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RIGHTSIZE YOUR DREAMS

The story of Psyche (see chapter 3) focuses on feminine development, and on the characteristics women must acquire to become complete. Psyche could only be reunited with her beloved after completing four tasks. The difficulty of the assignments could have paralyzed her, and each task required more than she felt capable of. Likewise, it is only through navigating our own challenges that we grow into the women we envision ourselves to be.

Like Psyche, modern women must establish priorities and sift through possible dreams in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties. Learning to trust our judgment is one of the first skills we must learn, to truly grow up. Determining priorities may require that we “sleep on it,” letting our subconscious mind, a repository of our deeply held principles and beliefs—work things out. As we learn to trust our intuition, providential guidance comes and clarity on how to properly size our dreams emerges. Consider the story of Rebecca Nielsen, a mother of twin girls, who holds an MBA from Harvard Business School, and was previously a senior director with UnitedHealth Group.

Rebecca Edwards Nielsen: Rightsizing My Dream

Years ago I set a goal to run the Red Cross. I then determined that attending business school and gaining management skills in the private sector were important steps to qualifying myself to lead a major nongovernmental organization (NGO). When I called my college chemistry professor for a letter of recommendation, he replied, “Rebecca, I don’t envision you in business. I see you running the Red Cross.”

I had to smile. I shared that dream on my business school application and in my entrance interview. After each class I wrote in my journal about how my education in brand management, strategy, controls, or finance would serve me in the not-for-profit arena—and I kept the dream tangible: someday I would run the Red Cross. After business school I spent five years working in the health care industry developing general management skills.

Fast forward: I am now a full-time mother of beautiful twin girls. Swept up in this dream—which is more purposeful and joyful than I expected—I think more about catching up on sleep than fundraising for disaster relief. However, I heed Langston Hughes’ caution that dreams deferred can dry up like a raisin in the sun, and welcome the chance to reflect on this goal. I’ve planted some stakes in the ground as I start this process of reassessing: I savor this time with my girls and I want to spend the bulk of my time with my children for years to come.

Although I now have competing dreams that need to make room for each other, I am still enthusiastic about making strides in both—but not necessarily at the same time. Within days of beginning to write this blog post, I learned of the passing of my aunt. She enjoyed a rich family life and accomplished remarkable professional goals. She did it in stages. When her youngest child started kindergarten, she started writing. In the years that followed, she published twelve books. Some of her most notable works came from experiences with her children.

I anticipate that there will be a season in my life when I will chase my dream of running the Red Cross, and that my experiences as a mother will provide valuable fodder and perspective in championing humanitarian relief.

My dream may need to be rightsized, as I won’t have a traditional management résumé, but I am not disheartened. If I am not in a position to lead an established NGO, I will be able to serve on nonprofit boards, volunteer in humanitarian relief on a local level, and follow my parents’ example of devoting time to an extended humanitarian mission abroad. I may need to become a nonprofit entrepreneur, and bootstrap my own effort to make a difference. Although my goal may change, its essence—to use my skills to champion humanitarian relief—is still within reach.

MOURNING DEFERRED OR DERAILED DREAMS

Rebecca is currently in the process of rightsizing her dreams, but it’s not always possible. My friend Sally Harker commented to me one day over lunch, “I love nearly everything about your blog, especially reading stories of women who are achieving their dreams, but what about the women whose dreams go unfulfilled?” To humorously underscore her point, she sent me a link to a New Yorker cartoon in which a well-dressed woman asks a clerk at an upscale department store, “What would you suggest to fill the dark, empty spaces in my soul?”

I’ll answer with a rhetorical question—have you achieved all of your dreams? I haven’t. Do you have empty spaces? Empty spaces that never get filled—at least on a timetable you like? I do. When dreams go unfulfilled, there is sadness; we need to honor that sadness. Isn’t it also true that in the effort to fill our empty spaces, we begin to write our stories, characterize ourselves as heroes, and make our greatest contributions? Consider, for instance, Jill Hubbard Bowman, an intellectual property (IP) attorney in Austin, Texas, who publishes a legal blog, IP Law for Startups, iplawforstartups.com, and an inspiring career website for young women, lookilulu.com.

Jill Hubbard Bowman: Unexpected Twists and Turns

I had a dream to be a trial attorney who would fight big legal battles and win. And then my dream was derailed by a twin pregnancy that almost killed me. Literally. It was a shock and awe pregnancy. It caused the death, destruction, and rebirth of my identity and legal career.

I was working as an intellectual property litigation attorney for a large law firm in Chicago when a pregnancy with twins caused my heart to fail. After fifteen years of infertility, the twin pregnancy was an unexpected surprise. Heart failure because of the pregnancy was an even bigger shock. The toll on my legal career was even more unexpected.

Although I was fortunate to survive without a heart transplant, I eventually realized that I needed a career transplant. As my heart function recovered, I valiantly tried to cling to my career dream and do the hard work I loved. But the long hours and travel necessary for trial work were too much for my physical self. I was exhausted with chronic chest pain, two clinging toddlers, and a disgruntled husband. I was tired of being tired. My law firm was exceptionally supportive but I didn’t have the stamina to keep all of the pieces of my life together.

Overwhelmed, I let go of my original dream. I backed down, retrenched, and regrouped. I took a year off from legal work to rest, recover, spend time with my toddlers, and open myself to new possibilities.

During my hiatus, I rethought my legal career. I had long discussions with other women who were juggling motherhood and career dreams. I identified the things that gave me energy and passion, including counseling, sharing information, and writing. I realized that I was motivated to help people, especially women, avoid suffering, whether from ignorance of the law or simply because they aren’t aware of the opportunities available to them.

In my repose, I also took stock of my assets. I’m a walking treatise on intellectual property law. I’ve done intellectual property cleanup and dispute resolution for many years and I’ve seen the variety of mistakes that companies make. Moreover, in more than twenty-five years, I’ve learned a lot about professional careers and finding work that is fulfilling and rewarding based on individual strengths and interests.

Revitalized and healthy, I started dreaming new dreams. I saw ways that I could make a significant contribution by sharing what I’ve learned. I decided to refocus my legal practice on counseling and helping start-up companies avoid liability and protect their intellectual property.

To share some of what I know, I started a blog, IP Law for Startups, where I teach basic lessons on trade secrets, trademarks, copyrights, and patents and give tips for avoiding the biggest blunders that destroy the value of intellectual assets. Few start-up companies, especially women-owned companies that rarely get venture capital funding, can afford the expensive hourly rates of a large law firm to the get the critical information they need. I feel deeply rewarded when I help a company create a strategy that protects the value of their company and supports their business dreams.

Further, I had a dream to help young women see their career possibilities. In partnership with my sister, Julie Simmons, I created lookilulu.com, a website where women share their insights, career paths, and ways they have integrated motherhood with their professional pursuits. When my sister and I were growing up on a farm, we had a hard time seeing that women could have rewarding careers. With Lookilulu^® we want to help young women see what we couldn’t see: that dreams are not linear—they take many twists and unexpected turns.

As I’ve learned the hard way, dreams change and shift as life happens. I’ve learned the value of continuing to dream new dreams after other dreams are derailed. I’m sure I’ll have many more dreams in my future. I’ve learned to be open to new and unexpected opportunities.

By way of postscript, Jill writes, “I didn’t grow up planning to be lawyer. As a girl growing up in a small rural town, I was afraid to dream. I loved science, but rather than pursuing medical school, I opted for low-paying laboratory jobs, planning to quit when I had children. But then I couldn’t have children. As I awakened to the possibility that dreaming was an inalienable right, even for me, I started law school when I was thirty; intellectual property combines my love of law and science.”

As a young girl, Jill’s rightsizing involved mustering the courage to expand her dreams, to dream outside of her box. Once she had children, she again transformed her dreams. In many ways her dreams are bigger and aim to help more people than before the twists and turns in her life’s path.

Lori Lyn Price, a biostatician at Tufts Medical Center and a professional genealogist (bridgingthepast.com), has a dream that hasn’t quite happened yet: to marry and become a mother.

Lori Lyn Price: Bridging from the Past to Her Future

I entered college with the expectation that I would marry while there, and with a firm determination to graduate in spite of that. I was consequently taken completely by surprise when I woke up one spring morning with no marital prospects and graduation only a few weeks away.

Although obtaining my degree was important to me, I had planned my career as a stay-at-home mom, never entertaining other plans or a job outside the home. However, with graduation looming I needed to make a decision. Unsure whether I wanted to enter graduate school or find a job, I took an internship at the Cleveland Clinic Foundation to give myself time to think about this unexpected turn of events.

Twelve years after taking that internship, I remain single, and yet I look back at all the opportunities that have come my way. Working at the Cleveland Clinic, a prestigious medical research center, opened the way for me to work in practically any other medical research institution. My boss at the Cleveland Clinic offered me opportunities that were unusual for someone with my experience. I eventually earned a master’s degree in statistics and moved to Boston to work at Tufts Medical Center.

I’ve also had the flexibility to travel extensively, in the United States and abroad, to Egypt, Israel, Portugal, Mexico, and Canada. I’ve pursued additional degrees and explored diverse hobbies that include photography, card-making, jewelry-making, and genealogy. If I had married in college, there may not have been time or money for these pursuits.

More recently, I decided to return to graduate school to study history. As an undergraduate, I considered double-majoring in history and statistics, but eventually opted for just statistics, which turned out to be a wise choice: my career as a biostatistician is challenging, pays reasonably well, and, most importantly, I enjoy it.

I’m also combining my knowledge of history and genealogy to start a lecturing business for genealogists, Bridging the Past, which provides context on how historical events affected daily life in colonial New England. One of my favorite lectures is a discussion of extraordinary colonial women, which contrasts their life experiences with those of modern-day women.

My life is very different than I envisioned it as a teenager. I thought I would be a wife and mother. It has been difficult to see all five of my younger sisters marry and have children while I remain single. And yet, as I’ve pursued the opportunities before me, I am discovering new dreams and a life that is full and happy in unexpected ways.

Lori Lyn is finding new and different ways to achieve her dreams. She acknowledges the pain of an important dream (of marrying and having children) being unfulfilled, yet recognizes how many other dreams have been made possible because she is single. Often, circumstances beyond our control force us to rightsize our dreams, as well as to simply realize that we aren’t always in control.

I came to this realization after having a miscarriage. When my son was two, we were ready for another baby and I got pregnant without any trouble, just as I had the first time. My carefully laid plans were swept away when I miscarried just one month into my pregnancy. Emily Nielson, who holds a BA in music from the University of Massachusetts–Boston, shares the insights she learned about derailed dreams after experiencing a miscarriage of her own.

Emily Nielson: The Beauty of Seasons

On an average fall day, you can find me in my garden, tasting, smelling, and enjoying. It’s not just me that loves the garden; at any given time, a child will have a handful of green beans and seedy tomato juice dripping everywhere. Or my husband might be there. Our garden is kind of an extension of our home, lots of good food and love.

In years past, either my husband or I have taken charge of the garden, depending on who had more time and energy that year to be the garden’s “keeper.” That person plans the garden, then plants and tends it, with the help of the children. Seems simple enough, right? Well, I discovered it’s not that simple, and this year my garden is very different, for a reason you probably wouldn’t expect. In February, I suffered a miscarriage at sixteen weeks gestation.

I had spent sixteen weeks producing the most precious, beautiful fruit that can be produced by humankind. I had planned and nurtured and was tending to the precious fruit. Then, when I believed I had no reason not to enjoy my eventual harvest, my precious fruit died. Just like that. No harvest, no fruit. No sweet, soft, new baby that would be mine.

A few months later, when my husband and I began to discuss planting the garden, I was apathetic, tired, and weary. Gardens are a lot of work. But now that some time has passed, I realize that I didn’t want to put my heart and soul into nurturing something that would take a long time to grow and then might die. I didn’t want to be the “keeper” of the garden. Meanwhile, my husband was busy and dealing with his own sadness, so he didn’t plant the garden either.

All summer and fall, I have missed the garden. This week, when I went into the backyard to grab something for the kids, my eyes wandered over to the faded, empty patch surrounded by ivy and multicolored roses, and felt the familiar pang of wishing we had taken the time to properly plant and care for the garden.

In that moment, quietly but clearly, a thought came to my mind. It was a hopeful, beautiful thought that I credit to God—a thought that reminded me of the beauty of seasons. Seasons start and end, come and go. My dirt patch of a garden, now that it was November, wasn’t barren because we had neglected it. All gardens were barren at that moment because the season was over.

And next spring would be a completely new season, untouched by the misfortune of any past seasons: new blossoms on the trees, seedlings sprouting. Joy and relief overcame me. We could start over with our garden and in a few months it could be resiliently returned to its former glory. Almost simultaneously, I realized that, like our garden, our family could recover from our miscarriage.

As I now carry another unborn child, I am grateful to have learned that while some seasons bring sadness, many will bring happiness. The bitterness of one season can lead to sweeter anticipation and sweeter enjoyment of seasons to come.

Emily dared to dream of a new baby, a wonderful addition for her family to love and cherish, and very sadly, her dream died. As we dare to dream, we are preparing to birth a new piece of ourselves. Something wonderful is going to be. But sometimes the dream dies. And this can be terribly sad.

We eventually make meaning of the experience and tell our story. After we grieve, we pick ourselves up and dream again. Which is precisely what Shawni Pothier, a mother and a blogger (71toes.com), has done. Shawni recently launched the I Love Lucy Project to help raise funds for research to fight blindness. Shawni’s youngest daughter has been diagnosed with a syndrome that causes vision loss.

Shawni Pothier: I Love Lucy Project

At the birth of each of my five babies I was completely euphoric. I sat in my hospital bed with them and gazed deeply into their eyes as my heart swelled up to the size of a watermelon with pure love. Those babies were my dream come true . . . the dream to be a mother.

As I sat there soaking them in, I dreamed of a life for each of them as full and rewarding as could be. Of course, as mothers we never dream of our children to having to deal with health issues or trials. I dream of only the good: confidence, friends, marriage, and family.

But my big dreams shifted dramatically with the birth of my fifth baby, Lucy. She politely introduced me to real life.

Not only was she born with an extra toe and a couple of birthmarks, she was delayed. Even at three months old she hadn’t smiled, despite my most impressive attempts to strain my own smile muscles at her. She couldn’t roll over for what seemed like forever. She couldn’t sit up for very long, and at almost two years old, she still wasn’t walking.

My husband and I worried our hearts out. As we struggled through doctor after doctor, trying to figure it out, I realized I had been living in a dream world with my first four kids. Every one of them was right on, developmentally. One week they learned to play peek-a-boo. The next they learned to give kisses. Then they started saying words, which were added to one by one, then ten by ten. This was normal.

Lucy qualified for speech therapy, then physical therapy. She had MRIs and hearing tests that required sedation since she was so feisty. I became best friends with the nurses at the blood lab who helped me hold poor Lucy down endless times to draw blood for various tests ordered by the geneticist.

One winter day last year, we got a call we knew was coming. Lucy was diagnosed with Bardet-Biedl, a rare syndrome that causes heart and kidney issues, obesity, and, most heart-wrenching to us, blindness.

Everything was claustrophobic; my thoughts swirled. I worried about my husband, who wants to always “fix” things that go wrong, and here was something he couldn’t “fix.” I worried about our other kids getting the attention they needed, given Lucy’s needs. I worried about all her health issues, the myriad things that could go wrong.

My heart sank when people started talking to us about the Foundation for the Blind and Braille, classes for young kids to learn to walk with canes, heart and kidney problems associated with this syndrome, the possibility of diabetes, and kidney transplants.

This syndrome was not part of the “dream” I envisioned for my daughter as I lay in my hospital bed when she was born. What about all the things I dreamed she’d do? I went from dreaming big to letting fear seep in. Would Lucy be able to function in life? Would she have friends? Would she depend on us forever? And what about my dream that she’d someday be a wife and mother?

During the year since Lucy’s diagnosis, I have been smacked in the face with the realization that it is through our struggles that we grow the most. And that we all have struggles. We all have dreams that haven’t become a reality. Gradually, our challenges shape us, and dreams we hadn’t anticipated emerge.

Lucy is a sweet, strong-willed, chubby three-year-old who captures the hearts of all who meet her. Her life is not going in the direction I had hoped for when I cradled her as a newborn, but she is influencing many, giving hope along the way. I’m learning to be flexible, to recognize that when a dream reaches a dead end, an alternate dream can and will emerge.

As my dream for Lucy shifts, my dream as a mother has shifted as well. All the wonderful things I hoped for are still there, but fighting for Lucy and against blindness, especially Lucy’s type of blindness, which there may be a cure for, has lit a fire within me.

It is a joy to have something bigger than myself and my family to fight for.

Shawni’s experience is not uncommon among parents—we all have dreams for our children, and whether through the circumstance of a genetic anomaly or simply our child’s individual agency, sometimes those dreams die, or at least shift. In this circumstance, Shawni found peace and energy in redirecting her dreams. Are there dreams in your life that need to shift?

REDIRECTING DREAMS

Several years ago, I had a black-tie event to attend. For the first time ever I had a dress made. It was a luxury, I’ll admit, but it was a liberating experience. I chose fabric that matched my skin tone, hair, and personality. I selected a pattern that would look good on my body. Most lovely of all was the moment when the seamstress sized the skirt of the dress to me: my waist, my body, my measurements. It wasn’t about my fitting into the dress, but about the dress fitting me. The same experience can be had with our dreams. They can be off-the-rack, but with some effort on our part, our dreams can be tailored to us: from our talents, competencies, principles, and identities—our strengths—we can create the right dream for us.

More often than not, rightsizing a dream involves reducing the scope of one dream to make room for another, but it’s important that we are also open to supersizing a dream. Take, for example, Megan Nelson who was wavering on applying for law school, but after we spoke, she’s not only going to apply to safety schools, she’s applying to schools that feel slightly beyond her grasp.

Or consider, Melissa D’Arabian, the winner of season five of The Next Food Network Star, who beat out thousands of hopefuls. Prior to entering the competition, Melissa was a stay-at-home mom to her four young daughters. She dared to dream as she entered the competition, but she doubted herself. She was a good cook, and had worked as a live-in cook to put herself through business school, but she was not professionally trained. Many, including Melissa herself, dismissed her as just a stay-at-home mom, a home cook. Over the course of a few months, we saw her transform from a woman full of self-doubt to one who, in daring, supersized her dream and realized just how capable she is.

Though this book is about giving ourselves permission to dream, to think bigger, and, in effect, supersize our dreams, often we find ourselves needing to rightsize, as dreams die or are deferred. Or we need to downsize, reducing the scope of one dream to make room for another. Adjusting our dreams, sifting through possibilities, and establishing priorities in the face of conflicting feelings and competing loyalties is a monumental task, one that will require that we draw on our intuition, our deepest sense of self, core beliefs, and principles. But if we’ll take on that task, we can stitch together a dream that is a perfect fit.

OFF-THE-RACK OR TAILOR-MADE . . .

Be careful who you let define your good.

—Lois McMaster Bujold, science fiction writer