Last week my husband told me there is another woman.

My reaction was denial. After all these years, how could there be another?

Flash back 14 years ago to a fundraising auction at our son’s preschool. Greg and I were like over-excited kindergarteners trying to win the bid for this painting by Ron Ehrlich, an extraordinarily talented artist whose children also attend the school.

Win we did, putting the large painting in the living room.

My family and friends tease me about how much I love this painting. Every time a new child comes to our house I  ask him or her to look closely to see how many women they can find in the painting. I love watching them concentrate on trying to see what ‘s not apparent. When they excitedly point at the painting and say, “There she is!” We talk about her. Is she an African woman wearing a basket on her head? How long are her legs? Is she part of the horse? When they don’t think there are any more women I point out all my girls.

Up until last week I thought I had seen them all.

But sitting at the far end of the living room while the dim December sun lit the painting, my husband saw another woman. She’s been in our living room for 14 years, but neither of us had ever seen her. Now that we are aware of her big silhouette we wonder how we ever missed her.

As the year ends and we enter the dark season, I’m wishing that you, too, can see more in what already exists – find fresh opportunities in your work by thinking more about possibilities than problems, recognize qualities in your family and friends that have been overlooked, challenge your own certainty to let in new views, new people, and new courage to help you achieve what you really care about.

That other woman is waiting to welcome us.

As a speaker my aim is to provide all those things. But what matters most to me is moving people in such a way that they have meaningful conversations following the speech. Conversations that matter about their lives, their work, their businesses.

It is through conversations that we learn.

A college student came to one of my recent speeches as part of her work-study program at a Boston college’s communications department and wrote this critique.  The second to last line makes me understand that the event was a success.

As for the speaker/author Lois Kelly – she was phenomenal! My grandmother is dying of cancer and my mother’s relationship directly parallels Lois’ relationship with her mother.

Lois Kelly was funny and interesting, while also respecting that she was discussing a heavy topic. She was serious when she needed to be, but followed those moments up with something positive and uplifting. I was tearing up at multiple parts of her talk, mostly because I could relate to what she was saying.

I believe that her ability to relate to and engage the audience is what made her so great. She had a funny PowerPoint to go along with her talk and add a visual aid. I left feeling comfortable and uplifted. My mother left with a new perspective.

The event sparked a 2 hour long conversation between my mother and me about everything we had experienced. I would say it was a success!

By that I mean being guided by idealism and what they really care about. Some make a lot of money, others very little. But fame, financial gain, societal approval and “followers” is not what propels them forward.

They are free of other people’s “shoulds,” even as many of them work in bureaucratic organizations. In the face of tragedy,  their hearts have broken open to  compassion and hope rather than breaking apart in bitterness and self-absorption.

As kids, we know who we really are and what matters to us.  As we try to conform to school rules, work cultures, societal images of “success,” we often lose ourselves.

But we can reclaim our freedom.  We can live a paradoxical life of safety and adventure, fear and love, certainty and risk, sadness and joy.

A newsletter from my son’s camp (American Youth Foundation) arrived in the mail today with children’s answers to the question: When are you at your best? Here are some of their responses:

• When I’m at my best self, it’s like there’s a flame in my body powering me to try anything, make anything, do anything and even if it’s just a spark you can still try, you are still part of the world.

• My best self is a person who is brave, kind and polite. It is also a person who is generous. A person who has lots of energy. A person who is me.

• When I am my best self I have a positive attitude, and am filled with joy and happiness, and I’m always helping others. Also, when I’m trying my best and when I’m myself and not trying to be someone else.

In the face of so much uncertainty in today’s world, let us give thanks this week for being able to be our best selves.

If you want to immerse yourself in that energy and creativity for 84 minutes, check out the documentary film about Bill Cunningham, the maverick and lovable New York Times fashion photographer, who has carved out a unique career capturing on-the-street fashion.

He’s such an optimist, such a perfectionist, and such a delight to see at his work.  I also like that he sees the best in people and life, surprising for one who has been in photo-journalism, New York and fashion for so many years. (Then again, he is originally from Boston and we Bostonians are a passionate tribe.)

PS — most 33 year-olds would have a hard time keeping up with this 83 year-old artist!

Here’s the trailer for the documentary:

“Why did you walk apart from us all day,” one of my hiking mates asked. “Were you upset about something?”

“Not at all. I was just enjoying time to think. It helps me with my work.”

As I walked I reflected on the article, “Solitude and Leadership,” by William Deresiewicz, published last year in American Scholar. (http://www.theamericanscholar.org/solitude-and-leadership/)

Based on his speech to the plebe class of West Point, Deresiewicz writes that “solitude is one of the most important necessities of true leadership.

He also warns that we have a crisis of leadership in America because our leaders are trained and rewarded to conform, to keep routine things going.

What’s missing is the ability to think for oneself, have the courage to argue for ideas even if they are not popular, and have the moral courage to stand up for what you believe.

Thinking for yourself means finding yourself, finding your own reality…The position of the leader is ultimately an intensely solitary, even intensely lonely one. However many people you may consult, you are the one who has to make the hard decisions. And at such moments, all you really have is yourself.”

When I talk to client groups about the need to quiet our minds and find time to think and reflect, they often roll their eyes. “We don’t have time to do that,” they say.  Of course we do. Shut your phone off while driving. Walk in the morning without being plugged into music.  On vacation, find time to break away.

The courage to lead comes from knowing and believing in our own convictions.  And knowing ourselves can only be obtained from giving ourselves the gift of  occasional solitude.

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I’m emptying the dishwasher and then going upstairs to fold two loads of laundry. These chores are calming. Some people meditate. I  fold the towels in nice thirds so that they fit neatly in the linen closet. I put away the clean dishes, so that the dirty ones can make a fast dash from the sink to their hideaway, waiting for the suds to make them shiny and beautiful again.

I’ve been blessed with an amazing career, a beautiful home. But I don’t think about those things as I empty the dishwasher and try to match the socks.  As I fold my son’s black “Children of Bodom” tee shirt I marvel at how he’s turned into such a positive, creative teenager. No angel, for sure, but what a nice young man he’s turning into.

I laugh out loud thinking about my son’s love of heavy metal music.

At a party someone asked my dear, but not very hip husband what kind of music our teenager likes.

“He’s into steel,” said my husband.

“Steel? Never heard of that. Is it some sort of Caribbean music?”

I slide up next to my husband, not wanting to embarrass him, but whisper in his ear, “heavy metal.”

We all laugh, and later we share the story with our son.

With just a few minutes left on my last 15 minutes I put away all the clothes, lovingly tucking them into their drawers, and yell downstairs, “I think I’m finally done.”

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“I think it’s going to be tonight. It’s my favorite night of the year. Do you think you’ll be able to stay awake for it,” I ask Bette, acting like a five-year-old trying to talk her mother into going to a drive-in movie.

This anual rite means so much to me and I’d never shared it with my mother. The first and last time would be tonight. I hope she likes it as much as I do.

After finishing dinner I brought our trays into the kitchen and cleaned up while Bette wrapped herself in a blanket close to the fire and turned on “Jeopardy.” Dark already.  I loaded up the dishwasher and took the garbage outside.  I stopped just outside the door.

Could it be?  I toss the garbage into the composting bin and walk to the west side of the yard, closer to the marsh a few streets over.

Yes!

I rush back in and help Bette push her swollen feet into her green garden shoes and get into her winter coat.

“I just knew it would be today,” I say. “It’s always the last week in March without fail.”

I wrap my arm in Mum’s and out we go to the deck, arm in arm. It is so dark. Few stars and no moon. No lights on in any of the neighbors’ houses. Today it reached 50 degrees but most people are still in Florida.

Missing this.

“Do you hear them,” I ask. Gingerly we walk through the backyard, closer to the marsh.

Peep, peep, peep sing the tree frog peepers in their song of spring joy. The Hallelujah chorus of spring. Their high-pitched little voices tell us that the harshness and dark of the New England winter are over. New beginnings and possibilities are coming. Rejoice. Be grateful.

Bette and I stand there listening. I know this will not be a joyful spring. The hospice nurse’s note this week said, “Declining rapidly.”

We walk back into the house and crank up the heat.

“It won’t be long now,” Bette says. I hope she means the spring.

As the financial statements say, “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.”

People don’t donate to non-profits because they’ve been around for a long time and done great work in the past.  They donate because the organization is providing value that is especially relevant NOW and in the forseeable future.

Celebrating a milestone may be a wonderful idea for those people who have been with an organization for 25 or 50 years. But no one else cares that much. Make it a small, intimate party and keep the costs down.

We don’t buy from a company because it’s been in business a long time. We buy if they fulfill our current needs better than any other company.  In fact, I believe companies with a longer history –think Sears, GM — have to work harder to stay relevant with their customers.  One reason: it’s hard stop doing what was so successful and innovate. The second: it’s hard to change big, old companies.

And third? Did you know that there are more billionaires under the age of 40 than any time in our history?  They’re innovators, upsetting the old dogs. Stealing your market share and redefining your industry while you celebrate your history.  Spend more money envisioning how you can provide more value to customers in the future, and far, far less on banners and celebrations marking longevity.

The past is good for history books. But not for making and raising money.

Two emails stood out this morning. The first was news that Joe Fernandez died unexpectedly yesterday at 46. The second was the Reverb10 prompt about healing.  Geez.

Joe had been the city solicitor for Providence, ran for attorney general this fall, and co-chaired the Obama campaign in RI. (He and President Obama were classmates at Harvard Law.) I got to know Joe serving together on the board of Trinity Rep. Joe was quietly intelligent, humble, compassionate, level headed, and open-minded.  I respected Joe’s ability to make decisions from his head and his heart.  The son of immigrants, Joe was the America I so love.

When I lose people, I heal by reflecting on my friends’  best qualities and trying to consciously incorporate those qualities into my life.

Sometimes I hear the voice of my best friend Jimma, who died months after his 50th birthday, laughing and egging me on to be more playful.  I reach out to neighbors much more since my mother died; she was always giving in small ways to so many.  From my father, I have tried to be a better listener. From Joe, I hope I can do more to give back to the community.

And so it goes. My life gets richer in loss. Which helps me heal.

As for 2011, I’d like not to have to take on any new superpowers.

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This post is part of a 31-day blogging challenge called reverb10, responding to writing prompts that are designed to elicit reflections on 2010, and hopes for 2011. You can find out more about it here.

To my marketing readers: while posts these months may seem “off marketing topic,” they’re helping me deepen my understanding of how to create community with social media, which has several marketing and employee communications implications.

There’s no way I’ll forgot what a big professional learning year this has been. Like tectonic plates moving around in a good way. The older I get, the more I learn.

Other highlights:

Swimming in January rain: swimming in the rain while at  St. John for  a wedding. Not sure if sun would shine, but the warm water was there, so why wait.

July snow drifts: hiking Whistler in British Columbia in July only to find most paths at the top of the mountain closed due to snow.  The heat and cold was a beautiful paradox.

September one-two punch: going to a innovation conference  one week, a Harvard Medical School conference on coaching the next and having big business ahas, meeting influential people way outside my marketing world.

Artober: my 15 year-old son came home one Saturday from his Rhode Island School of Design with illustrations that stunned me in their beauty and originality. Better yet was seeing a child step into  to new levels  of self-confidence.

December hospice joy: this morning I was in a strategy workshop brainstorming a clients’ go-to-market strategy for a $1billion new market. This afternoon I was speaking to the Visiting Nurses Association of Rhode Island about end of life — at their holiday party!  (There is joy in helping a loved one die believe it or not.) I was honored to share  my family’s story and hear theirs.  Hospice nurses and CNAs are the most talented professionals I’ve ever encountered.

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This post is part of a 31-day blogging challenge called reverb10, responding to writing prompts that are designed to elicit reflections on 2010, and hopes for 2011. You can find out more about it here.

To my marketing readers: while posts these months may seem “off marketing topic,” they’re helping me deepen my understanding of how to create community with social media, which has several marketing and employee communications implications. And it’s just so much fun to write every day!