presented so unusually that the odds of a routine check-up catching it were slim.

She asks again, “It was a photo?”
I tell her again, “a Christmas photo.”
“Sounds like a Christmas miracle to me. The odds look very good for your son.”

Nearly eight years later, he’s doing well, with no signs of recurrence. Cancer has its complications, of course: there are secondary cancers and scars and nuisance side effects. But he’s doing great, living the life of a normal 9-year-old. And yet, the Christmas season is tangled up with cancer in my mind.

We now have four kids and the joy, excitement and anticipation of a coming Christmas can be overwhelming, at least to your ears. And this year we have another two-year-old, and it’s just as much fun with our fourth as with our first. But there’s more to our Christmastime now: there’s a shadow.

Our old Christmas photos leave us with lumps in our throats and new ones are closely inspected, not just looked at. And I continue to struggle with the daily realities of my son’s medical history—the constant reminders that cancer sucks and it’s a fallen world. They remind me that I am still waiting.

Christ was born on Christmas Day—Rejoice!—but he is also coming back. And so we wait.

Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel isn’t just a song for the Advent season. It’s a song for today. For everyday.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come.

This post originally appeared on the now-archived blog Introverted Church

For more information on childhood cancer–including the warning signs to watch for in your own child–please read and share How a Photo Can Save a Child’s Life

image courtesy artbystevejohnson

Click here to have new posts delivered to you in a reader or by email.

On Entering the Holidays with a Hopeful “Yes.”

A few days ago, my husband sent me an email. The subject line said “Winter of Yes?”

I didn’t understand the subject until I opened it and found this image:

I’m positive my kids would love to go to this, but it would be a pain. It will be cold and dark and past their bedtimes, and we’ve been busy, and wouldn’t it be easier just to stay home?

Of course it would be easier. It’s always easier for me to say “no.” But last summer I changed my default setting to “yes,” and I was so happy with the results. (So were my kids.)

Christmas is a time for saying “yes.” I want to do special things. I want to make happy memories. I want to say yes.

My Winter of Yes

So, here goes nothing. I’m declaring it the Winter of Yes. Here’s my first go at brainstorming the things our family wants to do, the memories we want to make. A holiday bucket list, if you will:

1. Take a drive (or two) to gawk at the Christmas lights.

2. The holiday toy train exhibit at the botanical garden. They do this every year but we’ve never made the effort. This year we will!

3. See The Nutcracker at the ballet. This is becoming an annual tradition.

4. Family movie night. We’ll pop popcorn and watch a holiday movie. This isn’t something we do the rest of the year, which makes it extra special.

5. Bake Christmas cookies with the kids. We don’t bake together much (honestly, it stresses me out), but the kids really love to get messy in the kitchen and this is the time of year to do it.

6. Take a carriage ride. We wanted to do this when we were in Williamsburg last month, but it was going to cost our family of 6 more than $500 an hour! I made some calls when we got back home, and we can take a ride for a fraction of that here. It’s still not cheap but I think it will be worth it.

My Winter of Yes won’t look quite as exuberant as the summer’s did: winter lends itself to cozy evenings at home, and I won’t say yes to anything if I start thinking about flu season. But I plan on saying “yes” many times this season.

Making Memories, and Keeping Them

I also want to be a good memory keeper of all these memories we’re making. I’m resolving to have my camera ready and with me and to keep snap-snap-snapping away. (And then to actually print those photos so we can enjoy them!)

Fuji Instax camera memory keepingI’ve been thinking about ordering one of the fun newfangled Polaroids to help capture the memories. I have idealistic dreams of the kids and I snapping photos we can enjoy and give, but I’m not sure what reality would look like. (Quite possibly like a great big squabble-fest.) This is the cute little camera I’ve been eyeing.

Anybody have experience with one of these? I’d appreciate your thoughts in comments.

What are you saying “yes” to this season?

Click here to have new posts delivered to you in a reader or by email!

When I Realized My Own House Was Making Me Cranky

When my family wrapped up our recent vacation, we came home to a heap of stress.

We were all tired and sleep-deprived, my husband started a new job the morning we got back, and we had approximately 17 loads of laundry to catch up on.

I was anticipating a stressful homecoming, yet I was still shocked at how snippy I was.

I wanted to be happy to be home. We’d been on the road for 5 days, living out of suitcases in small, spare hotel rooms. I wanted to relax in my own space–but I found my own space surprisingly hard to relax in.

And that’s when it hit me. Those hotel rooms were small and sparsely furnished, but they were also impressively clean and–most importantly–clutter-free.

My own house–the one I was so happy to return to–was making me cranky.

I know from experience that clutter is one of my “trigger points:” one of those things that throws me off balance and upsets me beyond reason. But I had thought that the clutter didn’t upset me until it got “out of hand.”

Apparently, my definition of what “out of hand” looked like needed adjusting. So I tried to make the necessary adjustments without staging a wholesale freak-out.

When I realized my own house was making me cranky, here’s what I did:

I pulled everything off the floor and put it in a big laundry hamper for temporary holding. That way, I can enjoy the calm and clutter-free living spaces now, even if I’m not done sorting through all the stuff yet.

The bookshelves were crammed full, and I pulled about a third of the books off and put them in storage. I feel like I have a little extra space to breathe when our stuff isn’t packed tight into our living spaces.

I’m keeping our living spaces clutter-free. We have kids, and it’s just so easy for papers to pile up on the floor, or  toys to accumulate on the couch or the coffee table. I’ve been trying hard to recalibrate my internal clutter monitor.

I’m being vigilant about the little things: properly placing the pillow on the couch–and not on the floor (kids!)–makes a world of difference in the feel of the room. I’m prioritizing these little things that make a big difference.

I’m working on a paradigm shift about my family and Our Stuff. If having stuff lying around makes me cranky, then clearly keeping that stuff cleaned up–and limiting how much stuff there is to begin with–needs to be a major priority for me. This is a big change, but I see the importance of making it.

In the past, I’ve often felt like time spent de-cluttering or cleaning is wasted time. The past two weeks, I’ve realized that time spent cleaning is not wasted time for me. It’s time well spent.

Because I don’t want my own home to be a trigger point.

If you suspect your own clutter makes you cranky, I recommend the following posts:

I Finally Figured Out Why I Lose My Temper on Thursdays: Here’s where I first share how I discovered clutter is a trigger for me, and what I decide to do about it. Good insights and good advice here.

My #1 Dead Simple, Can’t Believe I Never Thought Of It Before Lesson From Pinterest: Think your home isn’t Pinterest material? Think again. Beautiful homes rely on one simple trick that is totally within your reach.

How to Shift Your Perspective to See Clutter (at Small Notebook): When we live in our homes everyday, it can be hard to “see” what they really look like. Rachel shares a brilliant trick that will help us see our homes for the first time–without leaving home.

Is clutter a trigger for you? PLEASE tell us how you deal with it!

Click here to have new posts delivered to you in a reader or by email!

Halloween: Love It or Hate It?

This post originally ran on October 28, 2011, but it still perfectly captures my thoughts about today. Happy Halloween!

Nobody I know is lukewarm about Halloween:  they either love it or they hate it.

There is a lot about Halloween that I don’t like.  Its got a shady past, for starters.  And all the scary decorations my neighbors have in their front yards–which have been on sale at Target since August 1–have me driving home with my kids in a weird, fuel-inefficient, zigzaggy pattern so I can bypass the seriously scary yards in favor of the relatively innocuous ghost trees and giant inflatable black cats.

Costumes for kids are generally cute and fun (except there is way too much Disney Princess involved, which I’m not wild about).  But costumes for adults range from the objectionable to the awkward (I am shocked at the number of people coming to my site searching “matching girl and dog Kate Middleton costumes.”  What does that even mean?)  Top choices for women this year include “sexy queen bee,” “sexy pirate,” and “Jersey Shore.”  In a word:  Don’t!

And the candy!  My family eats pretty healthy and we’re now gluten-free, and I’ve spent hours answering questions like “Why can’t we have twinkies?  Why can’t we eat skittles?”  Am I really going to send my kids out to canvas the neighborhood for smarties and laffy taffy by the bucketful?

Well, yes.  Yes I am.

Because Halloween is the one day of the year where our neighbors come to our doorstep, and we visit theirs.  And I love that about Halloween.

We don’t live in a real tight-knit neighborhood.  We know all (well, most) of our neighbor’s first names, but not their last.   I only have a few phone numbers.

But on Halloween, the kids love to don their costumes.  They’ve been planning for months–this year we’ve got a football player, Little Red Riding Hood, a princess of some sort, and a puppy dog.  And we’ll ring the doorbells and take it slowly and chat with the neighbors, and we will make sure we visit the families who’ve only recently moved in.  Which is tricky, because I place a pretty high priority on avoiding the majorly-scary decorations, but we’ll do our best.

And at my house, we’ll be ready and waiting with our porch lights on and good candy in our bucket.

Because there’s only one day a year when the neighborhood comes to our doorstep, and it’s Halloween.  I love that about Halloween and I don’t want to miss it.

Where do you stand on Halloween?  Love it or hate it?

photo by Halloween Haunt via ZombieGirl on Pinterest

For free updates, subscribe to this blog in a reader or by email.

Books That Make Me Want to Hug the Author. And Big Changes.

One month ago, I spent an hour on a Tuesday morning crying to my therapist. About church.

The first half, I cried about my baggage. When it comes to church, I have baggage. I haven’t always known this, but since I figured it out, I’ve been exploring that baggage with a counselor.

(Influence attendees will remember how I encouraged you to explore your baggage. I’m taking my own advice. I also wrote about it for the forthcoming What a Woman Is Worth project.)

The second half, I cried about my kids. How I’m fighting for them, how I’m failing them. Or at least it’s felt that way a lot lately. My husband’s job at a church left me as a single parent on Sundays: a role that I filled strongly, gracefully, and pitifully, in turn.

Lately, “pitifully” has been the dominant adjective. And my kids—growing older all the time, as kids are wont to do—were asking so many questions. About our family’s schedule, about the structure of our lives and our work. I’d give my answers–and my answers were good and right and true–but they were snappish. I continually surprised myself with how snippy I got when quizzed. Clearly, they were hitting me where it hurt.

When I got home from my appointment that morning, I found these waiting for me in my mailbox:

 

I was looking forward to Rachel’s book, but I had no intention of starting it that day. It wasn’t coming out for another month anyway.

But that afternoon, while my baby was napping and the others were “resting,” I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to scan the table of contents, maybe read the first few pages.

I’d heard the buzz about the book but wasn’t sure what to expect, yet Rachel spoke so eloquently to My Baggage that I couldn’t put it down. I finished all 319 pages by the next day.

A Year of Biblical Womanhood is going on the list of Books That Make Me Feel Like I’m Not Crazy. Or maybe my forthcoming list of Books That Make Me Want to Hug the Author.

Actually, I had every intention of doing that yesterday. We were in Virginia this past weekend for a family wedding, and knew we’d be passing through Blacksburg at the same time Rachel was scheduled to speak there. Serendipity, right? I thought I was going to get to hug her in person (even though I’m not really a hugger, so that’s saying a lot).

Alas, Hurricane Sandy foiled my plans.

Hug or no hug, I’m grateful for anyone–or any work–who makes me feel like I’m not crazy. Like I’m not alone. Who can speak to my baggage.

 *****     *****     *****

Two days after I found Rachel’s book (and the InStyle that I still haven’t opened) in my mailbox, my husband got a call–that became a conversation–that turned into a job offer. He accepted. He starts today.

His years at the church have been good; I’m wistful about that time coming to an end. But I’m hopeful for the season ahead. And who knows, maybe in another season he’ll be back at the church. The timing’s just not right for now, but the thought that it could be in another season makes me happy.

 *****     *****     *****

Thanks for reading this personal post today. Thanks for being here. Thanks for making me feel like I’m not crazy. I wish I could hug you all. (And I’m not really a hugger, so that’s saying a lot.)

 *****     *****     *****

Rachel’s book releases tomorrow, but you can order it now from Amazon.com.

What’s on your list of Books That Make You Feel Like You’re Not Crazy? Or, even better: Books That Make You Want to Hug the Author?

Click here to have new posts delivered to you in a reader or by email!