One which I can’t get out of my brain is the notion that, as women, we apologize too damn much.
If you wouldn’t lurk up behind a dude standing at a urinal, the same etiquette applies to me in my cubicle. Seriously, clear your throat or something.
Life feels like tectonic plates at times; things shift ever so slowly, and then all at once there is huge upheaval bringing a myriad of changes.
You don’t have to be in the marketing industry to be your household’s public relations.
Welcome to the 21st century, when welcoming a guest into your home should consist of indicating if they can keep their shoes on or not, taking their coat, showing them where the bathroom is… and providing them with your wifi password. Earlier this week I visited my parents’ home with the intent to crash overnight before taking my son snowboarding. I had my laptop in tow, fully intending to crank it up and knock out some work during the evening. Except I couldn’t. When asked, my parents weren’t immediately sure of the name of their wifi network. That was quickly determined, but then the matter of the password caused a bit more delay. As someone who works almost exclusively over an internet connection via smartphone, tablet, and laptop, I had to take a moment to collect myself and recall that not everyone lives and dies by wifi. And that’s perfectly […]
Dammit, I’m going to get this done. Would I rather not? You bet. Will I fail again? Duh. Am I going to keep at it? (sigh) Yes.