I was not bit by a radioactive spider. I do not get powers from the sun. I just do a sh*t ton of work.
I kinda hit a wall yesterday, despite achieving some really exciting business milestones and getting to the point that I’ve wanted to get to for years.
It was no one’s fault. It’s just hard. It’s all come at a cost and I feel like sometimes people don’t see that cost. It also never feels like I’ve done enough no matter how much I’ve done.
I feel like I spend a lot of time absorbing sh*t. Unfairness. Trolling. Hate. Complaints. Stress over my children’s safety in the world. Protection of them against so many forces. The stress of daily meal planning. (Why is it so hard?) The emotional and literal costs of life. Of being a mom. Of moving through a man’s world as a woman. Of being a cisgender, able-bodied white woman with so much privilege who needs to do better on so many fronts.
Last week, I saw the sad news that celebrity animal lover Jack Hanna was retiring from public life following a diagnosis of dementia. I had to write somewhere about one of the most amazing and serendipitous days of my life, involving Jack.
I was—since childhood—a huge David Letterman fan. My ex-husband Geoff and I used to watch it every night, and Jack Hanna’s segments were our favorite. The interplay between the two of them was priceless, and Jack had this blend of innocence and child-like wonder, combined with deep knowledge and passion of the natural world and all its inhabitants. His exasperation with David Letterman, as he was trying to make him care about a particular species, and Letterman, just wanting to entertain, never got old.
Truth be told, I’m still working on my issues with body confidence. But wrinkles and grey hair, I am ALLLLL good with.
I posted a picture of myself this past weekend with Evie and my face was kinda squished, and it really played up my eye wrinkles. And I’m all good with that. Those wrinkles have been earned. They’ve seen and done a lot of things. They are bonus skin.
It’s silly when you think about it: That extra tiny bit of crinkly skin is what I’m supposed to be so upset about? What is supposed to make me feel less than? What I am supposed to spend a fortune getting rid of?
There is more excitement around our “Boss Up Your Financial Game” course (which starts in one week!) than any other course Chairman Mom has produced. We’ve got about 20 slots left, and Tuesday we have a free Zoom preview of the course with Serafina and Valerie that has a whopping 300 people RSVP’d, most totally new to the Chairman Mom universe. That’s the third-largest CM event ever.
So if you know you want to take the course, but have been putting it off, go sign up now. (Email me if you need an installment plan.) If you don’t, join us Tuesday.
Newsletter editor Lily here.
Welp, it’s all done. I’ve officially moved apartments. And you know what? I thought I knew how much I needed this physical change to my surroundings, but I don’t think I really understood how truly dire things were until I spent a few days at my new place.
One very hilarious thing about living in New York City for an extended period of time is you begin to have a very warped idea of what’s normal when it comes to your living situation.
I’m currently treating all of the windows (like, very typical windows) in my new place as if they’re luxuries.
The kids and I are leaving San Francisco as my primary home sometime before the beginning of the next school year. This is good for everyone in our family. Even our cats are excited about it.
But still, we are going to make it the longest of loooooooonnnnnnngggggggg goodbyes. It’s not even really a goodbye. We are keeping our house here, and I’m doing a quasi-badass hostel situation with other phenomenal women who have moved from San Francisco but still need to have regular face time here every month. That means when I need a dose of SF, I’ll likely come to my old home and some of my favorite people will be staying there. QUADRUPLE WIN.
Femily asked a really interesting question on the site today about what happens if companies require folks to go back to work full-time and whether it’ll spark a talent exodus. I’m a bit at war with myself in my own comments on the thread!
On one hand, I have had so much experience with people who say they will absolutely quit if [fill in the blank], but because of the massive friction of actually finding a new job (the whole devil-you-know-syndrome), they don’t actually end up doing it. This inertia is clearly what companies that don’t want to change will bank on. But those who stay out of sheer inertia are likely pissed. Which is good for exactly nobody.
I’m in a weird spot between the collective WTF of the last year combined with some big power waves in my own life and the newness of being mostly vaccinated and feeling like a new chapter is beginning. Add to that I am lucky enough to edit and produce all of our phenomenal courses, so I get this rush of wisdom and empowerment before any of you!
After editing the Kim and Trier course of Radical Equality and next generation leadership, I am throwing purple flags and examining past bullying and feel newly equipped to advocate for myself in a way that’s maybe not quite so flamethrower as my previous approach.
One of my favorite compliments I ever got on my kids: “Eli just exudes beauty, and Evie just exudes power.”
Evie has always been like a mighty T-Rex wrapped in the tiny adorable candy coating of something anime. I’ve never known anyone so original, so totally herself, so empathetic, and so “soft” but also so incredibly tough. She defies normal adjectives. I don’t even think these really capture her.
I’ve never understood people who so thoroughly only live for their kids that they use a picture of their kids instead of themselves for their social media profile. And yet, if I never did anything else of note for the world, I think giving birth to (Eli and) Evie is enough. They change every space they enter, and they largely do it together.
For the last week or so, I’ve written an email to my parents every day that I haven’t sent. It’s not a choice. I have to write them, to get the words out of my body. But sending them right now will make things worse. It’s a strange limbo.
I want to do something with this.
An art project? Burn them?
I keep talking about this and people have started sharing with me the most AMAZING letters and emails they’ve written to their parents but they’ve never sent.
My worry is that leaning into this as a thing would shame and attack moms who aren’t perfect but are doing their best. I am not down for that. But I wonder if all of us sharing this could lead somewhere healing, not nasty.