Move...That...Foot!

Nothing promotes peace, love and harmony in a marriage more than a remodel, does it?  Multiple discussions about style, design and what to include in the remodel, not to mention budget, are all part of the fun.  Countless shopping trips to look at fixtures, furniture and hardware take the place of “date night”. 

The rule for remodels is pretty much the same as for vacations:  if you have time to do it, you don’t have the money.  If you have money to spend, you don’t have time.  It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s definitely proven true for us.

We love our home and knew from the get-go that remodeling would be part of the package. A fabulous contemporary built in the ‘70s, it suffered from the misguided decorating schemes of multiple owners who apparently tried to morph it into something it wasn’t.  Sort of like a mullet, our house was party/contemporary on the outside, business/traditional on the inside.

Over the years Hubby and I have lived through several remodels and are still speaking to each other.  Each remodel starts out the same.  We talk for months about what we’d like to do.  We pore over designs and Hubby sketches ideas.  We spend hours shopping.  The walls become a mosaic of paint colors as we paint a section, let it dry, stand and look at it with our heads cocked to one side as though the color will look better, giving each a ‘thumbs up’ or ‘thumbs down’.

We were just ready to embark on what would be the final remodel when the lay-offs hit, which of course put a halt to those plans.  (See the remodel rule mentioned earlier)  Now that money is better, it’s time for the final frontier: the master bedroom. We also received a call from 1976 asking if they could have their décor back. We are more than happy to accommodate. The wall of smoky disco mirrors cannot come down fast enough. 

As remodels go, this one is a piece of cake.  The wall of mirrors will be history; new sheet rock, texture the wall, paint and new carpet.  A few days, tops. And we can stay in the house.  Sure beats the 6 months we spent living with mom during the last remodel.  Timing should be perfect since our work schedules seem to be manageable.

And so it began this week.  Workmen arrived just as I received a text from Hubby that said, “I’ve just entered Hell. Don’t expect to see much of me this week.”  Glad he has lots of work, but this does not bode well.  OK, I thought, I can do this.  Our four-legged daughter can spend the days with grandma and my work is flexible.

Apparently Hubby and I totally forgot what it’s like to live through even the simplest remodel. As we came home the first night, we opened the door to the overwhelming smell of paint, dust and sealant.  The dog paced the house, flustered because her bed was now in the guest room.  The drawers from our chest lay on the living room floor, full of our underwear and socks. I love knowing that the workmen have seen my underwear.  Despite the fact that we had just cleaned the house, dust seemed to have settled everywhere.

We retreated to the other side of the house to escape the noxious odor and get some sleep, stepping around all of the bedroom ‘stuff’ that was stored in the hall.  That’s when we remembered what it’s like to go from a king bed to a queen.  A fight for the covers ensued, as well as a land-grab battle with each seeking claim to a portion of the bed.  I could feel myself becoming tense; why is this so difficult?  Then it happened. His foot on mine, clearly intending to steal more of the bed than was fair.  Trying to keep myself under control, with teeth clenched I said sternly, “Hubby, Move…That…Foot”.

Too bad HGTV or Extreme Home Makeover or some other reality show wasn’t here for this. Based on our dialogue that evening I’m sure we would have been chosen for “Real Couples of Home Remodels”. Lots of “remodel mama drama”.

By morning the drama had subsided. I won the Battle for the Covers; Hubby won the Land Grab. Not sure what happened to the pillows; I think they threw themselves off the bed to avoid the conflict. The dog was thankful that her bed was not in play. 

Only a few days, we keep telling ourselves, and we’ll be done remodeling for good.  Maybe.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Been There, Done That

My career so far has been great.  Well, not always. There was that unfortunate time right after graduation when I’d just spent 4 ½ years getting my degree, only to discover I had chosen the wrong career.  Seriously, a degree in engineering technology?  Spending my days determining which size rebar and steel columns to use in structures? What was I thinking?  Desperate for work I enjoyed, I enrolled in a graduate program that would allow me to get on the right career path. 

It was smooth sailing after that.  Well, sort of.  Graduating with an MBA, I did land my dream job with a world-class brand.  Yet I still had questions about my career, new opportunities and other things.

While I’ve enjoyed my work and successfully moved up the ranks at different companies, there have been – and still are - times when I need a shoulder.  The opportunity to speak with someone who’s “been there, done that”.  Someone who’s not related to me that will provide a tough-love dose of career reality every once in a while.  

After my rough career start, I decided that if I could ever help someone else navigate their career path and answer the questions that others can’t, I would do it.  It would be my way of giving back, paying it forward, or whatever you want to call it.  There’s no sense for others to go through the same thing I did – launching a career without a guide.

I’m not sure how or when I became a mentor but it’s something I’m passionate about; something I make time for at the expense of other things. It’s so important to me to provide the one thing I wish I had when I was starting out – an experienced individual to answer my questions and provide an objective opinion as well as helpful suggestions.  To provide insight that can only be obtained from having “been there, done that”.

And I’m not sure how I get connected with people who need to speak with someone with more career experience.  As an “official” mentor at my alma mater, I get assigned to students.  But most of the mentoring relationships happen randomly.  Sometimes it’s a friend of a friend; other times it’s the daughter/niece/nephew of someone I’ve met.  All pretty random.

On a recent visit to my alma mater I met some students in a most unusual place.  I had some time to kill before giving my presentation, so I found a bench in a quiet area of the business school and sat down. It just happened to be conveniently located near the restroom. 

While sitting there enjoying the feeling of college life, suddenly all the classrooms opened at once and the area was full of graduate students, apparently on a break from a long class.  I was observing them and of course they noticed me, all dressed up and clearly not a student. At some point a group of them caught my eye.  We engaged in a brief conversation about what they were studying, what they wanted to do when they graduated and where I worked.  I offered to connect with them on LinkedIn and passed out my business card, telling them to reference that we met near the restroom at the business school – that would trigger anyone’s memory, for sure. 

And guess what?  I’ve heard from all of the students.  We’ve scheduled phone meetings and conversed via email.  They ask all kinds of questions; some I expect and some that are new.  The biggest thing is that they are taking advantage of a chance meeting to speak with someone who’s “been there, done that”. 

We never know when or where we may meet someone who could help us with our career.  In fact, I wonder how many missed opportunities I passed by? Was there someone sitting near the restroom when I was in school? 

Same thing holds true for me now, even though I’ve got experience under my belt.  I always try to be aware of opportunities to meet someone new.  It could be at a networking event, or through colleagues and friends, or even at the gym. Maybe I could help them or they could help me, or maybe it’s just a one-time quick conversation.  You never know.

Rebar and steel columns?  Still makes me shudder. If only I’d been able to talk to someone who had “been there, done that”.   

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Office Mom

Oh no! I think it’s happened.  I may officially be considered “old”.  I am so not ready for this.

How could this be?  Sure, I “enhance” my natural hair color. Who doesn’t? And yeah, I have a couple of lines around the eyes but that has to be a result of the lay-off and the added stress. Can’t possibly have anything to do with age!

As a kid I remember looking at my parents and teachers, and of course considered them old and out of touch.  My parents were actually a bit more mature than most first-time parents when they had us, so I wasn’t too far off there.  But my teachers seemed ancient!  Looking back, I’m pretty sure most were in their 20’s, possibly early thirties.  Now that I’m an adult I realize how young my teachers were at the time.  At the time they seemed so worldly and full of experience - something that only comes with age.

In my mind, I’m not old at all.  I can keep up with the twenty-something crowd just fine. In fact, I was in an exercise boot camp with a bunch of twenty-something women not too long ago and they couldn’t keep up with me.  They may have been young and thin with good skin, but they were deceptively unfit. All good, until I realized that technically I could be mother to any of them. If I’d started having kids early, I remind myself.  Still, this is a heady thing to consider.    

A couple recent happenings brought the reality of my age top of mind.  The first time was a few weeks ago at my alma mater, when I was trying to find the entrance to the new basketball arena.  Feeling every bit like a college student, I strolled up to a group of coeds and asked for directions.  They seemed nice enough, until one of them called me “ma’am”.  I actually turned around to see who she was talking to, only to discover she meant me. I tried to brush it off, thinking that she had been raised properly and that anyone older than she was to be treated with respect. Fair enough, I thought.

Then it happened again, striking a blow of epic proportions to my ego. One of my colleagues, who happens to be part of the twenty-something crowd, started affectionately referring to me as the “office mom”.  The first time I heard this I was almost speechless. And to tell the truth, a bit insulted. How dare anyone refer to me as “mom”!  That’s not me; I’m wearing the same styles as everyone else here, reading the same books, watching the same TV shows, attending the same concerts.  Why did you target ME as the office mom?  Are you just evil?  Do you want to make me cry?  Are my roots showing?

I remember staring at this colleague, trying not to show my true feelings when all I really wanted to do was shout, stomp my feet, shine a light in his eyes and question him till he cried. Maybe take away his car keys and ground him.  Office mom indeed!

As he continued to talk – which at the time I wanted to say “please stop; haven’t you said enough?” – I began to realize that in his mind he was paying me a compliment of the highest order.  My age brings wisdom gained through experience; something that this twenty-something just doesn’t have yet.  I’m asked all sorts of questions, everything from the best way to approach the boss, to how we should prepare a client presentation, to how to save money for travel.   I can’t tell if he’s just humoring “the older person” or not, but I’m taking it as a compliment that he would ask, listen and actually take my advice. 

Good news is that the twenty-something crowds that I encounter through work or other events seem to enjoy my company, as well as the work experience and skills I bring to the table.  And I can keep up with the conversations and trends they’re discussing. Either I’m immature or they’re mature, but it works.

I guess I’ll try to embrace my age - young enough to have fun but old enough to know when to quit.  Twenty-somethings, feel free to include me in your conversations and ask me questions.  Just don’t call me “ma’am”.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Wimbledon Warriors

Sometimes you just have to get outside and see the sun.  Sunday was one of those days.  It was perfect. Sunny and warm with a crystal clear sky lacking the haze that comes when it’s too hot here in Texas – which is almost every day from June through August. These are rare days; days that should not be wasted inside in front of a computer.  According to a friend, there are only “14 perfect days” in a given year where we live and I’m sure this was one of them. Rats, only thirteen good days left this year.

I convinced Hubby that we both could use a break from all the things we “should” be doing: laundry, writing, consulting work, searching job boards.  Let’s spend an hour outside, I said.  We could have fun and get some exercise at the same time.   Tennis, anyone?

First step: search for tennis rackets. Found them exactly where one would expect sports equipment to live, in the craft room.  Did I mention we hadn’t played in a while?

Tennis balls became another issue.  We did find a can of tennis balls, however they had zero bounce.  Lucky for us we have a dog. After rifling through Kylie’s toy baskets and searching the backyard, we had three balls that at least resembled tennis balls.  Not sure that Pet Smart really makes a good tennis ball, but hey, it looked OK.  The pink rubber squeaky nubby ball was included as a back-up.

With rackets, an assortment of tennis-like balls and a jug of water, we were off to the tennis courts at the school.  We were thrilled to see that the courts were vacant and surprised others in the neighborhood were not taking advantage of one of the “fourteen perfect days”.

Hubby and I are pretty equally matched when it comes to sports, except he’s better at softball and I excel at shooting pool.  With both of us at fear-inducing heights of 5’2” and 5’5”, we are not powerhouses at hoops.  So tennis is a good game for us.

Once on the court we decided the goal was simply to keep the ball going for as long as possible, playing for household bragging rights.  Hubby went first, dropping the ball, reaching back and swinging the racket, making contact.  Too bad the ball didn’t understand the goal was to go over the net.  Ha! I could tell bragging rights would be mine. 

Telling him to stand back, I served and the volley was on!  I’m not really sure what happened next, except to say that my eyes saw the ball coming at me to the right, my mind said “move” – but my feet and legs were like lead weights stuck in place.  The ball whizzed past me as Hubby yelled, “Why didn’t you move?” Point: Hubby.

Game on, pal! My competitive edge kicked in. No way was Hubby going to win. It was my idea to go outside, my idea to play tennis.  We started again, and this time I made sure my legs went the same direction as my eyes.   Running towards the ball, I stretched to make the shot.  “Ouch!” I cried out, as my hamstring pulled tight and I began what can only be described as a failed attempt at a one-footed moon walk.   “What is it?” yelled Hubby. “Are you hurt?” 

No, I always do this dance when I’m in the middle of a game.  Duh.

Determined to enjoy this perfect day, I soldiered on.  We both did.  We hit the ball. We tried to run.  At one point we actually had fourteen consecutive “hits” before the ball took a nose-dive into the net.  After thirty minutes we took a water break.  Sweating, heart racing, unable to lift the large jug of water to even get a drink, I looked at Hubby and said “what happened to us?”  Of course we immediately blamed our rusty skills on the lay-offs, new work and the fact that we were not used to such nice weather. 

Back on the court, we continued to try and regain the skills we knew we once had.  We switched sides, each convinced that the other had an advantage solely based on the side of the court.  That’s when I discovered his side of the court held a treasure trove of sunbaked Cheerios, which I’m sure he had been hiding from me.  No wonder he had energy; he was on a Cheerio high. Never mind that they had probably been there for months. 

We never bested our fourteen consecutive hits, working at it for another half an hour before deciding that our poor performance was the direct result of using the dog’s toys as tennis balls.  We decided it was unfair of us, really, to take the dog’s toys and headed home.  

It was great to get out of the house and away from the grind of work and job-search.  Our muscles are still sore and we may never move with ease again, but at least we enjoyed one of the fourteen perfect days.  

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Over Networking

Networking, the fine art of establishing business contacts and/or relationships, is something we’re all familiar with.  We’ve all been told that this is the best and sometimes only way to actually find a job opportunity.  The concept is simple enough, although true networking – really good networking – takes time.  Hard to fit this into a busy schedule, huh?

When I was first starting out, networking was the buzz word.  We talked about it in school. We talked about it at my first job. We talked about it at happy hour.  “Everyone’s doing it; aren’t you?”  I’d play along during these happy hour discussions, nodding in agreement that yes, I did indeed have a vast business network.

Inside, I was panic-stricken.  Honestly I had no idea how to network or exactly what I was supposed to do.  I had the crazy idea that networking was closely related to cruising the club scene to meet guys.  That networking meant walking up to a total stranger – no matter where I was – to introduce myself in an attempt to find out about job opportunities.

Thank goodness I didn’t try this tactic.  At best, I would have appeared to be socially challenged. At worst, well, let’s not go there.

One thing I had going for me is that I’m good at relationship building and staying in touch with people.   As my career progressed, I made a point to periodically call or email past colleagues just to stay in touch.  I thought it was a nice gesture, something that I would have appreciated had the shoe been on the other foot.  Little did I know that I was networking! 

I continue this tried and true tactic even now.  It seems simple to me, staying in touch with people.  It does take some time, but the pay-off is great.  Each week I shoot a couple emails off to former colleagues, just to see how they’re doing.  A no-brainer.  Besides, I really enjoy staying in touch with people.

It’s occurred to me that not everyone is good at this.  Some know what to do, yet just don’t take the time. But there are others who aren’t quite clear on the concept of networking.  Unsure of how to meet people and use connections to look for opportunities, these individuals tend to push themselves too hard in an effort to be productive.   The unfortunate consequence is that they alienate themselves instead of building their network.  They “over-network”.

Case in point:  Met a fellow at an industry event.  I introduced myself – after all, isn’t this what you do at these things? Within seconds of our introductions, he immediately launched into his elevator speech followed by “do you know of any opportunities for me?”

Really?  I just met you! I don’t even remember your name, despite the fact that you’re wearing a name tag.  How would I even know what you’re capable of?  Much less feel like I want to represent you to my colleagues?

This person continues to contact me.  With the same format as the first time we met. And I still don’t know much about him except that his delivery is poor, he doesn’t have any more experience than the first time we met and I honestly feel uncomfortable recommending him to anyone.  

To be clear, I really like helping those who are looking for work.  Truly I do.  But I can’t recommend you if we haven’t established – over time – a relationship, one that lets me get a feel for your qualifications, not to mention your abilities.  Remember, you’re asking me to put my reputation on the line and recommend you to my colleagues.  

With social media it’s easy and tempting to “over-network”, to try and align yourself with as many contacts as possible.  Besides, we’ve all been told that the only way to find a job these days is through networking.  That must mean connect with as many people as possible, whether you know them or not, right?  How could this be a bad thing?

In my experience, networking has to happen sort of organically over time and through a variety of sources.  Great networking comes from those who know us best, not people we meet randomly.  When we are reaching out to someone new, it’s best to have a mutual friend or colleague vouch for us.

In the wrong hands, networking apparently becomes toxic. A bit sad. Sort of creepy.   But done right, it works wonders.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Complicated Simplicity

Have you noticed how complicated life seems to be nowadays?  We’re connected to everyone at all times through devices made to simplify our lives.  Many of us are working several jobs trying to make ends meet, the result of a lay-off.

I used to think that things would get simpler with age and experience. Not sure where I got this crazy idea.  Guess it was my younger self imagining that I would have figured everything out in terms of career, love, family and friends, and my life would sort of hum along at a good, steady pace.

LOL!  Even reading my last sentence has me laughing between the tears of stress.

Instead of things being easier and less-stressful, it’s completely the opposite.  Mortgage, career, relationships, aging parents, trying to keep some sort of social life.  More responsibility, more pressure.  And we don’t have kids!  I shudder to think of how something as precious as a baby would complicate things.  

Now my dog is looking at me like I’ve totally dissed her. I will concede that my wonderful four-legged daughter does add some complexity to our lives.  Especially when she refuses to take a bathroom break in the rain for fear of getting her fur wet.

How did life get so complex?  For me it started in high school.  I was a “joiner”, belonging to numerous clubs and organizations. My calendar was filled to the brim with meetings, dance classes, drill team practice, social events and work.  Not sure how I managed to study, but I did, bringing home straight A’s.

This need to always be busy or attempt to over-achieve has followed me into adulthood.  Like gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe, I cannot seem to break away from busyness.   Yes, it’s good to have interests and be busy.  But sometimes too much of a good thing turns into a bad thing.

When the lay-offs hit our family, both Hubby and I took on as many consulting gigs and other work roles as we could find.  The good news is that we discovered new interests and found that there are lots of ways to make money.   Hubby found out he’s a good and passionate teacher, keeping this part time gig even after going back to work full time.  I rediscovered my creative side and have a new-found joy in writing, in addition to consulting and mentoring.

All good, right?

The problem with having too much of a good thing is that it suddenly isn’t fun anymore.  By trying to do it all, I find I’m running out of steam. Frustration is building.  Taking on every consulting gig, writing opportunities, networking, family obligations, mentoring and other stuff has my head spinning.  Social life and relaxation?  What’s that?  Social life is completely gone, whittled down to an occasional dinner with friends.  Hubby and I are so busy that relaxation seems like a luxury reserved for special occasions.  At best we live for Friday nights, when we take a couple hours to have dinner and try to catch up with each other.  

So what should a person do?  Of course the answer is to eliminate or pare down the work load.  But the answer is complicated in its simplicity. What do we give up?  The things that provide the most pleasure are not necessarily the ones that pay the bills.  Yet if we give up things that bring joy, we’re stuck in a rut of simply existing. 

And don’t get me started on the electronic devices.  Smart phones and tablets, in addition to the computer, have made it too easy for us to always be “on”.  Yet I’m addicted to these devices in a love-hate relationship that’s next to impossible to break. 

I don’t have the answers except to say that I’m working through things right now.  While I chat on the phone, type on the computer and check email on my iPad. 

Breaking up is really hard to do.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Burying the Lead

As much as I enjoy writing, there’s one writing task that I find difficult to do: write my resume.  Actually, writing anything serious about me is tough.  I’ve always chalked it up as a “girl thing”, the inability or resistance to promoting my career successes.  You know us girls – unless it’s promoting the fabulous new shoes we’re wearing or our ability to uncover fashion bargains, we tend to lay low when it comes to self-promotion.

My guess is that many of you share the same feeling when it comes to writing and/or revising your resume.  What to leave in? What to leave out?  How far back should we go with our work experience? What about awards or recognition?  Hobbies?  Other?

In theory it seems simple.  A resume is a list of accomplishments that should give the reader an overview of our capabilities and success stories, as well as a bit of history as it relates to our work and education.  But when the rubber meets the road, or the VISA meets the purchase decision, we tend to under-promote ourselves, overlooking some of our greatest accomplishments.

And have you noticed how much easier it is to write someone else’s resume than it is your own?  I can easily pound out some great verbiage for others, but when it comes to my own resume my brain seems to turn off. I sit frozen in front of the computer, almost as if I have no idea how to use the thing.

Recently I had the privilege to speak with some top-notch graduate students who will embark on their careers in the next year.  Their assignment was to develop their “elevator speech” and try to network with me and other executives.

Note: I still have a hard time using the word “executive” to describe me in any way.  All sorts of questions race through my head: at what title, years of experience, etc. does one earn the right to call themselves an executive?  But I digress.

Anyhoo, one of the students approached and presented her elevator speech.  In speaking with her during the follow-up critique, I discovered that she had been captain of the university swim team.  After more discussion with her professor, I learned that not only was she captain, but also a six-time All-American.  And an Olympic trial qualifier!

Wait a minute – you were team captain at a division 1 university AND a six-time All-American AND good enough to even qualify for Olympic trials AND you failed to mention it during your 3-minute elevator speech?  Are you kidding me? 

I must admit that if I had been captain of anything in college, even the Laundry Club, I would include it in my elevator speech.   

In her defense, she’s not alone here. Many of us do the same thing, even those of us who are seasoned veterans. We do what journalists do sometimes when trying to down-play negative news. It’s called “burying the lead”, when the main story is buried under more inane stories.  You know, like having the headline “Slight chance of rain on Tuesday” in bold type as the main story on the front page, with “Earth invaded by Martians” in eight-point font buried on the bottom of page 26 next to an ad for toilet paper. 

I immediately pointed this out to her as a gigantic missed opportunity.  By leading with her unique background, she would be remembered and stand out among a sea of job applicants.   

And I really must thank her. She helped me remember to lead with my main story when I’m networking, rather than burying it under the more mundane stuff that needs to be included but is basically the same as everyone else’s experience.

Wish I could include six-time All-American in my speech.  

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved