I’ve just returned from a reception for the TEDGlobal2010 Fellows. These world-changing individuals are intimidating even to the Fellows who precede them. Every time we meet a new class of Fellows, at least one of the outgoing Fellows or Senior Fellows will say, “I’m glad I didn’t have to compete for a spot in THIS class! I never would have been chosen!”

After engaging in a wonderful conversation with one of them, she asked, “And what do you do?”  I answered, “Nothing.  I am doing nothing at this time.”  She looked incredulous.  “I am on sabbatical,” I explained, “And I’m not doing anything.”

After a lifetime of trying so hard to rack up achievement points, I have become completely comfortable telling ultra-high achievers that my job is “doing no work.”

I am beginning to integrate the notion that it’s OK just to be, without having to do.  I always thought that was a crock, a good excuse for lazy people not to pull their weight in the world.  But somewhere deep inside, I have begun to believe that we are enough, each of us,  just being who we are.

The Larry King story kicked up a little Post Traumatic Stress in me.

Even though I haven’t earned a living in the media business for many years, I still read some of the trade magazines, subscribe to NewsBlues , keep up with the trends.  So I knew months ago that The King would be “stepping down” from his CNN talk show.  That’s how it works in television.  When you’re out, the world knows about it before you do.  Larry’s pathetically late “announcement” is just such a sham.   Everybody who reads the trades knew early this year that his contract wasn’t going to be renewed.

Heck, the day before Larry tweeted the suspension of his nightly suspenders, Katie Couric’s people put it out that she’d been offered (and turned down) Larry’s timeslot.

When I started working in media over forty years ago, I was stunned by the number of ignominious departures. I formulated a single career endgame: get out with dignity, on my own terms.  That didn’t happen exactly as I had pictured it, but I came close. Darn few people get to pull it off. Even the people I know whose departures seemed “mutual” were the inevitable result of an irrevocable management decision.  Some may get a little time to let the news sink in, and they might get a chance to help shape the tone of their departure so there’s little evidence of the Big Shove.  But who really leaves a nice broadcasting job to “pursue new opportunities” or “spend more time with the family”?

If legends like Larry King can’t be granted a graceful retreat ahead of the career-killing gossip, what chance do local newser-losers have of getting out with their dignity intact?  Zippo.

One of my favorite local broadcasters is currently enduring this particular form of hell. The whole town knows the contract won’t be renewed, but coooooould be renegotiated (translation: major pay cut).  It’s not my business, but I find myself thinking about this person who is probably well over 40. What now? Will there be another news gig? A PR job (aka The Dark Side)? Months of unemployment?

This is the paragraph I have just erased and rewritten. It previously limned the indignities that were visited upon me during my decades in local broadcasting. I deleted that. The people responsible for that series of (probably illegal and certainly unconscionable) humiliations are, I hope, enjoying the rewards of their karma. A LOT.

It’s so interesting to me that the career developments of people who are strangers to me can trigger all these feelings of…what am I feeling? It presents as “feeling sympathy” for Larry King, and for that local broadcaster whose employment travails are public.

What’s really going on? It’s not about Larry King. I’m feeling sadness for my twentysomething self, treated like dog poop by people who were getting the best of my efforts in the bloom of my youth and the peak of my ability in a high-visibility job.  (Management’s opinion my vary.)

What would Old Me tell Young Me if I had a chance to go back Bill-and-Ted  style?

Well, first I would tell me to buy GOOG when it comes public.  Then I would tell me to find a female mentor with a pair of brass ones, not in the broadcast biz, to help me learn how to deal with the sexism.  And I would tell me to grow a pair myself, to look around and see that a lot of jobs come with the sword of Damocles  hanging overhead. Politicians, movie people, even corporate executives have their performances critiqued in public, their demotions and failures and firings chronicled by trade publications and major mainstream media.

I would remind me that there were many, many perks to that gig, perks unavailable to people who work in quiet cubicles.  I would remind me that I grew up in a “telephone company” household, where the union made sure nobody, even the incompetent, ever got fired (according to my Dad The Angry Manager) and that I never knew anyone who got fired until I got into broadcasting. I would suggest to me that perhaps such a background made me overly sensitive to the “shame” of being fired and that perhaps my perspective was a tad skewed.

(Taking a deep breath) It’s not up to me to worry about Larry King’s dignity or the local broadcaster’s employability.  And I am grateful for my own media career, including (gulp) the humiliating experiences.  Yes, I am grateful for all of it.  And I’m especially grateful that those #$%^s can never be the boss of me again.  Who knows? Maybe Larry and the Local will feel the same when they look back on it all.

I am making these wishes known publicly.  No heroic measures. End it as soon as possible.  If I am ever in a physical or mental state that…well, let’s just say that YOU wouldn’t want to be in, let me go and if I need help to go, help me to go.

My husband wants the exact opposite. Spend every last dime to keep him alive in any physical or mental condition because there is always hope as long as you’re alive.  Why take a chance on checking out when they could come up with your cure the next day?

I’m so glad we are having these discussions now, before anybody has to guess about what someone wants. We have these things in writing. If you haven’t got a living will, health care directives, and trusted representatives with the legal authority to carry out your wishes, you could become a very difficult problem for a large number of people.

I’m now in my 60s (as of a couple of weeks ago) and I know how important this is.  I knew it was important when I was in my 20s, not just from experiences in my own circle, but because I was a health reporter.  I learned that two of the most important things a person can do at ANY age:  put your legal health care directives in writing and make sure the right people have a copy, and whatever luxuries you have to sacrifice to do it, get long term care insurance.  Nothing will destroy a family and its finances faster than a catstrophic medical situation where nobody knows what to do. And if your health conditions mean you can’t live unassisted at home, and this can happen to anyone at any age, you need long term care and it’s very expensive.

Yeah, this is not a cheerful conversation.  But the day may come for you, as it has for my family, that you are so, so, so very grateful that you had these conversations while these conversations could be had.

Meet Kaitlyn Marie Scott, born this morning at 8:10am weighing 7 lb. 14 oz, to a healthy and happy Laura Scott and her husband Rodney Scott (who took that picture, which I just copied from his Facebook page).

The Scotts don’t announce baby names ahead of baby arrival.  We grandparents had no clue what their firstborn’s name would be until Kylie, who’ll be 4 in August, was several minutes old. This time,  Kylie was in on the family secret. She was the only one entrusted with the name chosen for the new baby.  When I heard that Laura and Rodney expected their chatty little social belle to keep it under wraps, I thought, Yeah, good luck with THAT. But somehow, it seems she told nobody at her school, nobody at summer day camp, not even her beloved grandmother “Giggles” who sees Kylie nearly every day.

When Giggles (Laura’s mom Diane), Pom Pom (Laura’s father Bill) and Tootie (guess who) were in the waiting room this morning with Kylie, we got an email message from Rodney giving Big Sis permission to tell us Little Sister’s name.  She wouldn’t do it.   Showing her the message, reading the words aloud, pointing to Rodney’s name – not enough.  Jaws of steel.

Only when Rodney came out personally and told her that it was OK did she spill it.

Of course I’m in awe of the miracle of birth and the beauty of a laboring/new mother and the elegance of nature’s way. It’s hard to beat the proverbial “ten fingers, ten toes, good Apgar, Mother and Baby doing fine” thing.

But a three-year-old who can keep a secret for a long time?  That’s pretty impressive too.  In the reporting biz we used to joke, “How many people can keep a secret among them? Three, if two are dead.”  Ha! The Scotts prove that three people who are very much alive can indeed keep a secret.

In my reporting work, I used to promise my sources, “I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail before I’d tell anyone what you told me in confidence.”  In my coaching work, confidentiality is the foundation of the relationship.  I still have every one of those reporting and coaching confidences (maybe yours) behind locked lips.  I have no idea how a little kid could be capable of such mental discipline.

Today I’m grateful for family and for major milestones.  And I am especially grateful for the reminder that integrity, trustworthiness, and loyalty can be found where one might least expect it.

One thing my journalism career pounded into me every day: there aren’t “two sides to every story.”  There are many sides to most stories, and it’s possible that all of them are true.

I have held off as long as I could, but it’s like trying not to sneeze.

It’s like trying to stop tears from flowing while chopping onions.

It’s like ….well, it’s ALMOST as bad as the Harvard thing.  You know, where if a person went to Harvard or is associated with Harvard in any way they will find a way to work that into the conversation within ten seconds of meeting you?

I got one a while back.

I haven’t said anything about it yet even though I’m bursting to blab.

I didn’t want to be one of those people.

But apparently I am. 

Yes, This Is That Thing.

What you can see on that snapshot is the downloading of two seasons of Head Case , one season of Party Down , and that big Larry Sanders  compilation  (which I own in DVD form already but don’t have with me here on the road).

So, yeah, I have one , and I love it.

I don’t recommend it because it’s too darn heavy and the next iterations will be better .  It is cool, though.  It is really cool.

Do I get any credit for not showing it off the minute I got my hands on it?  No I do not.  To quote that great old song  that makes Briscoe Darling  cry, I’m disgusted with myself.

Flooding in Tennessee.  My place is OK.  My family reports their houses and yards have taken on a lot of water, but nobody’s been evacuated.  Friends have opened their homes to the displaced in their neighborhood.

A friend of a friend  is a freelance insurance claims adjuster. This is the end of his personal recession.

When I was in the news business, every tragedy was “business” for us. And we weren’t the only ones. No matter what the bad news, the boss would say, “This is good for somebody. Get that story too.”

I forgot that it used to be my job to deliberately seek out the “good news for somebody” story in the midst of bad news.  I’m glad to be reminded of it today.

Looking Up

I was tidying up and I came across something I scribbled down while reading “Ask Amy ,” an advice column.  She says she keeps it posted above her desk. 

“Unsolicited Advice Is Always Self-Serving.”

I’ve added a few mental postscripts, like “There are times when being self-serving is the right thing.”  And “There’s nothing wrong with being self-serving as long as you are also truly serving the other.”  And “Unsolicited advice is not always self-serving, but most times, it is.”

I love advice columns.  When I was a kid, I devoured “Ask Ann Landers ” and “Dear Abby ”  in our daily newspapers. I even wrote to Ann Landers once – a family dispute that everyone agreed to let Ann settle.  When she sided with me, my father said she was full of (fecal material) and refused to abide by her call.

In 1987, the Chicago Sun-Times  held a contest to choose a replacement advice columnist because Eppie Lederer , aka Ann Landers,  had quit to join the competition.

I applied.

 I was already a multi-media threat, working in radio, television and newspaper.  I could have slipped seamlessly into the publicity machine, camera-ready and experienced in every facet of media, ready to help the newspaper get as much attention as humanly possible for the new column.

My work ethic was beyond dispute – I had three full time jobs!  And I was already dishing out advice every day, as people made the (insane) assumption that if one is a television news anchor, radio talk-show host, and newspaper columnist that one has “all the answers.”

I reached the semifinals, but the job went to Diane Crowley, daughter of the original “Ann Landers,” Ruth Crowley , and Jeff Zazlow , a 28-year old man.  I was a sore loser.  I thought they really blew it by not picking me.  I wanted that job so badly.  It was such a disappointment.  I mourned. I railed. I wondered how I could reverse the course of fate and force a recount.

It’s been 23 years since I failed to land my dream job.  Who knows where it would have taken me?  But if I had gotten what I wanted more than anything in the world, I wouldn’t be writing this from a chaise under an umbrella, listening to the waves, watching the palm fronds sway in the breeze.

Cindy Adams , gossip columnist extraordinaire, has weighed in on a sexual harrassment suit filed in New York City  by a former television newscaster.  The woman lost her case.  Smutty remarks and an unwelcome tongue kiss weren’t enough to create a hostile work environment  in the eyes of the court.

Cindy thinks the suit should never have been filed and that the offended woman should “deal with it,”  because most women have,  without bothering the courts.

My first jobs were rife with incidents that were not only unwelcome, but bordered on criminal, even in the days before sexual harrassment laws.  I was a teenager when the general manager of the broadcast facility where I worked literally chased me around his desk and tried to tackle me onto his couch.  I was terrified.  I went to my union steward who said, “What’s the problem?”  He likes you!”

Colleagues were pressured to be nice to the clients, meaning, “When they grab you, smile, don’t scream, and especially don’t slap.”

We all put up with that.  We all learned to “deal with it,” to quote Cindy.

I am torn.  There’s a certain amount of nonsense most people have to tolerate from coworkers.  It seems like a waste of taxpayer money to bring suit over the comparatively small offenses this litigant suffered.

But I’m equally sad to hear Cindy telling women that this is their lot in life, that they should do as she did and threaten to jab someone’s private parts with a pen.  She’s a feisty broad, and maybe her toughness was Teflon when she was fighting off the mashers.

Despite appearances, I was not feisty.  I was a good girl who feared and obeyed authority.  I wouldn’t have been able to threaten anyone, much less the big boss.

I’m shocked at how much residual angst I feel in my body from those years of having to “deal with it.” All the remarks, all the cheap copped feels, all the near-assaults, all the fear.  It’s frightening when other people can have dominion over one’s body with impunity. 

As I’m writing this, my heart is pounding harder and I’m breaking a sweat .  I’m remembering what it felt like to be so powerless at the hands (literally) of the men who controlled my employment. (I’m talking about YOU, Mr. Do-It-Or-You’re-Fired.)

And I’m thinking about all the people (not just women) who feel this powerlessness, this fear, this helplessness RIGHT NOW. 

One thing’s for sure: Cindy and I would definitely have an easier time fighting off any unwelcome advances today. We’d just kick the crutches out from under that rude man.

I have taken a sabbatical from my sabbatical.

I was working.

If I report on my work, will that be more work?