Reconciling Faith, Gender & Career

I was raised by a college-educated mother who chose to stay home and raise her five children full-time. I was blessed immensely by my mother's decision and appreciated her sacrifice and availability. Her job was not easy. Amidst raising five children, my mother decided to return to school and earn a Master's degree in education. I remember this well as I was in junior high school at the time and required to help out by cooking one meal a week for the family when my mom was at class (or at least that's how I remember it). Perhaps this is the only time in my life that I cooked on a regular basis.

Despite earning her advanced degree, my mother had no immediate plans to return to the workforce. That return would not come for another ten years when her youngest was on his way out of elementary school. Even though my mother did not work when I was in her home, she taught all of her children by example the power of education. All of her children have gone on to receive advanced degrees, except for the youngest and only because he's still too young.

As a school teacher, I never really felt the need for a career plan (although maybe I should have had one?). But as an attorney learning to lean, I find it imperative. This is new territory for me and there's even a small sense of guilt as I contemplate my future. I had always hoped that by now I would be whisked away in eternal marriage bliss and stay home and make babies. Even though this is not the case, I still feel like I need to consider this option as I move forward in my career. I'm beginning to realize a lot of women do this as well. We plan for something we hope will come even though it may not be for ten more years down the road. I'm not saying that we shouldn't hope to have a marriage and a family one day (I do!) but I'm wondering if the hope for it holds us back sometimes and prevents us from accomplishing great things in the meantime.

I believe that "there is no superior career, and no amount of money, authority, or public acclaim [that] can exceed the ultimate rewards of family."* I, therefore, believe that being a full-time mom is a highly noble calling. I applaud my mother, sisters, and friends for accepting this calling even though it is not always easy. I hope to join them one day.

Despite knowing this, I am beginning to see that some women may be called to work. Even if they can afford to stay at home and even if it it's not their first choice. I was conveying this idea of being called to work to another young, single, female attorney of faith last weekend. I felt almost blasphemous expressing these thoughts, like I was betraying principles I've embraced, believed and taught.

One joy of being a woman is that we have a myriad of paths to choose from. Many of us will jump back and forth between these paths several times through out our lifetime. There is no rigid course we must follow. The key to determining which path is best at which time for us individually is personal revelation. My path may not be the same as yours and that's okay as long as it is the path I am supposed to be on.

With these ideas of some women being called to work and the importance of personal revelation swirling around my head, I found a wonderful example in Noelle Pikus Pace, the 2014 Olympic silver medalist in the women's skeleton.

According to her Mormon.org profile, she retired from the sport after 2010 because she wanted to focus on her family. But in 2012, she and her husband felt she needed to return to the sport one more time. After fasting and praying their decision was confirmed. Now she is an Olympic silver medalist. Though her career as a working mom was brief, it was fueled by inspiration, and she now has the stage and credentials to be a powerful force for good.

Though we may not all be Olympic athletes and our spheres of influence are often much smaller, I believe that women of faith have much to contribute not only to our homes but our communities and professions.

"The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity.”**

Though following a career path may at times seem in juxtaposition with the above quote, I believe women of faith can and should permeate their influence in the workforce as well.

So if your current path is calling you to reach out, step up, and lean in whether that be at home, school or work - dare I say - Do it! We need women of faith leading, guiding, inspiring, and contributing wherever they may be. Don't limit yourself by the unknown around the corner. And if you are called to work for a time or a lifetime, excel at what you do by remembering who you are and what good you can accomplish.




*Elder D. Todd Christofferson: The Moral Force of Women

**Margaret D. Nadauld: The Joy of Womanhood

Learning to Lean

I distinctly remember the first time I told someone I was an attorney. I had just flown into the Salt Lake City airport after accepting my first job and was about to start 3 weeks of new hire training. It was at the rental car counter. The agent asked,

"What brings you to town - business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"What do you do?" Pause. Hesitation.

"I'm an attorney."

Wow, that sounded weird. I held my breath. Waiting for the agent to react. Waiting for him to tell me I couldn't really be an attorney. Waiting for him to see right through me and dismiss me as a fraud.

But he didn't. Whew. Test passed.

In the weeks that followed, I continued to struggle with the questions what do you do and why are you traveling. I wished people would stop asking me. I didn't want to tell them I was an attorney. I mean an attorney is someone who knows everything about the law, who is articulate, who is outgoing, who exudes confidence and charisma. I was not those things.

I sat next to a lady on an airplane once. When she asked what I did I replied, "I'm an attorney. I know I don't look like one in my jeans. I like to travel casual." Why did I have to explain myself? Did I really expect people to think that attorneys only and always wear suits?

Slowly but surely I got comfortable telling people I was an attorney. I realized that most attorneys don't know everything. Some attorneys are actually introverts. And yes, they don't always travel in suits.

But it did take some time. The first CLE meeting I went to was after I had passed the bar but before I secured my first job. I walked into the building with trepidation wondering why I had come. I saw the sign-in table, surveyed the lecture room, and then walked right back out. I couldn't stay. I got all the way to the parking lot before I realized I was being an idiot. I was a licensed attorney. I belonged in that room like every other attorney in there.

I remember one day in law school between classes I stopped at the restroom. I remember looking at the mirror and thinking, what if I was no longer held back by fear, anxiety or self-doubt? What if I was truly free? What if we all were? How powerful would we be? How much would we accomplish?

Recently, I've felt a pull to lean in to my career. To accept who and where I am and make the most of it. I've struggled with the how and the what but the feeling is there.

I gave into these feelings, fought my anxiety, and leaned in by taking a trip to Kansas City for a legal conference this past weekend where I was surrounded by bright, successful, and well articulate men and women. While I felt more comfortable than that first CLE meeting I attended, I still felt the need to explain to one man sitting next to me that I've only been practicing for two years. Another man sat next to me and introduced himself. We started talking and I asked what he did. He was the solicitor general of Missouri. A prime example of why sometimes I wonder if I'm really in the right place.

In law school, I had three quotes I hung on my mirror to pump me up when things got tough.

1. Adidas' Impossible is Nothing quote*
2. Joshua 1:9
3. A quote by President Thomas S. Monson:

Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities equal to your tasks. Then the performance of your task will be no miracle, but you will be the miracle.

I am by no means a miracle, but I certainly know how to pray.

Sheryl Sandberg has asked the question: What would you do if you weren't afraid?

And so I ask you. What would you do? How would you act? Who would you be?


*Adidas quote:

Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.

Tabasco

Last fall I was scheduled hearings in Houma, LA and I was excited. Most Americans have never heard of Houma, LA, let alone know how to pronounce it. (I still don't.) But I knew that on my long drive to Houma I would be passing right by Avery Island, home of Tabasco sauce.

Located 40 miles south of Lafayette and across the freeway from New Iberia, Avery Island is in fact an island. 6 miles off the freeway and across a creek-sized body of water, stands the entrance booth where visitors must pay a $1 entrance fee. Although the booth is stationed on the passenger side of your vehicle, there is no need get out when traveling alone. The entrance man has a long pole with a clothes pin at the end of it with which he will reach inside your car to collect your dollar.

There is one and only one Tabasco factory and it is located here at Avery Island. Factory tours are free and start every 20 minutes or so. The tour consists of a gallery with historical artifacts, an 8 minute video, and a viewing gallery where you can see Tabasco sauce being bottled and packaged. The tour was not as extensive as the Blue Bell Ice Cream Factory tours in Brenham, TX, but I did get free bottled samples of Tabasco Buffalo Sauce and Tabasco Green Pepper Sauce.

During the tour I learned several things about Avery Island and how Tabasco sauce is made.

• Avery Island is one of five salt dome islands on the Louisiana coast.
• The harvested salt is used to make Tabasco sauce.
• 40 acres of peppers grow on the island
• The same day peppers are picked they are crushed and mixed with salt.
• The pepper and salt mixture is loaded into barrels with extra salt dumped on top. 
• The mashed peppers ferment and age for 3 whole years.
• After 3 years, the mixture is poured into a vat with vinegar.
• The peppers and vinegar mix non-stop for 28 days.
• Tabasco peppers also grow in various places in Central and South America.
• The peppers are also used in other products including cinnamon gum, toothpaste and, not surprising, pepper spray.

After the tour, I walked on over to the Tabasco Country Store. It is here you can sample various Tabasco concoctions including Tabasco soda, ice cream, and jelly belly beans. I avoided the ice-cream but I foolishly tried the soda. I do NOT recommend it. The taste it left in my mouth was horrendous and it took days to recover. It was so bad, I started having vengeful thoughts against the McIlhenny Company. In the interest of pleasurable experiences and happy thoughts, avoid the soda.

In an unsuccessful attempt to get the soda taste out of my mouth, I walked next door to the food truck and ordered crawfish etouffee, my Cajun dish of choice. I commandeered the only table in the shade (it was warm then) and a tour bus driver soon joined me. He was from Mississippi and was driving French tourists on a trip through the South. They started their journey in Atlanta and were slowly making their way to Dallas with various stops along the way. Once in Dallas, Bus Driver would deposit his passengers and make the eight hour drive back to Mississippi alone. He said he was looking forward to that part of his trip and the solitude he'd enjoy. Earlier that day I had bemoaned all the time I wasted in the car. Bus Driver reminded me that road trips by yourself have at least some redeeming qualities. He also reminded me that I should talk to strangers more often - they have stories to tell and lessons to teach.

Yes, I'm wearing flip flops.

After lunch, I grabbed a quick shot of the Country Store. Bus Driver saw me do it and said I needed to be in the photo - to prove to people I was really here. So here's proof - I was here.

 

I have since forgiven McIlhenny for the horrible Tabasco soda incident (although I admit the vengeful feelings did resurface on my second visit) and I continue to use Tabasco in my meatballs and on my red beans and rice.

 

What do you use Tabasco sauce on?



TSA Pre-Check

Last week I was at the Houston airport on my way to El Paso.  Because I was only carrying a computer bag, presumably, I got ushered into the TSA pre-check line. Sweet. I zoomed past the ever growing standard security line right up to the conveyor belt. Here I found I did not need to take out my laptop or liquids or remove my belt or shoes. No plastic bins for me! Well, I did have to take off my shoes when they beeped in the metal detector, but if they hadn't (heels!) I would've walked right on through. And that's another thing - there was no body scanner! No need to raise my arms (or shake my hips for that matter).

I was sold on TSA pre-check! Why had I not signed up before?

So today, I finally got on the website thinking I'll just have to insert some personal information, they'll run a background check and voila - no more hassle for me. But wait...it's not so simple.

Sure, I can fill out an application and pre-enroll online, but then I have to drive to an enrollment center to be fingerprinted. The closest one to me and the only one in Houston is 32 miles from my house. I also must pay a non-refundable application fee of $85.00. Humph. Should I complete all these steps successfully and be approved, I will receive a notice in the mail 2-3 weeks after visiting the enrollment center. I will be given a "Known Traveler Number" that is valid for five years. When I book travel on one of the 9 participating airlines, I submit this KTN. A TSA pre-check logo will appear on my boarding pass allowing me to access the TSA pre-check security line. Smaller airports, the ones I frequent most, do not offer this separate security line.

So is this all worth it? Just to spare a few minutes in the security line? To avoid taking off shoes and taking out laptops?

I can understand there has to be some fee involved (although $85 is pretty steep I think) and I understand the need for an expiration date on the KTN. But why are the enrollment centers not at the airport?

Let's think about this. People choosing to sign up for this program are those that travel often. They are at airports on a regular basis. They want to sign up to save time. Why then would they want to drive 30 miles out of their way and take up the precious time they are trying to save by signing up in the first place? The program deals with airport security. The interested parties are frequent flyers. Put the enrollment centers at the airport!

In full disclosure, TSA did just open an application center at Dulles airport (see here). Hopefully the trend will continue.

But until one opens up at Houston Bush, I'll just travel light and smile my way into the pre-check line unapproved.

What about you? Will you sign up? If not, what's stopping you? If you have already, was it worth it?

Mr. 17D

I sat next to Mr. 17D today on my way from DFW to El Paso. 17D, we'll call him for short, was returning from the Super Bowl with his two sons. He called himself “Charlie from Chihuahua.” He was a very friendly man who was not deterred from talking to me even though I had a book open and even though the flight attendant had emphatically hushed him during the safety demonstration.

Once airborne, 17D began show and tell. First, he showed me the football helmet he had bought at the Super Bowl where his two sons both won $1,000 each on their bet on the Seahawks. He loved his helmet so much he put it on and wore it down the aisle on his trip to the bathroom. After his return he began showing me clothes he had bought while in New York. Asking if I liked them. While this is going on I grab my laptop and begin working furiously. “Don't work. Just relax,” he told me. He ordered a bloody Mary and began showing me pictures on his iPhone of his family, his home, and all his luxurious possessions. He asked if I was married. Said I was very beautiful. Said maybe one day I'd marry a Mexican guy. Maybe. There were intermittent moments of silence where he did in fact let me work. His limited English prevented us from having an open dialogue. I was grateful not only for the language barrier but also for the spare seat between us. Even though I speak English very well, my responses to him were just one word – nice, cool, ok.

17D flagged the flight attendant to ask for another Bloody Mary before landing. I gave the attendant a warning look – not a good idea. Apparently, it wasn't her call to make. 17D was a self-declared alcoholic. At least he was honest.

As we landed, 17D said that maybe in another life he would marry me. Maybe. Let's not forget the wife you already have sir. He gave me his business card. Said maybe I could email him. Maybe. I gave him a card in return. One with a religious link on it. I said it might help with his alcohol problem.

So question:

 

Are you an airplane conversationalist?

If not, how do you politely tell the guy sitting next to you – dude, leave me alone – keeping in mind that the entire airplane is listening to your exchange and you have nowhere to run?

So Padre

 

Two weeks ago, after I was stranded in Houston, I made the sudden realization that on the Friday of that week I would be in Harlingen with my car and only 40 minutes from South Padre Island. Why I had not thought of this before driving down to South Texas is beyond me. After my week's travel woes, I decided I earned at least one night on the beach to relax and rejuvenate. With my saved up hotel points I booked a night at no cost.

After my hearing ends Friday afternoon, I am giddy with anticipation. The weather in Harlingen had been sunny and 75 all week and I am excited to soak up some good quality Vitamin D.

My first stop is Target where I purchase a beach chair, umbrella and tanning lotion. I head down State Highway 100 and with each passing palm tree my stress gradually gives way to relaxation.

I pass Port Isabel and reach the Queen Isabella Causeway, the longest causeway in Texas at 2.369 miles. On the bridge, signs tell me to Watch Out for Pelicans. I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to do when I see one? But I keep a look out just in case.

I easily find my hotel off South Padre Blvd (the only main thoroughfare on the island). I drop off my stuff and head straight to the beach. As I reach the sand I realize the beach is much cooler than the mainland and opt to keep my sweatshirt on. I guess my umbrella and tanning lotion purchases were a bit ambitious. It is still January. As the sun gets lower and the beach gets colder I head in.

I get in my car and drive down the boulevard headed north. Past the beach houses and condos, the road narrows into two lanes with sand dunes on both sides. As I continue to drive the road gets narrower and narrower as the sand drifts onto the shoulder and then onto the road. Eventually all that is left of the road is half of a marginally passable lane with no signs of clearing in the distance. Visions of being swallowed up in sand and getting my car stuck with no one to save me compel me to stop and turn around. The red mini van that had been following me for the past 3 miles decides to do the same. I turn around and head back to civilization.

After surveying my dinner options, I settle for Big Boys Bar & Grill. It's Friday night in a tourist town and I'm not sure I want to dine in alone, but I don't want to go back to my hotel either. The host doesn't give me a choice, declares it's a table for one, and let's me pick my booth. I shouldn't have been worried. It may be Friday night in a beach town, but it's only 5 o'clock in the off season and the only other people in the restaurant are Winter Texans. I feel very comfortable.

My waiter approaches my table and immediately asks, "Oh, where's your date?" Without waiting for a response he jumps in, "I'll be your date!" If he had been ten years older I may have taken him up on the offer. But seeing as he appeared to be under 21, I declined. Waiter was talkative, and honest, and when I asked how the fish was he replied, "Eh, it's nothing special." With that glowing endorsement I ordered it. 

After dinner I head to the hotel to both work and work-out before making my way to the hot tub.  The hotel is eerily quiet and as I make my way through the maze-like hallways I neither see nor hear any other guests.

The front desk man tells me I'll have the hot tub all to myself as I am only 1 of 6 guests that night, a busy night for the off season. He also warns that it's pretty dark out there. After being assured that he would at least hear me if I scream, I sink into the warm water, gaze at the stars, and chill out to tunes from a playlist designed specifically for a hot tub like environment.* This is what I had been craving all week.

After a glorious night's sleep, quick breakfast, and purchase of postcards, I head back to the beach. This time I leave the sweatshirt behind. I plop my chair down in the sand, angle it towards the sun, and sink in. As I look around, I see no other lounger, not one. Instead, I see walkers. Up and down the coast there are pedestrians, joggers, dogs, lots of people, but everyone is moving. It's high traffic time at the beach. I've never seen anything quite like it. This must be the Winter Texan way. Never mind, I think, I plan on being as sedentary as possible. But well, I admit, sometimes that's hard for me to do. I couldn't stay there forever, it wasn't quite warm enough for that. So after a good long while, I check out.

Before leaving the island I stop at the South Padre sign and meet some more Winter Texans. They're from Michigan and got here December 30. They don't plan on leaving until the end of February. It's their first time in South Texas. They offer to take my picture. I decline until they tell me I can climb above the sign.

It's here I also learn of the Padre of South Padre. His name was Padre Nicolas Balli. He founded the island's first settlement in 1804 after receiving the land from King Charles IV of Spain.

I delay my trip home a bit longer as I stop in Port Isabel on the other side of the bridge. I tour the lighthouse built in 1852.

I walk over to Pelican Pier and get a shot of the bridge.

And last but not least, I grab a Blue Bell Rocky Mountain Road ice-cream cone at Davey Jones Ice-Cream Locker.

Unable to delay it any more, I make my way back to the car and head home. More relaxed, more at peace, and more in love with South Texas.

*The playlist I listened to in the hot tub was sent to me that night by a friend. They were all new songs to me. Check it out and tell me what you think in the comments. If you have music suggestions of your own, please share! I'm in constant need of good road trip music.

Fossil Collective: Let it Go

Fossil Collective: On and On

The Deep Dark Woods: 18th of December   (This recording isn't the best but I like the song.)

Chief: Night & Day

The Vaccines: If You Wanna

The Avett Brothers: Kick Drum Heart

The Avett Brothers: Slight Figure of Speech

Beach House: Other People