I’m glad I didn’t grow up pretty

My bro and me.

Growing up I was the child with the face only a Momma and Dadda could love. Bit cute but never pretty. In my teens I hit the lofty heights of 5’2″, impressively filled out my A Cup and sported a rather fetching bouffant. But in Napier, looking good wasn’t really needed for a gal to get by. I managed well enough by playing piano, singing a bit, playing hockey, doing a little drama and getting A grades. You know, talent, drive and hard work. Then uni came and suddenly looks mattered.

And they reeeeeeeally mattered.

I’d never known that private schools were “a thing”. At uni they were. And these girls who’d grown up in Dio and Woodford House dorms knew where they fitted in the social structure, and looks, clothes, legs and boobs were a huge part of it. The “pretty” girls were revered – by lecturers, fellow students and male flatties. And then a change happened. At parties guys would ask who was my friend. Yup, I was “the ugly friend”.

But I got to bust out what I did have: being a good, kind, loyal friend and a generally fun person to be around. I was the girl with the “nice personality”. I got my job as a student DJ through persistence, witty repartee on air (ah-hem) and my nose ring and quirky op-shop clobber; not by wowing the station manager with my angelic face, perfect make-up, gazelle legs and great rack. The point being, I had to survive in an environment that measured success in both grades and looking good …but where telling people your music, psych and philosophy grades at party was a bit of a buzz-kill.

But today I came to a fresh understanding that being plain Belinda Jane is a blessing. Deborah Hill Cone’s divisive New Zealand Herald opinion piece speculating on possible causal factor’s in Charlotte Dawson’s suicide, to my mind, may not be wildly off the mark (and it would do well to remember this is DHC’s opinion, not fact), or at least it rings true for me. In it she paraphrases psychologist Joseph Burgo saying:

…getting older inevitably involves a kind of narcissistic injury: as our bodies age and younger people find us less physically attractive, they seem to look right through us, as if we no longer exist.

First off, I’ve said before that “depression is a beast“, so all my sympathy goes to Dawson’s family and to anyone who has suffered the loss of family or friends through this traumatic end. It is hugely, hugely sad. But I’m not writing about that. Rather, I’m intrigued about how the other half experience becoming invisible in a world where they have held the stage for so long. The entertainment industry thrives on youth, be it music, television or film. And for the most part, you’ve got to look bloody good to do it. With the ticking clocking beside you and younger girls nipping at your heels, I’d imagine it would keep even a sane person on a knife-edge of low self worth. It’s a bloody great shame and in this instance, a tragedy.

Rather than fading away however, I’ve transformed from being somewhat invisible to a comfortable visible. I’ve aged like a Hawke’s Bay cabernet sauvignon – bit thick on the legs but fruity, great character and perfect for any occasion. I feel – and look – far better than I did in my 20s; I’m fitter, eat better, laugh more and I’m thrilled about that. I’ve banked on the personality, such as it is, to gain me access any and everywhere (and by that I mean think-tanks, mentoring, councils and conferences). 

But I think we all need to solve this reliance on celebrating great looks over everything else.

• We need to stop only telling little girls they are pretty, and instead ask them what books they’re reading and what interests they have. It’s so easy to slip into commenting on a young girl’s appearance and ignore her healthy, curious, expanding mind.
• We need to mentor our young women to cherish their bodies, flourish in education and aim for a career that fulfills them emotionally, spiritually and intellectually.
• And as our amazing women folk gracefully age, we’ve got to stop demonising them and start celebrating an older women’s sass, verve and wisdom.

Most importantly, we all have to believe that none of us is invisible, and the 20s are only where you get your training wheels!

My sincerest condolences to Charlotte’s family and friends.

 

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx

We have got to stop demonising sexual women!

All woman!

A George FM DJ (Sam, The Dose, Saturday 12-2pm) metaphorically just got up in my grill. A flippant comment on air, “cougar on the loose”, set off my steam button.

So you know, women in their 30s, 40s and 50s didn’t choose to be in their 30s, 40s or 50s. Through a mix of great skill and good fortune, they simply managed to have birthday after birthday, which landed them there. Sorry that the facts aren’t more thrilling.

To my point. As a woman gets older she may or may not remain or become sexually active or, at least, interested. This is very neutral territory we’re dealing in here. These are merely facts. And whether a woman is or isn’t sexual, really matters to no one but herself, a partner and what essentially is very few potential partners.

So when a man with a microphone says “cougar on the loose” to an audience of the many it really, really pisses me off!!!

I am very happily single (regardless of what my Facebook relationship status says). I love it! I do what I want when I want how I want, I like whom I like, and I am not compelled to be anyone other than who I am. I know myself, I am very confident in my work and play, and that’s it really. And no one has any right to comment on what I get up to (or not) with a playmate.

A woman past her 20s is not hugely different from a young woman in her 20s. Oh, aside from being self-aware, comfortable in her skin and having many more years experience and competence between the sheets than her 20s counterpart. So why slap a label on her? Why does she have to be called a prowling, hunting, killing wild cat? I mean really, why?

It’s name calling, and it’s mean.

A woman has every right to be sexual, and to seek a mate who – so you’re aware – doesn’t usually go kicking and screaming into bed with her (unless that’s what floats their boat). Women don’t actually hunt men in long grass, break their necks and eat them. No, really, they don’t.

So perhaps you may want to revisit this whole name calling business and start complimenting the amazing women around you as they move through their 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond. It may be time to recognise that growing older is an achievement and a gift, not something to be ashamed about. Take a look at these competent, confident, sexy, sassy, centred, positive, abundant, happy women and think “good on ya, girl”. We’re pretty awesome, if you don’t already know. And if we want to get jiggy, let us, and don’t call us stupid names!

And do not get all up in my grill with your stupid name-calling. Show some respect, dawg!!!

I watched my Dad die

My Dad, my one, Hal Nash

The title of this blog is deliberately provocative. I want you to read this post and re-post this post. I want your friends to read this post. I want everyone I know and everyone I don’t to read this post. We all need to understand the meaning of this post.

This time a week ago I lay beside a dying man, and if you make the courageous decision to nurse someone until death I want you to know exactly what that means. Because I didn’t.

My Dad had a 40-year history of genetic heart disease. He is a testament to modern science, extraordinary willpower and the loving, diligent care of my mother who chose to cherish his health, at times, above any other need. He survived two triple bypasses, a cardiac arrest, a heart attack, a stroke, an aneurism, ongoing angina, and a whole host of related issues. And he survived the lot of them. So much so that his doctor of many years predicted – correctly – that he wouldn’t die because of his heart. And he bloody well didn’t.

My Dad died of the complete collapse of his body, of multiple organ failure. While his heart pumped on, the rest of him stopped. Three extraordinarily long days later, his heart finally caught up and his slow, cruel, desperate struggle ended.

What is equally extraordinary is that my mother and I took the bold and wonderfully, stupidly naive decision to care for him at home until he died. On paper, this meant we were with him 24-hours around the clock holding his hand, talking to him, mopping what needed to be mopped, washing every towel in the house – twice – making him comfortable and keeping him aware of what was happening around him interspersed with the care from Cranford Hospice nurses who were nothing short of amazing. Fortunately my sister, a brilliant triage nurse, joined us for Dadda’s final 19-hours and undertook care that Mum and I were no longer able to stomach.

The subtext to this post is, death is neither poetic nor graceful. To watch someone you love enter the experience of dying will likely be the most painful, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking journey of your life and one you are ill-equipped to do. A dying person is bewildered, afraid, resistant, extremely stubborn, physically heavy and immobile all while their body rapidly and crudely decays while they are still alive.

Mercifully, they have slipped into a place so deep that you cannot reach them; whatever your beliefs, it is apparent that they are no longer they.

Death is ugly. It smells, shudders, shakes, swells to double its size, slips in and out of breathing, and no matter how hard you will it to, it doesn’t go in your time. Yes, death is very far, far away from beautiful. But if you open your eyes to this most bittersweet and epic of journeys, you will see an abundance of grace and beauty and it will be the most poignant, magical journey of your life, and of their passing.

Through my father’s death, I discovered the meaning of love, tenderness, family, true patience, time and the profundity of the subtle, perplexing energy we call embodied life. I became inextricably entwined with my mother and sister, both of whom I respect and love beyond words, and the sheer power of women. I understood what it means to love my brothers and extended family and how deeply these bonds run. I saw grace shine through our undertakers, Dunstall’s as they held our hand through Dad’s final days as a physical presence on planet earth.

I wouldn’t swap my experience for all the world but I would invite you to enter your own personal journey with your heart, mind and soul wide open. Only then can you deliver what you need to in what will be the best and worst of times, through the power of grace.

Rest in peace my beautiful father James Halward Nash, my brave Dadda who passed away at 5.20am Tuesday, June 18, 2013 surrounded near and far by the family who loves him still.

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx

Post script: Here’s a beautifully written blog post about grief written by Adrienne Kohler, who reminds us that “we grieve because we loved.” Thanks Adrienne.

Is depression the soul’s procrastination?

Remember to look up. It’s hard to feel sad while looking up.

I had lunch the other day with someone who is embarking on a fantastical project. She is trying to recognise the online smoke-signals of depression. To see the waving hand before it slips under water, out of view.

Having never had depression, she is possibly navigating the jungle having packed all the wrong gear.

The bugger is, depression is a beast. A hungry, tired beast, whose empathy has run dry. It carries a blackened heart, one that is numb to caring anymore. Perhaps it cared so much that it ran out of caring.

I told her about my recent plummet into the pit. One that I kept from those closest to me, my family and oldest friends, and most definitely people online. I, instead, unravelled at work.

It’s impossible to shield yourself from the people you see every day. So I cracked. Fair dinkum cracked. But I was so very, very lucky. My colleagues, bosses, their colleagues – everyone – rallied. They flipped my sense of unworthiness on its head. They phoned me, text me, arranged for me and walked me to counsellors, psychologists and doctors. They held my hand every single step of the way.

They did not let me drown and slip away unnoticed.

Their enormous, devoted demonstration of love and caring for me, in what was a terrifying situation for them, fills me with not only gratitude, but a new sense of purpose.

So today, when I told my mother I had gained a leave of absence in my degree, she – the woman I protected from my depression – saw it as a stellar demonstration of a cop-out. An epic procrastination.

Sadly, I was either too ashamed or still too protective of my mother to tell her the truth. That my soul needed time out. That I just needed to be, not do. That I had to procrastinate to become whole again.

And luckily for me, while my soul treaded water, I learned enough skills to reach down into the depths and pull myself out.

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE TONIGHT

• Read my academic papers
• Set up EndNote
• Cooked a proper meal

WHAT I DID TONIGHT

• Watched Gerard Smythe’s When a City Falls (TV3) with the rest of New Zealand
• Ate guacamole with lots of garlic on broken tacos
• Shared this, my story, with you

All thoughts and prayers to Christchurch tonight and onwards. With love.

Night all

xx

If you think you may have depression or know someone who has, there is help available. Call the depression helpline 0800 111 757 or Lifeline on 0800 543 354.

Please Don’t Judge Me!

I was raised in a family where judging people was wrong. It was an absolute no-no. Not based on their behaviour, our perception of their behaviour, wealth or lack thereof, how they present themselves, mental or physical health and ability, and of course, religious choice, gender, sexuality and race. Flat rule: No judging.

It came from our family being raised within a very socialist Christian ethic and the fundamental principles of what being a good human meant. But more importantly, none of us – you, me, none of us – has the right to judge another.

We all perform roles in our life, and sometimes we lose our ability to operate at peak performance in those roles, because we’re exhausted, because we feel stressed or under pressure, because we’re trying to hide some deeper stuff that’s going on for us.

Sometimes we crack. We’re too jovial, we’re too quiet, we’re too manic, we’re too cranky, we’re just too, too much. In my case, as my wise boss and mentor says, “sometimes the crazy spills over”. And it does.

But your agenda of what’s going on for you should not dictate how you think I should be at any given moment. Instead, if you see me or another person in the “too much” bucket perhaps be human and take the time out to say “Hey, I noticed that this is happening for you. What’s going on and is there anything I can do to get you back to being more comfortably you?”

I am 100% fallible and sometimes I am not comfortable in my skin. I get anxious before almost every event I go to, and almost every task I undertake. I have to take a step back, breathe and remind myself that I can do it. Yet I am also extremely passionate, highly loyal, work very, very hard, and – most of the time – I try to give as much as I possibly can, but this is not always realistic. Sometimes, I burn out.

But to judge me for not behaving at a preconceived level you have set for me (that I don’t even know about)? That’s inevitably going to fail us both.

Instead, my wish for you is that you try not to set expectations of me that I can’t possibly reach. That you appreciate that even at my very best, I am still very much a human. And at my worst, even more so.

So when I say no that I can’t do something for you, it’s because I have thought long and hard about it. And when I say I will deliver, I will always deliver for you. Outside of that, all I can do is promise to try to do and be my best, grow from my mistakes, along with giving you the promise that sometimes my best won’t be good enough for you.

But more important than anything I have written above, it may pay to remind yourself that when you point your finger at another person, or me, there are three fingers pointing back at you!

Splore Photo Recap

I didn’t really take any photos… but Becca perfectly sums up my sentiments!! Yay Splore! xxxx

Beccajanelee

I just had the best weekend in forever at Splore.

It really is the happiest place on earth and the theme “home” really summed it up. I don’t know how else to explain it except magical.

Every attendee was chill, the food was delicious, the lines were manageable, the camping wasn’t disgusting and the acts were incredible. And the venue?! Holy crap. Beautiful. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday than lounging under a tree listening to Mr Scruff, day dreaming and watching the day go by.

It really was a time to switch off and switch on to the now. I got to experience every day just as it is. No rushing to be anywhere on time. No checking my work emails. No checking my blog stats or to see who’s tweeted me. It was just me, my friends and the good vibes.

Highlights: 

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REVIEW: You Lightbox up my life!

In TV-land there’s never been great viewing choice for busy single gals living alone, until now.

My life involves working every day, going to the gym, getting home at 7.20pm-ish for a shower and a quick bite, and often heading out again at about 8 o’clock. Based on my lifestyle, my TV options have been high cost with low return. Sky, MySky and Igloo simply don’t stack up for me with cost-per-view making me dizzy, let alone my accountant. And as for appointment TV, quick question: where’s the good stuff at the times I want it?

Then along came Lightbox… And it’s like they know me!

Whoever created Lightbox pinned a picture of me up on the wall at the brainstorm and said “create it for her”. …They know that I get home late, flick on TV, flick it off again just as quickly and watch YouTube instead (TEDTalks being top of the list).

…They know that when I’m sick I download a TV series and watch it back-to-back on my iPad in bed.

…They know that I am educated and – above everything – love quality writing, casting, acting, directing and the whole shebang. (And no, that does not mean Grey’s Anatomy or reality TV).

And whoop there it is: Lightbox.

Lightbox is a Kiwi online streaming site that hosts some of the best TV series ever created: Suits, House of Cards, Mad Men, Masters of Sex, Downton Abbey (yes Mum, I will finally watch your favourite TV series!), a couple of exclusives including the brand new Outlander, and that old school delight, The X Files.

So it was, on a Saturday night after coming home after a Kiwi movie premiere, I kicked off my Lightbox viewing with Mad Men, the entirety of which I missed on account of my prior TV watching woes. Then, the following morning after the gym when Auckland’s weather went from worse to worser to worsest, I curled up on my couch and continued my Mad Men-aganza (yes, it’s a thing). Ten episodes later and yep, I am hooked on this TV series streaming format. It’s the modern (and cheaper) version of buying the box-set on video (which I did buy for Sex and The City in its day).

Anyhoo… Earlier this year I was lucky enough to have fibre installed to maximise the quality of my Skype and YouTube viewing. Turns out, it’s ideal for Lightbox too. And if you’re a smarty-pants like me, and were previously lured to Spark by free Spotify (I’m a sucker for free!), pat yourself on the back because you now not only get a 30-day free Lightbox trial, but you also get first six months of your paid subscription at half price – costing you only $7.50 per month (that’s if you’re a Spark broadband customer). Sweet… and may I kindly suggest you buy a popcorn-maker with the savings.

And one last note… if you’re like me and can multi-task like a boss, having your TV on your iPad means that you can make snacks while you watch! (<— I can’t emphasise the awesomeness of this enough). And peeing? No probs!

My verdict in a nutshell

When I was initially asked to take a look at Lightbox, I did so with a small degree of trepidation. I couldn’t sincerely commit to a TV-watching schedule and, frankly, felt that Lightbox would be an effort. But it’s turned out to be the opposite of what I expected, and I am stoked to have Lightbox – literally – at my finger tips! So, I now have 15 television series saved on my watch list (including an epic teen series list with Betas, Awkward and You’re Skitting Me), and long may this relationship blossom!

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx

PS Take a peek at my 1960s Mad Men-inspired galleries: bling here and fashion here. LOVE!

PPS If you want to hear what Lightbox means for a family with varied viewing tastes accessing multiple devices, I recommend Simone McCallum’s review here. #officialblogger #lightboxing #lightboxconvert

Homelessness – It’s An Easy Enough Solution

Thank you Becca for sharing your story… New Zealanders, we’re at a critical point with solving teenage homelessness before it becomes a complicated problem that challenges every agency in this country. If you can, please help me to help Lifewise help our kids. xx

Beccajanelee

Lifewise is an Auckland based organisation focusing on new ways to solve social issues and providing to people in need. This is families, homeless, youth, older and also the disabled. It’s one of the few charities I really believe in and make an effort to support.

I walk down K Road every day and see numerous homeless people begging for money. It’s something which has an easy enough solution – get people into homes and give them the skills to stay there. We just need to get behind Lifewise and other similar organisations to make sure they get the funding and support they deserve.

This Thursday July 3, Lifewise are running their annual Big Sleep Out. This is where a bunch of people get together and sleep outside in the cold, it’s a public stand against homelessness in New Zealand. This year the focus is on young hopeless people.

Influential kiwis have…

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If you don’t who will? Homeless teens are all our problem!

The Backstory

Two months after I accepted the role as Advisor to the Kea New Zealand Global Board last year, Rachel Smalley presented at a pre-TEDxAkl event at which she invited women to be bold and decisive in taking leadership positions, saying:

“If not you, then who?”

Like so many women, I suffer from Impostor Syndrome. But Rachel Smalley’s challenge made me understand that my life and what I do in it is not about me. My life is about being an active and compassionate participant in this world and helping to make other people’s lives exceptional.

At TEDxAkl a couple of days later, in her women and leadership address, Administrator of the United Nations Development Programme Helen Clark described her humble Waikato upbringing. She poignantly stated that: “I also had parents that really believed in me and backed me all the way”. One assumes that this was probably not the norm in patriarchal, quaint 1950s New Zealand where women were encouraged to become wives, mothers and homemakers.

Today, another young woman whom I admire hugely and whom I have watched flourish in the years I have known her, Becca Jane Lee said of New Zealand and Auckland’s youth homeless problem, simply that: “It has an easy enough solution“. Exactly. (Thank you for your beautiful blog post and donation, Becca).

The Challenge

Our discussion came about because this Thursday night I am joining 102 amazing Kiwis in the Lifewise Big Sleepout. We’re sleeping on cardboard overnight in mid-winter to get some tiny semblance on what the ‘rough’ in sleeping rough means. And yes I know, it is utterly insignificant compared to what is a way of life for some people.

On my fundraising page I talk about the monumental, unconditional love and support I received from my parents – with my point being that every Kiwi child deserves this:

(In fact, my Dad was so vociferous in his support of me playing hockey that I had him sin-binned – something he told me before he died was one of the worst moments of his life).

Youth homelessness IS a problem in New Zealand. It’s significant and increasing, and while we sit on our hands doing absolutely nothing, is not going away any time soon. If you’ll forgive my attempt at a metaphor: what starts today as an angry mole, unattended to, tomorrow ends carried away in a coffin.

The problem has hit home with Auckland Council and this May it brought together the agencies tackling youth homelessness at its Youth Homeless Forum. Lifewise have since picked up the ball and are raising money specifically to get our vulnerable, alone teenagers off the streets and into homes where they can survive, thrive and one day contribute back to New Zealand.

The Ask

I am actively, passionately asking YOU to please support me today to support our Kiwi teens who – through poverty, family violence, alcohol, drugs or simply underachievement and low self-esteem – are sleeping on our streets. For whatever reason, these young kids don’t have people in their lives who are in a position to support them. I am not asking you to love them, to take them in, to mentor or even meet them… I am simply asking you to please give now so the extraordinary, selfless people at Lifewise can get our New Zealand’s future citizens off our streets.

Make no mistake, giving up your Monday morning coffee tomorrow to help this cause will make a HUGE difference.

Helen Clark ended her TEDxAkl address with a rallying cry “to support those women who are prepared to stand up and walk over burning coals to make a difference for other women and men and families”.

Today, I am asking you to please support me to sleep on a piece of cardboard in what is a pale, pale semblance of what some of our teens are forced to do every day they are alive. And by supporting this mission, who knows, you might be part of creating our future Prime Minster.

So I ask again:

“If not me and you, then who?”

 

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx

Photo courtesy of: thewireless.co.nz. You can follow the amazing Becca Jane Lee on Twitter here, and read her blog, here.

To love, to lose, to remember, to learn

One year ago in that darkest hour before the dawn I lay beside my Dad as he took his last breath. It was such a silent event that at first I hardly noticed that he was gone; that his life spanning 78-and-a-half years was over.

Losing a parent is gut-wrenching. What I wouldn’t do to touch Dad’s face one more time, to hold his hand, to look into his blue eyes, to laugh at his silliness. Just one more moment. To wrap my arms around his belly, to notice his funny eyebrows, to see how chocolate fills him with glee, to hear him strike up conversation with a stranger – and bamboozle them in one way or another.

I miss his mirth. His quirkiness. I miss the magic he brought into a room just by being there. I miss his wisdom and knowledge of the world. And selfishly, I miss how much he loved me.

In this year that has passed I have changed. I value goodness more than anything. Much, much more than anything. Goodness, authenticity, empathy and integrity. My father was – above everything – a good man. I am fortunate now to honour his legacy by seeing the world through his lens and imprinting his values onto everything I do.

In this year since 5.20am on June 18 2013, I’ve had to stand up for what I believe in; which has taken courage I never knew I had. When I die, I want this to be my enduring legacy, and the gift I leave the world.

The man I loved most in the world, in his final days knew he was loved vigorously, authentically and passionately. Thanks Dad for being my one and only. Thanks for showing me that love, strength and compassion are not words you say; they are words of action and conviction; they are what you do. This is what makes us truly and truthfully human.

And that being good is all that’s required of us.

I’ll always remember you softly touching my cheek saying: “You’re alright, kid”. Yep Dad, thanks to you, I am.

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx

If you want to read more about my Dad, James Halward Nash, you can:

• Death is so final
• I watched my Dad die
• In the bliss of free-falling
• Stoic or stupid? You decide
• You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone

Afternoon walk

I love this guy’s photography and love his captions event more. Perfect.

sethsnap

A coupe of days ago, I took an afternoon stroll with my mom, dad, American expat friend Cedric, and host’s son Boy-Boy.  There are a panoply of things to see when taking a Filipino neighborhood walk.  Here are a few.

Explosions of color.

Tiny things.

Pointy things.

Beautiful eyes.

Creative fences.

Different perspectives.

Mango eaters.

Fairy tales.

Orange transportation.

All lined up.

What to focus on?

Boyboy and Cedric.

Just around.

Fun times.

Community time.

Up in the tree.

A spot of color.

Basketball fun.

Reconnecting.

BFF’s

Boyboy wishes peace for the world.

Nap time.

Until next time.

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Stress: fact, fiction or too many arseholes?

So simple!

Ha! Yep… I said it and I mean it. First, let me preface. A quote has been doing the rounds on social media:

Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes.

It’s fair to say it struck a chord with a whole lot of folk, and definitely with me. I put my hand up to taking on stress and to having had depression. But, and it’s a big but, I look at the environment of my life now and see the power of small steps taken in reducing my stress to nil. I took the power back!

For me stress is directly related to my sense of empowerment. When I feel empowered I reduce my stress. When I feel I have no power, or power is actively being stripped from me, I wind myself up in balls of drama and the result is high levels of stress. The outcome is I don’t sleep, eat the wrong foods, drink more and generally make decisions that lead to even more stress. Dumb. But true.

For me then, I have had to understand where I get my power. The answer is actually very simple: the more I am able to express my opinion, and for that opinion to have value, the better I feel, and stress flies out the window. I’ve clocked up some time now of my opinion having value. I am not – by a long shot – always right. But my opinions are informed and come from years of experience, years of observation, years of education and years of accumulated wisdom. I get a chance to say yeah or nah to an idea and it not being “negative” or in fact having any emotion or ego attached to it at all. I operate in an environment where I can state my opinion – as often as I like – as my own subjective fact.

And it’s great!

So it made me think that the reason some people don’t let other people have space to freely state their opinions is either their own need to build an an outrageous sense of ego, insecurity or both. Is it a management thing where a middle manager is scared of having democracy and free thinking run rampant in their team? Is it that a boss is concerned about how their team “looks” to peers or superiors? Or is it that someone’s opinion is seen as a personal attack on another’s idea. Or – worse still – do some managers actually think the title of manager means they are always right and anyone sitting on a lesser pay packet has only the duty to deliver on their (poorly considered) idea? I honesty don’t know. But find a manager without and ego, one who is not looking to empire build within an organisation, and you’ll find a team that thrives and a business that is successful. I guarantee it.

That… and let’s face it, some ideas are just dumb and someone reeeeaaaallllly needs to say it! Emperor’s New Clothes, anyone?

We’re a couple of months into 2014 now and I reckon, if it has not been done already, that all organisations would do well to look at how its internal culture values or devalues the opinion of the people it employs (i.e. the people it pays to create a successful operation). Personally, if I was an outsider looking in, I’d grab people like me – who actually have an opinion – and ask them what they think. And if you don’t like what they say, so what? No loss, just do what you were going to do anyway – and create a valued employee along the way. Boom.

With love all ♥ and all love ♥

xx