She's so responsible

When I asked my fellow students in 1975 why they elected me senior class president of our high school in Forest Lake, Minn., the most common response I received was: “You’re so responsible.”

Six reunions later, I’m feeling less responsible and a bit worn out by high expectations. There are definitely goodies that come with the reputation of being extremely responsible – job promotions, spots on boards, control over tasks, being the leader rather than a follower, and generally having things go your way.

Responsibility begets more responsibility

But there are costs as well. Consider the lives of two fictional (but reality-based) co-workers: Ava, who is overly responsible, and Ena, who does just enough to get by. Ava rises with the sun, exercises, makes sure her house is in order, checks the calendar to make sure she, her husband and her children are heading in the right directions.  Ena gets up an hour before work, fools around with her buff boy toy, takes a quick shower and heads into work with her hair still slightly wet.

Ava and Ena work in the same office. Ava averages 60 hours a week; Ena averages less than 40. Ava’s a director, and Ena is a manager. Ava makes $100 K per year, and Ena makes $80 K per year. Ava spends most of her discretionary money on furnishings for her home and programs for her kids. Ena spends most of hers on travel, socializing and items related to scuba diving, her favorite hobby.

During a typical week, Ava has about 10 hours for her personal interests (beyond exercising). She usually spends them as a spectator at her kids’ programs or watching her favorite TV shows because she’s too tired to do anything else.

Ena is out of work by 5 p.m. and never works on weekends. She spends 10 hours a week biking, golfing or skiing, five hours on manicures, haircuts, massages, etc., and 10 hours a week going out to eat and socializing with her friends. She also volunteer at a local animal shelter. Because she lives in a modest 2-bedroom condo, she has the time and money for the travel necessary for scuba adventures, manicures and pedicures, and the latest scuba gear.

Both women are happy with their lives, though Ena sometimes wishes she had a husband and children, and Ava dreams of more time to do what she wants to do: hang out with friends, take a painting class, volunteer for a political campaign, etc.  Ava and Ena don’t have a lot to do with each other at work because they don’t have a lot in common. Ava thinks Ena is lazy, and Ena thinks Ava is a workaholic.

What I’ve learned from Ena

After almost 40 years of following Ava’s propensity for over-achieving, I’m finally ready to acquire some of Ena’s more self-focused habits.  So I’m looking for some new role models.

• Who do I know that doesn’t work more than 40 hours a week?
• Who do I know who has fun hobbies that are as important to them as their work?
• And who do I know who’s been self-assured enough to set healthy boundaries at work and at home?

People who are super responsible get lots of kudos. If they want people to like them, it’s natural for them to become more and more responsible and less and less happy. It’s not so obvious that the best role models for people who are overly responsible may not be those who are getting multiple medals for their multitude of achievements. It’s probably those who are enjoying their lives, their families and their friends.

So when I see my old high school buddies at our 35^{th (!!!)} reunion this summer, I expect they’ll meet a happier, less responsible me.

Realistic resolutions for a rigid recession: Have a solid Plan B, and maybe a Plan C and Plan D

I’ve been writing resolutions and keeping most of them as long as I can remember. Sometimes they’re short and sweet. Sometimes they’re long and complex. Last year, I actually took the time to do a progress report on my old resolutions before I cranked out the new ones. As I get older, I realize going full speed ahead without looking back to reflect on what worked, what didn’t work and what I (and others in my life) deserve credit for.


My goals for 2009 were pretty simple: sell the house; stick to my fitness plan; and make quantifiable progress on my writing projects. While I made solid progress on goals 2 and 3, goal #1 stubbornly refused to budge despite the down payment we made on a condo downtown, despite our efforts to make our home as appealing as possible, and despite all the great advice from friends who had successfully sold their homes during the past couple years.

When it was clear that our home was not going to sell (at least given the current price, condition and Realtor), I told my young assistant “this is the first goal in almost 20 years that I haven’t been able to achieve.” After a year on the market, when we took the house off the market last May we finally realized we were dealing with an opponent far larger and more implacable than we were.

As I ponder resolutions for 2010, do I dare include “sell the house” again? And what have I learned from my 2009 resolutions beyond some hard real estate realities? My major takeaway is that Plan Bs are key in recessions. I’ve always told my students who are graduating to go for the job of their dreams. Now I tell them to go for the job of their dreams but be willing to accept something less if necessary. And I tell them to get experience in their chosen profession, even if they have to work as an intern for free. I add, “Hang on to your job as a server to pay for your living expenses.”

This tide will turn

2010 is not a year to give up on our dreams. It’s just a year to be a bit more realistic about whether they’ll come true on our timetables. I was in my mid-30s before I got the job of my dreams (working for a daily newspaper in a major media market). Ironically, I found out that my original job of PR consulting was a much better fit for me. So Plan Bs can turn into Plan As. I imagine that is true of Plans C and D as well.
We may not get everything we dream of in 2010, but if we play our cards right and keep our eyes on the big picture, I’m confident we can get closer to our heart’s desire.