What’s Jimmy Choo Got to Do With It?

After a day spent with doctors trying to find solutions to ongoing pain, I realized that in addition to the back pain and the foot pain, I am angry.  I am angry that my body is betraying me.

I’m that person who eats well, who exercised well until pain took that away from her, who is relatively thin and looks fit and healthy, and who was stopped in her tracks at a trade show this week in such searing pain that it took my breath away and reduced me to tears for a bit.  How can this be?  Sure, I’m ageing, but this?  Really?

I recognize I have little to complain about.  I have great health care, and I know that I will get to the root of this and solve it in time.  None of this is life-threatening and for that I am extremely grateful.  But it is debilitating, and gives me a bit of a preview of what life might be like in the decades to come.

So perhaps that’s the source of the anger: betrayal at this ageing of my body, a reality check with my own immortality.  I don’t think of myself as older, but these feet and that back just can’t do what they used to do.  No sexy high heels.  No fancy Pilates moves right now or Zumba.  No favorite sleeping position. 

Of course, I have managed to find a little consolation.  It turns out that Jimmy Choo makes a mighty fine motorcycle boot which works pretty well for these ageing feet and feels pretty sassy.  Smile.

About Breasts

I’ve been thinking a lot about breasts lately.  It all started after seeing “American Hustle”, in which it seemed to me that one of the cast members should have been listed as “Amy Adams’ Breasts”.

Last month I read an article in the New York Times about store mannequins being built to reflect the new “extreme” bodies desired by women in Venezuela.   I was appalled by the following quote from the maker of the mannequins,  “I say that inner beauty doesn’t exist. That’s something that unpretty women invented to justify themselves.”

More importantly, though, this week a friend underwent a double mastectomy. I am hoping this will be a big part of ridding her of cancer, now and forever.  And I also find myself wondering what it might be like to be a woman living without breasts. 

Every woman I know has a mixed relationship with her breasts.  Some think theirs too small, others, too big.  For as long as I have had them, I have resented their appearance on my body.  Men have desired them, ogled them, made lewd comments about them, and adored them.  Sports have challenged them, and clothes?  Don’t get me started.

In a world where it is publicly discussed if Hilary Clinton shows a shadow of cleavage, a world which has grown comfortable with the word “breast”, as in “breast cancer”, yet a world which still glorifies young women willing to bare their breasts for attention, what is a woman supposed to do when faced with losing her breasts?

As Betty Rollin said decades ago, first you cry.  And then you do what makes you comfortable, regardless of the worldview on women’s bodies.  It’s a very personal decision, a decision made while facing one’s own mortality.  I would hope that we would all grow more comfortable with the sight of a beautiful woman, breastless, one-breasted, reconstructed, flat-chested or bosomy and just celebrate who we are rather than our cup size.

The Wedding Planner - Attention to Detail, Part 2

Confession:  I have been some version of a control-freak for much of my life.  I learned early on that if I wanted something done well, I often needed to do it myself, and while that may have taught me some leadership skills, it also reinforced trust issues and the inability to delegate.  Over time, I have been trying to unlearn and re-learn, trying to balance leading through doing with leading through teaching and delegating, understanding when good enough is enough and when it is not.

And then came planning my wedding. For a period of approximately 9 months, Andy, my (now) husband, and I planned our wedding.  We are both planners; we like to think things through in advance, we are able to juggle multiple tasks and thoughts and complexities, and we really enjoy planning and executing complicated events.  So planning the wedding was a task, often a second full-time job, which we both enjoyed, riffing off of one another’s thoughts, spelling each other when necessary, and taking on the parts which were our specialties.  While Andy selected every song for the playlist and every item of food and hardware and firewood to be purchased for two dozen weekend houseguests, I worked out every detail of design and color and texture.  Together we planned the logistics for all family members and friends.  And all went without a hitch because of the great detail of planning, the relentless checking and thinking and notating and documenting, the extreme attention to detail.  

Except.  Except for two things.  One was the weather.  We planned an outdoor wedding in Sonoma in October, a most glorious time of the year when it never rains.  And while it didn’t rain, it did get mighty cold and windy in the evening when all of our guests were supposed to be dining and drinking under the stars.  We knew from experience that Sonoma nights are cool, yet we didn’t plan for this fact, and many of the details so carefully planned had to be pushed aside for some on the spot triage to keep folks from freezing.  I never got to see those amazing desserts on the carefully curated selection of antique cake plates which I had lugged around the country, as dessert had to be rushed indoors in a helter skelter fashion.  But I also saw people turn from being guests to being helpers in a moment of need, giving roles to people who had wanted to participate in the wedding and now had something new to do, and who have talked ever since about, “Remember when it got so cold?”  In this case, our lack of having a Plan B resulted in a changed, positive experience.

 

On the other hand, having planned everything within an inch of our lives, I fell down in the planning of having a “Day Of” coordinator, and hired a “good enough” who didn’t turn out to be.  What I needed was a mini-me, and instead hired someone who was convenient but ultimately ineffective.  The wedding didn’t fall apart as a result; too many details were planned and on auto-pilot.  And the meaning of the day and celebration was paramount, far more important than details which weren't perfect.  But the stress caused by my poor hire’s deficiencies wore on others and caused stress where none was necessary.  And that was MY doing, my not listening to the inner voice which was telling me that she was, indeed, not good enough.

Did any of this ruin the day?  Absolutely not.  The day of love and gathering, friends and family, beauty and celebration was amazing and powerful.  Was everything perfect?  No, and life is not perfect.  Compromise in life is necessary.  But learning when to compromise on details and plans is really the key.  Some things matter more than others, and that’s really all there is to it.   It’s up to you to figure out which is and is not.

From a Sobered CEO

In a business which depends on relationships, relationships with our artists and relationships with our customers, my company bends over backwards to make the everyday possible, even when it feels impossible.  And yet, there are the occasional times when for some reason or other, we are unable to succeed.  Today was such a day, a day in which many members of our staff were verbally abused by a potential customer, and I was forced to make the decision not to accept this customer’s business.   It was a hard decision.  It was counter-intuitive to everything I know about service.  And it was the easiest decision in the world in order to protect my staff from further abuse.  I wondered during the process what the legendary Nordstrom position would be, what Seth Godin might say, yet knew that this was necessary, hoping that in this day of viral information that taking the higher ground would speak as loudly as this customer’s abuse.

Attention to Detail, Part 1

Over the past month, I have been struck numerous times by the importance of attention to detail.   Clearly, this is not a new idea.  Every artist, every business person, every politician, every parent I know knows this, yet we often scrimp, thinking “it’s good enough” is really good enough.  Man, have I had examples which have reinforced what  a difference diligent attention to detail can really make.

On my recent trip to Tuscany, I stayed in a most fantastic hotel, The Monteverdi, which cared about every single detail, yet made the entire experience seem effortless.  The hotel stay reminded me of hearing a magnificent symphony played by a world class orchestra, where the whole visit added up to a sense of completeness, a seamless blend of comfort and service and physical beauty.   From the soft-washed Italian linen sheets and fluffy duvet to the unobtrusive-but-always-there service, from the fresh flowers in the room and shower everyday to the world class restaurant always available to guests, from the modernist design to the respect for the 800 year old buildings, from the warm smiles of the staff to the customized recommendations of places to visit, the experience was seamless.

Nothing was accidental; it was all very much on purpose.  And yet, none of the hard work was apparent, only the end result of creating a place meant to soothe, excite, comfort, delight, and stimulate every sense.

The owner of the hotel, a businessman from the U.S, describes the hotel as a labor of love, and he has obviously poured heart, soul, taste, and major dollars into this labor.  Sometimes love can blind; in this case, it seems to have only sharpened the senses.  Bravo!