Where are all the girls?
There’s a lot of discussion around women in the technology field and specifically surrounding tech conferences. I’m a huge proponent of women in computer science. I mean, I’m not just the president, I’m also a client.
There is a dissertation sitting somewhere on a dusty desk, or trash bin, with my passionate scribbles on this topic. It contains theories on How To Help Retention Rates Among Undergraduate Women In Computer Science. It’s full of ideas on brain psychology, technology, and community. There’s a trifecta of reasons women do, or do not, stay in technology fields.
I’m not talking about a Venus versus Mars analogy, but men and women are very different. We approach issues differently. We look at maps differently. I mean, common, there’s “Chick Mode” available now on smart phone maps just for us.
“Women use the cerebral cortex for solving problems that require navigational skills. Men use an entirely different area, mainly the left hippocampus—a nucleus deep inside the brain that’s not activated in the women’s brains during navigational tasks,” says David Geary, PhD, professor of psychological sciences at the University of Missouri.
With all this knowledge, it makes sense that a man teaching a programming language would connect better to other males. I know this, from a lot of personal experience, because I can offer an architectural solution and get quizzical looks by my male teammates but end up saying the same thing after a few rounds of specs. We go around the same problem, arriving in the finish line staring at each other.
Code quality should be a science but it’s very subjective. If something doesn’t validate in HTML, it can be overlooked depending on the reason for that validation. Perhaps the spec isn’t complete for that attribute. Maybe you’re implementing CSS3 on a browser needing a shim to utilize that technology. Because of the subjective nature of code, because there is more than one way to “skin the cat” as it were, there are “better” and “worse” methods for solving a problem and it depends on the audience which way is correct. It can be maddening if the audience is primarily male and with a set of skills very different than the ones of that who created the code. Yes, we can certainly agree on some fundamentals, but once we nit-pick nuances, isn’t it just better to ship? Even if perhaps it isn’t exactly what you would do?
Taking the above in to consideration, it stands to reason that some programming languages will be better suited for female thinkers. In graduate school, I was forced to code in Java. Java is a great language for some people. For me, though, I would picture a toothpick being shoved under my large toenail when coding server sockets. However, the same question could be presented for me to apply in PHP, and I could come up with something useful fairly quickly.
Women have been working in teams for centuries. They naturally work together in the home, on the playground, in social settings. Women bond together over dishes and feasts, providing for families, or stepping is as “the closest mom” to grab a hurt child and help them back to their family. It happens in set social structures and loose ones. Women by nature seek community. Look at the online community of mom bloggers if you don’t believe me. Supporting each other is just one of the ways women find fulfillment in life.
It’s unnatural for women to be competitive at work. I find myself stepping outside my normal standards when women want to compete in the work place. Why shouldn’t we just bond together like girl scouts over cookies? [This is the point of the post where I’m using my high-pitched cheerleader voice.] Can’t I just work with you to achieve this goal? Why on earth would I want to be better than you when we can all win together?
But seriously [normal somewhat-lower-than-you-might-expect voice], as a woman in a male-dominated field, I’m conditioned to find mentors and colleagues to work WITH. I often as opinion and seek to learn. Never to I believe MY answer is the right one, unless I’ve researched thoroughly. I give and take lessons freely.
If men programmers could be a stereo type, I think embodying the exact opposite of this philosophy would be highest at the list. Many Many (not all, as you will see) male developers are egotistical, socially awkward, and refuse to believe their code could be anything less than “right”. Oh hell no, you did not just say I used too many global variables. You want me to scope that function where? It’s fine where it is. Whereas if you told me I use too many global variables I’d agree that I do. And scope my function in that object? Oh, right, because that makes more sense. Ok. (And then I’d go cry in the bathroom because I’m a girl. Just kidding. Sometimes.)
This is where I believe the TRIFECTA comes together. This isn’t a cheesy commercial, either. This is a woman writing about the reasons I love and contribute to a community of developers I feel supported and educated in:
Jess, a woman, set out to pull all these pieces together. It’s a tech conferences created by a woman. Re-read that. It’s not a conference promoting A WOMAN speaker, or even two. It’s a conference CREATED BY a woman. She’s a developer like me: someone who has brain psychology similar to my own (by nature), someone who uses the same technologies, and someone who wants to encourage community. The problem? There aren’t any women coming. WHERE ARE THEY?
We’ve both reached out to our women business partners, programmers, ex-collegues. We’re wanting to show the technology field that it is possible to be both engaging and welcoming. We’re not going to sit around talking about menstruation or waxing upper lips (all the time) but instead are looking to help women grow in a field sometimes intimidating. This is the type of conference a woman can learn, ask questions, reach out, and be affective. We just need, you know, the women.
If you’re a student or a new developer, and a woman, looking for a group of mentors (male and female) to help drive your career and your knowledge beyond what you can achieve in school or on your own in your male office, please consider coming. It will make such a difference in your outlook of the technology field. You will find that it’s OK to ask questions and this technology will even MAKE SENSE. Also, it doesn’t hurt that everyone likes beer. That’s just a bonus but the time when you realize you’re not a woman in a male-dominated field, you’re surrounded by brothers in a community.
Please join us. Also? I need a roommate.
They always say not to have any regrets in life. Thing is? It’s hard to avoid.
There’s that time you thought the tattoo of Winnie the poo was going to be a good idea wen you were 16. There’s the night you got so drunk you told off the barmaid who happened to be your boyfriend’s sister’s ex-lover and a former heavy weight boxer. (Consolation: your black eye looked a bit like an Eeyore so you claimed a “pooh” theme.)
There’s the time you majored in Exercise and Sports Science when you MEANT to major in Computer Science. (This one I actually have done. I’ll tell you about it some day.)
And then there are the three days you spent watching Felicity in sequence that you’d gladly take back.
I have the perfect solution for this: Git: Version Control For Life.
Regretting that last breakup? Roll back to your latest commit!
Feeling unsure of your current job? Stash your employment until you gain some more confidence and come back to it.
Need a few more hands around the house? Clone yourself!
Want to spend some time dating someone? Why not Git Checkout? #raur
Ready to get married? Git merge!
Then, when the time comes, you can fork your branch and have new, baby repositories to configure and watch become whole little applications, I mean people.
See? Seriously, if god was going to redo this whole human kind malarky, I think he should start with Version Control. It even gets saved IN THE CLOUD.
Roll back to day #5, God, and set up your repository correctly.
*PS* For those of you that might not be of a technical career, Git /ɡɪt/ is a distributed version control and source code management (SCM) system with an emphasis on speed.
In other words:
It’s like a huge-giant UNDO for teams.
Exactly, see my point? No? Ok, well, maybe I’ll go sniff some more glue…
Wandering around London, alone, amidst crowds of families, strangers, losers, businessmen and lepers, I learnt a bit about how to fit in. The irony of that last sentence is that I’ve never quite learnt how to fit in at home. But here, lost in the crowds bumping shoulders with thousands of strangers, I find a way to quietly assimilate to the expectations of local society. Let me ‘splain.
1. Don’t carry around a paper map. Instead, hunt and peck on the map on your phone. You’ll look just like the local texting his or her mate to meet up for drinks later. Only tourists use a paper map.
2. Purchase your souvenirs at the end of the day, not at the start. Nothing shouts tourist like carrying around a bag full of “I LOVE LONDON bracelets” and “My mom went to London and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” (P.S. Family and friends, you’ll be receiving these shortly.)
3. If you find yourself unsure which way to go next, stop and ponder a menu outside a restaurant. This gives the illusion you’re considering a place to eat whilst giving you the opportunity to check the location of the sun and triangulate your next move.
4. Dress like you were going to your local coffee shop. I know you think you’re going to be walking a bunch and want to wear your white sneakers, but leave the stark white shoes at the hotel. You’re not actually walking a marathon. Be comfortable but sensible. Take breaks as needed. See #3.
5. Don’t try to speak like the locals. This can seem counter-intuitive but trust me; faking any accent will only get you in trouble. I consider myself pretty versed at English and pride myself at my “soft American Accent” but the truth is: I usually keep my mouth shut unless I have something useful to say. Also? This can be good advice at home as well. (Also: I’m lying. I often say random crap that sounds ridiculous but look, that isn’t good advice so we’ll work on this together.) (Also, I find myself randomly saying, “I’d like a nice cuppa tea” and finishing sentences with “init” so I’m speaking from experience.)
6. Walk with purpose. Go from one local to another with purpose. You can take your time and ponder the surroundings but walk like you know what you’re doing, even when you have zero idea of where you’re going. Peck at your phone-map and stop at a menu if needed but zig-zagging from intersection to intersection gives the illusion of someone unsure of what they’re doing. Even if you are.
7. LOOK RIGHT. In London (the UK in general) cross the street looking RIGHT first. Your natural instinct to look left is wrong. If you look right first, you appear to have grown up in a place, the only place, where cars hit people who look left.
8. Walk on the left, stand on the right. If you’re heading to the tube, follow the lead of locals and stand on the right of the escalator and walk on the left. Only a stupid American would stand on the left. Or middle.
9. Don’t stand on the escalators. See #8 and just walk up and down the stairs. Unless you’re on your phone-map trying to figure out what to do next. That’s legit. (You’re totally texting your mate to meet you for a pint later so everyone gets it.)
10. Use a knife and fork properly. Don’t shovel your food with your fork in your right hand. Use a knife and fork the way Europeans do. Knife in your right hand, fork in your left. It’s easier, you look dainty, and nobody will yell, “FAT AMERICAN” when you stab at the amazing piece of lamb you ordered because you can’t order that in the states and not get sued. (Editors note; Ohymygod baby animals taste so goooood.)
(More pics here: On Flickr)
Many many years ago, in a small, reasonably priced apartment in Bellingham, my before-husband told me a story from his childhood about decision making. He played basketball at the church league up the street from his house during his Elementary and Jr. High years. Being a somewhat shy kid, he never had the confidence on the court that could allow him to succeed among other sweaty 10 year olds. The pressure of the ball being tossed at him was sometimes too much and he’d freeze, or just take off running like Forest Gump, forgetting all main facets of the game; namely that you have to bounce the ball whilst running and throw it at a high hoop thingy. I don’t know the details of the rules, really. I wasn’t there.
His dad used to coach the team and would watch incredulously as his eldest son choked every time the ball was passed to him. “Look, son,” he said with a coach tone and fatherly wisdom, “don’t think too much. You just gotta shoot, dribble, or pass.”
This story was relayed to me a month before I moved back to Texas in 1998 which alternated the course of my life forever. The decision had been a laborious one and on that night I repeated, “You gotta shoot, dribble or pass” to myself a hundred times until I stopped thinking and decided to move.
Fifteen years later, while strolling along the Queen’s walk in London this afternoon, I’m listening to Bossypants by Tina Fey (henceforth known as my new BFF “TF” because we’re tight like that) and she relays a similar lesson from her past.
“You can’t be that kid standing at the top of the waterslide, overthinking it. You have to go down the chute. (And I’m from a generation where a lot of people died on waterslides, so this was an important lesson for me to learn.) You have to let people see what you wrote. It will never be perfect, but perfect is overrated.”
The point is, I haven’t been letting you see my writing. I’ve been standing here, frozen, holding the ball and sweating. It’s not that I think I need to be perfect, or have the ability to, or even that you need to read it, because I know you don’t. The point is that I need to write it and I need it to be seen. Even if it’s only seen by the one Russian bot who tends to visit religiously looking for, I’m guessing, potatoes. Whatever. I’m just saying it’s time, y’all.
So remind me to tell you the one about how my baby turned six and promptly grew a beard and started shaving. Or the one about my band of brothers in the UK who witnessed me clearing a dance-floor at a club and creating an honest-to-god hoedown (as you do). Or the time I sweated through two entire shirts in one day because being in your late thirties is a bitch. No, actually, that last one isn’t so much of a story as just fact.
Is there something you’re holding too tightly to? A dream you forget to dream? This is it. It’s time. You gotta shoot, dribble, or pass.
I’m sitting in a cafe in Manchester, UK. It’s familiar, this cafe. The music, the people, the coffee. I think this is the key to traveling… everything at one point becomes familiar, even if only because we’re sitting on the same globe under the same sky.
My family rings me daily, the video turning morning in to silly faces and kisses from across the pond. I marvel at the technology compared to my first trip to the UK in 2001 when I punched in a 400 digit number to reach a calling card and the country code and finally the home phone in hopes to reach my husband. Now I wake the children up on video phone, ala Jeston’s like, rousing sleeping heads just before my dinner time.
I’ve been asked “how do you do it? How can you travel and leave your children?” It is only because of this technology and the patience of Mr. Flinger that I have this opportunity. As often as I miss and yearn for them, I also try to encourage them to ask the questions “what is it like there?” It’s a small and simple task to encourage the children’s curiosity. I show them the weather, the money, the photos. I introduce them to my friends and their young daughter, who greets them with a very adorably Northern English, “hallo!” My young son blushes at the little girl in glasses smiling at him over the screen. “They have children in England, Mommy?” “Yes, Buddy, they do. See?”
This curiosity grows like a seedling. As we listen to Ingrid Michaelson’s “You and I,” I hear a small voice in the back seat of the car, “Let’s go to France and Germany, Mommy!”
In an effort to continue this curiosity, we recently tried out the Little Passports. The children received a small suitcase, a map, a “passport”, an intro letter, and a craft from Japan. “You’ve been to Japan, Mommy!” They marveled at the map. We read about children in Japan. We worked on the Origami. They approved.
Every month a new package will arrive with a letter from “children” traveling the globe. They get a note, an activity, and a passcode to find more online. It’s giving them the gift of wanderlust without leaving the country. It helps us talk about new places and things we might like to do one day.
It’s such a simple thing: Getting Something In The Mail. But it’s so fascinating to see this old technology: MAIL! light up the children’s faces. We plan to have a real pen pal with the little girl in Manchester. In a way I have a real pen pal with her mother and father, my friends from a community of ExpressionEngine Geeks. The world now is so much smaller with twitter, facebook, and The Internet. But to see something tangible, to hold a gift from another country, to see a map with your eyes and hold the pin to mark the spot travelled: Tactile Learning is still very much alive.
I know for myself, as much as the video and technology helps, there is nothing like going home to hold, physically, the people I adore. As often as I crave the new places and old friends from everywhere, the coming home is what keeps me going.
And now, excuse me, but it’s time for me to wake up my children again. Possibly using questionable song choice.
I was counting the railroad tiles out the window when my facilitator read, “Is often prone to daydreaming…” Yes, I thought, my daughter does that! I take a note to remember that frequent daydreaming is a sign of ADHD.
I fidget and look at the clock. How LONG is this meeting? It’s been 45 minutes already. My foot bounces at the end of my leg, a habit that irritates nearly every office mate I’ve ever had. I swirl my foot in circles and take more notes. “Fidgeting, constant moving, even in adults…” Impulsivity, forgetfulness, distractibility. If I hadn’t been diagnosed a year and a half ago, this might come as a shock. Today, though, I sit, fidgeting, for nearly TWO HOURS (mygod two hours!) in my first Adult ADHD Women’s Support Group with many others who are only learning this isn’t “normal.”
In my world, I am normal. In my world, I’ve always been this way. I’ve always had to work out daily or I can’t sit still. I don’t like going to the movies because they’re too long. I thrive as being a “big idea person” and the one who “drives projects”, the one who “loves change”, the person who will show up in Amsterdam having not thought about what I was supposed to do once the plane landed. In my world there was NOW and NOT NOW. I write notes to remind myself of important events and forget where I put the note. I make plans and forget I already made plans. People who love me cherish this about me and those who don’t? They don’t stick around for long.
Nearly two years ago my world crashed down on me for those “cherished” attributes. After 35 years of coping mechanisms, the tiny rock-chip of balance broke in to a full crack, splitting my life in two. Projects, Marriage, Children, Friends, Family… everything fell to the ground from their balance on the high wire, the very high wire I carefully walked my entire life.
It’s nearly a cliche now to hear people say how “ADD” they are. I remember hearing someone say that in front of my good friend Lotus, to which she replied, “You know, there are people that struggle to have a good life because of that.” At the time I didn’t know I was one of them. Today, I appreciate that response more than I can express.
After the urging of several key people in my life, after my daughter’s teacher suggested getting her tested, after my world exploded, I decided to finally take an assessment for adult ADHD. **
I, along with 4% of the U.S. adult population, or 8 million adults, have Adult Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. I was lucky enough as a child to learn coping mechanisms which helped me succeed in school. I have a graduate degree in technology. I’ve enjoyed, for the large part, a “successful career” and life. I don’t look like the disaster that ADHD can create in a person (unless you know me very well). But here’s the secret: many “successful” people have, and struggle, with ADHD.
After my original diagnoses, I’ve followed up with a year of books, groups, therapy, podcasts, medications.
From Ari Tuckman’s Podcast: “What Causes ADHD And What Doesn’t” (recommended listening) he states the following:
- Research found ADHD is primarily passed via genetics.
- If someone has ADHD, there’s a very good chance that at lease one other person in the family has it as well.
- 6 or more genes are involved and impact ADHD in its own way
- Some environmental influence can exacerbate the genetic component to ADHD but does not CAUSE ADHD.
DOES NOT CAUSE ADHD
- Diet and food additives. *Note - Diet can exacerbate an existing ADHD imbalance or can create similar symptoms (and thus mis-diagnosed cases) but does NOT cause ADHD as a chemical imbalance in the brain. (Before doing a research for false information, please try these peer-reviewed articles.) **please listen to the podcast for the reasons behind this correlation. “ADHD causes the eating of junkfood, not that junkfood causes ADHD”
- Poor parenting. *Usually at least one parent will also have ADHD so research shows that parents perform better when kids are under control, not reversed.
- Modern Society (Twitter, Facebook, etc). *Even with the overload in available distractions, it does not cause ADHD. Yes, twitter can distract even the most focused mind, but it does not cause ADHD. If this were true, societies with less technology or slower pace of life would have fewer cases but they don’t. At most we can say ADHD symptoms are more debilitating and obvious in our face-pased and distracting world, like saying a white shirt is more obvious against a black background than it is a white one but we would never say the white background caused the white shirt.
The reason I share this with you now is twofold. 1. I survived, almost thrived, for 35 years with a brain chemistry deficit that could easily have derailed my life much earlier than it did but I had the structure and coping skills to handle this (until those failed from environmental factors). And 2. I am thriving again now that I have that knowledge.
ADHD can be a gift or it can cause pain and frustration. I enjoy the company of others just like me and I appreciate the company of the countless friends of mine who aren’t. My closest friends can sit still, stay in routine, plan a trip and they gracefully (at least to my face) understand when I need reminding or a push to follow up. I am in a roll at work now where my “gifts” are appreciated and used to push products forward, lead, and see things from a higher-view and help those stuck in the mire of detail to keep an eye on the final outcome. People closest to me understand that my need to travel it is not a desire but a NEED. My children benefit from a mother who understands them and can offer solutions to their disorganization. We, as a house, have structured our lives for success and keep dates, events, and deadlines on a white board for everyone to see. Managing ADHD can be complex and take a lot of work but in the end, if it is preventing life from being as amazing as it can be, it’s worth it. For me, I am learning to balance both: Allowing the impulsivity and spontaneous me to work within an 8 hour day of projects and deadlines and bills. Now I finish projects on time, pay bills on time, remember and arrive early to meetings.
Learning the hard truth about why I am the way I am has helped improve, not diminish, my life. ADHD is not an excuse to be distracted, it’s a reason to get help.
- The fifth edition of Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) is being released in May, 2013 which will contain and updated diagnosis criteria for ADHD in both adults and children based on recent research.
- ADDitude Mag which offers a handout for debunking 7 myths of ADHD.
Books I’ve read (and recommend)
** Notes about assessments: If you are considering taking an assessment for ADHD, you will need to have a clinician who specializes in Adult ADHD help. There are several “inconclusive” tests that can lead to a false positive (Such as the Adult ADHD Self-Report Scale (ASRS-V1.1 from WHO Composite INternational Diagnostic Interview which is only 6 questions long). The longer the test, the more inclusive and more accurate. All good clinicians will want to talk to a spouse or family member to confirm the replies as most ADHD people can be unrealistic with their personal perceptions.
Two good assessments (I’ve taken both):
Brown Attention-Deficit Disorder Scales for Adolescents and Adults: Definition.
I first started blogging way way back in 2003, when I was pregnant and finishing my graduate degree, when I was a new mom and completely postpartum, when people used to say, “How on earth do you do it all AND keep up a blog?” People don’t say that to me anymore. It’s become obvious: I don’t.
I’ve been staring at my blog lately wondering if it’s going to speak to me. I sort of kick it around, poke at it, see if it’s still breathing. I’m a curious bystander in my own life these days. It’s not that I don’t write anymore, because I do. A lot. I have pages and pages of blog posts and love notes and ideas written in my notebook on my laptop.
These ideas are now mostly shared with a very tiny select group of people: Namely those who live in my head. Every so often I venture to hand one or two to a loved one but most often the half written prose sit idly waiting for me to return from That Thing I Do Eight To Nine Hours A Day In The Office.
I think it’s called work.
The ironic thing? I like that Work. I could write pages and articles about that thing that I do. I could delve in to discussions about app development, front end standards, managing motherhood and sanity and travel and mid-life crises and bosses. But I can’t. Those parts of my day that I’m legally able to share get pulled in the rip-tide of life and those accomplishments and stories that I crave to write are sealed under “NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENTS” and privacy laws and google’s ever-watching (and caching) eyes.
In other news: I’ll keep sitting next to this blog in the ICU while it waits in its comma. One day she’ll wake up again. I promise to be here when she does. Will you?
In tradition with all Mommy Bloggers (Capital “M” and “B”) I’d like to present to you a montage of TEH CUTEZ.
I know I know, I hear it. Sorry.
One of my favorite traditions is the annual Girls & Kids Christmas (Same of moms and kids camping gang). We gather the children to play until they sweat, feed them, trade presents (picked by lottery, one kid buys for one other kid) and make an ornament. I’m a fan of tradition. It’s predictable and comfortable. It’s so predictable, in fact, that as the years have progressed we have added children but still, every year, predictably, someone will sprint out of the “HOLD STILL FOR THE BLOODY PHOTO” part of the evening.
In fact, kids are SO predictable, we even have this photo taken at another friend’s house for the New Annual Gingerbread Mansion Making. (Dude, SERIOUSLY)
And, because my sister lives close enough now for us to do Christmas Eve together, we did.
More toddler escaping pictures. (Know when to hold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run….)
From 1985 to 2013, Happy New Year and Merry Christmas.
**2008 song by LB herself **
The past 18 months have been particularly hard for me. I have not been writing here much as I can’t exactly say what it is that unfolds in reality. I’ve stayed quiet, I’ve stayed away, I’ve stayed pre-occupied.
Some people came to rescue me at various times in the past year and a half. Others have quietly waited for me to get myself back together. And still others have turned away and left my life without a second glance.
Victoria is one of those people who, while being utterly frustrated by my lack of being available, never gave up on me as a friend. In fact, when I needed someone so desperately, as I was so remotely unavailable even to myself, she pushed her way in and stood ground while I gathered up my last bits of sanity. This isn’t an exaggeration.
She’s stood by watching me dog paddle the English Channel, knowing I was making progress even if scarcely noticeable.
We were emailing each other about some plans this weekend. We’ve been trying to get together for a while now, as is always my case it seems. We had definitive plans for Saturday with another good friend of ours. All of our children know each other from years at the same Montessori. These are people I’ve shared multiple holidays with and school plays and gathering, so the idea of getting together was exciting and welcomed. The children couldn’t wait. Hell, *I* couldn’t wait. Until I got the message from Victoria about the shootings.
Life suddenly was more precious and more tenable. I sat wringing my hands for hours, waiting, as the family did. I got her text, before anything public was said, and fell apart in the office. I didn’t need any pictures to remind me what Noah looked like. I’ve met him. My son spent an afternoon with him playing together with their cousins. I drank wine with his mom, V’s sister in law, thinking to myself how much I could *totally* hang out with her because she is great people.
I can only imagine her face today. Actually, I try not to imagine her face today.
It’s that image, the image of another mom who lost her six year old son, that has kicked the ass out of my selfish quests. I can no longer fathom the world without these children in it. I can not imagine my world without
reminding my own son to brush his teeth, to listen the first time I tell him something and to please please please stop playing the DS and put on his shoes.
I can not imagine life without those easy struggles.
I’ve been able to help out some, not enough, the family that is hurt and wounded beyond anything I think anyone should endure. The truth of the story is that they’ve helped me even more than they know. Spending hours with her children, making stupid stories up to keep her mind off the real world, doing dishes because they need to be done; these are the easy parts of a larger whole. This whole is teaching the entire world, unfortunately at my very good friend’s own heart ache, how precious life is.
Grief is horrendous. Life is precious. Friendship through darkness is salvation. To my own friend who held my hand back to safety, please send every ounce of love to her family as you can. And please, for all of us, go home and hug your children. Even if they refuse to put on their shoes.
I was in meetings all morning at work. I was fired up about some frustrating blockers about my seemingly important work of moving bits and bytes around on various screens.
Then I saw an email from one of my closest friends that her niece and nephew’s school had a major shooting today.
They have her nieces but her nephew is still missing.
Now, look, I know that it’s all the way in Connecticut and I live all the way here in Seattle. But V’s son and my son are great buds. They go to schools a few miles apart. My son has played with her nephew, the one missing right now. So no, I do not think “there’s nothing to worry about, it’s not here, Leslie. It’s ok,” which is what people keep trying to tell me when they see my watery eyes looking lost at the office.
I believe there is a thousand reasons to run home and grab my children, and her children, and huddle together.
It’s not ok. Not until they find her Nephew and he is safe and EVEN THEN it is not ok. Nothing about this is ok.
So please, please, please keep V and her family in your thoughts and prayers. I know there’s a ton of support out there already waiting and watching with her but please add yours.
From one mom to every mom out there and to a particular one with whom I’ve shared wine and laughter with, who now waits to hear where her son is, mygod I feel for you. And that’s not even enough.
10 guests here now.